Friday, January 3rd, 1890:
Mr. Bull, the boatman came home this evening. Says he can take us to Grays Harbor City tomorrow. He had to land his boat at Damon's Point, six miles southwest of here, so we'll have to walk that far in the morning. It has been clear and cold here today. They say that the thermometer stood at ten degrees above zero. Not so cold, if the wind didn't blow so strong from the east. Mr. Blodgett, a man who lives here, says it is the coldest it has been for a long time. Nothing to do but eat, sleep, and get fat.
Mum is still the word with our companions. The old man would talk but he is afraid he will set the infernal grumbling machine to going, so he holds his tongue. Ta! Ta! Sonny!
Saturday, January 4, 1890:
We left our camp at nine o'clock and walked to Damon's Point. Got there about eleven o'clock. Brice Sharp and I both got our feet soaking wet getting into the boat. The wind was blowing strong and cold from the east, which made it to the mud flats of Grays Harbor City about five o'clock in the evening just as the tide was going out. We pushed and pulled and paddled until we could go no farther. Hung up tighter than blazes about forty rods from the shore. Nothing to do but get out and wade to shore in mud two feet deep and sometimes deeper. It was the stickiest mud I ever did see.
We left part of our packs on the boat. Mr. Bull promising to bring them in early in the morning. We reached the Hotel Grays Harbor about six o'clock, as nasty a looking set of men as had ever stopped there, I reckon.
Our chums left us here, and I was glad of it. They went to a son-in-law's place upon the hill. Sharp and I ate our suppers, dried ourselves by the fire and went to bed.