I have always been an adventurer. My fifteenth birthday was spent in a sealer in the Arctic Ocean. After that (in 1911) I went to sea, and ran away from an English ship in Australia in 1913. In that country I was a hobo, a gold digger (in Kalgoorlie), a hunter, and a sailor, until I left there in October 1919. On my wanderings I have been to lots of strange and also famous places. I have gone on foot across Berthoud Pass in the rockies of Colorado in the middle of March (1920), have trapped in Northern Ontario (1920-21), have fished on the coast of British Columbia (1925), and have been in London, Paris, and New York. Such a nature as mine finds no peace, no satisfaction in a soft, comfortable life or in watching the clock-plugging away on a regular job. It does not seem real life to me. Far better to take chances with storm and difficulties even if life itself must be staked. I have always admired ships and boats. Even now I can stand for hours and enjoy the lines-the rigging-of a fine vessel, and go back day after day to the same place and do the same. A fine ship really lights my eye.
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