More like his (her?) spiritual sibling. I share a distaste of fuffery.

We had now a dizzy descent to make to Lake Bennett. Conductor and brakeman were on the alert. With their hands upon the brakes these men stood with nerves and muscles tense. All talking ceased. Some of us thought of home and loved ones, but none flinched. Slowly at first, then faster and faster the train rolled over the rails until lakes, hills and mountains fairly flew past us as we descended. At last the train's speed was slackened, and we moved more leisurely along the foot of the mountains. We were in the beautiful green "Meadows" where pretty and fragrant wild flowers nodded in clusters among the tall grass.

At Bennett our trunks were again opened, and we left the train. We were to take a small steamer down the lakes and river for Dawson. We were no longer crowded, as passengers scattered to different boats, some going east to Atlin. With little trouble I secured a lodging for one night with the stewardess of the small steamer which would carry us as far as Miles Canyon or the Camp, Canyon City. From there we were obliged to walk five miles over the trail. It was midsummer, and the woods through which we passed were green. Wild flowers, grasses and moss carpeted our path which lay along the eastern bank of the great gorge called Miles Canyon, only at times winding away too far for the roar of its rushing waters to reach our ears. No sound of civilization came to us, and no life was[Pg 16] to be seen unless a crow chanced to fly overhead in search of some morsel of food. Large forest trees there were none. Tall, straight saplings of poplar, spruce and pine pointed their slender fingers heavenward, and seemed proudly to say:

"See what fortitude we have to plant ourselves in this lonely Northland with our roots and sap ice-bound most of the year. Do you not admire us?" And we did admire wonderingly. Then, again, nearing the banks of Miles Canyon we forged our way on up hill and down, across wet spots, over boulders and logs, listening to the roar of the mighty torrent dashing between towering, many-colored walls of rock, where the volume of water one hundred feet in width with a current of fifteen miles an hour, and a distance of five-eighths of a mile rushes insistently onward, as it has, no doubt, done for ages past. Then at last widening, this torrent is no longer confined by precipitous cliffs but between sparsely wooded banks, and now passes under the name of "White Horse Rapids," from so strangely resembling white horses as the waters are dashed over and about the huge boulders in mid-stream. Here many of the earlier argonauts found watery graves as they journeyed in small boats or rafts down the streams to the Klondyke in their mad haste to reach the newly discovered gold fields.

After leaving White Horse Rapids we traveled for days down the river. My little stateroom next[Pg 17] the galley or kitchen of the steamer was frequently like an oven, so great was the heat from the big cooking range. The room contained nothing but two berths, made up with blankets and upon wire springs, and the door did not boast of a lock of any description. Upon application to the purser for a chair I received a camp stool. Luckily I had brushes, combs, soap and towels in my bag, for none of these things were furnished with the stateroom. In the stern of the boat there was a small room where tin wash basins and roller towels awaited the pleasure of the women passengers, the water for their ablutions being kept in a barrel, upon which hung an old dipper. To clean one's teeth over the deck rail might seem to some an unusual undertaking, but I soon learned to do this with complacency, it being something of gain not to lose sight of passing scenery while performing the operation.

At Lake La Barge we enjoyed a magnificent panorama. Bathed in the rosy glow of a departing sunset, this beautiful body of water sparkled like diamonds on all sides of us. Around us on every hand lay the green and quiet hills. Near the waters' edge they appeared a deep green, but grew lighter in the distance. Long bars of crimson, grey and gold streaked the western horizon, while higher up tints of purple and pink blended harmoniously with the soft blue sky. As the sun slowly settled the colors deepened. Darker and[Pg 18] darker they grew. The warm soft glow had departed, and all was purple and black, including the waters beneath us; and as we passed through the northern end or outlet of the lake into Thirty Mile River we seemed to be entering a gate, so narrow did the entrance to the river appear between the hills.

At night our steamer was frequently tied up to a wood pile along the banks of the river. No signs of civilization met our eyes, except, perhaps, a rude log hut or cabin among the trees, where at night, his solitary candle twinkling in his window and his dogs baying at the moon, some lonely settler had established himself.

The Semenow Hills country is a lonely one. Range upon range of rolling, partly wooded, hills meet the eye of the traveler until it grows weary and seeks relief in sleep.

Five Finger Rapids was the next point of interest on our route, and I am here reminded of a short story which is not altogether one of fiction, and which is entitled: Midnight on a Yukon Steamer.

[End of Chapter 1.]

It worked! Thank you for finally stopping the non-OP fuffing about in this thread (it's ok by me if you want to leave a parting shot post here).

In parting, I'll leave you with: A Woman who went to Alaska, the journaled account of May Kellogg Sullivan, and her 1902 expedition into the great North State:

CHAPTER I.
UNDER WAY.

MY first trip from California to Alaska was made in the summer of 1899. I went alone to Dawson to my father and brother, surprising them greatly when I quietly walked up to shake hands with them at their work. The amazement of my father knew no bounds,—and yet I could see a lot of quiet amusement beneath all when he introduced me to his friends, which plainly said:

"Here is my venturesome daughter, who is really a 'chip off the old block,' so you must not be surprised at her coming to Alaska."

Father had gone to the Klondyke a year before at the age of sixty-four, climbing Chilkoot Pass in the primitive way and "running" Miles Canyon and White Horse Rapids in a small boat which came near being swamped in the passage.

My brother's entrance to the famous gold fields was made in the same dangerous manner a year before; but I had waited until trains over the White Pass and Yukon Railroad had been crossing the mountains daily for two weeks before myself[Pg 10] attempting to get into Alaska's interior. At that time it was only a three hours' ride, including stops, over the Pass to Lake Bennett, the terminus of this new railroad, the first in Alaska. A couple of rude open flat cars with springless seats along the sides were all the accommodation we had as passengers from the summit of White Pass to Lake Bennett; we having paid handsomely for the privilege of riding in this manner and thinking ourselves fortunate, considering the fact that our route was, during the entire distance of about forty-five miles, strewn with the bleaching bones of earlier argonauts and their beasts of burden.

Naturally, my traveling companions interested me exceedingly. There were few women. Two ladies with their husbands were going to Dawson on business. About eight or ten other women belonging to the rapid class of individuals journeyed at the same time. We had all nationalities and classes. There were two women from Europe with luggage covered with foreign stickers, and a spoken jargon which was neither German nor French, but sounded like a clever admixture of both.

Then there was the woman who went by the name of Mrs. Somebody or other who wore a seal-skin coat, diamond earrings and silver-mounted umbrella. She had been placed in the same stateroom with me on the steamer at Seattle, and upon making her preparations to retire for the night had offered me a glass of brandy, while imbibing one[Pg 11] herself, which I energetically, though politely, refused. At midnight a second woman of the same caste had been ushered into my room to occupy the third and last berth, whereupon next morning I had waited upon the purser of the ship, and modestly but firmly requested a change of location. In a gentlemanly way he informed me that the only vacant stateroom was a small one next the engine room below, but if I could endure the noise and wished to take it, I could do so. I preferred the proximity and whirr of machinery along with closer quarters to the company of the two adventuresses, so while both women slept late next morning I quietly and thankfully moved all my belongings below. Here I enjoyed the luxury of a room by myself for forty-eight hours, or until we reached Skagway, completely oblivious to the fact that never for one instant did the pounding of the great engines eight feet distant cease either day or night.

A United States Judge, an English aristocrat and lady, a Seattle lawyer, sober, thoughtful and of middle age, who had been introduced to me by a friend upon sailing, and who kindly kept me in sight when we changed steamers or trains on the trip without specially appearing to do so; a nice old gentleman going to search for the body of his son lost in the Klondyke River a few weeks before, and a good many rough miners as well as nondescripts made up our unique company to Dawson. Some had been over the route before when[Pg 12] mules and horses had been the only means of transportation over the Passes, and stories of the trials and dangers of former trips were heard upon deck each day, with accompaniments of oaths and slang phrases, and punctuated by splashes of tobacco juice.

On the voyage to Skagway there was little seasickness among the passengers, as we kept to the inland passage among the islands. At a short distance away we viewed the great Treadwell gold mines on Douglass Island, and peered out through a veil of mist and rain at Juneau under the hills. Here we left a few of our best and most pleasant passengers, and watched the old Indian women drive sharp bargains in curios, beaded moccasins, bags, etc., with tourists who were impervious to the great rain drops which are here always falling as easily from the clouds as leaves from a maple tree in October.

Our landing at Skagway under the towering mountains upon beautiful Lynn Canal was more uneventful than our experience in the Customs House at that place, for we were about to cross the line into Canadian territory. Here we presented an interesting and animated scene. Probably one hundred and fifty persons crowded the small station and baggage room, each one pushing his way as far as possible toward the officials, who with muttered curses hustled the tags upon each box and trunk as it was hastily unlocked and examined.[Pg 13] Ropes and straps were flung about the floor, bags thrown with bunches of keys promiscuously, while transfer men perspiring from every pore tumbled great mountains of luggage hither and thither.

Two ponderous Germans there were, who, in checked steamer caps enveloped in cigar smoke of the best brand, protested vigorously at the opening of their trunks by the officers, but their protests seemed only the more to whet the appetites of these dignitaries. The big Germans had their revenge, however. In the box of one of these men was found with other things a lot of Limburger cheese, the pungent odor of which drove the women screaming to the doors, and men protesting indignantly after them; while those unable to reach the air prayed earnestly for a good stiff breeze off Lynn Canal to revive them. The Germans laughed till tears ran down their cheeks, and cheerfully paid the duty imposed.

Skagway was interesting chiefly from its historical associations as a port where so many struggling men had landed, suffered and passed on over that trail of hardship and blood two years before.

Our little narrow gauge coaches were crowded to their utmost, men standing in aisles and on platforms, and sitting upon wood boxes and hand luggage near the doors.

It was July, and the sight of fresh fruit in the hands of those lunching in the next seat almost brought tears to my eyes, for we were now going[Pg 14] far beyond the land of fruits and all other delicacies.

"Pick it up, old man, pick it up and eat it," said one rough fellow of evident experience in Alaska to one who had dropped a cherry upon the floor, "for you won't get another while you stay in this country, if it is four years!"

"But," said another, "he can eat 'Alaska strawberries' to his heart's content, summer and winter, and I'll be bound when he gets home to the States he won't thank anyone for puttin' a plate of beans in front of him, he'll be that sick of 'em! I et beans or 'Alaska strawberries' for nine months one season, day in and day out, and I'm a peaceable man, but at the end of that time I'd have put a bullet through the man who offered me beans to eat, now you can bet your life on that! Don't never insult an old timer by puttin' beans before him, is my advice if you do try to sugar-coat 'em by calling 'em strawberries!" and the man thumped his old cob pipe with force enough upon the wood box to empty the ashes from its bowl and to break it into fragments had it not been well seasoned.

Upon the summit of White Pass we alighted from the train and boarded another. This time it was the open flat cars, and the Germans came near being left. As the conductor shouted "all aboard" they both scrambled, with great puffing and blowing owing to their avoirdupois, to the rear end of the last car, and with faces purple from exertion plumped themselves down almost in the[Pg 15] laps of some women who were laughing at them.

but you’re claiming that whatever you’re forced to do actually becomes good because you’re forced to do it, which it patent nonsense. — Pfhorrest

I'm not offended because it takes some time to understand it, but it will come. Another thing to consider that may help is that there are multiple objective goods. Stealing can be objectively good at the same time as not stealing. People create these objective goods when they perform the actions, but they aren't actually in conflict. There can exist infinite value systems with different rules, all existing at the same time in the universe. Since GOODs don't have a physical form, they aren't constrained by the conservation of mass.

If that doesn't make sense, I'm sorry. I'll keep working.

That is not at all what "intrinsic" means in the field of moral philosophy... or even in physics, for that matter. — Pfhorrest

"Intrinsic: 1a. belonging to the essential nature or constitution of a thing"
(https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/intrinsic)

If something exists at any point along a subject's time-stream, then it is a fundamental part of that time-stream, and therefore a fundamental part of the thing. The nature of causality means that the thing could never have existed without it. Therefore, it is a fundamental part of that thing.

From your wikipedia link:

"intrinsic values, by contrast, are understood to be desirable in and of themselves...Happiness and pleasure are typically considered to have intrinsic value insofar as asking why someone would want them makes little sense: they are desirable for their own sake irrespective of their possible instrumental value."

Taking what we know about causality, the happiness and the desire for happiness are equivalent (==). one cannot exist without the other, like light and dark. So they are actually parts of a single, larger thing - not two things. The desire for happiness leads to the happiness, and the existence of happiness leads to the desire for it. Because of how time and causality work, they exist together in time, and therefore to a universal observer, they are always part of each other's existence, and therefore, an intrinsic part of one another.

It's ok - It's very strange, this isn't commonly covered in most places. This is one of those concepts that warps some people's heads a bit - kind of like how time-dilation works in special relativity. (https://science.howstuffworks.com/science-vs-myth/everyday-myths/relativity10.htm) It just takes some getting used to, but it is absolutely how our universe works.

I am not able rightly to apprehend the kind of confusion of ideas that could provoke such a statement. — Pfhorrest

I will try to reword better:

When someone makes someone else do something that they believe is right, that creates subjective GOOD for them. But because of causality, the universe could never have existed without producing that GOOD. Therefore it is an inescapable part of the universe, which makes it an objective part of our universe. To get the right picture, we have to stop thinking of time from just a human perspective.

That’s instrumental value, exactly what I was contrasting intrinsic value with. — Pfhorrest

I believe you're mistaken. This is something many people have a hard time with, because it goes into some advanced physics concepts that aren't taught well in most schools: When humans give money value, that means it has intrinsic value. Why? Because time can be traversed in the same way that space can, just not from out vantage point. But to simplify it: If something exists at one point in time to us, then it exists in all points in time to an omnipresent observer. Which means that it's existed since the beginning, which means it's intrinsic.

We’re taking about either agreeing that something or another is objectively GOOD and trying to figure out together what that is, or else it coming down to someone just making someone else do things their way whether they like it or not. — Pfhorrest

That's what I mean. The person making the other person do the thing they like is creating the objective good.

I have pointed out that it is impossible to weight widely different values against one another in an objective manner. Or can you tell me how much money is a human life worth? — Olivier5

A human life is worth the money that it takes to sustain the people they touch, or hurt. Another way to say that is that that sum of money ~becomes~ as valuable as that human life. It gets it value from it. The two things (the life and that money) becomes equivalent to one another in the universe.

If someone else thinks dollars are of intrinsic value, then they’re just objectively wrong. — Pfhorrest

Wrong.

Why wouldn't this be true? Dollars create and save lives every day. So that gives them inherent value, just like food or scripture. Meaning is timeless, so meaning at one point means meaning at the beginning, which makes it intrinsic.

My point was just that it’s one of these or the other. Either people accept the outcomes of these processes because they think they’re objectively right (or reject them because they’re wrong), or they accept them because someone will do something they don’t like to them it they don’t (or reject them because they can get away with it and escape those consequences). Either we act like there is some objective answer to be found and try to reach agreement on what it is, or it’s just down to who has the scariest threat of force. — Pfhorrest

A lot if misunderstanding happening here. This logic is backwards. Having the scariest threat of force ~makes~ it objective that they will do something you don't like.