Tradition has it that of old time the Yukon lay unbroken through three long summers, and on the face of it there be traditions less easy of belief.
So summer waited for open water, and the tardy Yukon took to stretching of days and cracking its stiff joints.

Now an air-hole ate into the ice, and ate and ate; or a fissure formed, and grew, and failed to freeze again.

Then the ice ripped from the shore and uprose bodily a yard.

But still the river was loth to loose its grip.

It was a slow travail, and man, used to nursing nature with pigmy skill, able to burst waterspouts and harness waterfalls, could avail nothing against the billions of frigid tons which refused to run down the hill to Bering Sea.
On Split-up Island all were ready for the break-up.