1914] WORK AT BORUP LODGE 103 



kept in mind the needed daily supply of fresh meat and 

 its methodical accumulation for the following winter. 



One of the great surprises of the Northland is its 

 enormous bird life, always heralded by two wheeling 

 white dots high in the heavens outlined against the deep 

 blue of the sky. 



It is a warm day in the Eskimo village. The sun is 

 high. Summer has come. Traces of water are seen on 

 the surface of black rocks. Dogs are stretched out at 

 full length. The quietness and peace of the big fiord 

 is broken only by the voices of children hunting imagi- 

 nary seals among the rough shore ice. Suddenly ring- 

 ing out loud and clear comes the glad cry: " Ta-koo! 

 N au-yuck-suitr (*'Look! The glaucous gulls!*'). No- 

 mads of the sea, they have come from their southern 

 winter homes, two and even three thousand miles dis- 

 tant, unerringly back to their birthplace in the Arctic. 



The big burgomaster, or glaucous gull (Larus hyper- 

 horeus) seems to be an integral part of the Northland. 

 Bold, strong, and vigorous, he sweeps along the face of 

 the vertical black cliffs on outstretched wings, fully con- 

 fident of his power to secure subsistence and to battle 

 against wind and snow. The first to come and the last 

 to go, we welcome and we miss them. 



Another white bird on the cliff catches the eye. The 

 rapid beat of the wings identifies it at once as the courser 

 of the North — the gy rf alcon {Falco islandus) . This bird 

 stands as the dominant king of Northern bird-land, 

 fearless, aggressive, and the swiftest of all. In lonely 

 and inaccessible places it builds its nest, scorning the 

 friendship of bird or man. Although the gyrf alcon lived 

 within two miles of our house, we rarely saw it. A 

 rapid white dash and the bird was gone. Its tremendous 



