84 NEWFOUNDLAND CARIBOU 



visible result of such a chase. Nothing to show to their 

 friends as proof of their experiences. Yet will not these 

 same people go to an opera and thoroughly enjoy the music, 

 content only to have their senses satisfied without thought 

 of having to prove to anyone that they did enjoy the 

 transient pleasure ? 



Not for anything would I give up the memories of my 

 most fortunate days in the land of Caribou. These memories 

 will live so long as I live, while the discomforts and the 

 disappointments — which were many — are happily forgotten, 

 they are hidden behind the screen of fortunate experiences. 

 Certain days stand out with delightful clearness, days when 

 conditions were satisfactory and things happened. Let me 

 tell of one such day even at the great risk of boring the 

 reader. It was after a night of bitter cold, such penetrating 

 cold as one only finds in the northern countries. My 

 solitary camp on the banks of Sandy River had for many 

 hours been blown about by the icy wind which found its 

 way through the heaps of spongy moss that held down the 

 sod-cloth. The early supper had been cooked under most 

 unfavourable conditions as the wind-blown smoke drove me 

 from one side to the other and filled my eyes so that I was 

 glad to seek the shelter of the tent in which, unfortunately, 

 I had no stove. It was far too cold to sit up, so after 

 finishing the badly-cooked meal and filling the plate-holders 

 of my camera for the next day's work — a difiicult enough 

 task as my fingers were so benumbed — I sought the inviting 

 comfort of the blankets at about seven o'clock. It was too 

 early to sleep, and I was too cold to read as the breath 

 froze on my glasses ; so I lay in thought, wondering what 

 would be the end of the storm. Would it bring snow, and 

 the snow bring Caribou ? So far, very few had passed, 

 though the snow further north had certainly started the 



