MIGRATIONS 91 



It is in such cases as this that one reahses and appreciates 

 the difference between camera-hunting and rifle-hunting. 

 Had I been armed with the rifle there would have been no 

 sport for me in this incident. The stag was certainly not 

 worth shooting, for his horns were small and unshapely, 

 and would not have satisfied anyone but the merest novice. 

 But the camera is not so particular ; interesting pictures are 

 made of the most simple subjects, and though a record stag 

 would have caused very much more excitement, this little 

 fellow gave me great pleasure, as he completed a picture 

 which was beautiful in itself, even without any animal at 

 all, but still more interesting w^ith this touch of wild life. 



For some time after this small stag had passed I sat wait- 

 ing for another visitor to my outdoor studio — the studio 

 for which no landlord clamoured for monthly rent, and 

 which was not restricted in size. The walls were the forests, 

 the roof was the sky ; no dusty rugs covered the floor — my 

 carpet was the moss, whose colours were more varied and 

 pattern more complicated than the finest weaves of Persia. 

 And it was all mine. My models came without knocking 

 at the door, and departed without leave. In such surround- 

 ings who would not be happy, who would not be grateful 

 for being alive and well ? And, above all things, free to 

 enjoy the fresh fir-scented air, the primitive beauty of it all. 

 What more could man ask ? Sour indeed must be the 

 disposition of him who found fault with such surroundings. 

 Some might say the air was unduly keen. Perhaps it was ; 

 but only when I wanted to use my fingers to manipulate 

 the camera or pencil did I realise that they were numb. 



An approaching herd of Caribou made me almost painfully 

 conscious of the fact, for suddenly from every direction they 

 appeared, breaking their way through the fringe of alders 

 and low spruce trees. Something must have frightened 



