YOUTHFUL EXPERIENCES 55 



same saplings, drinking at the same pool, though 

 the little one took the lead in everything, and 

 the yearling appeared to recognize that here was 

 a leader wiser than himself. But for the terrible 

 moose flies life went very well. 



Mid-July was marked by the run of the salmon, 

 who sought the lake in the distant hills far beyond 

 the lagoon. King salmon, whose colour, though 

 dark when living in the sea a thousand miles away, 

 had changed to prismatic red-silver. 



Overhead the birds of prey wheeled and circled, 

 scenting the banquet : bald - headed eagles and 

 hawks, ravens in dusky flocks, and big bears body- 

 snatched in the reaches and shallows. All the air 

 vibrated with the soft hum as of a quickly rushing 

 river passing over loose stones, the noise made by 

 the thousands upon thousands of glittering and 

 perfectly proportioned fish pressing up-stream with 

 deep-set purpose. 



Over the shallows at the edge of the lagoon 

 the salmon launched themselves, to be stranded 

 in the riffles momentarily, or hung up permanently 

 sometimes, an unending stream of silver-red, layers 

 on layers of fish, flank to flank, head to tail, packed 

 tight as sardines in a tin. 



