22 THE FRIENDLY ARCTIC 



equal to Hanbury's, I have lived a year in the vicinity of Dismal 

 Lake and visited it both summer and winter, and I agree with 

 Hanbury that the man who describes such a place as dismal, deso- 

 late and dreary is telling nothing of interest beyond revealing the 

 peculiar meaning which certain common words have in his mind. 



Those parts of Manitoba which produce more to the acre of the 

 best wheat than almost any other part of the world are still fre- 

 quently described as barren and desolate by visitors from a forest 

 country, even by those who will concede that it is "the bread basket 

 of the world." When land of great money value and acknowledged 

 fertility is described as barren and desolate, we have the key to the 

 common impression that the north deserves these terms. 



You will remember that the North and especially the stars as 

 seen in the North are frequently referred to as ''cruel." This is a 

 purely subjective word. The surf that is a delight to a strong 

 swimmer may seem cruel to a landlubber who falls in. It is so with 

 the North. If you are sufficiently inept at meeting its conditions, 

 you may find it as relentless as the sea; but if you know its ways 

 you find it exceedingly friendly and homelike. 



One might go on almost indefinitely demolishing common con- 

 cepts about the North, but we shall end with the depressing effect 

 of arctic darkness. 



When I first went North to spend the winter of 1906-07, I was 

 a good deal of a hero. I had all the wrong notions about the North, 

 or nearly all, for I had read most of the books that had been written 

 on the subject. But, like the typical explorer, I was brave and 

 prepared to fight the best fight I knew how and to die if necessary 

 for the advancement of science. (You see I came from an instruc- 

 torship in a university, and "science," rather than adventure or a 

 desire for the laurels of the hero-martyr, loomed great before me.) 

 I discreetly feared all the terrors of the North but I feared the 

 darkness most. For in addition to the published books I had come 

 in contact with miners from Alaska who had told me how people 

 up there went crazy and shot themselves, either because of the 

 depressing effect of the winter darkness or because of the nervous 

 strain and insomnia caused by the "eternal daylight" of summer. 



Fortunately for me, this winter was not spent with men like 

 myself. In that case we might have hypnotized each other into 

 actually feeling what we expected to feel. I had gone to an ap- 

 pointed rendezvous at the mouth of the Mackenzie but the ship 

 that was to meet me there never turned up and I, the only white 

 man in the vicinity, had to throw in my lot with the Eskimos. I 



