A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE 347 



feeds on land, although occasionally cropping 

 water-grass that stands above the surface. 



We portaged beside a swampy little stream 

 to the next lake and circled it in the canoe. 

 Silently we went round every point, alert to 

 find what the bay beyond might hold. But we 

 saw nothing; it was night when we returned. 

 As we paddled across the lake the stars were 

 glorious overhead and the mysterious land 

 scape shimmered in the white radiance of the 

 moonlight. Loons called to one another, not 

 only uttering their goblin laughter, but also 

 those long-drawn, wailing cries, which seem to 

 hold all the fierce and mournful loneliness of 

 the northern wastes. Then we reached camp, 

 and feasted on caribou venison, and slept 

 soundly on our beds of fragrant balsam boughs. 



Next morning, on September 19, we started 

 eastward, across a short portage, perhaps a 

 quarter of a mile long, beside which ran a 

 stream, a little shallow river. At the farther 

 end of the portage we launched the canoe in a 

 large lake hemmed in by mountains. The 

 lake twisted and turned, and was indented by 

 many bays. A strong breeze was blowing. 

 Arthur was steersman, Odilon bowsman, while 

 I sat in the middle with my Springfield rifle. 

 We skirted the shores, examining each bay. 



