83 Northern search 



of the whoopers as you could have decided on without calling in 

 a debating society. 



On May 13, in a light rain, we pulled up to the south shore of 

 the lake and pitched our tents. There was still ice on the surface, 

 but it was just beginning to break. In open water Holboell's grebes 

 were courting. Late in the afternoon we watched a flock of eight 

 whistling swans flying north across the lake. Two young fellows 

 working with the Department of Natural Resources came to call, 

 bringing us a mess of jackfish for our supper. After an 8 o'clock 

 sunset, the air temperature dropped to one degree above freezing 

 and the loud, wailing voices of the red-necked grebes could be 

 heard through the night. 



During the next week we were practically immobilized by a 

 period of stormy weather. There were strong northerly winds and 

 considerable rain and hail. At one point we broke camp and moved 

 farther along the lake to a more sheltered site where there was 

 some protection from the wind. One day there was a regular gale 

 from the northeast. It rained in a heavy downpour, with a series 

 of hard squalls in the afternoon and a great deal of hail. Our big 

 problem was to keep a supply of dry firewood on hand, and Bobby 

 and I hauled in all that could be stacked under cover. Both tents 

 were jammed with half-wet logs, on the cots, under the cots, and 

 on the ground in between. 



There were many birds to be seen. On the fourteenth a flock of 

 about fifty western grebes settled on the lake. These grebes nested 

 in a colony on the north end of Flotten, while the Holboell's 

 variety built their fragile structures among the bulrush at the 

 southeast end, close to our camp. The common loon also retired 

 to nesting sites on the far side of the lake, where we later discov- 

 ered their lovely olive-gray eggs while searching for a beaver 

 colony. Each of these voices was added to the nightly chorus, 

 and we soon became so accustomed to them that we couldn't 

 have slept if they had stopped. On May 16 we heard the first 

 song of the little ruby-crowned kinglet, which was evidently plan- 

 ning to nest in the tall spruce trees near camp. They were quite 

 numerous in that location and their loud, clear, warbling song, 

 delivered from the very top of a spruce, soon became as character- 



