HUNTING RAMS 207 



sky was clear, and I reached the head of the basin just 

 as the sun was sinking. 



Massed around the basin were gothic-spired ranges 

 whose peaks fell in vertical cliffs many hundreds of feet 

 to the steeply inclined talus which led to the soft, green 

 pastures below. The serried crests, marbled with snow, 

 burning with red, iron-stained rock, glowing with granites, 

 caught the sunlight and were bathed in a rosy hue, while 

 numerous little rainbows, formed in the spray of the 

 small cataracts that dashed over the precipices, reflected 

 their brilliant colors in contrast to the dark rocks and 

 shadowed area below. 



I had gone several miles and had not seen a sheep 

 since my field-glasses had revealed those on the mountain 

 behind camp. Descending to the upper reaches of the 

 basin, which contained several small lakes, I started down 

 the creek toward camp. In forcing my way through the 

 dripping willows which covered a valley a mile or more 

 wide, I found many shed horns of moose. The valleys 

 in the Pelly Mountains are filled with willows, all of 

 which had been cropped by moose, a fact indicating that 

 later in the fall and early winter when they come up from 

 the lowlands to browse in the higher country the whole 

 region is a magnificent moose range. 



While passing through these willows, I flushed at 

 least ten broods of ptarmigan, and saw several harlequin 

 ducks floating with the current of the creek. I was 

 thoroughly soaked before reaching camp at midnight, 

 when Jeffries was aroused from sleep and given another 

 chance to eat a large quantity of meat. 



