Nepigon River Fishing 



these white and whirling expanses baffle 

 the camera, the general tone of color disap- 

 points the painter. The rocks gleam with 

 the cold dead gray of basalt, only sparsely 

 mottled by lichens, with rare breaks where 

 reddish-white granite shows a pale change. 

 They are little relieved by the trees, partly 

 sombre spruce, but principally dense cur- 

 tains of spindling birch, chalky white in 

 bark, and with whitish-green thin foliage, 

 accented here and there by a pallid group 

 of poplars. Willows are rare, even if they 

 wore any solid coloring in their feathery 

 fulness. Now and then a swift breeze, 

 lifting the under-surface of these leafy hill- 

 side masses, strikes a sudden note of ashen 

 gray, like a discord, into the landscape. 

 If he turns to the water, it offers still less to 

 invite the brush. It flashes a tint of steely 

 blue, shot with foamy streaks and sparkles; 

 and even where in quiet deeps it wins a 

 hue of turquoise green, there always lacks 

 the rich brown and raisin-red color-gamut 

 of eastern rivers flowing out of spruce for- 

 ests. Momentary effects may be caught 

 among these blues and grays but they 

 are bodiless and elusive a fluid flame 

 like the molten beryl that slips over the lip 

 of Horseshoe Fall, or the wavering gleam 

 of swinging dulse under the waters along 



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