The Journal of a Sporting Nomad 



raised portion of the flat we could see for hun- 

 dreds of yards around a veritable miniature 

 Ararat for us for if it had not chanced on this 

 spot of rising ground, it is certain we should 

 never have seen it again. What a mess every- 

 thing was in sugar and tobacco spoiled, and 

 all mixed up ! But my guide did not know the 

 word " defeat," for after shifting camp to a drier 

 spot, he proceeded to boil out the sugary mess 

 until it would again crystallize, and we dried the 

 sticks of tobacco in front of the fire. Of course 

 the latter became untwisted, but that was a 

 mere detail so long as it remained more or less 

 what it was intended to represent, and we were 

 too much elated over our lucky recovery of the 

 box to be too particular as to appearances. 



This camp was quite at the end of the harbour, 

 and under the protection of Mount Ilamina, a 

 volcano, from the sides and summit of which 

 steam and smoke were perpetually issuing. I 

 should have liked, had time permitted, to have 

 made a voyage of discovery to this mountain and 

 to have endeavoured to negotiate its ascent ; 

 the base could not have been more than five or 

 six miles distant. 



We spent the next day or so in the boat 

 looking for bears on the grass slopes opposite 

 my camp, but whether the salmon had proved 

 an overpowering attraction, or we were a fort- 

 night or so late in our search, we found no more 



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