ENTERING BEAVER RIVER 21 



As evening drew on we could hear, back in the 

 woods from different points, the dump — dump — 

 dump — dum ! of a drumming Ruffled Grouse, 

 quickly uttered, and closely resembling the 

 sound of a motor-engine starting. A little later, 

 carried to our ears across the darkening mask of 

 forest, drifted the soft, musical hoo-hoo-hoo ! of 

 a solitary owl. We heard too, then, a few slow, 

 rasping frog-croaks — a creature or two venturing 

 to life, though the nights were yet too cold for 

 them. Just as I was dropping off to sleep I 

 heard a heavy moose splash ashore, having 

 crossed from the opposite river-bank, and pass 

 through the willows quite close to our camp. 



The following eight days we continued onward, 

 favoured, when we were on the move and not 

 collecting, by fast-flowing flood water that 

 hurried between wooded river-banks on their 

 long, long journey to the sea, some 800 to 900 

 miles away, where the Churchill River — of which 

 this was a tributary, via Lake lie a la Crosse — 

 found outlet in Hudson Bay. We were two 

 days on Crooked River, a stream about 130 feet 

 wide, or less, that turned and twisted, as its 

 name implies, but mainly flowed in a north- 

 westerly direction. On the morning of May 16 

 we arrived at the point where Crooked River, 

 twisting at this point in an abrupt astonishing 

 south-westerly direction, empties into the north- 

 flowing Beaver River, and for the remainder of 

 the journey to lie a la Crosse Lake we continued 

 on our way on the latter stream. 



Beaver River was very beautiful. The banks 

 in many places gradually sloped back from the 



