HUNGRY GROVE TO SANDY POND 213 



from a wobbly canoe and missed clean with the 

 first shot, but hit her with the second, and land- 

 ing, killed her stone dead. By the time the doe 

 was gralloched and in the canoe a heavy fog 

 had come up and it was dark before we reached 

 camp. 



On this trip I was introduced to two great 

 delicacies. One roast doe's head, and the other 

 roast breast-bone of stag. John was an adept 

 at these dishes, and anything more delicious and 

 tender I have never tasted. The head was 

 only skinned, put in the baker and roasted 

 whole for about six hours, the great advantage 

 of the baker being that the heat can be regu- 

 lated by the distance it is kept from the fire. 



In the evening we had a long discussion as 

 to what we had better do. There were no stags 

 to speak of in the country we were in. So a 

 move was necessary, and Steve decided we 

 would take all the outfit to the west end of 

 Sandy Pond, there make our main camp, and 

 with a small camp work down to Kepskaig, 

 all through a wooded country where he main- 

 tained the stags were now to be found. So we 

 decided to make a start the following morning. 



Our camp was simply infested with grey 

 jays, generally known as robber-birds; there 

 were at least a dozen who made the camp their 

 home. No sooner was a bit of meat hung up in 



