His eyes were gleaming again. We recognized the sign. 



"I couldn't even begin to count 'em. It went so fast I had to 

 turn it off. It was in one spot on the northwest face of the cliff. 

 I want someone to go with me tomorrow to bring back samples." 



(Operating manual: If the radioactivity of any particular rock 

 is four times the background count, a sample should be taken.) 



The next day we all packed stuff down over the long portage. 

 After taking over one load, Lowell and I took an axe and made 

 our way over the hills, around the swamps, through Bear Hol- 

 low, to the hill. We worked around the crest of the hill to the 

 northwest face and warmed up the Geiger counter. 



Lowell placed it on a rock and listened. The day was warm 

 and dry and the woods were as utterly silent as only the bush 

 can be on a windless morning. Lowell's face wasn't easy to read. 



Finally, with deep disgust, he said, "Not quite forty." 



He stood up. "Yesterday, right along this ledge and over 

 there it went nuts! It doesn't stand to reason. . . ." 



It certainly didn't. It was becoming apparent that there were 

 phases of nuclear physics that we didn't understand. 



Climbing like a mountain goat, Lowell explored the cliff face, 

 testing impossible areas. Eventually he reappeared, shaking his 

 head. Nothing doing. 



The mystery wasn't solved until some time later, when Bob 

 Crowell wired from New York after consulting the manufac- 

 turer: "High count probably due to moisture in box. Must be 

 absolutely dry to work properly. Note operating instructions- 

 do not use in excessively humid environment." 



The two days on which we had obtained our high counts had 

 both been damp days. So that was it. 



We didn't find uranium, but we found a lovely new country. 

 We walked an old trap line along a beaver pond, inspected a 

 rabbit snare, came upon an Indian campsite, walked past an 

 unafraid spruce hen, flirted with two weasels, looked past spruce 

 boughs at the stars, and listened to the musical cadence of 

 running water. 



It was just as well. What would the Osawin Canyon look like 

 if you blasted it with dynamite? 



