THE FRIENDLY ARCTIC 245 



on the tops of high hills, so that occasionally in summer and fre- 

 quently when there was snow on the ground we used them in pref- 

 erence to heather, and especially in calm weather or after a heavy 

 rain. But no matter how soaked with water, Cassiope can easily be 

 burned if you know the method and if there is a strong breeze fan- 

 ning the fire and kindling enough to start the blaze. 



Mosquitoes, the one serious drawback of the North — far more 

 serious in the minds of all who know than winter darkness, ex- 

 treme cold or violent winds — were not very serious in Banks Island. 

 For one thing the drainage is fairly good; for another, the winds 

 blow often enough from the ocean to keep the temperature lower 

 than mosquitoes like. Perhaps the richest hunting country known 

 to me is the region between Great Bear Lake and Coronation Gulf, 

 but it has the disadvantage of a plague of mosquitoes and flies. And 

 so on the whole these months of tenting and wandering in Banks 

 Island are the most delightful of my summer recollections from the 

 North, though they did not come quite up to autumn and early 

 winter just north of the arctic circle on Horton River or on the 

 Coppermine. 



I feel like mentioning here that I cannot understand the psy- 

 chology of northern travelers who employ Eskimos and Indians to 

 do their hunting for them. I would as soon think of engaging a 

 valet to play my golf or of going to the theatre by proxy. Not that 

 I enjoy the killing of animals as such, but I should dislike extremely 

 the feeling of dependence in work or play, of knowing that it hinged 

 on the skill and good will of any one, no matter how competent, 

 whether I should have something to eat to-morrow or whether my 

 plans were to fail for lack of food. I do not see how any one could 

 get much enjoyment out of living in a camp supported by hired 

 hunters. Neither have I at the time nor in retrospect any hesi- 

 tancy of mind when I compare the pleasures and ease of the city or 

 the summer resort wuth the northern caribou hunt, whether it be 

 in the soft air and sunshine of summer or in December's keenest 

 wind and snow. The one sort of pleasure is passive, receptive, 

 enervating — you are jaded by it and the keen edge of your enjoy- 

 ment turns dull. But the open life of him who lives by the 

 hunt keeps indefinitely the thrill of endeavor and achievement, a 

 thing never to be bought or secured by having others carry out 

 for you the most elaborate or ingenious of programs. And all of 

 this becomes even more worth while when the food and clothing of 

 your companions depend upon the hunt, and most when your very 

 lives hang on success. 



