CAMP FIRES IN THE YUKON 145 



Albert tells me that in November this low tundra 

 mountain is covered with many sheep that have left 

 the high mountains up the St. Clair, where in winter 

 the snows are very deep and it is difficult to get feed. 

 I have asked him about this several times, as the 

 sheep ranges of the St. Clair are nearly forty miles 

 away, and I have never heard of sheep moving such 

 a distance from their native range; however, Albert 

 says he has come here a number of times in Novem- 

 ber to kill his winter supply of sheep and caribou, 

 and he has always found sheep along the low moun- 

 tain ridge on whose slopes we are camped. 



September 8. At four o'clock we were break- 

 fasting in the dark and half an hour later found us 

 on the ridge, looking down upon the valley, waiting 

 for the coming of the light. The snow fields 

 showed bluish white, while the peaks were faintly 

 tinted with pink, as the first rays of the sun fell far 

 across them, but as the sun rose higher the pink 

 faded and the entire landscape sparkled under the 

 glare. I have often wondered why the painters 

 almost invariably fail to differentiate between the 

 early morning pink tinge on their snow fields and 

 the faint lavender tint which setting sun casts upon 

 a winter landscape, for the distinction is quite obvi- 

 ous to the keen observer. As the Indian and my- 

 self sat shivering on the ridge under the magic and 

 wonder of the dawn, I asked him why the sun made 

 a pink color as he came across the mountains in the 



