EXPEDITION UP THE GANDER RIVER 89 



how ill-luck and a bit of obstinacy may serve to upset what 

 one fondly thinks are correct calculations. The following 

 is copied from my diary : — 



September 12. — Last night it rained in torrents, but the 

 day broke clear and pellucid as a morning in Algiers. I 

 was eating my breakfast when Little Bob, who had been to 

 prospect the fall, came in to say that a short distance up 

 was a beautiful open country on the right bank, and that, 

 while he was looking in that direction, a young stag had 

 come out and crossed the river, going south. It was evidently 

 a pass, so, whilst the men were making a path to carry the 

 outfit and canoes around the fall, I resolved to go and smoke 

 my pipe and watch. 



A series of rocky ledges jutted into the river on the 

 south bank, and on this I lay down, as it commanded an 

 extensive and beautiful view of the landscape — of the open, 

 marshy country rising to the north, and the park-like country 

 adjoining the river to the west. A dense wood of closely 

 packed young spruces occupied the right bank of the river 

 immediately opposite, and this was abruptly divided by a 

 pebbly brook, up which I could plainly see for 500 yards, 

 where it debouched from a broad marsh, a likely-looking 

 spot indeed for game to haunt and to make passes, for they 

 always choose the shortest and easiest routes from one open 

 country to another. 



It was pleasant to sit and watch the morning sunlight 

 creeping along the tops of the forest trees, the dark green 

 banks of spruce, the silvery birches, and over the yellow 

 marshes. A belted kingfisher, with the sun glistening on 

 his slate-blue back, came and contemplated the rushing waters 

 within a few yards of where I lay, and two American goshawks 



