DOWN THE MACKENZIE RIVER 23 



through there was a hole in his netting through which a 

 few mosquitoes would be sure to find their way. 



It is difficult to describe adequately the unbelievable 

 plague of mosquitoes in the North. As you go nearer and 

 nearer to the arctic circle they become worse and worse. 

 I have found by experience that people will never believe 

 the truth about the northern mosquitoes and so, instead of 

 trying to describe them myself, I am quoting Ernest 

 Thompson Seton's "The Arctic Prairies," pp. 63-64: 



"Each day they got worse: soon it became clear that mere 

 adjectives could not convey any idea of their terrors. There- 

 fore I devised a mosquito gauge. I held up a bare hand for 

 5 seconds by the watch, then counted the number of borers 

 on the back; there were 5 to 10. Each day added to the 

 number, and when we got out to the buffalo country, there 

 were 15 to 25 on the one side of the hand and elsewhere in 

 proportion. On the Hyarling, in early July, the number was 

 increased, being 20 to 40. On Great Slave Lake, later that 

 month, there were 50 to 60. But when we reached the Barren 

 Grounds, the land of open breezy plains and cold water lakes, 

 the pests were so bad that the hand held up for 5 seconds 

 often showed from 100 to 125 long-billed mosquitoes boring 

 away into the flesh. It was possible to number them only 

 by killing them and counting the corpses. What wonder that 

 all men should avoid the open plains, that are the kingdom 

 of such a scourge." 



Of the three things I did not like on our northward 

 journey, I mention last the unforgettable cruelty towards 

 their dogs shown by most of the Indians and by some of 

 the white trappers and traders. 



There are various apparently incongruous things about 

 how an Indian treats his team. To begin with, he likes 

 to have them fine in appearance, fat, with a glossy fur 

 and a proud carriage of the head and tail. This is not 



