180 HUNTERS OF THE GREAT NORTH 



looks as if there were nothing there and as if you were 

 stepping into space each time you lift your foot. You 

 never know when you are going to step into a hole or stub 

 your foot against a ridge and, consequently, you must 

 walk with the caution of a blind man who cannot see the 

 things he may stumble over. 



All this would not be so bad if you really had the 

 strength of mind to realize that your eyes are useless. 

 But you are continual^ trying your best to see, and the 

 strain brings on the condition known as snowblindness. 

 You may become "snowblind" on shipboard from the 

 glare of a smooth sea or lake, and you may become snow- 

 blind on a snow field when the sun is bright in the sky 

 and the light is so intense that it is difficult to keep the 

 eyes open. But neither of these conditions is half as bad 

 as the subdued glare of diffused arctic spring light. 



One thing about snowblindness is that each time you 

 have it your eyes are weakened a little and you are pre- 

 disposed to a second attack. For this reason white men 

 who are new in the Arctic are at first some of them com- 

 paratively immune. An Eskimo who has been exposed to 

 this light condition from childhood is likely to become 

 snowblind before a white man or negro feels the least 

 twinge in his eyes. 



This happened to Cape York when we had traveled 

 something over a hundred miles west of Herschel Island 

 and thought we must be approaching Barter Island. 

 Captain Leavitt had given us some flour and I had se- 

 cured seal oil from an ao. This made the necessary 

 ingredients and in the evening after camping I was fry- 

 ing doughnuts when Cape York asked me whether the 

 grease was not getting too hot. I assured him it was not 

 and asked what made him think so. He said it seemed 



