12 



THE ARCTIC PRAIRIES 



In the early morning, I was much struck by the life- 

 lessness of the scene. The great river stretched away 

 northward, the hills rose abruptly from the water's 

 edge, everywhere extended the superb spruce forest, 

 here fortunately unburnt; but there seemed no sign of 

 living creature outside of our own numerous, noisy, 



The Roll Call 



and picturesque party. River, hills, and woods were 

 calm and silent. It was impressive, if disappointing; 

 and, when at last the fir stillness was broken by a 

 succession of trumpet notes from the Great Pileated 

 Woodpecker, the sound went rolling on and on, in 

 reverberating echoes that might well have alarmed 

 the bird himself. 



The white spruce forest along the banks is most in- 

 spiring; magnificent here. Down the terraced slopes 

 and right to the water's edge on the alluvial soil it 

 stands in ranks. Each year, of course, the floods 

 undercut the banks, and more trees fall, to become at 

 last the flotsam of the shore a thousand miles away. 



