228 THROUGH CANADA 



that district that I was able to see the fish in the 

 deep pools. 



Seymour Creek is a swift river that flows through 

 a cutting in the forest, and may be described as a 

 type of the streams that trout frequent. It is very 

 deep, and in some parts is so closed in that it can be 

 heard but not seen. From high banks its line can 

 be traced for miles through the forest, a black 

 shadow by contrast with the green foliage and 

 lichened rocks. Other reaches are streaks of light, 

 where the rapid water breaks into sparkling crystals 

 over log and boulder. The victims of the great 

 forest fire which, years ago, swept the district with 

 disastrous effect, still stand in charred magnificence. 

 Black and dismantled Douglas pines rise hundreds 

 of feet, towering far above the living trees which, by 

 comparison, are insignificant. The solitude of the 

 place was typified by a lonely crow that rose and 

 flitted before me, always choosing the stump of a 

 dead fir as its perch, as if its blackness and detach- 

 ment were in keeping with its mood. I followed a 

 corduroy wagon road for some miles in quest of the 

 trail which led to the river. I could tell whether it 

 was leading to or from the creek by the crescendo or 

 dimimiendo of its roar. 



One human being only crossed my path in the 

 forest ; he was armed and in quest of bears. He 

 showed me where one had been shot a few days before. 

 ♦• Black bear ? " I asked. " No, a grizzly." Of the trail 



