234 A SUMMER ON THE YENESEl 



day, and for a day or two before and after it, small 

 parties of these waders might be constantly observed. 

 It was the second week in August, and probably these 

 were non- breeding birds of the previous year, who 

 migrated southwards before the nesting birds had 

 reared their young along the shores of the Arctic Ocean. 



This coast of the Yenesei, as I must call it, for it 

 sounds inadequate to speak of the hanh of a river which 

 is fifteen miles in width, was in places spread to a depth 

 of eighteen inches with a deposit of driftwood, pounded 

 almost to sawdust by the action of the ice and the 

 spring floods. This wet vegetable fibre was very tiring 

 to walk upon, for at each step one sank knee-deep into 

 the spongy mass. The beach was also strewn with 

 pieces of graphite, and stones containing traces of 

 copper-ore — tokens of the unexploited wealth of Siberia. 



There is no such place as the Yenesei for mirage 

 effects. Whatever the state of the weather may be, a 

 distant coast-line, or even a boat a couple of versts 

 away, seems to hang in the air with a bar of shining 

 water beneath it. Moreover, even in cold weather, the 

 whole skyline of the estuary seems to leap and quiver 

 as if with heat, until it is almost impossiljle to distin- 

 guish the lines of a distant ship or beach through the 

 telescope. Both appearances are probably due to the 

 fact that the water, coming from the south, is much 

 warmer than the air of the Arctic. Consequently a thin 

 layer of atmosphere immediately overlying the surface 

 of the river becomes heated ; and, being of diff'erent 

 density to the chilled air above, it plays curious tricks 

 with the refraction of the light. 



