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A Newfoundland Caribou Hunt 



Perhaps we would halt the march, and cast 

 a tempting fly a dozen times or more. But 

 soon this became a mere matter of form, for 

 the big fish would not accept any challenge. 

 They had retired from the ring till the next 

 season, and they kept their resolution scrupu- 

 lously. 



Newfoundland geographers have odd ways. 

 Amongst others they call lakes, miles broad 

 and long, ponds. Hence, when Sir William 

 informed us we should have to traverse a half 

 dozen or so "ponds" to reach the Upper 

 Birchy Pond, we were expectant of a few 

 hours' paddling at most. Imagine our sur- 

 prise and mild consternation when, at the end 

 of the first day's hard labor, we had traversed 

 but two of these so-called ponds. Then there 

 were smaller lakes not accounted for at all, 

 but classed by these generous explorers as 

 widenings in the river. Some of these even 

 required an hour to cross. But the work was 

 pleasant, with the constant expectation of a 

 shot at caribou and the excitement of the 

 rapids, and I, for one, was not sorry to see 

 our jaunt lengthening into a journey. 



On the second day, as we were crossing 



Sandy Pond, one of the guides, William 



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