44 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA 



thanks ! " Different, too, from a cozy studio or warm, 

 snug library with all its comforts. Among no such 

 limiting surroundings am I writing, but out on 

 the bare and bleak yet beautiful barrens, where a 

 carpet of richly-coloured mosses fights with the 

 sombre greys for supremacy. No painted ceiling 

 presses on my head, the great limitless, blue vault 

 is above me, or the sun is at any rate shining wth 

 seductive warmth above the leaden-grey clouds 

 which so persistently hide its beauty. Often the 

 snowflakes, driven by an ill-tempered and keen- 

 cutting wind, chase each other across the paper and 

 play hide-and-seek with the pencil point. My eyes, 

 besides being on my work, are also constantly scan- 

 ning the country, for one can never tell at what 

 minute a mighty stag or a silver-hued line of 

 Caribou may come in sight. They seem to spring 

 from nowhere, and almost before the camera can be 

 pointed at them they have come and gone, leaving, 

 perhaps, nothing more substantial than a mental 

 picture. To have any chance of success, one must 

 be keenly and constantly alert. Hours and even 

 days may pass "without the sign of a Caribou, but 

 it seems as soon as one relaxes for a moment, the 

 animals come. For this year, I must bid good- 

 bye to these Caribou of Newfoundland. Perhaps 

 next season we may meet again, when I may be 

 better able to prove the beauty of the reindeer of 

 the western world. With keen regret I roll up the 

 tent. My only companion, the flufi^y jay, sits by my 

 side and we share our farewell meal. He knows 

 I am going and murmurs softly as he watches me 

 pack the canoe and start down the river. No 



