FOR el eS ae 
ie ~feaso 
THE ART OF CAMPING I4l 
low log walls are made of birch or spruce 
bark, weighted with logs and stones. A 
fireplace and chimney are built of cedar 
splits with a coating of clay, if such be pro- 
curable, though if not one can get along 
without; but in that case be very sure to 
keep a bucket of water handy to quench 
your cedar chimney whenever it catches. 
You will want a door, which is soon made 
out of riven cedar shakes, hung on home- 
made pintles. In such a camp I have slept 
when the mercury was out of business in 
the bulb and yet been so warm that I pre- 
ferred being in my shirt sleeves. These 
camps must, however, be built while bark 
will peel, as it is the great reflecting power 
of clean birch bark that makes them so 
warm. ! 
On the prairie the prevailing style of 
architecture is the dugout. This is older 
than the Gothic or even the Grecian, but is 
not so beautiful as either the one or the 
other. The dugout is, however, practical 
and simple. You choose a steep bank and 
then burrow. If the soil is sandy and the 
weather nice and dry, you get along quite 
comfortably, but a clay bank after a long 
spell of heavy rain is not a suitable habita- 
tion for a person of fastidious tastes. 
_The art of making oneself comfortable 
comes easily to some men; others never 
seem to acquire it. I have known hunters 
who had grown grizzled in the bush who 
could not make a decent camp, while others 
seemed to do so by instinct. But of all the 
hundreds of men I have camped with in 
various climes, two stand out preeminently. 
Strangely enough both these men came 
from the same province—New Brunswick. 
I do not recollect just now to whom I would 
award the credit of being the very worst 
camp maker of my acquaintance, but a 
young cockney who once acted as my 
‘“‘packer” in the Rockies must, at any rate, 
be very near the bottom of the list. This 
unfortunate always seemed to pick upon 
the most boulder strewn gulley in which to 
pitch the one miserable, tattered, mildewed 
tent he had supplied for the party. I am 
certain I did not average seven hours’ sleep 
a week while out with him. 
Indians are sometimes very good hands 
at camping, but their ideas and ours do not 
coincide until they have had a season or 
two with the palefaces. An Indian is so 
splendidly ‘‘hard” that he can stand an 
amount of discomfort that would tell on a 
white man without being aware that he is 
inconvenienced. Even in cold weather 
they will not get up to put logs on the fire, 
sleeping peacefully, with limbs uncovered, 
in an atmosphere many degrees below the 
freezing point. They like to sit up and get 
up late, and when traveling in parties rarely 
seek slumber before midnight, and often 
do not break camp until nine o’clock in 
the morning. But when they do start they 
make up for lost time. You may always 
tell an Indian canoe by the rapid swing 
of the paddles, which average many more 
strokes per minute than those wielded by 
white men. Personally, I like to get off 
early, and never, if I can help it, let dark 
overtake me with my camp half made. It is 
misery intensified when one is creeping and 
crawling through the brush, looking for dry 
wood, or stumbling from the creek with a 
kettle of water in either hand. 
(To be continued.) 





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