HUNTING IN THE ARCTIC ROCKIES. 



A. J. STONE. 



I left Fort Norman in July with my 

 white man, 2 Indians, Donnel and Clise, 

 and some dogs, for pack animals, bound 

 for the mountains North and West of the 

 Fort. We traveled 50 miles down the Mc- 

 Kenzie in a large birch bark canoe before 

 starting on our march across the mus- 

 keags for the mountains. 



A strong head wind was blowing when 

 we started, and soon increased to such a 

 gale as to cover the river with whitecaps 

 and drive us ashore, where for 48 hours 

 we were storm bound. This was an un- 

 welcome incident, because we had but 

 scant store of provisions. 



However, at length wind and river 

 calmed, and we paddled all day and late 

 into the night, only putting to shore to 

 make tea. At 1 a. m. we reached the point 

 where we were to land and begin our 

 march, a 3 days' job for the natives. A 2 

 hours' nap and we were off for our trip 

 to the mountains. Notwithstanding the 

 leanness of our larder, our packs were 

 quite heavy. What with camera and plates, 

 traps for small mammals, 65 pounds of 

 salt for curing large skins, piles of moc- 

 casins, cooking outfit, canvas for shelter, 

 changes of clothing, guns and ammunition, 

 we sank to the knees at every step. 



I was determined if possible to beat the 

 "2 sleeps," 3 days' record, knowing full 

 well what I should be obliged to endure 

 on that trail. And such a trail ! Many 

 times it faded utterly, and my Indians 

 were forced to put down their packs and 

 search for it. 



Leaving the river, we passed first 

 through a fringe of small spruce, y 2 mile 

 wide, and then plunged into a dreary, 

 monotonous, desolate, moss covered waste, 

 never steady on foot till we reached the 

 mountains. One is never certain of his 

 footing. One moment he feels solid, then 

 down he goes; again he fancies he is 

 about to step into a hole and careens his 

 body accordingly, only to step on a con- 

 cealed stick and rise instead of sinking. 



Willow and scrub spread everywhere. 

 The scrub lies athwart your path, the wil- 

 lows interlock. Whatever direction you 

 take, everywhere are moss hummocks and 

 pools. I often wondered at my endurance. 

 Small black flies and mosquitoes swarmed 

 everywhere. I was their meat. They were 

 tired of Indian blood. The white man 

 with me had grown up in the country and 

 was nothing new to them. I was a deli- 

 cate morsel, and on me they fastened. 

 For a while I fought them, but it was no 

 use. They were too many, and to wear 



a head net was impossible in that brush. 

 I had but one hope, the mountains ; and 

 toward them I strained, panting and sweat- 

 ing from exertion. 



Before reaching the mountains we 

 skirted a number of small, circular lakes. 

 Not many of them contained fish, but 

 ducks and loons with their young were 

 abundant. The water, which we had to 

 wade, was often very cold, as it rested 

 on a solid bed of ice, and our feet and 

 legs would become numb as if paralyzed. 



After one night's sleep on a corduroy 

 bed made of brush, the second after- 

 noon we came to an extensive field 

 of sand. Beyond that, a mile off, rose 

 the abrupt mountains, and at no great 

 distance I could see a deep, rugged 

 canyon piercing the range. That was the 

 Carcajo river. Debouching from the 

 mountains, it spreads, in times of freshet, 

 over the flats a mile wide. A soft breeze 

 blew across the sandy waste on which 

 we had entered, and as we proceeded we 

 struck a current of cold air, which cleared 

 away our tormentors. Relief! U-m-m-m! 

 Until one has endured the tortures in- 

 flicted by the insect pests which swarm 

 here he can form no idea of the sufferings 

 they produce. My eyelids were swollen 

 into great rolls; my hands, face and ears 

 were raw. 



Leaving our comfortable sand plain, we 

 soon reached and crossed, in succession, 

 several branches of the Carcajo, and pres- 

 ently came to the main stream. The In- 

 dians reported it very low and we stripped 

 and waded it. The current was rapid, 

 probably 10 miles an hour. Our method 

 of making the passage was of Indian in- 

 vention and was as follows: A long pole 

 was found, and each clung to it as we 

 waded in abreast. In that way the upper 

 man broke the current and the others 

 supported him. The water was not very 

 cold, and I took occasion to lave my 

 poisoned flesh in the cooling stream. We 

 camped at the foot of the mountain where 

 the unchained river breaks from its gran- 

 ite prison and rushes to the plain. Latitude 

 65° 45; N. 



Gazing along the high walls of the 

 canyon I discovered a moving speck of 

 white, which under the glass proved to be 

 a sheep. Another and another! Already 

 game in sight! Had I possessed wings it 

 would not have been far to them, but as 

 I must travel on foot the journey was 

 long and the way difficult, so I turned in 

 for a night of comfort and rest. 



Next morning we climbed over a diffi- 



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