ELK HUNTING 
flight I fired at him with my rifle, and to my great delight down he came, 
his neck broken by the bullet. There is no better bird to eat than a young 
capercailzie, and my hunter’s wife knew how to cook them to perfection. 
In one of the great fresh -water lakes beyond Lassimoen, in the Namsen 
Valley, I was surprised to see a single female black scoter ((Edemia nigra ) 
a bird that is not generally known to frequent this part of Norway in 
the summer. Whilst the velvet-scoter breeds freely in many of the lakes 
of Norway and Sweden, the common scoter seems to prefer more northern 
lands in which to nest. Russia and Siberia are its summer home; in Ice- 
land, too, I have found a nest. 
On the Tuns river I observed a small party of goosanders, as well as 
the interesting little black -bellied dipper; but little birds in the woods were 
scarce, those usually seen being meadow pipits, fieldfares, redwings, 
golden -crested wrens, marsh tits, and white-headed long-tailed tits. The 
last -mentioned bird is an extremely interesting example of adaptation 
to environment, both in the matter of colour (for his white head assimilates 
with his desolate home) and in the provision made by Nature for enabling 
him to obtain his hardly-earned food. Though a delicate little creature, 
his bill is remarkable both as to size and strength; it is almost hooked, 
and has four times the power of that of our long-tailed tit. And he needs 
it; for in these semi -arctic forests insect life hides itself away in deep 
recesses amid the interstices of the bark and foliage, and no small force 
is required to extract the food. 
And now to return to elk -hunting, its delights and its disappointments. 
After the successful day last described I had ten days’ hard work, with no 
result beyond a severe trial to my patience. The wind, after trying to blow 
from all quarters at once, finally dropped away to a dead calm, and the high 
open ground proved unproductive, except on the 15th, when we experi- 
enced a cruel piece of luck which, perhaps, some would say was due to 
my own carelessness. Having made a short cut right over a high mountain, 
we were descending in mist and rain towards the Grondals Valley, when, 
looking up for a moment, I saw standing quietly in the haze above us, two 
huge bulls, one carrying a magnificent head. On a word from me my 
companions lay down at once, but unhappily the elk had seen us, and 
our position was all but hopeless. Quickly manoeuvring to my right I got 
out of sight and by running straight up the hill succeeded in getting 100 
yards nearer to our object. The bulls were then about 450 yards from me, 
and just as I peeped over a bank of moss they turned round slowly and 
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