814 
FOREST AND STREAM 
Dec. 28, 1912 
DRESSING FOR DINNER. 
take us up for the next ten or twelve miles,” 
which I learned afterward was a very wise pro¬ 
ceeding. “Rough” was a mild term for that 
trail. But there is an end to all material 
things, and so it was with that trail, for at the 
end of it was Sourdnahunk Lake, the greatest 
place I ever saw for trout. A sheet of water 
four miles long, about one mile wide, fed by 
TALKING IT OVER. 
innumerable springs, one of nature’s master¬ 
pieces, where trout freely take the fly from May 
to October, and but for the wild cry of the 
(Continued on page 823.) 
The Caribou Barrens of Newfoundland—V. 
T HE river was brimming full. Down camp and 
all away at 1 p. m. into a raw head wind 
from the north. Lots of black ducks were 
coursing up and down the river, and I shot two 
of them as we swept along, picking them up as 
Ralph skillfully drove the canoe ahead. The 
river tore along, cutting out the banks and let¬ 
ting down the little birches which fringed the 
edges, with here and there a big one toppling 
over. The wind increased and a cold rain came 
on again, numbing my hands and chilling me 
through and through, but life contains a few 
supreme moments which fully compensate for 
weeks of cold and exposure and discomfort. My 
body seemed impervious to the drenching rain 
and raw wind as I lived over again and again 
the scene up there on that high bog, every 
corner of which had become so familiar from 
days of tramping and watching, and which was 
now falling so rapidly away behind us as we 
raced back toward civilization, of which we had 
known nothing and heard nothing for so many 
weeks. 
The fleeing does, the pursuing stags, the 
glimpse of that grand head through our binocu¬ 
lars, the hard run, the agony of waiting, the 
herd, the battle, the stalk, the hard holding 
down of nerves while the crucial moment of the 
shot hung breathless, the stricken sta<r, the flee¬ 
ing herd, the ecstasy of savage exultant joy as 
I fully realized the beauty of the wonderful 
trophy which crowned the noble head of that 
truly royal monarch of the barrens—all this and 
a hundred details more passed again through my 
mind and will pass a thousand times, so often 
as my eye falls upon the rich golden curves of 
those antlers, the beauty of that head, the snowy 
Pictures and, Text by the "Judge.” 
whiteness of the flowing pelage which adorns 
his throat. 
Who, save the hunter of big game, is per¬ 
mitted thus to indulge without regrets and with¬ 
out reaction an outburst of that savagery which 
lies so close beneath the thin veneer which 
"civilization” has succeeded in spreading over the 
nature of man? I actually got out of my 
blankets the other night and went out with the 
tiny carbide lantern and looked and looked at 
that head, which proves that “men are but boys 
grown tall,” and brings me closer to my golden¬ 
haired laddie at home who insists upon taking 
his new toy rhinoceros to bed with him. 
At 4 p. m. we camped in the shelter of the 
last point which turns the river into Gander 
Lake. The wind was howling in from the lake 
tremendously, but at 2 a. m. I woke and realized 
that it had subsided to some extent, and arous¬ 
ing the boys, we bent our backs to the paddles 
and drove out on to the inky water, illuminated 
only by the Aurora Borealis which flashed up 
across the northern sky. 
Arriving at Southwest Islands before dawn 
we found a heavy sea running in the straits out¬ 
side, so got up a big beach firtj and lay there 
waiting for the cold gray dawn. With daylight 
the wind eased off a bit, and we made off across 
the rollers safely and down on to the lee shore 
at Sandy Point at 7 a. m., dead tired, but safe 
from being wind-bound. 
Here we had come from the heart of the 
wilderness out to within Sound of the steam 
whistle inside of twenty-four hours, a journey 
which inbound had consumed many days. With 
camp pitched and a good breakfast I had an 
hour’s sleep, then paddled down to Glenwood 
to receive mail and papers and send telegrams 
informing my family of my safe return from 
five weeks of wandering in the wilderness, dur¬ 
ing which period I had seen sign of no human 
being save the members of my own small hunt¬ 
ing party. 
Next morning, with everything well dried 
out, we broke camp and moved down to Glen¬ 
wood and packed everything up for the return, 
journey. The good fortune which attended the 
trip continued to the end, for no sooner had we 
finished this task than the storm fiends which 
had been held in leash for two days were 
loosed and a violent northeaster full of snow 
smote Glenwood, hip and thigh. To have been 
upon the lake would have been most uncomfort¬ 
able if not quite dangerous. 
While waiting for the train I talked with 
Lionel and looked over his accumulated plunder. 
Pie gave me a beautiful eight-point cupped brow 
which I have had mounted with silver and made 
into a fine pin tray for my den, and showed me 
with warrantable pride the fine sled which his 
skill had produced for winter use. This sled 
he had shod with runners nine feet long, sawed 
out of a pair of fifteen-foot whale’s jaw bones. 
They are strong and hard as iron and very 
smooth. He also gave me a fine slab of this 
hard white bone to take home. 
I shall always retain a feeling of genuine 
affection for Lionel Hynes of Glenwood. He is 
a man of years near sixty, but of heart near 
twenty; a cheerful bearer of heavy burdens, a 
flowing well of good humor, bristling at every 
pore with stories, anecdotes and quaint comical 
observations; his presence in camp a sure anti¬ 
dote to bad luck and bad weather. A man accus- 
