* 
May 25 . 1907 .I 
FOREST AND STREAM 
815 
Game in Ungava. 
VI 
Montreal, Quebec, May 14. —Editor Forest 
and Stream: If the reader will take a map of 
the Dominion of Canada, he will find in the 
eastern part of it a district marked Ungava. 
Why it is called Ungava I cannot say—prob¬ 
ably because it looks like Ungava; but Un¬ 
gava it is, and in all probability will so re¬ 
main until some enterprising genius discovers 
and applies a more fitting appellation. Were 
the average mortal asked the location of the 
place, he would in all probability reply that it 
was in Africa. The name has an African 
sound, suggestive of palms, thirsty sands and 
other things tropical. Far from so, it is the 
home of the polar bear, muskox, etc., and a 
land of almost perpetual snow'. Almost bereft 
of human inhabitants, except in the extreme 
north, where a few thousand Innuits drag out 
a miserable existence, the land is a wilderness. 
On the coast are a few Government observa¬ 
tion stations, and Hudson Bay Company's 
houses. Within a radius of say about fifty 
miles a few Chippeway Indians and half- 
breeds, with perhaps an odd white trapper or 
two may be found; and indeed who could live 
in such a barren land? 
Here sand, there rock, and over yonder a 
small patch of scrub pine. Sand and rock, 
rock and sand, with an occasional clump of 
scrub timber, such is the sight that meets the 
eye day after day and week after week. Lying 
so far north from the 54th to the 65th parallel 
of latitude, and being eternally chilled by the 
cold current which sweeps down from Baf- 
fins Bay and the polar sea, the country truly 
merits its Indian name Metamis, meaning ice¬ 
bound or covered with snow and ice. 
For nine months of the year snow and ice 
will be found on some parts of the ground or 
in the less turbulent parts of the rivers, and 
for some seven months the whole surface of 
the land will be covered. Back in the Wat- 
; shish Mountains, lakes can be found on whose 
surface the sun never shines, which are solidly 
frozen, so say the Indians, and have been for 
so long that the “memory of man runneth not 
I to the contrary.” 
Fur-bearing animals are there in plenty, and 
probably will be for all time, their natural 
enemy becoming more scarce every year in 
the land. The rigors of a thousand years are 
at last telling on the few Indians left. Musk¬ 
ox and caribou may be seen almost any day 
throughout the months of June, July and 
August, and not until they begin their south¬ 
ward migration in September, when they band 
together, do they seem to be scarce. White 
bear are not uncommon, and although not 
nearly so numerous as the caribou, are still 
i common enough. I have been told that during 
the few short hours of daylight between the 
long polar nights fully thirty have been seen 
prowling around the company’s post. And in- 
* deed it can be readily believed, for these ani- 
; mals, starved and rendered desperate by hun¬ 
ger, will resort to almost any means to obtain 
] food. 
Such is the wilderness I was ordered in the 
|i spring of 1903 (March) to penetrate and report 
to the Government of Canada. With tw r o 
companions and a supply of camp parapher¬ 
nalia, on March 23 I boarded a small fishing 
\ schooner in the port of St. Johns, N. B., and 
set sail for Hudson’s Bay, and thence the in¬ 
terior of southern Ungava and northern 
Quebec. The weather was fine for that time 
of the year, and on May 25, after many delays 
by ice and contrary winds, we arrived off the 
mouth of the East Main River. The ice being 
; still fast to the shore, we were compelled to 
anchor out about eight miles and betake our- 
i selves and chattels ashore in the ship s din- 
1 ghies. At the time of the next full moon the 
I ice, it was expected, would move out on the 
high tide, but as time was of importance and 
, the ice was rather soft, with clear water 
stretches, we concluded to cut our way 
through, a difficult and hazardous undertaking. 
However, it was at length accomplished, and 
1 we reached terra firma safe and sound, and 
j with the exception of a thorough wetting, no 
mishaps. After a few days’ rest, necessitated 
by looking up suitable Indian guides, we set 
out for the interior. Our plans were to travel 
by the river, and at intervals of about twenty 
miles to thoroughly explore the country there¬ 
about as far as we deemed wise to get a suf¬ 
ficient knowledge of it and its resources. 
Shortly after securing the requisite number 
of Indians to act as guides and to do the 
harder work, we set out. For the first few 
days nothing of moment was seen, and it was 
not until we had been out nearly two days 
that the land really showed how prolific it 
was in game. The weather had by this time 
become quite warm—that is, during the day, 
though the nights were miserably cold, so travel¬ 
ing was really enjoyable. All we had to do 
was to keep the larder replenished, and one 
morning we sighted our first band of caribou 
grazing in an open plain. Two of us detailed 
ourselves off to secure some meat, and walk¬ 
ing up, without making any attempt at con¬ 
cealment, we shot a bull. I am sure the reader 
would speedily tire if we recounted every shot 
fired, as we never were short of meat, though 
this must not be construed into reckless 
slaughter, as nothing was killed unnecessarily, 
and cows on no condition whatsoever. Willow 
grouse and ptarmigan were exceedingly plen¬ 
tiful, and every river and lake abounded in 
trout and landlocked salmon. The majority of 
these lakes have never been seen by white 
men, and scarcely any of them have been 
fished, speaking from a sportsman’s viewpoint. 
Beaver, white fox, polar bears, mink, wolver¬ 
ine, carcajou, lynx, sable, fisher, pine-martin, 
weasel, muskox, barren ground caribou, wood 
caribou, timber wolves, skunk, and an occa¬ 
sional moose are to be found _ scattered 
throughout the country, and constitute the 
principal fauna. There might also be in¬ 
cluded countless hosts of ducks, geese and 
other water fowl, as well as hawks and owls; 
among the latter the great snowy owl, an ex¬ 
ceedingly beautiful bird, but very destructive. 
At length, September drawing nigh and the 
days beginning to shorten, we deemed it better 
to' return to the coast. We returned by a 
different route, and came upon a magnificent 
waterfall, with an unpronounceable name. The 
fall was the outlet of a lake, situated high up 
in the gully of two mountains, and fell straight 
from the lake to the bed of a river below, some 
three to four hundred feet, and probably fifty 
feet in width. Eventually we reached the 
coast and embarked in a Hudson’s Bay Com¬ 
pany’s ship bound for St. John’s, N. B., and London 
On our way back I had an opportunity of 
studying the natives of the northern part of 
the peninsula, which interior, by the way, has 
never been explored. These people, the In¬ 
nuits, as they call themselves, are of very 
small stature, averaging about five feet, of low 
mental caliber and very dirty. Alcohol and 
tobacco are fast exterminating them. Living 
by fishing in the summer and hunting in the 
winter, theirs is a miserable existence. Clad 
only in skins and dirt, they are unpleasant to 
look at and worse to smell. How did they 
come there and whence did they originate? 
Here is a field for some student of Darwin¬ 
ism to probe. It seems possible that in ages 
gone by the country may have been warmer 
than it is now, and these people have not had 
intelligence enough to migrate. Suffice it to 
say that the land, as it is at present, could not 
offer any inducements to any Anglo-Saxon to 
remain there permanently. These people oc¬ 
cupy about fifteen hundred miles of coast 
line, seldom penetrating beyond ten or fifteen 
mile’s into the interior, and never remaining 
there for any length of time. They do not 
cultivate the soil, and live entirely on flesh 
food. Their implements are of the rudest de¬ 
scription, being made of flints and bones 
lashed to tamarack and cedar handles, except 
such of them as have intercourse with white 
sealers and traders. Taken altogether, they 
seem to be a relict of the stone age. 
Proceeding along the coast, we passed and 
met many whalers, and after an uneventful 
voyage, landed at St. Johns on Sept. 29. 
F. Edulf Bradford. 
Legislation at Albany. 
Assembly bill 1788, by Mr. Nevins, relating to 
a close season for trout in Livingston county; 
third reading. 
Assembly bill 2767, by Mr. Mills, relating to a 
close season for grouse, woodcock and quail in 
Rensselaer county; in committee. 
Assembly bill 371, by Mr. Norton, relating to 
a close season for grouse, woodcock, squirrels 
and quail in Washington county; committee of 
the whole. 
Assembly bill 2769, by Mr. Prentice, relating 
to the sale of imported game birds during the 
close season for domestic game birds; introduced 
May 15 and referred to the committee on fish¬ 
eries and game. 
Off for the North. 
Our correspondent at Edmonton, Alberta,' in¬ 
forms us that Ernest T. Seton, the author, and 
Edward A. Preble, of the United States Biologi¬ 
cal Survey, left Edmonton May 19 for a six 
months’ trip through the region north of Great 
Slave Lake. As far as possible they will travel 
by canoe, collecting data of every description 
that will be of value in lecturing and to science. 
An Old Hunter’s Day Dream. 
There’s a stillness in the woodland 
When the leaves with brown are kissed, 
When the sunlight warms the hillside, 
And we dream of friends long missed ; 
When the birds sing low and mournful 
After mating time is o’er, 
And' the nests are all forsaken 
By the songsters that they bore. 
Fleecy clouds across the heavens, 
Autumn haze hangs around the hills, 
Squirrels chatter in the treetops. 
Sweetly sing the mountain rills. 
Partridge drums in hazel thicket, 
Calling, calling to his mate; 
Air is full of brown leaves falling, 
Leaving treetops desolate. 
Comes the deer from yonder thicket, 
Where in hiding he has been, 
Softly steps into the water, 
Fearful—looking down the glen. 
Head erect, ears keen for noises— 
What a picture there he makes, 
Standing, listening like a sentry, 
But to vanish in the brakes. 
As the camp-fire flickers dimly, 
Slowly dying, burning low, 
Darker shadows creep about me, 
But the stars begin to glow; 
Gently sings the running water 
By my camp beneath the trees, 
And I hear the soothing rustle, 
As the night wind stirs the leaves. 
Gun and dog, my worldly treasures, 
Friends of many days like these, 
Close beside me, always trusty, 
With me there beneath the trees. 
From the hilltops to the valleys 
I have roamed the woods afar, 
Going forth in quest of pleasure, 
Sleeping ’neath the evening star. 
Visions these of many autumns 
When the smoky haze comes down, 
Shutting out the far horizon, 
Shutting in the sleepy town. 
Days so full of gorgeous glory, 
Touching ev’ry field and hill, 
Painting there the wondrous story 
Of God’s magic hand and will. 
Hand that paints the fields with beauty, 
Skill that decorates the hills, 
Sends the water gushing from them, 
Pent in rivers, creeks and rills; 
Touches leaves with brown and gold hue, 
Makes the flowers with color bright, 
Guards us all with watchful kindness 
Through the long and solemn night. 
On the bank of lake or river. 
Often when the sun was low, 
Built I there my camp and camp-fire, 
Watched the shadows come and go, 
Dreaming dreams with fancy laden— 
Dreams I’ve often dreamed before— 
Harking back to other woodlands, 
Other days that come no more. 
So again to-night I’m thinking, 
Days of youth, of dog and gun, 
Days of sport in times now olden, 
Long before life’s sjjan was run. 
All that’s left is reminiscence, 
Mem’rv’s tale of camp-fires bright, 
Thrill of hunt, the tang of woods—all 
Gone, for me, mere dreams to-night. 
J. S. Whipple. 
