520 
November, 1917 
FOREST AND STREAM 
pass it across the forehead, so as to take 
some of the pressure off the chest. The 
regular weight of a Hudson Bay Com¬ 
pany’s package is eighty pounds; but any 
Indian or half-breed will carry double this 
weight for a considerable distance without 
distress. A tump-line, therefore, forms an 
essential part of the voyageur’s outfit when 
traveling, and it comes in handy, also, in 
camp as a clothes-line on which to hang 
one’s socks and moccasins to dry. 
A camp such as that I have attempted 
to describe is the best that can be built. 
An ordinary camp is constructed in the 
same way, but with this difference, that in¬ 
stead of being in the form of a square, it 
is in the shape of a circle, and the poles 
on which the bark is laid are stuck into 
the ground instead of into low walls. 
There is not half so much room in such 
a camp as in the former, although the 
amount of material employed is in both 
cases the same. It may be objected that 
the sleeping arrangements cannot be very 
luxurious in camp. A good bed is cer¬ 
tainly an excellent thing, but it is very 
hard to find a better bed than Nature has 
provided in the wilderness. It would ap¬ 
pear as if Providence had specially de¬ 
signed the Canada balsam fir for the pur¬ 
pose of making a soft couch for tired 
hunters. It is the only one, so far as I 
am aware, of the coniferous trees of North 
America in which the leaves or spiculae 
lie perfectly flat. The'consequence of that 
excellent arrangement is, that a bed made 
of the short, tender tips of the Canada 
balsam, spread evenly to the depth of about 
a foot, is one of the softest, most elastic, 
snd most pleasant couches that can be im¬ 
agined ; and as the scent of the sap of the 
Canada balsam is absolutely delicious, it is 
always sweet and refreshing and undoubted¬ 
ly somewhat medicinal—which is more than 
can be said for many beds of civilization. 
H UNGER is a good sauce. A man 
coming in tired and hungry will find 
more enjoyment in a piece of moose 
meat and a cup of tea than in the most 
luxurious of banquets. Moreover, it 
must be remembered that some of the wild 
meats of North America cannot be ex¬ 
celled in flavor and delicacy; nothing, for 
instance, can be better than moose or cari¬ 
bou, mountain sheep or antelope. The 
“moufle,” or nose of the moose, and his 
marrow-bones are dainties which would 
be highly appreciated by accomplished epi¬ 
cures. The meat is good, and no better 
method of cooking it has yet been dis¬ 
covered than the simple one of roasting it 
before a wood fire on a pointed stick. 
Simplicity is a great source of comfort, 
and makes up for many luxuries; and 
nothing can be more simple, and at the 
same time more comfortable, than life in 
such a birch-bark camp as I have attempted 
to describe. In summer-time, and in the 
fall, until the weather begins to get a little 
cold, a tent affords all the shelter that the 
sportsman or the tourist can require. But 
when the leaves are all fallen, when the 
lakes begin to freeze up, and snow covers 
the earth, or may be looked for at any 
moment, the nights become too cold to 
render dwelling in tents any longer desir¬ 
able. A tent can be used in winter, and I 
have dwelt in one in extreme cold, when 
the thermometer went down as low as 32° 
below zero. It was rendered habitable by 
a little stove, which made it at the same 
time exceedingly disagreeable. A stove 
sufficiently small to be portable contained 
only wood enough to burn for an hour 
and a half or so; consequently, some one 
had to sit up all night to replenish it. Now, 
nobody could keep awake, and the result 
was that we had to pass through the un¬ 
pleasant ordeal of alternately freezing and 
roasting during the whole night. The 
stove was of necessity composed of very 
thin sheet-iron, as lightness was an im¬ 
portant object, and consequently, when it 
was filled with good birch-wood and well 
tinder way, it became red-hot, and ren¬ 
dered the atmosphere in the tent insup¬ 
portable. In about half an hour or so it 
would cool down a little, and one would 
drop off to sleep, only to wake in about 
an hour’s time shivering, to find everything 
frozen solid in the tent, and the fire nearly 
out. Such a method of passing the night 
is little calculated to insure sound sleep. 
In the depth of winter it is quite impos¬ 
sible to warm a tent from the ontside, 
however large the fire may be. It must be 
built at such a distance that the canvas 
cannot possibly catch fire, and hence all 
heat is dispersed long before it can reach 
and warm the interior of the tent. It is 
far better to make a “lean-to” of the can¬ 
vas, build a large fire, and sleep out in 
the open. A “lean-to” is easily made and 
scarcely needs description. The name ex¬ 
plains itself. You strike two poles, having 
a fork at the upper end, into the ground, 
slanting back slightly; lay another fir pole 
horizontally between the two, and resting 
in the crotch; then place numerous poles 
and branches leaning against the horizon¬ 
tal pole, and thus form a frame-work 
which you cover in as well as you can with 
birch-bark, pine boughs, pieces of canvas, 
skins, or whatever material is most handy. 
You build an enormous fire in the front, 
and the camp is complete. A “lean-to” 
must always be constructed with reference 
to the direction of the wind; it serves to 
keep off the wind and a certain amount of 
snow and rain. In other respects it is, as 
the Irishman said of the sedan-chair with 
the bottom out, more for the honor and 
glory of the thing than anything else. For 
all practical purposes, you are decidedly 
living an out-of-doors life. 
A lthough the scenery of the great¬ 
er part of Canada cannot justly be 
described as grand or magnificent, 
yet there is a weird, melancholy, desolate 
beauty about her barrens, a soft loveliness 
in her lakes and forest glades in summer, 
a gorgeousness of color in her autumn 
woods, and a stern, sad stateliness when 
winter has draped them all with snow, that 
cannot be surpassed in any land. I re¬ 
member, as distinctly as if I had left it 
but yesterday, the beauty of the camp from 
which I made my first successful expedi¬ 
tion after moose last calling season. I 
had been out several times unsuccessfully, 
sometimes getting no answer at all; at 
others, calling a bull close up, but failing 
to induce him to show himself; sometimes 
failing on account of a breeze springing 
up, or of the night becoming too much 
overcast and cloudy to enable me to see 
him. My companions had been equally un¬ 
fortunate. We had spent the best fortnight 
of the season in this way, and had shifted 
our ground and tried everything in vain. 
At last, we decided on one more attempt, 
broke camp, loaded our canoes, and started. 
We made a journey of two days, tra¬ 
versing many lovely lakes, carrying over 
several portages, and arrived at our des¬ 
tination about three o’clock in the after¬ 
noon. We drew up our canoes at one of 
the prettiest spots for a camp I have ever 
seen. It lay beside a little sheltered, se¬ 
cluded bay at the head of a lovely lake, 
some three or four miles in length. The 
shores near us were clothed with a som¬ 
ber, dark mass of firs and spruce. Above 
the ordinary level of the forest rose at in¬ 
tervals the ragged, gaunt form of some 
ancient and gigantic pine that had escaped 
the notice of the lumberman or had proved 
unworthy of his ax. In front of us, and 
to the right, acting as a breakwater to our 
harbor, lay a small island covered with 
hemlock and tamarack trees, the latter 
leaning over in various and most graceful 
