Calm, lovely, spring weather; ducks all along the
river; plenty of food, which is the northerner's idea of bliss;
plenty of water, which is the river-man's notion of joy; plenty
of leisure, which is an element in most men's heaven, for we had
merely to float with the stream, three miles an hour, except when
we landed to eat or sleep.
The woods were donning their vernal green and resounded with the
calls of birds now. The mosquito plague of the region had not yet
appeared, and there was little lacking to crown with a halo the
memory of those days on the Missouri of the North.
Native quadrupeds seemed scarce, and we were all agog when one of
the men saw a black fox trotting along the opposite bank. However,
it turned out to be one of the many stray dogs of the country. He
followed us a mile or more, stopping at times to leap at fish that
showed near the shore. When we landed for lunch he swam the broad
stream and hung about at a distance. As this was twenty miles from
any settlement, he was doubtless hungry, so I left a bountiful
lunch for him, and when we moved away, he claimed his own.
At Fort McKay I saw a little half-breed boy shooting with a bow
and displaying extraordinary marksmanship. At sixty feet he could
hit the bottom of a tomato tin nearly every time; and even more
surprising was the fact that he held the arrow with what is known
as the Mediterranean hold. When, months later, I again stopped at
this place, I saw another boy doing the very same. Some residents
assured me that this was the style of all the Chipewyans as well
as the Crees.
That night we camped far down the river and on the side opposite
the Fort, for experience soon teaches one to give the dogs no
chance of entering camp on marauding expeditions while you rest.
About ten, as I was going to sleep, Preble put his head in and
said: "Come out here if you want a new sensation."
In a moment I was standing with him under the tall spruce trees,
looking over the river to the dark forest, a quarter mile away,
and listening intently to a new and wonderful sound. Like the
slow tolling of a soft but high-pitched bell, it came. Ting, ting,
ting, ting, and on, rising and falling with the breeze, but still
keeping on about two "tings" to the second; and on, dulling as
with distance, but rising again and again.
It was unlike anything I had ever heard, but Preble knew it of old.
"That", says he, "is the love-song of the Richardson Owl. She is
sitting demurely in some spruce top while he sails around, singing
on the wing, and when the sound seems distant, he is on the far
side of the tree."
Ting, ting, ting, ting, it went on and on, this soft belling
of his love, this amorous music of our northern bell-bird. .
Ting, TING, ting, ting, ting, TING, ting, ting, ting, ting, TING,
ting - oh, how could any lady owl resist such strains? - and on, with
its ting, ting, ting, TING, ting, ting, ting, TING, the whole night
air was vibrant. Then, as though by plan, a different note - the
deep booming "Oho-oh-who-oh who hoo" of the Great Homed Owl - was
heard singing a most appropriate bass.
But the little Owl went on and on; 5 minutes, 10 minutes, 20 minutes
at last had elapsed before I turned in again and left him. More
than once that night I awoke to hear his "tinging" serenade upon
the consecrated air of the piney woods.
Yet Preble said this one was an indifferent performer. On the
Mackenzie he had heard far better singers of the kind; some that
introduce many variations of the pitch and modulation. I thought
it one of the most charming bird voices I had ever listened to - and
felt that this was one of the things that make the journey worth
while.
On June 1 the weather was so blustering and wet that we did not
break camp. I put in the day examining the superb timber of this
bottom-land. White spruce is the prevailing conifer and is here
seen in perfection. A representative specimen was 118 feet high, 11
feet 2 inches in circumference, or 3 feet 6 1/2 inches in diameter
1 foot from the ground, i.e., above any root spread. There was
plenty of timber of similar height. Black spruce, a smaller kind,
and tamarack are found farther up and back in the bog country.
jackpine of fair size abounds on the sandy and gravelly parts.
Balsam poplar is the largest deciduous tree; its superb legions
in upright ranks are crowded along all the river banks and on the
islands not occupied by the spruce. The large trees of this kind
often have deep holes; these are the nesting sites of the Whistler
Duck, which is found in numbers here and as far north as this tree,
but not farther. White poplar is plentiful also; the hillsides are
beautifully clad with its purplish masses of twigs, through which
its white stem gleam like marble columns. White birch is common
and large enough for canoes. Two or three species of willow in
impenetrable thickets make up the rest of the forest stretches.
At this camp I had the unique experience of showing all these seasoned
Westerners that it was possible to make a fire by the friction of
two sticks. This has long been a specialty of mine; I use a thong
and a bow as the simplest way.
