CHAPTER XXXII
THE TREELESS PLAINS
On August 7 we left Camp Last Woods. Our various specimens, with a stock of food, were secured, as usual, in a cache high in two trees, in this case those already used by Tyrrell seven years before, and guarded by the magic necklace of cod hooks.
By noon (in 3 hours) we made fifteen miles, camping far beyond Twin Buttes. All day long the boat shot through water crowded with drowned gnats. These were about 10 to the square inch near shore and for about twenty yards out, after that 10 to the square foot for two hundred or three hundred yards still farther from shore, and for a quarter mile wide they were 10 to the square yard.
This morning the wind turned and blew from the south. At 2 P. M. we saw a band of some 60 Caribou travelling southward; these were the first seen for two or three days. After this we saw many odd ones, and about 3 o'clock a band of 400 or 500. At night we camped on Casba River, having covered 36 miles in 7 hours and 45 minutes.
The place, we had selected for camp proved to be a Caribou crossing. As we drew near a dozen of them came from the east and swam across. A second band of 8 now appeared. We gave chase. They spurted; so did we. Our canoe was going over 6 miles an hour, and yet was but slowly overtaking them. They made the water foam around them. Their heads, necks, shoulders, backs, rumps, and tails were out. I never before saw land animals move so fast in the water. A fawn in danger of being left behind reared up on its mother's back and hung on with forefeet. The leader was a doe or a young buck, I could not be sure which; the last was a big buck. They soon struck bottom and bounded along on the shore. It was too dark for a picture.
As we were turning in for the night 30 Caribou came trotting and snorting through the camp. Half of them crossed the water, but the rest turned back when Billy shouted.
Later a band of two hundred passed through and around our tents. In the morning Billy complained that he could not sleep all night for Caribou travelling by his tent and stumbling over the guy ropes. From this time on we were nearly always in sight of Caribou, small bands or scattering groups; one had the feeling that the whole land was like this, on and on and on, unlimited space with unlimited wild herds.
A year afterward as I travelled in the fair State of Illinois, famous for its cattle, I was struck by the idea that one sees far more Caribou in the north than cattle, in Illinois. This State has about 56,000 square miles, of land and 3,000,000 cattle; the Arctic Plains have over 1,000,000 square miles of prairie, which, allowing for the fact that I saw the best of the range, would set, the Caribou number at over 30,000,000. There is a, good deal of evidence that this is not far from the truth.
The reader may recollect the original postulate of my plan. Other travellers have gone, relying on the abundant Caribou, yet saw none, so starved. I relied on no Caribou, I took plenty of groceries, and because I was independent, the Caribou walked into camp nearly every day, and we lived largely on their meat, saving our groceries for an emergency, which came in an unexpected form. One morning when we were grown accustomed to this condition I said to Billy:
"How is the meat?"
"Nearly gone. We'll need another Caribou about Thursday."
"You better get one now to be ready Thursday. I do not like it so steaming fresh. See, there's a nice little buck on that hillside."
"No, not him; why he is nearly half a mile off. I'd have to pack him in. Let's wait till one comes in camp."
Which we did, and usually got our meat delivered near the door.'
Caribou meat fresh, and well prepared, has no superior, and the ideal way of cooking it is of course by roasting.
Fried meat is dried meat,
Boiled meat is spoiled meat,
Roast meat is best meat.
How was it to be roasted at an open fire without continued vigilance? By a very simple contrivance that I invented at the time and now offer for the use of all campers.
A wire held the leg; on the top of the wire was a paddle or shingle of wood; above that, beyond the heat, was a cord.
The wind gives the paddle a push; it winds up the cord, which then unwinds itself. This goes on without fail and without effort, never still, and the roast is perfect.
Thus we were living on the fat of many lands and on the choicest fat of this.
And what a region it is for pasture. At this place it reminds one of Texas. Open, grassy plains, sparser reaches of sand, long slopes of mesquite, mesas dotted with cedars and stretches of chapparal and soapweed. Only, those vegetations here are willow, dwarf birch, tiny spruce, and ledum, and the country as a whole is far too green and rich. The emerald verdure of the shore, in not a few places, carried me back, to the west coast of Ireland.