I found two poppies and a bit of sorrel in bloom here.
From the top of the bluffs back of the tent, where I could look across the Strait, I made out a good deal of water on the ice, but I hoped we should not find it as bad as during the last march. It was evident, however, we were going to have lots of trouble going back and were going to be wet all the time.
Camping in this region in June, July, and August, if on land, and it is clear and calm, and one is not under the necessity of travelling every day, can be very pleasant.
But if it blows or snows, or both, or if one is on the sea or bay ice and obliged to get somewhere at a certain time, it is sure to be very unpleasant.
The sun shone enough to quite perceptibly dry our things, but as it got lower, the fog and clouds gathered again.
The dogs were fed nearly all they would eat, as meat carries very much lighter inside them than on the sledge, and I hoped that with the rest and good feeding here, they would do better work going back.
The two boys skinned out the deer heads and tried to dry the skins.
I must confess to a feeling of sadness and regret at leaving this last camp. It was a striking picture, the deer and hare, feeding in the brilliant sunshine under the high bluffs, the call of the birds, and the sound of running water. And the picture will be repeated again and again, summer after summer, but I, to whom it belongs, should never see it again.
I quote from my Journal:
Southwest Camp, Grant Land. 2 P. M. July 3d.—Back here again, across the channel, with less discomfort and hard work than I had reason, in the light of past experience, to expect.