Although the gale was a strong one the rain had so far kept off, but the clouds were now piling up for heavy rain, and the glass was falling rapidly. We were lucky to have got across, for the wind was now too high to have attempted the lake. We were in a good, dry camp, plenty of fish assured, and we could afford to ignore the weather.
Kepskaig was a short and somewhat narrow lake, not more than one and a half miles long; from it two steadies led out into Meddonagonax Lake. The shores were thickly wooded, but at the far end were some fairly open marshes with two good look-out hills, from which we could spy the entire country.
We started about 4.30 for the far end of the lake, but landed half-way to spy the shores for any feeding stag that might come out. We soon saw a stag with a good-looking head feeding on the shore opposite to us, and were just about to start after him when Steve saw another stag feeding across one of the marshes at the far end of the lake. The tops of the horns looked very good, so we decided to go after him first. Pushing on in the canoe to the end of the lake, we were soon on the top of one of the small hills, and could see him feeding on towards us and moving very quickly. The glass showed that though he had good tops, both middles and frontals were very poor, so we decided to leave him and go back to the first stag. It was nearly dark when we got to the place we had last seen him, but fortunately he was there still feeding amongst some big boulders on the shore of the lake. A high wind was blowing and he was not more than eighty yards away, so hidden by the rocks and long grass I could not make out his frontals, but tops and middles were good, and waiting, what seemed an indefinite time, to get a broadside shot, at last he began feeding away with his rump straight on to me. I could now hardly see the telescope sight, but fortunately he gave a half turn and as I fired I heard the bullet go home. He galloped madly right into the lake, and stood some 150 yards away among some big rocks from which I could hardly distinguish him. Taking the best sight I could I fired again and he dropped stone dead in the water. Getting him ashore, we found he was a nice thirty-four pointer, the best head we had yet seen, and as it happened the best head we saw the whole trip. He was in poor condition, having been badly wounded in the body at some time. Abscesses had formed round the wounds and Steve pronounced his flesh uneatable. It was too dark to do more than pull him out of the water and gralloch him, and we had a hard paddle back to camp in the dark. The rain was now falling heavily and a roaring fire and cosy camp were more than welcome.
The following morning it was still raining, but more like a thick Scotch mist. We went over to fetch the head, and found that the first bullet had gone in just behind the ribs and raked him through lungs and heart, so the second shot was unnecessary. We saw a hind and calf swimming in the lake, and tried to overtake them to get a snapshot, but hard as we both paddled I only succeeded in getting within about thirty yards, too far for a good photo—the light too was bad, and the result was not a success. I spent the morning sketching and photoing the head, and then Steve set to work to skin and clean it. After breakfast there was great excitement, as four otters came swimming up to the rapid, possibly with the idea of going up into the lake above. Regardless of season and game laws, Steve had a shot with the small rifle and missed, but turned them back. Going out to fish I could not get a rise, the otters had evidently scared all the fish out of the pool.
The clouds now cleared away and a brilliant sun came out, while hardly a ripple stirred the surface of the lake. In the afternoon we went down again to the end of the lake, climbed the highest look-out hill and stayed there till sunset. The views on all sides were very beautiful and we looked right over Meddonagonax with its numerous wooded islands, but saw no stags. We paddled down one of the steadies leading into Meddonagonax and so into the lake, hoping to see some feeding stag on its shores, but without success.
A THIRTY-FOUR POINT CARIBOU
STEVE SKINNING THE HEAD OF THE THIRTY-FOUR POINTER
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It was a wonderful night, the moonlight made it almost as bright as day.