Altogether the day had been a very interesting one. We had seen seven stags and a number of does, but unfortunately no good heads.
On the 18th the weather broke badly, the glass fell 7/10ths, a gale of wind and heavy driving rain made stalking impossible and kept us in camp all day. Towards evening the wind went round and the rain stopped, and then we saw a wonderful sunset, the heavy rain clouds drifting away across a golden red setting sun. We saw a stag on the sky-line about two miles away, but too late to go after him.
On the 19th the wind had come round to the north, and it was a bright, lovely morning. We took the ground to the north-west, working round by where we had seen the stag the previous evening. We covered a lot of ground and altogether stalked four separate stags, only to find, on getting up to them, that the heads were no good. We must have walked over fifteen miles, but in the bracing air of the barrens fatigue was unknown. We saw another black fox to-day a long way off, and Steve said he would be back trapping in three weeks and hoped to get the two black foxes. I picked up a single horn with twenty-two points, very short and thick. There were eight points on the top just like a frontal tine.
The morning of the 20th was very cold and grey, but we hoped it would clear up, so started away over the ridge to the south-west. On topping the ridge, we looked down on a great marshy plain with a few scattered drokes. Nothing was in sight, so we walked quietly on towards one of the drokes, from behind which suddenly burst out five hinds pursued by what looked like a good stag, who was grunting as he followed the hinds—the first rutting stag we had seen. They paid so little attention to us that they were almost on top of us before they saw us. Unfortunately, the head was poor, as he gave an easy shot. Almost immediately after two herds of hinds passed us, while in the distance two more stags were seen feeding about three miles away. We went on towards them, when the rain set in and we had to find shelter for lunch. There was no sign of the weather clearing and stalking was impossible in the heavy rain and mist, so we plodded wearily back to camp, which we reached after dark, wet to the skin. This valley was full of grouse; we saw seven good coveys and I shot three birds for the pot with the small rifle.
The rain continued all night, but stopped about 7 a.m. on the morning of the 21st.
We had come up to Shoe Hill Ridge on the 15th in heavy rain. It had rained on the 18th and again on the 20th, so three days out of six were spoiled. The whole country was now soaked with the rain, little rivulets had become torrents, and the marshes were knee deep in water. It seemed useless to remain on, as it meant my missing my steamer in New York, so we decided to pack up and get out.
Looking back, I think this was a mistake. I might have spent another week in this grand country and taken a later boat home. Some big stags might have come up from the woods. On the other hand, the weather was broken and even Steve was in favour of moving. All along he regretted that I had not come in for the October shooting, when, he said, I was bound to have got good heads. He was just as keen as I was and sorry to leave.
LUNCH ON THE BAIE DU NORD RIVER