Part 20 (1/2)
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 s.h.i.+ngle 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, gra.s.sy plains, spa.r.s.er 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 sh.o.r.e, in not a few places, carried me back, to the west coast of Ireland.
CHAPTER x.x.xIII
THE UNKNOWN
The daily observations of route and landmark I can best leave for record on my maps. I had one great complaint against previous explorers (except Tyrrell); that is, they left no monuments. Aiming to give no ground of complaint against us, we made monuments at all important points. On the, night of August 8 we camped at Cairn Bay on the west side of Casba Lake, so named because of the five remarkable glacial cairns or conical stone-piles about it. On the top of one of these I left a monument, a six-foot pillar of large stones.
On the afternoon of August 9 we pa.s.sed the important headland that I have called ”Tyrrell Point.” Here we jumped off his map into the unknown. I had, of course, the small chart drawn by Sir George Back in 1834, but it was hastily made under great difficulties, and, with a few exceptions, it seemed impossible to recognize his landscape features. Next day I explored the east arm of Clinton-Colden and discovered the tributary that I have called ”Laurier River,”
and near its mouth made a cairn enclosing a Caribou antler with inscription ”E. T. Seton, 10 Aug., 1907.”
Future travellers on this lake will find, as I did, that the Conical b.u.t.te in the eastern part is an important landmark. It is a glacial dump about 50 feet above the general level, which again is 100 feet above the water, visible and recognizable from nearly all parts of the lake.
Thus we went on day by day, sometimes detained by head or heavy winds, but making great progress in the calm, which nearly always came in the evening; 30 and 35 miles a day we went, led on and stimulated by the thirst to see and know. ”I must see what is over that ridge,” ”I must make sure that this is an island,” or ”Maybe from that lookout I shall see Lake Aylmer, or a band of Caribou, yes, or even a band of Musk-ox.” Always there was some reward, and nearly always it was a surprise.