MOOSE-HUNTING IN CANADA.

MOOSE-HUNTING, if it has no other advantages, at least leads a man to solitude and the woods, and life in the woods tends to develope many excellent qualities which are not invariably produced by what we are pleased to call our civilisation. It makes a man patient, and able to bear constant disappointments; it enables him to endure hardship with indifference, and it produces a feeling of self-reliance which is both pleasant and serviceable. True luxury, to my mind, is only to be found in such a life. No man who has not experienced it knows what an exhilarating feeling it is to be entirely independent of weather, comparatively indifferent to hunger, thirst, cold, and heat, and to feel himself capable not only of supporting but of enjoying life thoroughly, and that by the mere exercise of his own faculties. Happiness consists in having few wants and being able to satisfy them, and there is more real comfort to be found in a birch-bark camp than in the most luxuriously furnished and carefully appointed dwelling.

Such a home I have often helped to make. It does not belong to any recognised order of architecture, although it may fairly claim an ancient origin. To erect it requires no great exercise of skill, and calls for no training in art schools. I will briefly describe it.

A birch-bark camp is made in many ways. The best plan is to build it in the form of a square, varying in size according to the number of inhabitants that you propose to accommodate. Having selected a suitable level spot and cleared away the shrubs and rubbish, you proceed to make four low walls composed of two or three small suitable-sized pine logs laid one on the other, and on these little low walls so constructed you raise the framework of the camp. This consists of light thin poles, the lower ends being stuck into the upper surface of the pine trees which form the walls, and the upper ends leaning against and supporting each other. The next operation is to strip large sheets of bark off the birch trees, and thatch these poles with them to within a foot or two of the top, leaving a sufficient aperture for the smoke to escape. Other poles are then laid upon the sheets of birch bark to keep them in their places. A small doorway is left in one side, and a door is constructed out of slabs of wood or out of the skin of some animal. The uppermost log is hewn through with an axe, so that the wall shall not be inconveniently high to step over, and the

hut is finished. Such a camp is perfectly impervious to wind or weather, or rather can be made so by filling up the joints and cracks between the sheets of birch bark and the interstices between the pine logs with moss and dry leaves. You next level off the ground inside, and on three sides of the square strew it thickly with the small tops of the sapin or Canada-balsam fir, for a breadth of about four feet; then take some long pliant ash saplings or withy rods, and peg them down along the edge of the pine tops to keep your bed or carpet in its place, leaving a bare space in the centre of the hut, where you make your fire. Two or three rough slabs of pine to act as shelves must then be fixed into the wall, a couple of portage-straps or tumplines stretched across, on which to hang your clothes, and the habitation is complete.

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I ought perhaps to explain what a 'portage-strap' and a 'portage' Many French and Spanish words have become incorporated with the English language in America. The western cattle-man farmer speaks of his farm or house as his 'ranche,' calls the enclosure into which he drives his stock a 'corral,' fastens his horse with a 'lariat,' digs an acequia' to irrigate his land, gets lost in the chapparal' instead of the bush; and uses commonly many other Spanish words and expressions. No hunter or trapper talks of hiding anything; he 'caches' it, and he calls the place where he has stowed away a little store of powder, flour, or some of the other necessaries of life, a 'cache.' The French word 'prairie,' as everybody knows, has become part and parcel of the English language. Indians and half-breeds, who never heard French spoken in their lives, greet each other at meeting and parting with the salutation 'bo jour' and 'adieu.' And so the word 'portage' has come to be generally used to denote the piece of dry land separating two rivers or lakes over which it is necessary to carry canoes and baggage when travelling through the country in summer. Sometimes it is literally translated and called a carry.' Another French word, traverse,' is frequently used in canoeing, to signify a large unsheltered piece of water which it is necessary to cross. A deeply laden birch-bark canoe will not stand a great deal of sea, and quite a heavy sea gets up very rapidly on large fresh-water lakes, so that a long traverse' is a somewhat formidable matter. You may want to cross a lake say five or six miles in width, but of such a size that it would take you a couple of days to coast all round. That open stretch of five or six miles would be called a traverse.'

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The number and length of the portages on any canoe route, and the kind of trail that leads over them, are important matters to consider in canoe travelling. A man in giving information about any journey will enter into most minute particulars about them. He will say, 'You go up such and such a river,' and he will tell you all about it-where there are strong rapids; where it is very shallow;

where there are deep still reaches in which the paddle can be used, and where you must pole, and so forth. Then he will tell you how you come to some violent rapid or fall that necessitates a 'portage,' and explain exactly how to strike into the eddy, and shove your canoe into the bank at a certain place, and take her out there, and how long the 'portage' is; whether there is a good trail, or a bad trail, or no trail at all; and so on with every 'portage' on the route. Carrying canoes and baggage across the 'portage' is arduous work. A birch-bark canoe must be treated delicately, for it is a very fragile creature. You allow it to ground very carefully; step out into the water, take out all the bales, boxes, pots, pans, bedding, rifles, &c. ; lift up the canoe bodily, and turn her upside down for a few minutes to drain the water out. The Indian then turns her over, grasps the middle thwart with both hands, and with a sudden twist of the wrists heaves her up in the air, and deposits her upside down on his shoulders, and walks off with his burden. An ordinary-sized Mic-Mac or Melicite canoe, such as one man can easily carry, weighs about 70 or 80 lbs., and will take two men and about 600 or 700 lbs.

The impedimenta are carried in this manner. A blanket, doubled to a suitable size, is laid upon the ground; you take your portage-strap, or tump-line as it is sometimes called, which is composed of strips of webbing or some such material, and is about twelve feet long, a length of about two feet in the centre being made of a piece of broad soft leather; you lay your line on the blanket so that the leather part projects, and fold the edges of the blanket over either portion of the strap. You then pile up the articles to be carried in the centre, double the blanket over them, and by hauling upon the two parts of the strap bring the blanket together at either side, so that nothing can fall out. You then cut a skewer of wood, stick it through the blanket in the centre, securely knot the strap at either end, and your pack is made. You have a compact bundle with the leather portion of the portage-strap projecting like a loop, which is passed over the head and shoulders, and the pack is carried on the back by means of the loop which passes across the chest. If the pack is very heavy, and the distance long, it is usual to make an additional band out of a handkerchief or something of that kind, to attach it to the bundle, and pass it across the forehead, so as to take some of the pressure off the chest. The regular weight of a Hudson's Bay Company's package is 80 lbs.; but any Indian or half-breed will carry double this weight for a considerable distance without distress. A tump-line, therefore, forms an essential part of the voyageur's outfit when travelling, and it comes in handy also in camp as a clothes-line on which to hang one's socks and moccasins to dry.

A camp such as that I have attempted to describe is the best that can be built. An ordinary camp is constructed in the same way, but with this difference, that instead of being in the form of a square

it is in the shape of a circle, and the poles on which the bark is laid are stuck into the ground instead of into low walls. There is not half so much room in such a camp as in the former, although the amount of material employed is in both cases the same. It may be objected that the sleeping arrangements cannot be very luxurious in camp. A good bed is certainly an excellent thing, but it is very hard to find a better bed than Nature has provided in the wilderness. It would appear as if Providence had specially designed the Canadabalsam fir for the purpose of making a soft couch for tired hunters. It is the only one, so far as I am aware, of the coniferous trees of North America in which the leaves or spicula lie perfectly flat. The consequence of that excellent arrangement is that a bed made of the short tender tips of the Canada balsam, spread evenly to the depth of about a foot, is one of the softest, most elastic, and most pleasant couches that can be imagined; and as the scent of the sap of the Canada balsam is absolutely delicious, it is always sweet and refreshing which is more than can be said for many beds of civilisation.

Hunger is a good sauce. A man coming in tired and hungry will find more enjoyment in a piece of moose meat and a cup of tea than in the most luxurious of banquets. Moreover it must be remembered that some of the wild meats of North America cannot be excelled in flavour and delicacy; nothing, for instance, can be better than moose or cariboo, mountain sheep or antelope. The 'moufle,' or nose of the moose, and his marrow bones, are dainties which would be highly appreciated by the most accomplished epicures. The meat is good, and no better method of cooking it has yet been discovered than the simple one of roasting it before a wood fire on a pointed stick. Simplicity is a great source of comfort, and makes up for many luxuries; and nothing can be more simple, and at the same time more comfortable, than life in such a birch-bark camp as I have attempted to describe. In summer time and in the fall, until the weather begins to get a little cold, a tent affords all the shelter that the sportsman or the tourist can require. But when the leaves are all fallen, when the lakes begin to freeze up, and snow covers the earth, or may be looked for at any moment, the nights become too cold to render dwelling in tents any longer desirable. A tent can be used in winter, and I have dwelt in one in extreme cold, when the thermometer went down as low as 32° below zero. It was rendered habitable by a little stove, which made it at the same time exceedingly disagreeable. A stove sufficiently small to be portable only contained wood enough to burn for an hour and a half or so. Consequently some one had to sit up all night to replenish it. Now, nobody could keep awake, and the result was that we had to pass through the unpleasant ordeal of alternately freezing and roasting during the whole night. The stove was of necessity composed of very thin sheet

iron, as lightness was an important object, and consequently when it was filled with good birch wood and well under way, it became redhot, and rendered the atmosphere in the tent insupportable. In about half an hour or so it would cool down a little, and one would drop off to sleep, only to wake in about an hour's time shivering, to find everything frozen solid in the tent, and the fire nearly out. Such a method of passing the night is little calculated to insure sound sleep. In the depth of winter it is quite impossible to warm a tent from the outside, however large the fire may be. It must be built at such a distance that the canvas cannot possibly catch fire, and hence all heat is dispersed long before it can reach and warm the interior of the tent. It is far better to make a 'lean-to' of the canvas, build a large fire, and sleep out in the open. A lean-to' is easily made and scarcely needs description. The name explains itself. You strike two poles, having a fork at the upper end, into the ground, slanting back slightly; lay another fir pole horizontally between the two, and resting in the crutch; then place numerous poles and branches leaning against the horizontal pole, and thus form a framework which you cover in as well as you can with birch bark, pine boughs, pieces of canvas, skins, or whatever material is most handy. You build an enormous fire in the front, and the camp is complete. A lean-to' must always be constructed with reference to the direction of the wind; it serves to keep off the wind and a certain amount of snow and rain. In other respects it is, as the Irishman said of the sedan-chair with the bottom out, more for the honour and glory of the thing than anything else. For all practical purposes you are decidedly out of doors.

Although the scenery of the greater part of Canada cannot justly be described as grand or magnificent, yet there is a weird, melancholy, desolate beauty about her barrens, a soft loveliness in her lakes and forest glades in summer, a gorgeousness of colour in her autumn woods, and a stern, sad stateliness when winter has draped them all with snow, that cannot be surpassed in any land. I remember, as distinctly as if I had left it but yesterday, the beauty of the camp from which I made my first successful expedition after moose last calling season. I had been out several times unsuccessfully, sometimes getting no answer at all; at others, calling a bull close up, but failing to induce him to show himself; sometimes failing on account of a breeze springing up, or of the night becoming too much overcast and cloudy to enable me to see him. My companions had been equally unfortunate. We had spent the best fortnight of the season in this way, and had shifted our ground and tried everything in vain. At last we decided on one more attempt, broke camp, loaded our canoes, and started. We made a journey of two days, traversing many lovely lakes, carrying over several portages, and arrived at our destination about three o'clock in the afternoon. We drew up our VOL. VI.-No. 29.

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