The Arctic Prairies | Page 2

set out to journey by canoe down the Athabaska and
adjoining waters to the sole remaining forest wilds--the far north-west
of Canada--and the yet more desert Arctic Plains, where still, it was
said, were to be seen the Caribou in their primitive condition.
My only companion was Edward A. Preble, of Washington, D. C., a
trained naturalist,--an expert canoeist and traveller, and a man of three
seasons' experience in the Hudson's Bay Territory and the Mackenzie
Valley. While my chief object was to see the Caribou, and prove their
continued abundance, I was prepared incidentally to gather
natural-history material of all kinds, and to complete the shore line of
the ambiguous lake called "Aylmer," as well as explore its sister, the
better-known Clinton-Colden.
I went for my own pleasure at my own expense, and yet I could not
persuade my Hudson's Bay Company friends that I was not sent by
some government, museum or society for some secret purpose.
On the night of May 5 we left Winnipeg, and our observations began
with the day at Brandon.
From that point westward to Regina we saw abundant evidence that last
year had been a "rabbit year," that is, a year in which the
ever-fluctuating population of Northern Hares (Snowshoe-rabbits or
White-rabbits) had reached its maximum, for nine-tenths of the bushes
in sight from the train had been barked at the snow level. But the fact
that we saw not one Rabbit shows that "the plague" had appeared, had
run its usual drastic course, and nearly exterminated the species in this
particular region.
Early next morning at Kininvie (40 miles west of Medicine Hat,
Alberta) we saw a band of 4 Antelope south of the track; later we saw
others all along as far as Gleichen. All were south of the track. The
bands contained as follows: 4, 14, 18, 8, 12, 8, 4, 1, 4, 5, 4, 6, 4, 18, 2,
6, 34, 6, 3, 1, 10, 25, 16, 3, 7, 9 (almost never 2, probably because this
species does not pair), or 232 Antelope in 26 bands along 70 miles of
track; but all were on the south side; not one was noted on the north.
The case is simple. During the past winter, while the Antelope were
gone southward, the Canadian Pacific Railway Company had fenced its

track. In spring the migrants, returning, found themselves cut off from
their summer feeding-grounds by those impassable barb-wires, and so
were gathered against the barrier. One band of 8, at a stopping place,
ran off when they saw passengers alighting, but at half a mile they
turned, and again came up against the fence, showing how strong is the
northward impulse.
Unless they learn some way of mastering the difficulty, it means
extermination for the Antelope of the north Saskatchewan.
From Calgary we went by train to Edmonton. This is the point of
leaving the railway, the beginning of hard travel, and here we waited a
few days to gather together our various shipments of food and
equipment, and to await notice that the river was open.
In the north the grand event of the year is the opening of the rivers. The
day when the ice goes out is the official first day of spring, the
beginning of the season; and is eagerly looked for, as every day's delay
means serious loss to the traders, whose men are idle, but drawing pay
as though at work.
On May 11, having learned that the Athabaska was open, we left
Edmonton in a livery rig, and drove 94 miles northward though a most
promising, half-settled country, and late the next day arrived at
Athabaska Landing, on the great east tributary of the Mackenzie, whose
waters were to bear us onward for so many weeks.
Athabaska Landing is a typical frontier town. These are hard words, but
justified. We put up at the principal hotel; the other lodgers told me it
was considered the worst hotel in the world. I thought I knew of two
worse, but next morning accepted the prevailing view.
Our canoe and provisions arrived, but the great convoy of scows that
were to take the annual supplies of trade stuff for the far north was not
ready, and we needed the help and guidance of its men, so must needs
wait for four days.
This gave us the opportunity to study the local natural history and do a
little collecting, the results of which appear later.
The great size of the timber here impressed me. I measured a typical
black poplar (P. balsamifera), 100 feet to the top, 8 feet 2 inches in
circumference, at 18 inches from the ground, and I saw many thicker,
but none taller.
At the hotel, also awaiting the scows, was a body of four (dis-)Mounted

Police,