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OUR LITEEAKY CORNER.

t ALONE ON THE TRAIL.

I A CANADIAN TRAVEL SKETCH

I (By Hrcn Savage.) :- I renumber long ago strolling into --" ifae bush of Northern Ontario in com- !".- wwr'-with ono of Canada's "almost S j, a tiVe-born"-a fine grizzled Highlander whose' b'fo had spent in the main out of Scotland. Wo were not far from ' a big construction camp, but toon vhc I skid road led us into tho untouched wild where only snow-encrusted trees, • rising from a white carpet spattered tracks formed the picture. V. "\y mon," said DougaJ, "often I've V thought of it. It's wunnerfu', by all V the gods o' war, it's wunnerfu'." '• I looked at his cheery old face, wrinkled and lined by the winds that blow over the northern lakes, and seamed and blistered by those equally ' searing winter days that smite the wilderness through which the Bteel tracks , head to the lakes westward. 1 had no thought of what might come, for only "- » night ago had not our inch-board, v tar-papered shack rocked with his i mirth-producing stories after tHe hush ' which attended his scientific dissertation upon the effect of sunrays on the '■; earth.

But .he- was standing still, looking into the tangle of the forest—if tho growth that springs from the rockstrewn face of that land may bo thus dignified. "lad," he said at length, "this is the great silence. Think of it, and you will see what those writing chaps moan by the "silent places." And, thousands of miles north of us, clear to the Pole, it's the same. I often catch mysel' looking to "see if someone's behind tho trees. It's'wunnerfu'."

Step from out your brand-new prairie packing-case town, and get you to tho seemingly infinite, removed from trace of buggy wheel. You stand, as ; t were,' on a khaki floor, the heavens are a vault, indeed—or, if you will, an inverted basin upon whose lip morning and evening burn a fading pattern worth the seeing. But—silence. • .Even so may you climb from tbo rattle of th* seventeenth century artillery one learns to know as but the

•passing of a street car m the cities of j.'-v-C.the Pacific coast. Yes, climb but a

|; little way up the guarding-hill slopes. ; 'h Yin need not go as far as the; last ,; subdivision stakes.: Amid the doomed

cedars—silence!

jjp C -..; Even such a silenco hangs about', the .knees of the "Buddha. There is no- % '.v; : Mag like it in the restless, solitude of I^-.-the. great waters. Perchance there the

reason lios that in the heaven of the

I;:i Christian; there'shall be no more sea. *X :* Ear, jritb.Vsiience, one associates =jv••' rest ' T^* 1 «st for which, since Eden, £-■■■;■■• aten; haveVcraveo', - and maybe might 1 " fc und i W they notsweated bo. I: i Th^iTandoni.thoughts, may help to pK: explain why Archie Kenby, Btudent of [r " Toronto, y.i Berlin, and yijjnni, is'now.rcdnian- on a survey |V -why the &•[■■ **$$*& ■ 1 off Scotland #- : "=- in. a British Colgr v :umb» rock-cui;-why Yankee Bill,prethe foothills lave &s ??*? f tho mai »y birth-«hambere of the ;i >^ckenzio;why—but one might; gooh k : "rW- enr - T h ° ] <> y o of silence has not ££?£%&*}ten.*U there. One must not the yarn by suggesting other reag\p^^ much.is true, knowing or kl £*?n&'.tt. »that charm orVtiieW &«* m placeswhich, helps to keep theni there.- - ; ■

*'" rf"*Si??H P Sphering . of those holders of ; the inches, the v successful business men." There » no need to shock-you with details. rwtorers sight givers, tooth fitters, enow, lou may also have heard tnat wus is the age of unrest caused by the &fae.t»n BUI, forsooth; the age when tri i° { «a impenect bglrt shed -upon the brain of him who £, with the hammer, and typewriter, *«J., » manifesting .itself. Thus in a 2J Wlncll momentum with oacb a passing mdestone of years, while »n are cra mg and looking forest, SfcoM *? **» *>™> taking ttw, IS J a,d . to wait-beyond our ken Whewt Man is hk e an Indian cayusewW ndenng n for th ° far^ff f <*Uer aDdin the «J *J old cayuse. If I can bring you st? th ! W through Te ,t wdl be well enough

* four blue roan, «"»Sb it seemed to mc that he had £onJT by th ° * imo X P*'«V -n»found his neck for the last time. I * got him from a half-breed Indian away *P at Fort St. John, British Columbia, whero the great Peace slides through its narrow, thousand-foot sided galley. Bob carried a fifty-pound saddle, upon, and around which were strung other" impedimenta—a gun, a «wnera, hobbles, and blankets, and two hundred pounds of humanity. Ho took t*-*>«■ two hundred miles through the officially unknown, brought mc back, "eged and moeassipless, and leaving '- damped mc at the .Fort, promptly swam the river, leading a bunch of his iind <afely across. N t " As a saddle horse Bob was not too N Md. Could the steep sides of Deep week speak they would tell you that Italian cavalry are now outclassed; But, as a packhorse, Bob—well, had much to learn. Back on Vancouver Island they have six or 6even million good greasy dollars to shout about, but —"» this particular corner of the province there are some confoundedly bad trails. Which is as might be expected. I am going to escape telling*you of how , many times Bob bashed my* precious pack into tree-trunks, merely because he did not wish to .keep tho centre of *be muddy, log-encumbered track, nor heed it be detailed how wo" came jn company with two other wayfarers, south-eastwards through --c hush. How Bob and I went 6wimming

rivers,.- teasing; each other . over tho Praina of * Pbuce Coupe (named from an Indian chieftain), and then making it B Pi as, bare of-saddle, and with, bridle

lii

ORIGINAL AND SELECTED MATTER.

NOTES ON BOOKS AND AUTHORS.

"Honk, honk." they goi

of string, we mounted point-s of vantage in order to take snapshots of the lartnest. flunc homestead in all the great north-wek. No, we shall soon ue alone, just Bob and i. There is a waggon trail from »iv «ame farmstead, and we hoped to win down it feome twenty-five miles m one day Come, for it is nearmg noon on this mid-September morn, which. im a <nrl who sees on the doorstep her lover fresh from oversea, knows not whether to laugh or cry. Ah, they are kindly hearts on the frontier, lhey will fchow you how to fend for yourself to pack, to throw tho "diamond hitch," to bake "bannock" which may be eaten. So, with a gunny sacktul ot their latest gift—tribute of the garden beneath —now resting on Bob s back, wave a good-bye and let us be off. If man be a gregarious animal, so, too, is a cavuse. Bob didn't like being alone. Ho longed for his recent chums —old Baldy, the brown mare, and, most knowing of pack-horses, hoary old Whitey. Thus it is that after trying to lead him. and growing tired of being an inefficient walking tug-boat, you resort to driving him ahead, with tho result that ho circles round into the bush, and stands peevish at the end of tne headstall string. Ah, thanks be to the waggon road, such as it is. One rut for you. Bob; one for mc, alongside, and the top of a willow bough to steer you with. Now we can think as we march, along. It is the first time th.-rt - &KO been in the wild for any epaco without human company, but the feeling of half dread has gono that ieeling which first comes to tne townsman when he passes from the threshold of cemented sidewalks. After a week, a month — as you may be—you grow to love the silence. Tho trees and tho streams are your fellows. They hold your food as maybe they also hold your danger. But the thought, of the rutting bull moose or pugnacious grizzly is but as a drop of water in the sea of good, clean living which broadens in one's mental vision. Stories of\ escapes are stories. Chicken toasted on an alder twig, trout sizzling in the pan, water in a tin amid the blazing poplar logs which burn off the paper legend of the wondrous coffee of the "adventurers of England," are all realities.

Strange it is how many thoughts como to ono, as, made free of the wild, tho trail slides beneath, one's mocassins. There was that bird's nest you found in the lilac hedged garden when sho was four and you were three. It ■puzzled them as a thing of delight, its dust helped the rhubarb patch long ago but its memory lives. There was old "Coogeo." He's growing wheat in Saskatchewan now, and his Canadian wife keeps him at home. Was it your very self that with the muzzle of a LeeEnfield prodded up the horses he led? Shades of the ' Magaliesberg 1 What's that helio saying? Ah, no. It is only the diamonds at your feet, which the last little shower has left you. Autumn is. here, your way is.a mosaic'of yellow and brown leaves spangled with drops of rain. They aro your jewels—or heliographs. We go through Bisset "Creek, and over the rise through the trees beyond. The prairie land is done, and I hear old Dougal musing on the silence I had not sensed in those days. 'It's wunnerfu', lad, it's wunnerfu'." Up, op we <jo, through the poplar, over the divide and-down to Six Mile Creek. Bob's blanket. has slipped, so one must unpack, and • the pause will suffice.for eating time, ; Was ever bread and butter so good? Real farm-made bread ,and farm-made .butter., Like that which feeds the broods of. old Quebec. You must eat baking-powder "bannock," and go without butter'for two months to know all that' I mean.

More ; creeks, more woods, more divides, then across big flats and meadows, a lake to the left, the drop? ping sun to the right—and Bob getting tired. Surely the camp we aimed to win is-> far. off. Splash, through a big creek. No. We'll not halt there by the abandoned black bearskin which speaks of a hunt not seven days. old. Lower and lower sinks the sun, the air has a snack as of cold steel...

"Steady, Bob, it was. only geese, lad." '-••

We are but two miles from the lake, and they have come off the water to feed and rest for the - night on this little grassy flatr; by the trail Still on, and over this last .creek, and, on the bank above,: where the dry black spurco logs lie half hidden in the peavino will we halt. .

"All right, Bob, Til be quick. Stand still. The cinch rope is your tethering string; its loose end is looped and twisted to hold our axe ready for emergencies on the trail. The canvas covering is. my shelter. Off with, tho topping bag of 'spuds'V the boxes next. They are one on each side of the.Cottonwood Indian-made pack saddle. Your pads of blankets- are now for mc, Bob. I'll have to tie you to this old stump. , Now go and roll yourself and eat." •' ...

An hour ago. the sun set. Ah, how the flames hean and crackle. I have filled ray "billfes" at the creek. Tho canvas is now rigged as n "fly." that is a framework of two "V"-ended uprights and a stick laid crosswise in the notches, something like a "soccer" ■ goal post, is erected in front of the fire. It holds two corners and supports all one side of tho sheet, the other two ends are pecged down in the ground away back from the blaze. Boiled spuds and tea are good. This is" my first campfire alone. Hark to Bob chafing around. He wants to hit the trail back. '■ 'Always tether your horses across the stream," says the maxim.

But one does not feel lonely. Back of the "fly" the south-west wind is driving; the sides are open. Blessed be tobacco. Those same old stars have spread themselves for my especial enjoyment. . . ■ • . » " -."

Aha I There in the north-east the aurora is dancing. The light shoots from behind a few clouds and runs flickering all over the sky, like giant searchlight play. Now it spreads and zig-zags over half the studded bowl of heaven. One feels as though in the box of a theatre which is empty, and yet not empty. You are watching for the curtain to rise. ' Meanwhile the silent music of the' northern lights, plays for your sole delectation. Mysterious, wonderful music akin to the. morning song of the peaks incarnadined in the dawn.

One last look at Bob. Thanks be to the moosehide beneath mc.; the blankets above, the axe I mislaid and found again, the pile of chopped logs at my hand, the rifle, the night, the guardian of the silent places who sleeps not. "Shall I wake him ?" said the southwest wind.

"Ha! Ha!" laughed tbe dancing lights. "He does not yet ken my meaning. So, teach him." And the south-west wind did as tho lights warn those who know that they terald x change of weather/ His breath he gave to tbo west, and the west wind sprinkled it with rain- that blew into the unguarded side of the shelter by the dying fire. ..' . The man woke; yawned, and slept :aint. "oive mo thy breath," came a messago from the home of tho lights _to the west wind. So the north wind blotted jut with clouds the circling Dipper, and drove sleet'and snow into tho firefront.

The man woko again, seized his axe, transformed his uprights so that_thoy

r»f 6 w east and wesi - Then over tho !r J lO threw his canvas, Degging down •"j four ends to the ground—and slept again.

... * t: j» cold work, Bob, packing thee this day. Whew! , Who'd have thought of snow in September." So we passed on down tho trail whose silence was only broken by the softly falling snowfiakes.

Permanent link to this item
Hononga pūmau ki tēnei tūemi

https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/CHP19140530.2.45

Bibliographic details
Ngā taipitopito pukapuka

Press, Volume L, Issue 149814, 30 May 1914, Page 9

Word count
Tapeke kupu
2,327

OUR LITEEAKY CORNER. Press, Volume L, Issue 149814, 30 May 1914, Page 9

OUR LITEEAKY CORNER. Press, Volume L, Issue 149814, 30 May 1914, Page 9

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