The Arctic Prairies Part 23

This herd is said to rival in numbers the Buffalo herds of story, to reach farther than the eye can see, and to be days in pa.s.sing a given point; but it is utterly erratic. It might arrive in early September. It was not sure to arrive until late October, when the winter had begun. This year all the indications were that it would be late. If we were to wait for it, it would mean going out on the ice. For this we were wholly unprepared. There were no means of getting the necessary dogs, sleds, and fur garments; my business was calling me back to the East. It was useless to discuss the matter, decision was forced on me. Therefore, without having seen that great sight, one of the world's tremendous zoological spectacles the march in one body of millions of Caribou--I reluctantly gave the order to start. On September 8 we launched the Ann Seton on her homeward voyage of 1,200 upstream miles.

CHAPTER x.x.xIX

FAREWELL TO THE CARIBOU

All along the sh.o.r.e of Artillery Lake we saw small groups of Caribou.

They were now in fine coat; the manes on the males were long and white and we saw two with cleaned antlers; in one these were of a brilliant red, which I suppose meant that they were cleaned that day and still b.l.o.o.d.y.

We arrived at the south end of Artillery Lake that night, and were now again in the continuous woods what spindly little stuff it looked when we left it; what superb forest it looked now--and here we bade good-bye to the prairies and their Caribou.

Now, therefore, I shall briefly summarise the information I gained about this notable creature. The species ranges over all the treeless plains and islands of Arctic America. While the great body is migratory, there are scattered individuals in all parts at all seasons. The main body winters in the sheltered southern third of the range, to avoid the storms, and moves north in the late spring, to avoid the plagues of deer-flies and mosquitoes. The former are found chiefly in the woods, the latter are bad everywhere; by travelling against the wind a certain measure of relief is secured, northerly winds prevail, so the Caribou are kept travelling northward.

When there is no wind, the instinctive habit of migration doubtless directs the general movement.

How are we to form an idea of their numbers? The only way seems to be by watching the great migration to its winter range. For the reasons already given this was impossible in my case, therefore, I array some of the known facts that will evidence the size of the herd.

Warburton Pike, who saw them at Mackay Lake, October 20, 1889, says: "I cannot believe that the herds [of Buffalo] on the prairie ever surpa.s.sed in size La Foule (the throng) of the Caribou. La Foule had really come, and during its pa.s.sage of six days I was able to realize what an extraordinary number of these animals still roam the Barren Grounds."

From figures and facts given me by H. T. Munn, of Brandon, Manitoba, I reckon that in three weeks following July 25, 1892, he saw at Artillery Lake (N. lat.i.tude 62 1/2 degrees, W. Long. 112 degrees) not less than 2,000,000 Caribou travelling southward; he calls this merely the advance guard of the great herd. Colonel Jones (Buffalo Jones), who saw the herd in October at Clinton-Colden, has given me personally a description that furnishes the basis for an interesting calculation of their numbers.

He stood on a hill in the middle of the pa.s.sing throng, with a clear view ten miles each way and it was one army of Caribou. How much further they spread, he did not know. Sometimes they were bunched, so that a hundred were on a s.p.a.ce one hundred feet square; but often there would be s.p.a.ces equally large without any. They averaged at least one hundred Caribou to the acre; and they pa.s.sed him at the rate of about three miles an hour. He did not know how long they were in pa.s.sing this point; but at another place they were four days, and travelled day and night. The whole world seemed a moving ma.s.s of Caribou. He got the impression at last that they were standing still and he was on a rocky hill that was rapidly running through their hosts.

Even halving these figures, to keep on the safe side, we find that the number of Caribou in this army was over 25,000,000. Yet it is possible that there are several such armies. In which case they must indeed out-number the Buffalo in their palmiest epoch. So much for their abundance to-day. To what extent are they being destroyed?

I looked into this question with care.

First, of the Indian destruction. In 1812 the Chipewyan population, according to Kennicott, was 7,500. Thomas Anderson, of Fort Smith, showed me a census of the Mackenzie River Indians, which put them at 3,961 in 1884. Official returns of the Canadian government give them in 1905 at 3,411, as follows:

Peel . . . . . . . . . . 400 Arctic Red River . . . . . . 100 Good Hope . . . . . . . . 500 Norman . . . . . . . . . 300 Wrigley . . . . . . . . . 100 Simpson . . . . . . . . . 300 Rae . . . . . . . . . . 800 Liard and Nelson . . . . . . 400 Yellowknives . . . . . . . 151 Dogribs . . . . . . . . . 123 Chipewyans . . . . . . . . 123 Hay River . . . . . . . . 114 ----- 3,411

Of these the Hay River and Liard Indians, numbering about 500, can scarcely be considered Caribou-eaters, so that the Indian population feeding on Caribou to-day is about 3,000, less than half what it was 100 years ago.

Of these not more than 600 are hunters. The traders generally agree that the average annual kill of Caribou is about 10 or 20 per man, not more. When George Sanderson, of Fort Resolution, got 75 one year, it was the talk of the country; many got none. Thus 20,000 per annum killed by the Indians is a liberal estimate to-day.

There has been so much talk about destruction by whalers that I was careful to gather all available information. Several travellers who had visited Hersh.e.l.l Island told me that four is the usual number of whalers that winter in the north-east of Point Barrow.

Sometimes, but rarely, the number is increased to eight or ten, never more. They buy what Caribou they can from Eskimo, sometimes aggregating 300 or 400 carca.s.ses in a winter, and would use more if they could get them, but they cannot, as the Caribou herds are then far south. This, E. Sprake Jones, William Hay, and others, are sure represents fairly the annual destruction by whalers on the north coast. Only one or two vessels of this traffic go into Hudson's Bay, and these with those of Hersh.e.l.l are all that touch Caribou country, so that the total destruction by whalers must be under 1,000 head per annum.

The Eskimo kill for their own use. Franz Boas ("Handbook of American Indians") gives the number of Eskimo in the central region at 1,100. Of these not more than 300 are hunters. If we allow their destruction to equal that of the 600 Indians, it is liberal, giving a total of 40,000 Caribou killed by native hunters. As the whites rarely enter the region, this is practically all the destruction by man. The annual increase of 30,000,000 Caribou must be several millions and would so far overbalance the hunter toll that the latter cannot make any permanent difference.

There is, moreover, good evidence that the native destruction has diminished. As already seen, the tribes which hunt the Barren-Ground Caribou, number less than one-half of what they did 100 years ago.

Since then, they have learned to use the rifle, and this, I am a.s.sured by all the traders, has lessened the destruction. By the old method, with the spear in the water, or in the pound trap, one native might kill 100 Caribou in one day, during the migrations; but these methods called for woodcraft and were very laborious. The rifle being much easier, has displaced the spear; but there is a limit to its destruction, especially with cartridges at five cents to seven cents each, and, as already seen, the hunters do not average 20 Caribou each in a year.

Thus, all the known facts point to a greatly diminished slaughter to-day when compared with that of 100 years ago. This, then, is my summary of the Barren-Ground Caribou between the Mackenzie River and Hudson's Bay. They number over 30,000,000, and may be double of that. They are in primitive conditions and probably never more numerous than now.

The native destruction is less now than formerly and never did make any perceptible difference.

Finally, the matter has by no means escaped the attention of the wide-awake Canadian government represented by the Minister of the Interior and the Royal North-west Mounted Police. It could not be in better hands; and there is no reason to fear in any degree a repet.i.tion of the Buffalo slaughter that disgraced the plains of the United States.

CHAPTER XL

OLD FORT RELIANCE TO FORT RESOLUTION

All night the storm of rain and snow raged around our camp on the south sh.o.r.e of Artillery Lake, but we were up and away in the morning in spite of it. That day, we covered five portages (they took two days in coming out). Next day we crossed Lake Harry and camped three-quarters of a mile farther on the long portage. Next day, September 11, we camped (still in storm) at the Lobstick Landing of Great Slave Lake. How tropically rich all this vegetation looked after the "Land of little sticks." Rain we could face, but high winds on the big water were dangerous, so we were storm-bound until September 14, when we put off, and in two hours were at old Fort Reliance, the winter quarters of Sir George Back in 1833-4. In the Far North the word "old" means "abandoned" and the fort, abandoned long ago, had disappeared, except the great stone chimneys. Around one of these that intrepid explorer and hunter-Buffalo Jones-had built a shanty in 1897. There it stood in fairly good condition, a welcome shelter from the storm which now set in with redoubled fury. We soon had the big fireplace aglow and, sitting there in comfort that we owed to him, and surrounded by the skeletons of the Wolves that he had killed about the door in that fierce winter time, we drank in hot and copious tea the toast: Long life and prosperity to our host so far away, the brave old hunter, "Buffalo Jones."

The woods were beautiful and abounded with life, and the three days we spent there were profitably devoted to collecting, but on September 17 we crossed the bay, made the short portage, and at night camped 32 miles away, on the home track.

Next morning we found a camp of Indians down to the last of their food. We supplied them with flour and tobacco. They said that no Caribou had come to the Lake, showing how erratic is the great migration.

In the afternoon we came across another band in still harder luck.

They had nothing whatever but the precarious catch of the nets, and this was the off-season. Again we supplied them, and these were among the unexpected emergencies for which our carefully guarded supplies came in.

In spite of choppy seas we made from 30 to 35 miles a day, and camped on Tal-thel-lay the evening of September 20. That night as I sat by the fire the moon rose in a clear sky and as I gazed on her calm bright disc something seemed to tell me that at that moment the dear ones far away were also looking on that radiant face.

On the 21st we were storm-bound at Et-then Island, but utilised the time collecting. I gathered a lot of roots of Pulsatilla and Calypso. Here Billy amused us by catching Wiskajons in an old-fashioned springle that dated from the days when guns were unknown; but the captured birds came back fearlessly each time after being released.

All that day we had to lie about camp, keeping under cover on account of the rain. It was dreary work listening to the surf ceaselessly pounding the sh.o.r.e and realising that all these precious hours were needed to bring us to Fort Resolution, where the steamer was to meet us on the 25th.

On the 23d it was calmer and we got away in the gray dawn at 5.45.

We were now in Weeso's country, and yet he ran us into a singular pocket that I have called Weeso's Trap--a straight glacial groove a mile long that came to a sudden end and we had to go back that mile.

The old man was much mortified over his blunder, but he did not feel half so badly about it as I did, for every hour was precious now.

What a delight it was to feel our canoe skimming along under the four paddles. Three times as fast we travelled now as when we came out with the bigger boat; 5 1/2 miles an hour was frequently our rate and when we camped that night we had covered 47 miles since dawn.

On Kahdinouay we camped and again a storm arose to pound and bl.u.s.ter all night. In spite of a choppy sea next day we reached the small island before the final crossing; and here, perforce, we stayed to await a calmer sea. Later we heard that during this very storm a canoe-load of Indians attempted the crossing and upset; none were swimmers, all were drowned.

We were not the only migrants hurrying southward. Here for the first time in my life I saw Wild Swans, six in a flock. They were heading southward and flew not in very orderly array, but ever changing, occasionally forming the triangle after the manner of Geese. They differ from Geese in flapping more slowly, from White Cranes in flapping faster, and seemed to vibrate only the tips of the wings. This was on the 23d. Next day we saw another flock of seven; I suppose that in each case it was the old one and young of the year.

As they flew they uttered three different notes: a deep horn-like "too" or "coo," a higher pitched "coo," and a warble-like "tootle-tootle," or sometimes simply "tee-tee." Maybe the last did not come from the Swans, but no other birds were near; I suppose that these three styles of notes came from male, female, and young.

Next morning 7 flocks of Swans flew overhead toward the south-west.

They totalled 46; 12 were the most in one flock. In this large flock I saw a quarrel No. 2 turned back and struck No. 3, his long neck bent and curled like a snake, both dropped downward several feet then 3, 4 and 5 left that flock. I suspect they were of another family.

But, later, as we entered the river mouth we had a thrilling glimpse of Swan life. Flock after flock came in view as we rounded the rush beds; 12 flocks in all we saw, none had less than 5 in it, nearly 100 Swans in sight, at once, and all rose together with a mighty flapping of strong, white wings, and the chorus of the insignificant "too-too-tees" sailed farther southward, probably to make the great Swan tryst on Hay River.

No doubt these were the same 12 flocks as those observed on the previous days, but still it rejoiced my heart to see even that many. I had feared that the species was far gone on the trail of the Pa.s.senger Pigeon.

But this is antic.i.p.ating. We were camped still on the island north of the traverse, waiting for possible water. All day we watched In vain, all night the surf kept booming, but at three in the morning the wind dropped, at four it was obviously calmer. I called the boys and we got away before six; dashing straight south in spite of rolling seas we crossed the 15-mile stretch in 3 3/4 hours, and turning westward reached Stony Island by noon. Thence southward through ever calmer water our gallant boat went spinning, reeling off the level miles up the river channel, and down again on its south-west branch, in a glorious red sunset, covering in one day the journeys of four during our outgoing, in the supposedly far speedier York boat. Faster and faster we seemed to fly, for we had the grand incentive that we must catch the steamer at any price that night. Weeso now, for the first time, showed up strong; knowing every yard of the way he took advantage of every swirl of the river; in and out among the larger islands we darted, and when we should have stopped for the night no man said "Stop", but harder we paddled. We could smell the steamer smoke, we thought, and pictured her captain eagerly scanning the offing for our flying canoe; it was most inspiring and the Ann Seton jumped up to 6 miles an hour for a time. So we went; the night came down, but far away were the glittering lights of Fort Resolution, and the steamer that should end our toil. How cheering. The skilly pilot and the l.u.s.ty paddler slacked not--40 miles we had come that day--and when at last some 49, nearly 50, paddled miles brought us stiff and weary to the landing it was only to learn that the steamer, notwithstanding bargain set and agreed on, had gone south two days before.