this high ground was treeless. Wandering over it, I saw an arctic hare in the distance; up to now we had seen only snowshoe rabbits in vast wooded areas. To the north of us we could see forests in the distance along the main line of the coast. We knew the arctic hare would not be found there. But here on this cape were a few birds and plants which were characteristic of the Far North. And here were Eskimos in their favorite environment of open country, living off the sea. In short, Cape Jones, jutting out into the sea between James and Hudson Bays, was a little piece of the true Arctic. Here was a piece of land reaching far enough into the sea to be influenced by oceanic climate and far enough north to display a little bit of true Arctic environment. Later I was to learn that islands farther out to sea—yet far south of Cape Jones—are also treeless and have an Arctic character. Such is the influence of the oceanic climate on islands far south of the normal limit of trees.
On a trip such as ours there are days and days of busy work. It was not a pleasure trip, but we had pleasures—frequent, unexpected, interspersed with the routine work.
We worked up the coast of true Hudson Bay, north of Cape Jones. A strong wind at our back sent us up the coast at a rapid rate. On the afternoon of August 6, we arrived at Great Whale River, the goal which had been set for that summer’s expedition. The whole Indian population stood on the bank watching our approach. As we stepped ashore we shook hands with every one of them. We were given a warm welcome by the trader, Mr. Maver, and were soon comfortably encamped.
There were the typical few buildings of a Hudson’s Bay Company trading post, including the small dwellings of the permanent assistants at the post. Here we were to stay until the little steamer Inenew arrived to take us south to Moose Factory. Our northward canoe trip was over. At Moose Factory we would begin another 180 miles of canoe travel upstream to Cochrane, Ontario—and then home!
But we spent some days exploring the backcountry at Great Whale River, coming on lakes, bluffs, and the varied fauna in each setting. And we got acquainted with the Indians. The Inenew finally arrived on August 24. The unloading was interesting to watch. Every Indian pitched in, carrying flour bags, boxes, and kegs. Little boys tugged and tussled with bags, or two of them together would roll little kegs up the walk. And so the ship was unloaded.
At this point in my story I should mention something about myself. At that age, only a couple of years out of college, I thought I knew everything. I found myself arguing with Mr. Todd about little, unimportant matters. He carried in his hind pocket a huge telescope. When he saw an interesting bird, he would reach back for the telescope in order to identify the bird properly. Each time I would tell him what the bird was before he could bring his telescope to bear, and I would feel very superior!
One day we saw a bird in the distance on a beach. “Greater yellow-legs,” I announced—but then wished I could retract my words.
“Hudsonian godwit!” he exclaimed excitedly when he got the telescope focused. This was a rare bird for us.
Mr. Todd made no reference to my mistaken identification, but he made me feel a little better when he suggested that I go get the bird, which I did.
At another time we were on a small island. Mr. Todd found a brood of ducks, shot the female, and wounded one of the downy young. Holding the wriggling youngster in his hand, he called across to me, “Won’t you come here and kill this wounded bird? I don’t have the heart to do it.”
I hurried over, squeezed the sides of the body over the heart, and it died immediately. Then I burst out: “You were willing to let those other ducklings go without a parent, but you are unwilling to kill this wounded duckling in a humane way!”
As usual, I was unaware of certain human attitudes—that it is sometimes hard for a person to appear cruel to himself in order to perform a humane act. But on the whole, Mr. Todd and I got on very well, and I am sure all members of the party really got much pleasure out of the trip.
We had a hard time getting south on the Inenew. We started out against some big swells and had not gone far when I began to feel sick. As the boat pitched and rolled more and more violently, I became seasick in earnest. There were three little husky pups on the deck. One began wailing piteously, trying to keep its feet on the deck; its mouth frothed, it hung its head, and looked very miserable indeed. I sympathized with that pup—I was not the only sick one. Soon our guide Willie succumbed, then husky Bill’s son. I gave up, went below, and found a bunk. When I awoke, it was quiet; we were back at Great Whale River—too rough!
We waited for a day of much better weather to start southward again. Stopping along the way at various places, it took us several days to reach Charlton Island. There we learned that there was a war in Europe!
A Winter in Eskimo Land
All summer we had traveled together—down rivers, across lakes, up the east coast of James Bay into Hudson Bay—taking notes on animal life and collecting specimens for Carnegie Museum. Now we were back down at Moose Factory, at the southernmost part of James Bay. Here we went out on the tide flats where blue geese and other waterbirds congregate for a month each fall before continuing their migration south. Paul Commanda, well now, had again joined our party. One hundred eighty miles of upriver canoe travel separated us from the “jumping-off place” at Cochrane.
The north had appealed to me—its freedom and its beauty. I had given much thought to it. I didn’t have definite plans but I just wanted to be there. I wanted more.
Finally I talked to Mr. Todd: “Couldn’t I be up here another year? I am sure I could add to your ornithological information by studying the winter life here.”
Mr. Todd was sympathetic. He wanted scientific winter notes from this country and winter specimens for the museum. But he said, “I am sorry; I don’t have the authority to keep you on salary.”
He went as far as he could. “The only thing I can say is that I am sure we of the museum can help you sell any specimens you are able to get up here, and I can arrange a letter of credit with the Hudson’s Bay Company at Montreal, in the amount of your summer’s salary. [I think I was getting one hundred dollars per month, or slightly more.] But you will have to be on your own.”
I was elated by his cooperation and made arrangements to stay in the house of Mr. and Mrs. Moore, employees of the company, there at Moose Factory.
Next morning I said good-bye to my summer’s companions and stood on the bank, watching them paddle up the broad Moose River toward civilization. I turned to face a year of a far different way of life—to spend a winter in this far country.
Not all travelers had yet left the country. Robert Flaherty and a companion had been up on Baffin Island, where Flaherty had been getting material for his famous film Nanook of the North. I was thrilled by his account of experiences up there. I wanted to get farther north too!
One day at Moose Factory I came up to him as he sat on the porch of the store. In the course of our talk he shook his head and exclaimed, “I would like to go over there and strike that Kaiser!” and I could understand. The war had begun, and all legitimate or high-minded civilian aspirations were secondary.
In a little while only permanent residents remained at my new home, Moose Factory (now called Moosonee). This village, the center of the Hudson’s Bay Company fur trade for the whole Hudson Bay area, occupies an island near the mouth of Moose River. A long line of buildings extended down the shore of the island—an imposing array in comparison with the small cluster of houses I found at the more northern trading posts. There was a big store where goods were traded to the Indians, the residence of the district manager, a church and parsonage, various storehouses, and a number of small dwellings. These were the homes of the Hudson’s
