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ALMOSTthe first thing we noticed about camping in Algonquin was how quickly our tent and its inmates, catching the tone and colour of the woods, seemed to melt into the wild life about them. We were a part of all we saw, and it thrilled us with delight—the dawning knowledge that even the wild creatures themselves had admitted us into the goodly fellowship of wood folk.
The loons that had their home on the narrow reach of water beyond our bay would come floating in to feed within a boat’s length of the shore; the big mink that lived among the driftwood took up his daily fishin-post on the butt of the floating pine log. Even a pair of beaver, time and again, at sundown, swam over from the little cove on the opposite shore to enjoy their evening repast among our lily pads. The very deer resumed their wonted paths, moving right by the tent; often in the night or at dawn we would hear their footfalls as they passed down to drink their fill at the bay; occasionally one would snuff uneasilas it caught the tainted air. Even in broad daylight they would come browsing to the edge of the clearing; and once, on emerging from the tent, we saw a few paces away, just back of an old moss-grown log, two does and a fawn quietly cropping the leaves from a little clump of hazel.
It was a great delight to stand perfectly still and watch the deer; they would often look full at us in a prolonged stare, and then turn to feed again, from time to time raising the head or turning it somewhat sharply to see that we were not trying to take advantage of them. We might even speak to a companion, and, if we used level tones and did not raise the voice excitedly, they showed no alarm. It would almost seem that the sense impressions of eye and ear allowed the creatures to think for themselves in independent judgment; but once they scent a person, reason goes overboard, and they stamp and blow in blind panic; like Falstaff, they become cowards on instinct. Their sense of smell is an age-long heritage that has both preserved the race and made it what it is; years, even generations of protection in a forest sanctuary will not appreciably modify this guiding principle of the animal’s life.
The second season revealed a fresh charm; it taught us the delight of greeting old friends, in flower and insect, bird and beast, about the camp, the island, and the lake. Paddle with what speed we might to open camp, our eager spirits left us far astern; and, once on the island, we could hardly wait to stretch the canvas and unpack, before making some favourite round, perhaps of ferns and flowers, perhaps down the western bay to watch the Wa-wings hawk after insects, or up the Madawaska to hear the Olive-sided Flycatchers and see the deer come down at dusk from the woods.
We were soon so used to sleeping under canvas that, instead of sitting up tensely listening to every little rustling sound, we lay secure. It became even a luxury of the night to keep awake for the call of the owls under the August moon; sometimes the sonorous note of the Horned Owl; oftener the twice-repeated four-fold cry of the Barred Owl. Hardly ever did it fail of an answering call from afar; gradually the birds would draw closer and closer together. When, as often, they met in the forest canopy over our heads, it was wonderful to hear the deep gurgling tones of soft endearment, like the crooning of doves or brooding rooks, but fuller, more guttural, and far more melodious.
In the second season we built a cedar float for a wharf.This raft-like object in the little bay somewhat alarmed our guests the beaver, but not for long; and it was accepted by the bolder spirits the very day after its completion. That morning I happened to be out trolling for bass soon after daylight and presently saw a muskrat reconnoitring about the float. In a little while it dived, and, uprooting some aquatic herbage, proceeded to drag a load of it under the wharf, having evidently decided to begin building on this highly desirable site.
It worked away vigorously for nearly a quarter of an hour, when it was spied by the big mink at the pine log. Your rodent is no match for a weasel, and it was soon forced to beat a retreat, while the mink returned to his log cabin. In about ten minutes the muskrat swam cautiously back, found the coast apparently clear, and at once resumed operations. Again the mink returned to the charge, and this time dived under the float and fairlyrouted the intruder from its position among the cedar stringers. He then mounted the float, and, standing erect,watched the rat round the bend, to see that it really did double the point instead of trying to sneak back under water.
It was delightful indeed to note this fearlessness among the wild animals. Jerry Muskrat was obviously far more afraid of Billy Mink than he was of me. This was plainly the golden harvest of sanctuary, for in settled parts the muskrat is cautious.
The mink, of course, is proverbially bold. One day, as we were paddling back to camp, we noticed a mink standing on a little rock, marooned, as it were, in midchannel behind our island. Taking a quiet stroke in its direction, we allowed the canoe to drift up to the rock, expecting the mink to beat a hasty retreat and escape by diving. To our surprise, even consternation, it deliberately rose up, snuffed the breeze with inquiring nostril, and then, crawling down the stone, plunged into the water and swam straight toward us. On reaching the canoe, it actually tried to clamber up the smooth side and get over the gunwale. I had been fishing the day before, and the smell of the bass was evidently still perceptible to this sharp-nosed fisherman of our native waters. In fact,though it serves a different purpose in the two creatures,the sense of smell is no less imperious in the mink than in the deer and leads to just as unreasonable action.
Another day a baby beaver, apparently deserted, was brought into our camp, and for a fortnight we tried to rear it. Unfortunately it had been badly injured and did not long survive. But it was an affectionate pet, with quaint little ways of its own, and the daintiest slip of a paddle tail that it trailed along behind it. It was scrupulously clean, and, after dining, would always wash its face and smooth its fur with tongue and paws. It was curious to see the beaver traits coming out in it; it would crawl about the floor of the boathouse, and when it came to anything resembling a stump (my foot for instance), it would raise itself up on its hind legs, and, balancing with paddle tail below and forepaws above, stand there resting like a pigmy kangaroo.
— F. J. A. MORRIS