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May, ?9o5 [ IN ALASKA'S RAIN BELT 6 9 a little too late to get much assistance from the ebbing tide, we pulled out from the protected harbor into the narrow forest-girt fiord, hoping for a fair wind on the long stretch ahead of us. But the wind was not fair--it never is, it seems, except for the fellow going the other way--and there was nothing for it but to sail with the old reliable 'ash breeze.' So we bent to it for nearly four hours, hugging the shore, taking every lee and eddy, and buffering the combined wind and tide only when it could not be avoided. It was raining as was to be expected, but we were prepared lot it; ourselves incased in oilskins, our blankets and provisions in waterproof canvas bags, and our guns well smeared with grease and lying within reach under a tarpaulin. Along the Arm we saw a few common water birds. Now and then a black-throated loon bobbed up, and as it dove on our approach we amused our- selves in the usual way speculating as to where it would reappear. Small parties of the chunky little marbled murrelets floated unconcernedly over the choppy water, uutil we came within the danger limit, and then quickly disappeared be- neath the surface. Clumsy scoters, both the American and the white-winged, were seen here and there. Once a flock of a dozen or more scaup ducks flew over, and now and then an American merganser streaked by. Spotted sandpipers flitted along the shore from one point to another and mingled their musical little whistles with the harsh cries of the abundant and insistent ravens. From the depths of the forest occasionally came the cries of crested jays or perhaps from afar off the high- pitched trill of the varied thrush. A stream enters the head of the Arm and winds through open grassy flats for the last mile of its course. A few straggling trees thrive on elevated knolls about the border of the flats and at high tide become insular. Most of the year these flats are beautiful open meadows, being entirely inundated only by the extreme high tides of spring. Bird life is usually somewhat concentrated at the head of such a long inlet, and this case was no exception. As we approached, a large flock of crows (Cor?;?ts cauri?z?s) started from a clump of detached trees and wheeled slowly over the meadow cawing vociferously. Their alarm was soon communicat- ed to hundreds of geese which we could now plainly see scattered over the flats. and along the muddy banks of the tidal sloughs. In another moment, with min- gled cawing and cackling and now and then an added cry from a gull, the place was a pandemonium. A few flocks of the geese, which were all of the white- cheeked variety (t?ranta c. occidentalis), took flight but many remained on the flat walking about, craning their necks, and cackling in much concern. It was nearly night and still raining, so on discovering a deserted cabin near the beach, we quickly put ashore and camped in its shelter. Dry wood had evi- dently been at a premium here, for the interior of the cabin was stripped of nearly everything burnable that would not sacrifice shelter. Even the floor, which was several feet above the ground, had been burned piecemeal by successive camp- ing parties until only a few boards remained. We also levied a small tribute and managed to keep enough blaze to cook our meal and fnrnish light. By careful ad- justment our blankets were so spread on the remnants of the floor that it was possible to roll in without dropping through to the ground. Soon the tide rose and we lay and listened to the lap of the water as it came nearer and nearer the house, shivering to think of the catastrophe that might occur should we roll over too far while asleep. However sleep soon came, followed without conscious inter- missfob by waking at daylight. It was muggy in the morning but not raining and we were soon exploring the flats. The geese were again scattered about feeding and in such large num- bers that they appeared like the flocks one sees in the fall of the year. Still I