the upper branches of a splendid tree. It
is the home of a great colony of red-bellied squirrels
(
Callosciurus erythraeus subsp.) and after a
few moments of silence we see a flash of brown
along a branch, my gun roars out, and there is
a thud upon the ground.
Yvette runs to find the animal and ere
the echoes have died away in the forest the gun
bangs again. We have already shot a dozen squirrels
from this tree and yet more are there. Sometimes
a tiny, striped chipmunk (Tamiops macclellandi
subsp.) will appear on the lower branches, searching
the bark for grubs, and after he falls we have a long
hunt to find him in the brown leaves. When
it is too dark to see the squirrels, we wander
slowly back to camp and eat a dinner of delicious broiled
deer steak in front of the fire; over the coffee
we smoke and talk of the day’s hunting until
it is time to “run the traps.”
Of all the work we enjoy this most.
With lanterns and a gun we pick our way among
the trees until we strike the trail along which the
traps are set. On the soft ground our feet
are noiseless and, extinguishing the lanterns,
we sit on a log to listen to the night sounds.
The woods are full of life. Almost beside
us there is a patter of tiny feet and a scurry
among the dry leaves; a muntjac barks hoarsely on the
opposite hillside, and a fox yelps behind us in
the forest. Suddenly there is a sharp snap,
a muffled squeal, and a trap a few yards away has done
its work. Even in the tree tops the night
life is active. Dead twigs drop to the ground
with an unnatural noise, and soft-winged owls show
black against the sky as they flit across an opening
in the branches.
We light the lanterns again and pass
down the trail into a cuplike hollow. Here
there are a dozen traps and already half of them are
full. In one is a tiny brown shrew caught
by the tail as he ran across the trap; another
holds a veritable treasure, and at my exclamation of
delight Yvette runs up excitedly. It is a
rare Insectivore of the genus Hylomys and
possibly a species new to science. We examine
it beside the lantern, wrap it carefully in paper,
and drop it into a pocket by itself.
The next bit of cotton clings to a bush
above a mossy log. The trap is gone and for
ten minutes we hunt carefully over every inch of ground.
Finally my wife discovers it fifteen feet away
and stifles a scream for in it, caught by the
neck and still alive, is a huge rat nearly two feet
long; it too is a species which may prove new.
When the last trap has been examined,
we follow the trail to the edge of the forest
and into the clearing where the tents glow in the
darkness like great yellow pumpkins. Ours
is delightfully warmed by the charcoal brazier
and, stretched comfortably on the beds, we write our
daily records or read Dickens for half an hour.
It is with a feeling of great contentment that
we slip down into the sleeping bags and blow out the
candles leaving the tent filled with the soft glow
of the moonlight.
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