On Sunday, 21 July, we made a new record, 6 meals and 20 miles. On July 22 we made only 7 meals and 11 miles and camped in the narrows Tal-thel-lay. These are a quarter of a mile wide and have a strong current running westerly. This is the place which Back says is a famous fishing ground and never freezes over, even in the hardest winters. Here, as at all points, I noted the Indian names, not only because they were appropriate, but in hopes of serving the next traveller. I found an unexpected difficulty in writing them down, viz.: no matter how I pronounced them, old Weeso and Freesay, my informants, would say, "Yes, that is right." This, I learned, was out of politeness; no matter how you mispronounce their words it is good form to say, "That's it; now you have it exactly." The Indians were anxious to put out a net overnight here, as they could count on getting a few Whitefish; so we camped at 5.15. It is difficult to convey to an outsider the charm of the word "whitefish." Any northerner will tell you that it is the only fish that is perfect human food, the only food that man or dog never wearies of, the only lake food that conveys no disorder no matter how long or freely it is used. It is so delicious and nourishing that there is no fish in the world that can even come second to it. It is as far superior in all food qualities to the finest Salmon or Trout as a first-prize, gold-medalled, nut-fed thoroughbred Sussex bacon-hog is to the roughest, toughest, boniest old razor-backed land-pike that ever ranged the woods of Arkansas. That night the net yielded 3 Whitefish and 3 Trout. The latter, being 4 to 8 pounds each, would have been reckoned great prizes in any other country, but now all attention was on the Whitefish. They certainly were radiantly white, celestial in color; their backs were a dull frosted silver, with here and there a small electric lamp behind the scales to make its jewels sparkle. The lamps alternated with opals increased on the side; the bellies were of a blazing mother-of-pearl. It would be hard to imagine a less imaginative name than "white" fish for such a shining, burning opalescence. Indian names are usually descriptive, but their name for this is simply "The Fish." All others are mere dilutes and cheap imitations, but the Coregonus is at all times and par excellence "The Fish." Nevertheless, in looking at it I could not help feeling that this is the fat swine, or the beef Durham of its kind. The head, gills, fins, tail, vital organs and bones all were reduced to a minimum and the meat parts enlarged and solidified, as though they were the product of ages of careful breeding by man to produce a perfect food fish, a breeding that has been crowned with the crown of absolute success.