Late in April there is always a risk of getting wet through on the ice, so that I was prepared with a spare outfit, which included, besides a change of garments, snow-shoes, rifle, compass, an axe, and oilskin over clothes. My dogs, being a powerful team, would not be held back, and though I managed to wait twice for the other sleigh I had reached a village about twenty miles on the journey before nightfall, had fed the dogs, and was gathering one or two people for prayers, when they caught me up. During the night the wind shifted to the north-east. This brought in fog and rain, softened the snow, and made travelling very bad, besides sending a heavy sea into the bay. Our drive next morning would be somewhat over forty miles--the first ten miles across a wide arm of the sea, on salt-water ice. In order not to be separated too long from my friends, I sent them ahead two hours before me, appointing a rendezvous at a log shanty we had built in the woods for a half-way house. There is no one living along all that lengthy coast-line, and so, in case of accident, we keep dry clothes, food, and drugs at the hut. The first rain of the year was falling when I left, and I was obliged to keep on what we call the “ballicaters,” or ice barricades, much farther up the bay than I had expected. The sea of the night before had smashed up the ponderous covering of ice right to the land-wash, and great gaping chasms between the enormous blocks, which we call “pans,” made it impossible to get off. As soon as I topped the first hill outside the village I could see that half a mile out it was all clear water. An island which lies off about three miles in the bay had preserved a bridge of ice, however, and by crossing a few cracks I managed to reach this island. The arm of the bay beyond this point is only about four miles straight across. This would bring me to a rocky promontory and would save some miles on the round. As far as the eye could see the ice seemed good, though it was very rough. Obviously it had been smashed up by the sea, and packed in again by the strong wind from the north-east, but I judged it had frozen solid together again. I set off to cross this stretch, and all went well till I was about a quarter of a mile from the landing-point. Then the wind suddenly fell, and I noticed I was travelling over loose “sish” ice, almost of the consistency of porridge; by stabbing down, I could drive my whip-handle clean through it. This “sish” ice consists of the tiny fragments made by large pans pounding together on the heaving sea. So strongly did the breeze now come off-shore, and so quickly did the packed mass, relieved of the wind pressure, begin to scatter, that already I could not see one floe larger than ten feet square. I realized at once that retreat was absolutely impossible; the only thing to be done was to make a dash for it and try to reach the shore.