“GREY OWL” IN LONDON

Waipa Post, Volume 51, Issue 3694, 6 December 1935, Page 9

“GREY OWL” IN LONDON

PROTECTOR OF WILD LIFE. WHY HE GAVE UP TRAPPING. A BEAVER THAT WAS SPARED. Grey Owl—Canadian Indian, author, “ Protector of Wild Life ” —is in London (writes a correspondent of the Observer). t' T He is “ Protector of Wild Life ” because eight years ago, after hunting and trapping since his boyhood, with an interval of three years as a soldier in France, he and his wife Anahareo, of the Iroquois people, decided that they would hunt and trap no more. A family of young beaver made them throw away their livelihood. Grey Owl had killed the parents. The infant beaver, according to custom, should have been killed too, but Anahareo had a sudden distaste for killing. The young beaver grew up to become Grey Owl’s first animal friends. “ I never knew anything about animals, although I’d lived in the wilds all my life, until I stopped killing them,’ he said to a journalist. “ After I’d begun to study them I felt I could not take life again.” OFFICIAL GUARDIAN. No trapping meant no food. When the Canadian Government discovered Grey Owl and his wife they were almost destitute. But it happened that at that time Canada, through indiscriminate trapping and hunting, was in danger of becoming almost destitute of wild life. Therefore Grey Owl became official “ Protector,” guarding the wilderness from his cabin in Saskatchewan. 'He talked quietly, pausing now and then to stroke an elusive word out of the air with his finger-tips, dressed in the worn, tasselled buckskin and plain moccasins of every-day use, his long black hair braided, Indian fashion, on each side. His face had the chiselled leanness of the Indian, but his colour is paler than that of his fellows of the Ojibway tribe, by whom he was adopted, for his father was a Scots Government scout, serving under Colonel Cody (“ Buffalo Bill ”). “ Forgive me if I cian’t express myself very well,” he said. “ I’m not used to being cooped up, and I haven’t got the vibration of ten days’ journeying out of my feet yet. I know that everybody is being very kind, and of course I’m not afraid of cities. But I feel—well, not exactly nervous, but . . . you know . . . kind of hunted. Besides, the thought of being taken around lecturing for three mionths is a little unsettling.” “ FACTS ONLY.” The apology was hardly needed; he had not lost his calm, humorous detachment. A hint of a smjle crept into his eyes when he added: “ I am not a writer; I only write facts.” Any trace of nervousness vanished when he began to talk about the facts—his work and the philosophy that goes with it: — “ Tolerance —that’s the Indian philosophy. Take what you need and

leave the rest alone. I’m not a fanatic about wild life—if you have to kill, kill quickly. But I believe that animals have as much right as human beings to live their own lives in their own way. Besides, I am. not convinced that men are superior to other animals—except that they have imagination.

“ Take the beaver people—my colony in Saskatchewan. I talk to them. Their . . . their actions are human, although that’s not the word I want. Their voices have expression. One of them’ll walk into my cabin and plead with me to do something, tugging at my trouser-leg. Then, if I don’t pay any attention, he’ll walk away with a disgusted grunt, opening the door hinfself. “ A colony of them have even built theirTiouse inside my cabin. I didn’t ask them to—they just knew I was friendly. My wife’s looking after them now while I’m away. Yes, they are intelligent, just as intelligent as monkeys, without any unpleasant simian tricks. THE INDIAN’S PART. “ I write books about them because —don’t put me down as a propagandist—because I think civilised people have something to learn. The difference between civilised man and the savage is just this—civilised people try to impose themselves on their surroundings, to dominate everything. The Indian’s part of the background. He lets himself—not just drift—but go with Nature. The civilised parts of the earth become unbearable if you really love the wilderness. “ No, I don’t find writing too troublesome. As I said, I only write facts, and it’s not difficult to put down what you know. I had an aunt who taught me reading and writing and some history and geography, though I can’t figure. I couldn’t keep a bank account. And my wife and I are keen on finding the right meanings of words. We hunt them up in a synonym dictionary. The radio’s a great help. Wje listen a lot, and track down any new words we hear. “ Things are not so bad as they used to be in the wild parts of, Canada. Ten years ago there was danger that certain animals might become extinct. Now at least one herd of buffalo are 7000 srong. That’s healthy. And the beaver people are all right. No lack of wolves and coyotes, and too many bears. “It’s the smaller, fur-bearing animals that want watching. The Indians take only what they must, and the professional white trappers don’t waste. But the amateur trappers and hunters who range across the country killing everything they see are the menace. There are laws, of course, but you can’t always enforce them in the wilderness.

“ Still, we’re working away. Tolerance —that’s the thing.” j