By nightfall, the Dougs and I set up camp near the habitat of the spotted snow emu. We quickly built a roaring campfire on which I prepared a quick meal of back bacon, smoked salmon, and poutine. After the meal, Doug (the older one) pulled out his accordion and played a beautiful rendition of Be My Yoko Ono with the other Doug accompanying him on the spoons. We fell asleep with the silence broken only by a distant whistling marmot. I think it was whistling Stormy Weather, but I couldn't be certain. That wouldn't bode well for the hunt.

We awoke to strong winds that made the lemurs nervous. Camp coffee and a brief meal of bison jerky started the day before we set out on snowshoe.

The best way to hunt the spotted snow emu is to surprise it with a free keg of surprisingly strong Canadian beer. We placed the bait and settled behind the blind to wait for darkness to fall.

I imagine that the villagers of Steveston have almost completed their igloo. Even as I write this, the children are probably preparing the offerings of arctic hare. Making an offering of a hare, it is thought, will appease the wrath of Bonhomme: the fearsome snow creature that wears a sash and toque stained red with the blood of naughty children. At the coming of Bonhomme, all children must chant the refrain, "Salut Bonhomme, Salut le Bonhomme cannibale...", lest they be carried off to Bonhomme's kingdom and eaten on snow with hot maple syrup.

Dusk approaches. I should stop writing and help Doug and Doug with that flask of CC.