Everyone in my watershed has, somewhere, a old copy of Ray's book. We all sent copies to our parents back in the day, trying to help them understand why we were mouldering in the country counting fallen leaves. The drawings are beautiful, and the narrative is still fine. Ray got a lot of ribbing because back then he wintered away from the rainy forest and the mud, and there is no mud in his book. Which seemed to those of us moving pans to catch drips from leaky cabin roofs something of an oversight.
Ray of course went on to publish many other books and make something of a name for himself as a historian. ( )