CLIMBING THE RAPIDS
The call "All aboard," came at about six o'clock on Thursday
morning. We had breakfast, and started at 8 A.M. A cold northwest
wind was blowing, and an occasional light shower fell. The sand-
hills on either side of the river grew higher as we went up, with
always the willows along the water edge. Miles ahead we could see
Mounts Sawyer and Elizabeth rising blue and fine above the other
hills, and thus standing up from the desolation of the burnt lands
all about; they came as a foreword of what was awaiting us further
on.
Not far from camp we took another porcupine. There were beaver
signs too, willows cut off and floating downstream along the shore.
Leaning over, Job picked one up and handed it back to me to show me
how cleverly they do their work. A rabbit ran up from the water
edge. Now it was a muskrat lying in among the willows. He was
evidently trying to decide which way to go, and in a moment or two
began swimming straight towards the pistols that were being loaded
for him. I was a little startled and exclaimed "Why, what's the
matter with him? Is he hurt?" Whereupon the men laughed so
heartily that the rat almost escaped. I did not understand that it
was the swift current which was carrying him against his will
directly towards us, and could only think that he must have been
sick, or hurt perhaps, to make him do so strange a thing. From
that time forward, "What's the matter with him? Is he hurt?"
became a byword in camp.
Thirteen miles above Grand Lake we reached the portage route by
which the Indians avoid the roughest part of the river. It leads
out on the north bank opposite the mouth of the Red Wine River,
passing up to the higher country, through a chain of lakes, and
entering the river again at Seal Lake. By this route the Indians
reach Seal Lake from Northwest River in less than two weeks, taking
just twenty-one days to make the journey through to Lake
Michikamau.
The trappers told us that, going by the river, it would take a
month to reach Seal Lake. I wished very much to keep to the river
route, because Mr. Hubbard would have had to do so had he not
missed the way, there being no Indians within reach, at the time he
made his journey, from whom we could obtain information. Yet our
time was short. From an Indian, whom we found at Northwest River,
I had a map of the portage; but it was crude, and we should not be
able to make the trip as quickly as the Indians even at best. It
was quite possible that a good deal of time might have to be spent
looking for the trail, for it was old and would not be easily
found. It was hard to decide what was best to do.
Going ashore the men hastily examined the trail. The council which
followed resulted in a decision to keep to the river. The work
would be harder, but we should probably make as good progress and
reach Seal Lake as soon as by going through the lakes.
Above this point the river swings more to the north, and the
current grows swifter as you ascend. A little before noon we
landed at Point Lucie, a high, sandy point, which stands out into
the river at the foot of the first rapid. Here the trappers leave
their boats and make no attempt to take canoes farther up, but
portage their provisions and traps the remaining 40 miles to Seal
Lake. It seemed quite thrilling to have arrived at the wonderful
rapids I had heard so much about. It made me tremble a little to
think of sometimes being on them in a canoe, for there was so much
water, and the river looked so big.
Below Point Lucie a broad bed of loose rocks reached high up at its
foot, and in the curve of the point were great sand and gravel-
covered hummocks of ice. For some distance below us the farther
and right bank of the river was lined with huge ice-banks, still 10
and 12 feet thick, which extended up almost to where the river came
pouring out from the foot of Mount Sawyer, in a leaping, foaming
torrent. At this point the river spread out over a bed of loose
rocks about half a mile wide, which broke the water into channels,
the widest, deepest, and swiftest of which flowed along the farther
shore. The smaller and shallower ones curved into the bay above
Point Lucie. A short distance above us several of these united,
and from there the water was deep and swift and poured round Point
Lucie with tremendous force. Around the curve of the bay and
stranded in the river-bed were more ice-banks.
While George, Joe, and Gilbert were busy preparing lunch Job
disappeared into the woods. Some time later he came back with four
stout dry poles. They were about nine feet long and two and a half
inches in diameter at the lower end. After lunch the work of
shaving and shoeing them began, and the crooked knife came into
use. It was fine to watch Job's quick, deft strokes as he made
them ready. The "shods" George had brought from Missanabie. These
were made at Moose Factory, and were the kind used throughout the
James Bay country. They were hollow cone-shaped pieces of iron a
quarter of an inch thick and open down one side, so that they might
not break with the strain. They were 4 inches long, rounded and
solid at the small end, and on either side, about an inch from the
top, was a hole to admit the nail which fastened the pole in place.
When finished they looked as if meant for heavy work.
All being now ready to proceed George said: "We will get in around
the point, Mrs. Hubbard."
I wondered why, and concluded it must be because the water was so
swift at the point. I still wondered why George did not stay to
help Job; for as all their conversations were carried on in Indian,
I was in darkness as to what was to happen. In silence I waited
for developments. A little distance above the point, near where
the water was deeper and not so swift, I looked back, and to my
astonishment I saw Job poling the canoe through the swift water
alone. But this was mild surprise compared with what was awaiting
me.
We were soon in the canoe, and for nearly half a mile they poled up
the swift current. The water was deep, and sometimes they bent
over the poles till their hands dipped into the water. It seemed
as if they must certainly fall overboard. I expected every minute
to find myself perforce taking a header into the deep water.
Sometimes we brushed the edge of a big ice-bank. The moment the
poles were lifted the canoe stopped its forward movement, and if
they were not quickly set again it began to slip back with the
current. At last the water became too shallow and rough and we
went ashore. Here the portaging began, and I climbed up over the
ice-banks and walked along the shore. Even while ice and snow
lingered, the flowers were beginning to bloom, and I found two tiny
blue violets. On reaching the deepest part of the bay I turned to
look back. Job was bringing one of the canoes up the rapid with
two full portage loads in it. I could scarcely believe what I saw,
and ran eagerly down to secure a photograph of this wonderful feat.
But my powers of astonishment reached their limit when later I saw
him calmly bringing the canoe round the bend at the foot of Mount
Sawyer and up into the narrower part of the river. Now I was not
alone in my wonder. Both George and Joe watched with interest
equal to mine, for even they had never seen a canoeman pole in
water so rough.
Job looked as if in his element. The wilder the rapid the more he
seemed to enjoy it. He would stand in the stern of the canoe,
right foot back, left forward with leg against the thwart, with set
pole holding it steady in the rushing, roaring water while he
looked the way over, choosing out his course. Then he would move
the canoe forward again, twisting its nose now this way, now that,
in the most marvellous fashion, and when he drove it into the rush
of water pouring round a big rock the pole would bend and tremble
with the weight and strain he put upon it. Sometimes I could
hardly breathe while watching him. After taking one canoe some
distance above the bend he went back for the second, and all the
remainder of the afternoon Job climbed hills of water in the
canoes.
That evening our camp was again on top of a high bank thirty feet
or more above the river. Joe and Gilbert put up the tents, while
down at our camp fire at the shore George made the bannocks and Job
skinned, dressed, and cooked the porcupine. When it grew so dark
that I could not see to write I went to help cook bannocks. It
seemed good to be near the fire too, for it was growing cold.
George and Job chatted merrily in Indian, Job evidently, as fond of
fun as George. The fun suddenly came to an end, however, when
Gilbert came down to say that the tube of my bed-pump was missing.
It was too true. The thing was not to be found anywhere. It had
been dropped when the stuff was handed down the bank in the
morning.
It seemed a quite serious matter to me, knowing as I did from past
experience that I cannot sleep on the ground long without growing
very tired, when I lose my nerve and am afraid to do anything. I
did not like to think of the possibility of either growing
desperate and wanting to turn back or breaking down under the
strain of going on. Some one would have to go back for the tube,
and time was precious now. It would be trying to lose a day.
While I sat rather disconsolate considering the situation, George
conceived the brilliant idea of having Gilbert turn himself into an
air-pump, which he did quite cheerfully, and very soon my bed was
as tight and firm as need be, and peace reigned again.
When at last we assembled for supper it was nearly 10 P.M., and the
stars were coming out over Mount Sawyer. The meal was a quiet one,
for all were tired, and well content to listen in silence to the
music of the river, as softly the night-gloom gathered unto itself
the wilderness.