TO THE BEND OF THE RRVER
Beyond this point our progress was slow and difficult. There were
days when we made less than two miles, and these were the
discouraging days for me, because there was ever hanging over me
the thought of the necessity of reaching Ungava by the last week in
August--if I meant to catch the ship there. However, by poling and
tracking, by lifting and dragging the canoe through the shallow
waters near the shore, or again by carrying the entire outfit over
the sand-hills or across boulder-strewn valleys, we won gradually
forward.
It frightened me often to see the men take their packs where they
did. Sometimes it was over a great bed of boulders, where the
reindeer moss was growing. This moss is a delicate grey-green
colour, exquisitely beautiful in form as well, and as a background
for the dark spruces is wonderfully effective. We found it growing
luxuriantly almost everywhere, except in the burned districts, and
in places it is six inches in height. When dry, it is brittle, and
may be crumbled to powder in the hands, but when wet is very much
the consistency of jelly, and just as slippery. Through the wooded
land the soil appeared to be simply a tangle of fallen and decayed
tree-trunks grown over with thick moss of another variety, in which
you sank ankle deep, while dark perilous looking holes yawned on
every side, making you feel that if once you went in you might
never appear again. Sometimes our way led along a fine bear trail
on a sandy terrace where the wood growth was small and scattered,
and where the walking was smooth, and even as that of a city
street, but much softer and pleasanter. There were many bear
trails through this lower Nascaupee country, though we did not
again see any bears, and one might actually think the trails had
been chosen with an eye to beauty. The woods were very fine, the
spruces towering far above us straight as arrows. They were, many
of them, splendid specimens of their kind, and one I measured was
nine feet in circumference. Here and there some balsam was found
among the spruces. These were true virgin forests, but their
extent was limited to the narrow river valleys. Out beyond, the
hill-tops rose treeless and barren.
On the portages the outfit was taken forward by short stages, and I
had a good deal of waiting to do. The men did not like to leave me
alone lest I might possibly encounter a bear, and I had many
warnings to keep my rifle ready, and not to leave my waiting-place.
Secretly I rather hoped a bear would come along for I thought I
could manage him if he did not take me unawares.
Besides the interest of watching for the bear I hoped to meet, I
had, while we travelled in the more open parts, the hills both up
and down the river to look at, and they were very beautiful with
their ever-changing colour. Mount Sawyer and Mount Elizabeth were
behind us now, and away ahead were the blue ridges of hills with
one high and barren, standing out above the rest, which I named
Bald Mountain. I wondered much what we should find there. What we
did find was a very riotous rapid and a very beautiful Sunday camp.
Waiting in the lower wooded parts was not as pleasant. Once I
announced my intention of setting up my fishing-rod and going down
to the river to fish, while the rest of the outfit was being
brought up. Sudden consternation overspread the faces of the men.
In a tone of mingled alarm, disapproval, suspicion, George
exclaimed: "Yes; that is just what I was afraid you would be doing.
I think you had better sit right down there by the rifles. There
are fresh bear tracks about here, and Job says they run down there
by the river."
I could not help laughing at the alarm I had created, but
obediently sat down on the pile of outfit by the rifles, strongly
suspecting, however, that the bear tracks were invented, and that
the real fear was on account of the river. It began to be somewhat
irksome to be so well taken care of.
The mosquitoes and flies were now coming thick and fast. I thought
them very bad, but George insisted that you could not even call
this a beginning. I wore a veil of black silk net, but the mesh
was hardly fine enough, and the flies managed to crawl through.
They would get their heads in and then kick and struggle and twist
till they were all through, when they immediately proceeded to
work. The men did not seem to care to put their veils on even when
not at work, and I wondered how they could take the little torments
so calmly.
On the morning of July 6th we reached the Seal Islands expansion.
Around these islands the river flows with such force and swiftness
that the water can be seen to pile up in ridges in the channel.
Here we found Donald Blake's tilt. Donald is Gilbert's brother,
and in winter they trap together up the Nascaupee valley as far as
Seal Lake, which lies 100 miles from Northwest River post. Often
in imagination I had pictured these little havens so far in the
wilderness and lonely, and now I had come to a real one. It was a
tiny log building set near the edge of the river bank among the
spruce trees. Around it lay a thick bed of chips, and scattered
about were the skeletons of martens of last winter's catch. One
had to stoop a good deal to get in at the narrow doorway. It was
dark, and not now an attractive-looking place, yet as thought flew
back to the white wilderness of a few months before, the trapper
and his long, solitary journeys in the relentless cold, with at
last the wolfish night closing round him, it made all different,
and one realised a little how welcome must have seemed the thought
and the sight of the tiny shelter.
In the tilt there was no window and no floor. All the light came
in through the doorway and a small hole in the roof, meant to admit
the stove pipe. Hanging on the cross beams were several covered
pails containing rice, beans, flour, lard, and near them a little
cotton bag with a few candles in it. Thrown across a beam was a
piece of deerskin dressed for making or mending snow-shoes; and on
a nail at the farther end was a little seal-skin pouch in which
were found needle, thread, and a few buttons. A bunk was built
into the side of the room a few feet above the ground, and lying in
it an old tent. Beside a medley heap of other things piled there,
we found a little Testament and a book of Gospel Songs. The latter
the men seemed greatly pleased to find, and carried it away with
them. We took the candles also, and filled one pail with lard,
leaving one of the pieces of bacon in its place. Already we were
regretting that we had no lard or candles with us. They had been
cut out of the list when we feared the canoes would not hold all
the outfit, and later I had forgotten to add them. The men were
hungry for fried cakes, and the lard meant a few of these as a
treat now and then.
Gilbert had hoped to find an axe here, but although be hunted
everywhere there was none to be found. He did, however, get his
little frying-pan and a small pail which made a welcome addition to
our depleted outfit.
That day we portaged nearly all the afternoon. It was rough, hard
walking, and occasional showers fell which made it worse. There
was many a wistful glance cast across to the other shore where we
could see a fine sand terrace. There the walking must be smooth
and easy; but we could not cross, the rapids were too heavy.
During the afternoon we found the first and only fresh caribou
tracks seen in the lower Nascaupee valley. A pair of fish eagles,
circling high above us, screamed their disapproval of our presence
there. We saw their nest at the very top of a dead spruce stub,
some sixty feet or more above the ground. This was one of the very
many things on the trip which made me wish I were a man. I could
have had a closer look at the nest; I think I could have taken a
photograph of it too. Now and then came the sweet, plaintive song
of the white-throated sparrow.
Towards evening it began to rain fast, and as if with the intention
of keeping at it; so George called a halt. As I sat down on a pile
of outfit he opened up the men's tent, and, spreading it over me,
directed me to wait there till my own was ready. George's tone of
authority was sometimes amusing. Sometimes I did as I was told,
and then again I did not. This time I did, and with my rifle on
one side and my fishing-rod on the other, to hold the tent up, I
sat and watched them making camp and building the fire.
All day the mosquitoes and flies had been bad, but now the rain had
coaxed them out in redoubled force, and they were dreadful. I
could feel how swollen my neck and ears were, and wondered how I
looked; but I was rather glad that I had no mirror with me, and so
could not see. Now and then I had spoken of my suspicions as to
what a remarkable spectacle I must present. George, manlike,
always insisted that I looked "just right"; but that night, in an
unguarded moment, he agreed with me that it was a good thing I had
not brought a mirror. For the first time we went into a wet camp.
It poured steadily all day Friday, and we did not attempt to go
forward. I slept again after breakfast, and then did some mending,
made veils, and studied a little. It was very cold and dismal; but
the cold was always welcome, for it kept the flies and mosquitoes
quiet. Our camp was on high ground, and from the open front of my
tent I could look down over a steep bank thirty feet to the river,
racing past with its ceaseless roar. Sometimes I wished I could
reach out and stop it just for a minute, and then let it go again.
I wished rainy days might not come often, though I fully expected
that they would. About 3 P.M. I heard a stir outside and going out
found George and Gilbert making a fire. It was not so simple a
matter now without an axe. The small stuff had to be broken, and
then whole trees were dragged bodily to the spot and laid on to be
burned off a piece at a time. When fallen stuff was scarce,
standing dead trees were by hard labour pushed over and brought in.
The big fire felt very good that day.
It was not raining quite so fast now, and after dinner I sat
watching George while he mended my moccasin where the mice had
eaten it, and sewed the moleskin cartridge pouch to my leather
belt. He finished putting the pouch on, and handed the belt back
to me with a satisfied smile. Instead of taking it I only laughed
at him, when he discovered he had put the pistol-holster and knife-
sheath on wrong side first. There was no help for it; it had to
come off again, for the sheaths would not slip over either buckle
or pouch. I comforted him with the assurance that it was good he
should have something to do to keep him out of mischief. When the
mistake had been remedied he showed me how to make a rabbit-snare.
Then the rain drove me to my tent again, and I had supper there
while the men made bannocks. It was horrid to eat in the tent
alone.
The barometer was now rising steadily, and I went to sleep with
high hopes of better weather in the morning. When I awoke the sun
was shining on the hills across the river. How welcome the sight
was! Everything was still wet though, and we did not break camp
till after dinner. I did some washing and a little mending. The
mice had eaten a hole in a small waterproof bag in which I carried
my dishes, dish-towel, and bannock, and I mended it with some tent
stuff. An electrician's tape scheme, which I had invented for
mending a big rent in my rubber shirt, did not work, and so I
mended that too with tent stuff. How I did hate these times of
inactivity.
It was one o'clock when we started forward again, and all afternoon
the portaging was exceedingly rough, making it slow, hard work
getting the big pile of stuff forward. To add to the difficulties,
a very boisterous little river had to be bridged, and when evening
came we had gone forward only a short distance. We had come to a
rather open space, and here the men proposed making camp. Great
smooth-worn boulders lay strewn about as if flung at random from
some giant hand. A dry, black, leaflike substance patched their
surfaces, and this George told me is the _wakwanapsk_ which the
Indians in their extremity of hunger use for broth. Though black
and leaflike when mature, it is, in its beginning, like a disk of
tiny round green spots, and from this it gets its name. _Wakwuk--
fish-roe; _wanapisk_--a rock.
It was a very rough place, very desolate looking, and far from the
river. It made me shudder to think of spending Sunday there. So
the men were persuaded to try to reach the head of the rapid, which
was three-quarters of a mile farther on, taking forward only the
camp stuff. We were now travelling along the foot of Bald Mountain
seen from the hill on Monday, and passing what is known by the
trappers as North Pole Rapid, which was the wildest of the rapids
so far. The travelling was still rough, and the men were in a
hurry. I could not keep up at all. George wanted to carry my
rifle for me, but I would not let him. I was not pleased with him
just then.
We reached the head of the rapid, and it was beautiful there. A
long terrace stretched away for miles ahead. It was thinly wooded,
as they all were, with spruce and a few poplars, smooth, dry, and
mossy, and thirty feet below us was the river with North Pole Brook
coming in on the other side. It was an ideal place for Sunday
camp.
Though it rained hard through the night the morning was beautiful,
and again I breathed a little sigh of thankfulness that we were not
in the other desolate place farther back. The day would have been
a very restful one had it not been for the flies which steadily
increased in numbers, coaxed back to life and activity by the warm
sunshine. I wanted very much to climb the mountain behind our camp
in the afternoon, but I could not go alone, and the men were taking
a much needed rest. So I wandered about watching the hills and the
river for a while, took a few photographs, and lay in the tent.
Towards evening the flies swarmed over its fly front, getting in in
numbers one could not tell where or how. Still they were nothing
inside to what they were outside. At supper I hated to put up my
veil. They were so thick I could hardly eat. Finally George came
to the rescue, and waving a bag round my head kept them off till I
finished my meal.
While we were at supper Job walked silently into camp with a rifle
under his arm. He had a way of quietly disappearing. You did not
know anything about it till you found he was not there. Then
suddenly be would appear again, his eyes shining. He had
wonderfuly fine eyes, so bright that they startled me sometimes.
Full of energy, quick, clever, he went straight to the point in his
work always without the slightest hesitation. When you saw these
men in the bush you needed no further explanation of their air of
quiet self-confidence.
Job had been up as far as the bend of the river where we were to
leave the Nascaupee for the trappers' cross country route to Seal
Lake. A little above this bend the Nascaupee becomes impassable.
It was three miles away, but Job reported, "Fine portage all the
way to brook."
It was just four next morning when I heard voices at the other
tent. Then all was quiet again. At six the men went past with
loads. They had brought up the outfit that was left behind on
Saturday. The day was fine, and we made good progress. George
said: "Oh, it's just fun with this kind of portaging." It was
nevertheless hot, hard work. I felt resentful when I looked at the
river. It was smooth, and appeared altogether innocent of any
extraordinary behaviour; yet for the whole three miles above North
Pole Rapid it flowed without a bend so swift and deep that nothing
could be done on it in the canoes.
All day the flies were fearful. For the first time George admitted
that so far as flies were concerned it began to seem like Labrador.
We ate lunch with smudges burning on every side, and the fire in
the middle. I was willing that day almost to choke with smoke to
escape flies; but there was no escape. In spite of the smudges
there were twenty dead flies on my plate when I had finished lunch,
to say nothing of those lying dead on my dress of the large number
I had killed. I had to stop caring about seeing them in the food;
I took out what could be seen, but did not let my mind dwell on the
probability of there being some I did not see. When drinking, even
while the cup was held to my lips, they flew into it as if
determined to die. Their energy was unbounded, and compelled
admiration even while they tortured me. How the men endured them
without veils and without _words_ I could not understand.
For more than two miles above our camp we kept to a fine bear
trail. The walking could not have been better, and was in sharp
contrast with what the trail had led us over for the last few days.
Then we turned to the right and climbed to another plain above,
beyond which rose the mountain.
A bear trail led along the edge of the terrace, and while the men
carried I waited hopefully, rifle in hand. Ever since our bear
chase back near Grand Lake my imagination turned every black spot I
saw on the hills into a bear, to the great amusement of the men.
But no bear appeared.
Soon mist gathered on the hills, and the specks on the plain below
began to move faster and grow larger. Job led the way with a
canoe. He stopped to rest at the foot of the bank, while George
came past and up to the top at great speed.
"The showers are coming. We shall have to hurry or you will get
wet," he said.
Every day my admiration and respect for the men grew. They were
gentle and considerate, not only of me, but of each other as well.
They had jolly good times together, and withal were most efficient.
Gilbert was proving a great worker, and enjoyed himself much with
the men. He was just a merry, happy-hearted boy. Joe was quiet
and thoughtful, with a low, rather musical voice, and a pretty,
soft Scotch accent for all his Russian name. He spoke English
quite easily and well. Job did not say much in English. He was
very reserved where I was concerned. I wanted to ask him a
thousand questions, but I did not dare. George was always the
gentle, fun-loving, sunny-tempered man my husband had admired.
Our camp was perhaps 100 feet above the river which here came down
from the northeast round the foot of Bald Mountain, and less than
half a mile below us bent away to the southeast. At the bend a
tributary stream came in from the northwest to merge itself in the
stronger tide, and together they flowed straight on at the foot of
a long, dark-wooded ridge. Here at this stream our portage route
led out from the river.
When the showers had passed we had supper, and as we sat at our
meal the sun came out again, throwing a golden glow over all.
Clouds lay like delicate veils along the hill-sides, sometimes
dipping almost to their feet. Walking back along the edge of the
terrace I watched till they gathered thick again and darkness came
down over all. It was very wild and beautiful, but as an
exquisite, loved form from which the spirit has fled. The sense of
life, of mystery, and magic seemed gone, and I wondered if the time
could come when beauty would cease to be pain.
When I returned to camp the men had gone to their tent. A tiny
fire was still burning, and I sat watching it till the rain came
and drove me to my little shelter again.