STORM-BOUND ON MICHIKAMATS
We had not reached our haven too soon. Almost immediately the wind
rose again, and by noon was blowing so strong that we could have
done nothing in any part of Lake Michikamau, not to speak of
crossing the upper end in a heavy south wind. Around the point I
did not find things look as I expected. It was only a very shallow
bay, and where we looked for the islands a long, narrow point of
land stretched out from the west shore to the northeast. Flowing
round the eastern end of this point was a rapid, some two hundred
yards in length, and at the head of this we found a little lake,
between two and three miles in length, lying northeast and
southwest. All the eastern portion of it was shallow, and it was
with considerable difficulty we succeeded in getting the canoes up
to the low shore, where we had lunch. I wondered much if this
could possibly be Michikamats, which is mapped in, in dotted lines,
as a lake twenty-five miles long lying northwest.
In the afternoon my perplexities were cleared up. A small river,
coming down from the northwest, flowed in at the east end of the
lake. Three-quarters of a mile of poling, dragging, and lifting
brought us up to another lake, and this proved to be Lake
Michikamats. For half a mile or more at its lower end the lake is
narrow and shoal. Its bed is a mass of jagged rocks, many of which
rise so near to the surface that it was a work of art to find a way
among them. A low point ran out north on our left, and from this
point to the eastern shore stretched a long line of boulders rising
at intervals from the water. This line marks the edge of the
shallows, and beyond it the lake is deep and broad and stretches
away northeast for more than eight miles of its length, when it
bends to the northwest.
As we entered it we saw that the low range of wooded hills on our
left formed the western boundary of the lake, and over the flat
wooded shore on the right we could see the tops of big, barren
hills of a range stretching northward. These are a continuation of
the round-topped hills which border the east shore of Michikamau
south of where the lake narrows. For some miles of our journey up
northern Michikamau we could see these hills miles back from the
low shoreline. Now we seemed to be turning towards them again.
Beyond a point one mile and a quarter north from where we entered
the lake a deep bay runs in to the east, and here the hills came
into plain view though they were still far back from the shore.
Their rounded tops were covered with moss, and low down on the
sides dark patches showed where the green woods were.
It was a glorious afternoon, and the canoes scudded at racing pace
before a heavy south wind. At a point on the east shore, six miles
up the lake, I landed to take bearings. Here we found a peculiar
mound of rocks along the edge of the water which proved to be
characteristic of the whole shoreline of the lake. The rocks had
been pushed out by the ice and formed a sort of wall, while over
the wall moss and willows grew, with here and there a few stunted
evergreens, the whole making an effective screen along the water's
edge. Back of this were swamps and bogs with low moss-covered
mounds running through them, and grown up with scattered tamarack
and spruces. On the west shore the hills reached quite to the wall
itself.
Behind this wall, at the point, we found a family of ptarmigan.
When we appeared the mother bird tried vainly to hurry her flock
away to a place of safety. Her mate flew across to an island a
short distance north, leaving her alone to her task, but she and
her little ones were all taken. Here the first wolf tracks we had
seen on the trip were found.
After some time spent at the point it was time to camp. We crossed
to the island, north, and as we landed a white-winged ptarmigan
flew back to where had just been enacted one of the endless
succession of wilderness tragedies. I wondered if he would not
wish he had stayed to share the fate of his little family, and what
he would do with himself now. It was a beautiful camping place we
found. The Indians had found it too, and evidently had appreciated
its beauty. There were the remains of many old camps there, well-
worn paths leading from one to the other. It was the first place
we had come upon which gave evidence of having been an abiding
Place of some permanence. There must have been quite a little
community there at one time. The prospect south, west, and north
was very beautiful.
My tent was pitched in a charming nook among the spruce trees, and
had a carpet of boughs all tipped with fresh green. The moss
itself was almost too beautiful to cover; but nothing is quite so
nice for carpet as the boughs. We were on a tiny ridge sloping to
the south shore of the island, and over the screen of willows and
evergreens at the water's edge, the wind came in strong enough to
drive away the flies and mosquitoes, and leave one free to enjoy
the beauty of the outlook. It was an ideal place to spend Sunday,
and with a sigh of relief we settled into our island camp. The
week had been a wonderfully interesting one; but it had also been
an anxious and trying one in a few ways. I was glad to have passed
Michikamau so quickly and easily. I wished it might be our good
fortune to see some of the Indians.
Through the night the south wind rose to a gale, and showers of
rain fell. On Sunday morning I was up at 7 A.M., and after a nice,
lazy bath, luxuriously dressed myself in clean clothes. Then came
a little reading from a tiny book that had been in Labrador before,
and a good deal of thinking. Just after 9 A.M. I lay down to go to
sleep again. I had not realised it before, but I was very tired.
My eyes had closed but a moment when rat-a-tat-tat on the mixing
pan announced breakfast. Joe had prepared it, and the others came
straggling out one by one looking sleepy and happy, enjoying the
thought of the day's rest, the more that it was the kind of day to
make it impossible to travel. Returning to my tent after the meal
I lay down to sleep. My head had no sooner touched the pillow than
I was asleep, and did not wake till 1.30 P.M.
I could hear Gil outside preparing lunch, and went out to see how
he was getting on. It was the first time he had attempted anything
in the cooking line, and he looked anxious. We were to have fried
cakes and tea, and Gil was cooking the fried cakes. They were not
much to look at, for the wind had coated them well with ashes; but
they tasted good, and the youngster looked quite relieved at the
way they disappeared when we began to eat.
Michikamats was certainly very picturesque in the gale. The wind
had six miles of unbroken sweep, and stirred the lake to wild
commotion. Out of shelter I could scarcely stand against it. For
a long time I watched two gulls trying to fly into the wind. They
were very persistent and made a determined fight, but were at last
compelled to give up and drop back to land. I spent nearly the
whole afternoon watching the storm, running to cover only while the
showers passed.
When we gathered for supper in the evening Job was holding a pot
over the fire, and did not move to get his plate and cup with the
rest. George gave me my plate of soup, and when I had nearly
finished it Job set the pot down beside me, saying gently: "I just
set this right here." In the pot were three fried cakes, crisp and
hot and brown, exactly as I liked them.
There was much speculation as to what we should find at the head of
Lake Michikamats, and I wondered how much scouting there would be
to do to find the George River waters. If only we could see the
Indians. Time was slipping away all too fast; the last week in
August was not far distant, and the George River waters might not
be easy to find. The days were becoming increasingly anxious for
me. Our caribou meat was nearly gone, and a fresh supply of game
would have been very welcome. There would be a chance to put out
the nets when we reached the head of the lake, and the scouting had
to be done. The nets had not yet touched the water.
In the night the wind veered to the north and a steady rain set in,
which was still falling when morning came. All were up late for it
was too stormy to travel, and rest still seemed very good. While
eating breakfast we heard geese calling not far away, and started
on a goose hunt. It did not prove very exciting, nor very fruitful
of geese. They were at the head of the bay which ran in east of
our island. There were a number of small islands in the bay
separated by rock-strewn shallows, and having landed Job and Joe on
one of the largest of these, George, Gilbert and I paddled round to
the south of the group, and came out in the upper part of the bay.
There just over the marsh grass at its head we saw five geese, but
they saw us too, and before we could get near them were up and
away. On the way back four red-throated loons, two old and two
young, and a spruce partridge were taken.
It was nearly noon when we reached camp again, and the men were in
the midst of preparing dinner when they caught sight of a big
caribou stag swimming across to the point south of us. In such
circumstances Job was indescribable. He seemed as if suddenly
inspired with the energy of a flying bullet, and moved almost as
silently. There was a spring for the canoe, and in much less time
than it takes to tell it, the canoe was in the water with Job,
Gilbert, and George plying their paddles with all their strength.
As had happened before, the splendid creature almost reached the
shore when a bullet dropped in front of him, and he turned back.
His efforts were now no match for the swift paddle strokes that
sent the canoe lightly towards him, and soon a shot from George's
rifle ended the struggle. He was towed ashore, bled and
gralloched, and brought to camp in the canoe.
Most of the afternoon was spent in cutting up the caribou, and
putting it on a stage to dry. While they were busy with their task
there came again the sound of the wild goose call. Seizing the
rifles, George and Gilbert made off across the island, and soon
came back with two young geese, and word that there was another
there but too far out in the water for them to get it. Whereupon
Job and Joe went off in the canoe, and after a short time came back
with a third. This made a pretty good day's hunt. George's record
was, one spruce partridge, two young geese, and one caribou.
We had young wild goose for supper that night. I think I never
have tasted anything more delicious, and with hot fried cakes it
made a supper fit for a king. As we ate the men talked about the
calls of the wild birds.
George said: "I do like to hear a wild goose call." Certainly no
one who heard him say it would doubt his word. After a little he
continued: "There is another bird, too, that the Indians call 'ah-
ha-way,' that I used to like so much to listen to when I was a boy.
How I used to listen to that bird call. I tell you if you heard
that bird call you could just sit and listen and listen. I don't
know the English name for it. It is a very small duck, just a very
little bird."
Speaking of the loons we had heard calling on Lake Michikamau he
said: "You should hear some of the little Indian boys calling the
loons. Men's voices are too strong and rough, but some of those
little boys, they can do it very well. You will just see the loons
come and circle round and round over them when they call."
All day long the rain had fallen steadily. I spent most of it in
my tent, but the men had been out the whole day and were soaked.
Having done their washing on Sunday they had no dry clothes to put
on, and so slept wet that night.