A Burial in the Wilderness : From Grand Rapids to Fort
McMurray : Tar Sands.
On Wednesday, June 20, about 9.30 P.M., as we were sitting around
a smouldering fire on the bank close to where the steamer lay, and
watching the day darkening into night, a gun shot was heard at the
Rapids, which meant the return from Fort McMurray of some of the river
men, and we were soon possessed of the very welcome news that the
steamer _Grahame_, which plied between McMurray and Smith’s Landing
on the Slave River, was again in commission for the season, and would
be waiting for us at McMurray as soon as we could get there. This
news was very welcome, for it was the first tidings we had received
regarding this boat. What if she had been burnt or had met some serious
accident since she was last heard from the season before? I do not know
whether any of the other passengers had feared the possibility of
such a report, but now with only ninety miles in barges between us and
McMurray, when we would be below the rapids and have smooth sailing,
we all felt like rejoicing. In a few minutes, however, it was suddenly
noticed that every voice on the steamer was hushed, and a moment later
one of the crew came over the gang plank and whispered something to a
man on the shore. We soon learned that the angel of death had visited
the _Midnight Sun_ and claimed as his victim Herbert Bray, our cook.
We had just before listened to uncharitable words from one of the men
to the effect that his illness was only feigned; that the night before
he had seen him walking the deck when all were supposed to be asleep.
While the poor fellow’s condition was too serious to permit us to
believe that he was only acting a part, we rather hoped that this story
might be true, and it may have been that in his delirious state he had
wandered during the night from his room, for he had no nurse to watch
over him. He was a young Englishman of good appearance, who had been
a few years out, living in the neighbourhood of Edmonton. Like many
others in the country he had by camp experience learnt something of
the culinary art, and had engaged in this capacity with the Company.
Only a few days after leaving “The Landing” he was taken ill. Many were
the remedies proposed and a number tried, but all to no effect. It
was probably a case of appendicitis, which even in expert hands often
proves fatal, but it caused us to realise our situation here in the
wilderness where no medical attendance was obtainable.
[Illustration: FUNERAL OF HERBERT BRAY ON THE ATHABASKA RIVER]
The following day a rough coffin was made and we buried him on the bank
of the river. I carved his name and date of death on a small tree near
by and Mr. Stefansson made a lobstick from a spruce growing higher up
the bank. As the grave was being closed over him, one could not but
think of his relatives in the old country, who probably at that moment
were going through their ordinary round of daily duty, while this
wanderer, impelled by the spirit of adventure, was destined to make his
long sleep in this sylvan solitude.
At eight o’clock in the evening of the 21st, we all very gladly took
leave of the _Midnight Sun_. We had been nearly two weeks on board and
had made but 160 miles. From this point to Fort McMurray the river is
very rough and it was necessary to make the passage in scows. Two days
were spent in getting the supplies over the Rapids, during which time a
few of the men were out hunting and succeeded in killing a very large
moose, the fresh meat of which was much relished, since it was the
first we had tasted since leaving “The Landing.”
Specimens of petrified wood are found along the banks in the
neighbourhood of Grand Rapids. Here, too, are seen protruding from
the high sandstone banks and lying along the beach, stones which are
accretions of the same formation, but apparently of a harder texture
but quite separated from the stratified rock. They are of a perfectly
spherical shape and vary in size from two to ten feet in diameter, and
when viewed from the river, one might fancy they were huge bells that
had been shot into the banks by some gigantic mortar.
[Illustration: STONES ON THE ATHABASKA RIVER]
During the next eight days spent in reaching Fort McMurray, the weather
was almost tropical, registering over 90° Fahrenheit in the shade, and
the period of daylight was very long. The sun usually rose long
before any of us, and in the evening lingered around the north-western
horizon as if loath to sink below it. When finally the twilight set
in, the ubiquitous mosquito never failed to sound his musical lay and
to feast on his victims. It seems that as if to make up for the short
summer in those northern latitudes, these pests are more industrious
than farther south. They are certainly found in greater numbers as we
go north, and are not less vicious in character. To illustrate their
persistency it is only necessary to repeat the remark of a young
Englishman of our party as he vigorously attempted to drive them away.
He said they seemed “quoite determined to not go awoye.”
While it would be wearisome to relate the frequent delays on this part
of the journey or to describe the numerous rapids that impeded our
progress, I cannot refrain from mentioning the two cascades. The first
appearance of limestone is met with near Boiler Rapid, about fifty-five
miles below “Grand Rapids,” and the scenery along the banks becomes
more picturesque. Both the Upper and Lower Cascade are formed by the
cleavage in the limestone. It is as if some engineer had laid out a
curved line entirely across the river, after which his workman had cut
with a saw down into the rock, in one case, two feet, and in the other
four, and then removed the rock below this point to that depth, causing
the Cascades.
Owing to the dip of the rock formation, the limestone, which at “The
Landing” is some 1800 feet beneath the surface, makes its first
appearance at the surface of the river’s bed some 220 miles below,
where we first meet the tar sands. These sands bear a good percentage
of bitumen. They extend for about ninety miles along the Athabaska.
This bitumen is, the geologists tell us, an inspissated petroleum,
derived from the subjacent limestones, and reports state that
indications of its presence extend over an area of 1000 square miles of
country. It is more than probable that some day this may be one of the
greatest oil producing districts in the world, though up to this time
I am not aware that it has yet been found in paying quantities, and I
would be sorry that any words of mine should tempt the small capitalist
to invest in prospective oil shares in that wilderness region till
further developments have been made. An analysis of these sands made by
the Geological Department at Ottawa gives the following result:
Bitumen 12·42%
Water 5·85%
Siliceous Sand 81·73%
and a cubic foot of this bituminous sand rock would give 41·59 pounds
of bitumen. In the report accompanying the above analysis it is
estimated that the area covered by this tar sand is, as I have stated,
1000 square miles in extent, and of sufficient depth to give a bulk of
6·50 cubic miles of bitumen. A further deduction is that the amount of
petroleum, which must have issued from the underlying limestone, would
produce by weight 4,700,000 tons of bitumen. I should say that in many
places near McMurray the tar was oozing out along the banks of the
river and emitted a very distinct odour.
It was the first of July, the natal day of the Dominion, that we
arrived at Fort McMurray. Upwards of twenty large boats and barges,
with boatmen and passengers numbering over 100 in all, made a rather
imposing appearance as we rowed and floated down the river on that
bright and exceedingly hot morning. Every craft had some kind of a flag
flying in honour of the day, which caused us to realise that though we
were in a wilderness beyond the borders of civilisation, we were still
in our own country and viewing our own possessions.
About noon, on rounding a point where the Clearwater joins the
Athabaska, a welcome object came in view, the steamer _Grahame_, tied
to the bank at McMurray.
We soon shook off the dust of travel and entered once more upon a
civilised state of existence. We had now been over three weeks in
making the journey from Athabaska Landing, a distance of only 252
miles, while before us on the route to Fort McPherson lay 1600 miles.
Unless we should make better time henceforth, we would find ourselves
just about in time to be frozen in for the long arctic winter on our
arrival there. We were, however, assured that our difficulties were now
over and that with the exception of one portage, which will be referred
to later, we would have hereafter uninterrupted navigation all the way
down, and I may as well anticipate here by stating that on July 21, in
precisely three weeks’ time, we arrived at McPherson.
Fort McMurray, situated at the junction of the Clearwater with the
Athabaska, is not at present a post of very much importance, but it
has a history of considerable interest. It was here that the weary
_voyageur_ in the early days from far away Montreal, figuratively
speaking threw down his pack and gave a sigh of relief as he reached
one of the great tributaries of the Mackenzie. Let us follow him on
his journey from his leaving his home under Mount Royal. We need not
fear that our imagination is misleading us as we see him push his bark
canoe out from the shore and ascend the St. Lawrence, to the junction
of the Ottawa, thence turning northwards he soon encounters the rapids
of St. Annes, whose beauties have been extolled in immortal verse by
the Irish poet, Tom Moore, in his “Canadian Boat Song.” Having made a
portage here and offered up prayers to his patron saint in the little
church hard by, he bids good-bye to his friends, who have accompanied
him thus far. With his crew of canoemen as adventurous as himself
(singing those songs that may still be heard by his compatriots from
the St. Lawrence to the Yukon) they urge their frail craft against the
stream. For over 300 miles they ascend the Ottawa with the familiar
Laurentides to the right. Then turning to the left, they enter the
Mattawa, which they ascend to its source near Lake Nipissing. A portage
is made here into the latter lake. Crossing this sheet of water, they
follow its outlet, the French River, down many rapids and cascades to
the Georgian Bay and Lake Huron; up Lake Huron to Sault Ste Marie; over
the rapids here to the largest body of fresh water in the world, Lake
Superior; up this lake, over 300 miles to Grand Portage; thence up the
Pigeon River, and numerous tributary streams and inland lakes, till the
height of land dividing the St. Lawrence basin from that of the Hudson
Bay is passed; thence down streams and lakes little known even at the
present day, till Rainy Lake is entered and passed; until he finds
himself at Fort Frances. Here he meets canoes laden with furs from far
away Chippewyan on the Lake of the Hills. They exchange cargoes and
each crew starts on his return journey, the one for Montreal with
bales of peltries from the shadows of the Rocky Mountains, the other
for the interior of the far North, his canoe laden with supplies,
passes down that beautiful stream, the Rainy River, to the Lake of the
Woods; across that lake, down Winnipeg River to Lake Winnipeg; up that
lake to the mouth of the great Saskatchewan, thence up the latter to
Cumberland House, and from there through lakes and rivers only known to
him and the native Indian, till finally after a journey of 2500 miles
he arrives at this far away post, McMurray.
But the name, McMurray, is now beginning to be heard in our Legislative
Halls at Edmonton and at Ottawa. Politicians are commencing to search
for it on the maps of the new Province of Alberta, and probably
within two or three years, the whistle of the railway locomotive will
awaken echoes on the surrounding hills. With a railroad completed
from Edmonton to Fort McMurray, the easterner will be able to see
the midnight sun within one month from the day he leaves Montreal or
Toronto.