OVER THE NORTHERN DIVIDE
Michikamau is approximately between eighty and ninety miles in length,
including the unexplored southeast bay, and from eight to twenty-five
miles in width. It is surrounded by rugged hills, which reach an
elevation of about five hundred feet above the lake. They are
generally wooded for perhaps two hundred feet from the base, with black
spruce, larch, and an occasional small grove of white birch. Above the
timber line their tops are uncovered save by white lichens or stunted
shrubs. The western side of the lake is studded with low islands, but
its main body is unobstructed. The water is exceedingly clear, and is
said by the Indians to have a great depth. The shores are rocky,
sometimes formed of massive bed rock in which is found the beautifully
colored labradorite; sometimes strewn with loose bowlders. Our entrance
had been made in a bay several miles north of the point where the
Nascaupee River, its outlet, leaves the lake and we kept to the east
side as we paddled north.
No artist's imaginative brush ever pictured such gorgeous sunsets and
sunrises as Nature painted for us here on the Great Lake of the
Indians. Every night the sun went down in a blaze of glory and left
behind it all the colors of the spectrum. The dark hills across the
lake in the west were silhouetted against a sky of brilliant red which
shaded off into banks of orange and amber that reached the azure at the
zenith. The waters of the lake took the reflection of the red at the
horizon and became a flood of restless blood. The sky colorings during
these few days were the finest that I ever saw in Labrador, not only in
the evening but in the morning also.
Michikamau has a bad name amongst the Indians for heavy seas,
particularly in the autumn months when the northwest gales sometimes
blow for weeks at a time without cessation, and the Indians say that
they are often held on its shores for long periods by high running seas
that no canoe could weather. These were the same winds that held
Hubbard and me prisoners for nearly two weeks on the smaller Windbound
Lake in 1903, bringing us to the verge of starvation before we were
permitted to begin our race for life down the trail toward Northwest
River. Fate was kinder now, and but one day's rough water interfered
with progress.
Early on the third day after parting from the other men, we found
ourselves at the end of Michikamau where a shallow river, in which
large bowlders were thickly scattered, flowed into it from the north.
This was the stream draining Lake Michikamats, the next important point
in our journey. Michikamau, it might be explained, means, in the
Indian tongue, big water--so big you cannot see the land beyond;
Michikamats means a smaller body of water beyond which land may be
seen. So somebody has paradoxically defined it "a little big lake."
Barring a single expansion of somewhat more than a mile in length the
Michakamats River, which runs through a flat, marshy and uninteresting
country, was too shallow to float our canoes, and we were compelled to
portage almost its entire length.
In the wide marshes between these two lakes we met the first evidences
of the great caribou migration. The ground was tramped like a
barnyard, in wide roads, by vast herds of deer, all going to the
eastward. There must have been thousands of them in the bands. Most
of the hoof marks were not above a day or two old and had all been made
since the last rain had fallen, as was evidenced by freshly turned
earth and newly tramped vegetation. We saw none of the animals,
however, and there were no hills near from which we might hope to sight
the herds.
Evidences of life were increasing and game was becoming abundant as we
approached the height of land. Some geese and ptarmigans were killed
and a good many of both kinds of birds were seen, as well as some
ducks. We began to live in plenty now and the twittering owls were
permitted to go unmolested.
Lake Michikamats is irregular in shape, about twenty miles long, and,
exclusive of its arms, from two to six miles wide. The surrounding
country is flat and marshy, with some low, barren hills on the westward
side of the lake. The timber growth in the vicinity is sparse and
scrubby, consisting of spruce and tamarack. The latter had now taken
on its autumnal dress of yellow, and, interspersing the dark green of
the spruce, gave an exceedingly beautiful effect to the landscape.
Where we entered Michikamats, at its outlet, the lake is very shallow
and filled with bowlders that stand high above the water. A quarter of
a mile above this point the water deepens, and farther up seems to have
a considerable depth, though we did not sound it. The western shore of
the upper half is lined with low islands scantily covered with spruce
and tamarack.
During two days that we spent here in a thorough exploration of the
lake, our camp was pitched on an island at the bottom of a bay that,
half way up the lake, ran six miles to the northward. This was
selected as the most likely place for the portage trail to leave the
lake, as the island had apparently, for a long period, been the regular
rendezvous of Indians, not only in summer, but also in winter. Tepee
poles of all ages, ranging from those that were old and decayed to
freshly cut ones, were numerous. They were much longer and thicker
than those used by the Indians south of Michikamau. Here, also, was a
well-built log cache, a permanent structure, which was, no doubt,
regularly used by hunting parties. Some new snowshoe frames were
hanging on the trees to season before being netted with babiche. On
the lake shore were some other camping places that had been used within
a few months, and at one of them a newly made "sweat hole," where the
medicine man had treated the sick. These sweat holes are much in favor
with the Labrador Indians, both Mountaineers and Nascaupees. They are
about two feet in depth and large enough in circumference for a man to
sit in the center, surrounded by a circle of good-sized bowlders.
Small saplings are bent to form a dome-shaped frame for the top. The
invalid is placed in the center of this circle of bowlders, which have
previously been made very hot, water is poured on them to produce
steam, and a blanket thrown over the sapling frame to confine the
steam. The Indians have great faith in this treatment as a cure for
almost every malady.
On the mainland opposite the island upon which we were encamped was a
barren hill which we climbed, and which commanded a view of a large
expanse of country. On the top was a small cairn and several places
where fires had been made--no doubt Indian signal fires. The fuel for
them must have been carried from the valley below, for not a stick or
bush grew on the hill itself. "Signal Hill," as we called it, is the
highest elevation for many miles around and a noticeable landmark.
To the northward, at our feet, were two small lakes, and just beyond,
trending somewhat to the northwest, was a long lake reaching up through
the valley until it was lost in the low hills and sparse growth of
trees beyond. Great bowlders were strewn indiscriminately everywhere,
and the whole country was most barren and desolate. To the south of
Michikamats was the stretch of flat swamp land which extended to
Michikaman. Petscapiskau, a prominent and rugged peak on the west
shore of Michikamau near its upper end, stood out against the distant
horizon, a lone sentinel of the wilderness.
The head waters of the George River must now be located. There was
nothing to guide me in the search, and the Indians at Northwest River
had warned us that we were liable at this point to be led astray by an
entanglement of lakes, but I felt certain that any water flowing
northward that we might come to, in this longitude, would either be the
river itself or a tributary of it, and that some such stream would
certainly be found as soon as the divide was crossed.
With this object in view we kept a course nearly due north, passing
through four good-sized lakes, until, one afternoon, at the end of a
short portage, we reached a narrow, shallow lake lying in an easterly
and westerly direction, whose water was very clear and of a
bottle-green color, in marked contrast to that of the preceding lakes,
which had been of a darker shade.
This peculiarity of the water led me to look carefully for a current
when our canoe was launched, and I believed I noticed one. Then I
fancied I heard a rapid to the westward. Easton said there was no
current and he could not hear a rapid, and to satisfy myself, we
paddled toward the sound. We had not gone far when the current became
quite perceptible, and just above could be seen the waters of a brook
that fed the lake, pouring down through the rocks. We were on the
George River at last! Our feelings can be imagined when the full
realization of our good fortune came to us, and we turned our canoe to
float down on the current of the little stream that was to grow into a
mighty river as it carried us on its turbulent bosom toward Ungava Bay.
The course of the stream here was almost due east. The surrounding
country continued low and swampy. Tamarack was the chief timber and
much of it was straight and fine, with some trees fully twelve inches
in diameter at the butt, and fifty feet in height.
A rocky, shallow place in the river that we had to portage brought us
into an expansion of considerable size, and here we pitched our first
camp on the George River. This was an event that Hubbard had planned
and pictured through the weary weeks of hardship on the Susan Valley
trail and the long portages across the ranges in his expedition of 1903.
"When we reach the George River, we'll meet the Indians and all will be
well," he used to say, and how anxiously we looked forward for that
day, which never came.
At the time when he made the suggestion to turn back from Windbound
Lake I at first opposed it on the ground that we could probably reach
the George River, where game would be found and the Indians would be
met with, in much less time than it would take to make the retreat to
Northwest River. Finally I agreed that it was best to return. On the
twenty-first of September the retreat was begun and Hubbard died on the
eighteenth of October. Now, two years later, I realized that from
Windbound Lake we could have reached Michikamau in five or six days at
the very outside, and less than two weeks, allowing for delays through
bad weather and our weakened condition, would have brought us to the
George River, where, at that time of the year, ducks and ptarmigans are
always plentiful. All these things I pondered as I sat by this camp
fire, and I asked myself, "Why is it that when Fate closes our eyes she
does not lead us aright?" Of course it is all conjecture, but I feel
assured that if Hubbard and I had gone on then instead of turning back,
Hubbard would still be with us.
Below the expansion on which our first camp on the river was pitched
the stream trickled through the thickly strewn rocks in a wide bed,
where it took a sharp turn to the northward and emptied into another
expansion several miles in length, with probably a stream joining it
from the northeast, though we were unable to investigate this, as high
winds prevailed which made canoeing difficult, and we had to content
ourselves with keeping a direct course.
It seemed as though with the crossing of the northern divide winter had
come. On the night we reached the George River the temperature fell to
ten degrees below the freezing point, and the following day it never
rose above thirty-five degrees, and a high wind and snow squalls
prevailed that held traveling in check. On the morning of the
fifteenth we started forward in the teeth of a gale and the snow so
thick we could not see the shore a storm that would be termed a
"blizzard" in New York--and after two hours' hard work were forced to
make a landing upon a sandy point with only a mile and a quarter to our
credit.
Here we found the first real butchering camp of the Indians--a camp of
the previous spring. Piles of caribou bones that had been cracked to
extract the marrow, many pairs of antlers, the bare poles of large
lodges and extensive arrangements, such as racks and cross poles for
dressing and curing deerskins. In a cache we found two muzzle-loading
guns, cooking utensils, steel traps, and other camping and hunting
paraphernalia.
On the portage around the last shallow rapid was a winter camp, where
among other things was a _komatik_ (dog sledge), showing that some of
these Indians at least on the northern barrens used dogs for winter
traveling. In the south of Labrador this would be quite out of the
question, as there the bush is so thick that it does not permit the
snow to drift and harden sufficiently to bear dogs, and the use of the
komatik is therefore necessarily confined to the coast or near it. The
Indian women there are very timid of the "husky" dogs, and the animals
are not permitted near their camps.
The sixteenth of September--the day we passed through this large
expansion--was Richards' birthday. When we bade good-by to the other
men it was agreed that both parties should celebrate the day, wherever
they might be, with the best dinner that could be provided from our
respective stores. The meal was to be served at exactly seven o'clock
in the evening, that we might feel on this one occasion that we were
all sitting down to eat together, and fancy ourselves reunited. In the
morning we opened the package that Richards gave us, and found in it a
piece of fat pork and a quart of flour, intended for a feast of our
favorite "darn goods." With self-sacrificing generosity he had taken
these from the scanty rations they had allowed themselves for their
return that we might have a pleasant surprise. With the now plentiful
game this made it possible to prepare what seemed to us a very
elaborate menu for the wild wastes of interior Labrador. First, there
was bouillon, made from beef capsules; then an entr'ee of fried
ptarmigan and duck giblets; a roast of savory black duck, with spinach
(the last of our desiccated vegetables); and for dessert French toast
_'a la Labrador_ (alias darn goods), followed by black coffee. When it
was finished we spent the evening by the camp fire, smoking and talking
of the three men retreating down our old trail, and trying to calculate
at which one of the camping places they were bivouacked. Every night
since our parting this had been our chief diversion, and I must confess
that with each day that took us farther away from them an increased
loneliness impressed itself upon us. Solemn and vast was the great
silence of the trackless wilderness as more and more we came to realize
our utter isolation from all the rest of the world and all mankind.
The marsh and swamp land gradually gave way to hills, which increased
in size and ruggedness as we proceeded. We had found the river at its
very beginning, and for a short way portages, as has been suggested,
had to be made around shallow places, but after a little, as other
streams augmented the volume of water, this became unnecessary, and as
the river grew in size it became a succession of rapids, and most of
them unpleasant ones, that kept us dodging rocks all the while.
Mr. A. P. Low, of the Canadian Geological Survey, in other parts of the
Labrador interior found black ducks very scarce. This was not our
experience. From the day we entered the George River until we were
well down the stream they were plentiful, and we shot what we needed
without turning our canoe out of its course to hunt them. This is
apparently a breeding ground for them.
Several otter rubs were noted, and we saw some of the animals, but did
not disturb them. In places where the river broadened out and the
current was slack every rock that stuck above the water held its
muskrat house, and large numbers of the rats were seen.
After the snow we had one or two fine, bright days, but they were
becoming few now, and the frosty winds and leaden skies, the
forerunners of winter, were growing more and more frequent. When the
bright days did come they were exceptional ones. I find noted in my
diary one morning: "This is a morning for the gods--a morning that
could scarcely be had anywhere in the world but in Labrador--a
cloudless sky, no breath of wind, the sun rising to light the heavy
hoarfrost and make it glint and sparkle till every tree and bush and
rock seems made of shimmering silver."
One afternoon as we were passing through an expansion and I was
scanning, as was my custom, every bit of shore in the hope of
discovering a wigwam smoke, I saw, running down the side of a hill on
an island a quarter of a mile away, a string of Indians waving wildly
at us and signaling us to come ashore. After twelve weeks, in which
not a human being aside from our own party had been seen, we had
reached the dwellers of the wilderness, and with what pleasure and
alacrity we accepted the invitation to join them can be imagined.