THE RIVER
Now we resumed our daily life of tracking, eating, tracking,
camping, tracking, sleeping. The weather had continued fine, with
little change ever since we left Resolution, and we were so hardened
to the life that it was pleasantly monotonous.
How different now were my thoughts compared with those of last
Spring, as I first looked on this great river.
When we had embarked on the leaping, boiling, muddy Athabaska, in
this frail canoe, it had seemed a foolhardy enterprise. How could
such a craft ride such a stream for 2,000 miles? It was like a mouse
mounting a monstrous, untamed, plunging and rearing horse. Now we
set out each morning, familiar with stream and our boat, having no
thought of danger, and viewing the water, the same turbid flood,
as, our servant. Even as a skilful tamer will turn the wildest
horse into his willing slave, so have we conquered this river and
made it the bearer of our burdens. So I thought and wrote at the
time; but the wise tamer is ever alert, never lulled into false
security. He knows that a heedless move may turn his steed into
a deadly, dangerous monster. We had our lesson to learn.
That night (October 15) there was a dull yellow sunset. The morning
came with a strong north wind and rain that turned to snow, and
with it great flocks of birds migrating from the Athabaska Lake.
Many rough-legged Hawks, hundreds of small land birds, thousands
of Snow-birds in flocks of 20 to 200, myriads of Ducks and Geese,
passed over our heads going southward before the frost. About 8.30
the Geese began to pass in ever-increasing flocks; between 9.45
and 10 I counted 114 flocks averaging about 30 each (5 to 300) and
they kept on at this rate till 2 P. M. This would give a total of
nearly 100,000 Geese. It was a joyful thing to see and hear them;
their legions in flight array went stringing high aloft, so high
they looked not like Geese, but threads across the sky, the cobwebs,
indeed, that Mother Carey was sweeping away with her north-wind
broom. I sketched and counted flock after flock with a sense of
thankfulness that so many, were left alive. Most were White Geese,
but a twentieth, perhaps, were Honkers.
The Ducks began to pass over about noon, and became more numerous
than the Geese as they went on.
In the midst of this myriad procession, as though they were the
centre and cause of all, were two splendid White Cranes, bugling
as they flew. Later that day we saw another band, of three, but
these were all; their race is nearly run.
The full moon was on and all night the wild-fowl flew. The frost
was close behind them, sharp and sudden. Next morning the ponds
about us had ice an inch thick and we heard of it three inches at
other places.
But the sun came out gloriously and when at ten we landed at Fort
McMurray the day was warm and perfect in its autumnal peace.
Miss Gordon, the postmaster, did not recognise us at first. She
said we all looked "so much older, it is always so with folks who
go north."
Next morning we somehow left our tent behind. It was old and of
little value, so we did not go back, and the fact that we never
really needed it speaks much for the sort of weather we had to the
end of the trip.
A couple of Moose (cow and calf) crossed the river ahead of us,
and Billy went off in hot pursuit; but saw no more of them.
Tracks of animals were extremely abundant on, the shore here.
Large Wolves became quite numerous evidently we were now in their
country. Apparently they had killed a Moose, as their dung was full
of Moose hair.
We were now in the Canyon of the Athabaska and from this on our
journey was a fight with the rapids. One by one my skilful boatmen
negotiated them; either we tracked up or half unloaded, or landed
and portaged, but it was hard and weary work. My journal entry for
the night of the 18th runs thus:
"I am tired of troubled waters. All day to-day and for five days
back we have been fighting the rapids of this fierce river. My
place is to sit in the canoe-bow with a long pole, glancing here
and there, right, left, and ahead, watching ever the face of this
snarling river; and when its curling green lips apart betray a
yellow brown gleam of deadly teeth too near, it is my part to ply
with might and main that pole, and push the frail canoe aside to
where the stream is in milder, kindlier mood.' Oh, I love not a
brawling river any more than a brawling woman, and thoughts of the
broad, calm Slave, with its majestic stretches of level flood, are
now as happy halcyon memories of a bright and long-gone past."
My men were skilful and indefatigable. One by one we met the hard
rapids in various ways, mostly by portaging, but on the morning
of the 19th we came to one so small and short that all agreed the
canoe could be forced by with poles and track-line. It looked an
insignificant ripple, no more than a fish might make with its tail,
and what happened in going up, is recorded as follows: