On the 17th of September we left our camp at the north end of Lake
Camsell for a short expedition in search of musk-ox, which we expected
to find within fifty miles of the edge of the woods. By this time we had
all fattened up, and entirely recovered from the effects of the short
rations we had had to put up with before we fell in with the caribou.
My crew consisted at starting of King, Paul, François, Michel, and José;
but as the two latter speedily showed signs of discontent I made no
objection to their turning back, and despatched them to Fond du Lac to
get ready the dog-sleighs, snow-shoes, and everything necessary for
winter travel. As a matter of fact they did absolutely nothing except
squander a relay of provisions and ammunition that had been sent on by
the trading-boat from the fort to meet me at Fond du Lac. I was not
sorry to see the last of them, as four of us were quite enough to work
the canoe, and a small party naturally stands in less danger of
starvation than a big one; moreover, they were certainly the most
quarrelsome men in the camp, which is saying a good deal, as we had all
done our fair share in that way since leaving the fort.
We started without any meat, expecting to find caribou everywhere, and
in this respect we had great luck all the time we were out; but we were
not so well off for shelter. We had brought only one lodge from Fond du
Lac, which was of course left for the women, while we took the chance of
what weather might come, hunting the lee-side of a big rock towards
evening, and often finding ourselves covered with an extra blanket of
snow (_le couvert du bon Dieu_, as King called it) in the morning.
The plan of campaign was to reach the musk-ox by canoe and bring back as
many robes as we could carry before the winter set in; or, failing this,
to kill and _cache_ caribou along our line of travel, so that we should
have meat to help us reach the musk-ox with dog-sleighs after the heavy
snow had fallen and all the caribou had passed into the woods.
I named the first lake that we portaged into King Lake, a narrow sheet
of water some five miles in length, and here we were storm-bound all day
by a northerly gale, the force of the wind being so great that we could
not move the canoe to windward, although the water was smooth enough.
The weather improving in the morning, we paddled down the lake and
passed into a small stream running out of its north end. A couple of
miles down stream, with a portage over a small cascade (the
thirty-fourth and last portage that we made with the big canoe), brought
us to a huge lake running in a south-east and north-west direction,
said to be the longest of all the lakes in this part of the country, and
by the Indians' account four good days' travel, or over one hundred
miles in length; the part that I saw is certainly over fifty miles, and
is said to be not half the total distance. The lake is narrow in most
places, and cut up by long points into numerous bays; there are a great
many islands, particularly at the north-east end, similar in appearance
to the main shore, which is just like the country I have described at
the Lac du Rocher, except that at the end of the big lake the hills
reach a greater elevation, and present more the aspect of a regular
range, than in any other part of the Barren Ground that I saw.
The position of Mackay Lake, as I named it after Dr. Mackay of the
Athabasca district, is worthy of remark, as it is the best
starting-point from which to work the most important streams of both
watersheds. It lies very nearly on the height of land between the Great
Slave Lake and the Arctic Ocean; its west end must be but a short
portage from the Yellow Knife River, while from its eastern extremity
runs out the large stream, named by Anderson the Outram, but more
generally known as Lockhart's River, from the fact of its falling into
the Great Slave Lake at Lockhart's house, which was established for the
relief of Stewart and Anderson when they went in search of the missing
Franklin Expedition. The Great Fish, or Back's River, which they
descended on that occasion, heads within half a mile of the north bay of
Aylmer Lake, lying next below Mackay Lake, on Lockhart's River. Fifteen
miles to the north is another large sheet of water known to my
companions as the Lac de Gras, through which the Coppermine River runs
on its course direct to the Arctic Sea.
The point at which we fell on Lake Mackay is about the edge of the
woods, and here we camped for the last time with pine timber, finding a
small hunting-canoe which some of the Beaulieus had left during the
previous autumn. This we decided to take with us, and it proved
extremely useful later on in crossing the Coppermine.
On Sunday, September 22nd, with a fresh fair wind and our blanket
pulling strong, we ran for several hours in a north-east direction; the
little canoe which we carried athwartship made the steering difficult,
as her bow and stern kept striking the tops of the big waves that were
running after us, but we met with no accident except the carrying away
of our mast.
We were continually in sight of large bands of caribou, but they seemed
to take little notice of the extraordinary apparition. Towards evening
we saw a herd on a long point projecting far out from the south shore of
the lake, and, thinking it would be a good place to make a _cache_,
landed inside them and walked down the point in line. We had the animals
completely hemmed in, and, when they charged through us, nine dropped
to quick shooting at short range. There was little fuel of any kind on
the spot, and we had to eat our meat almost raw, as is the fashion of
the Barren Ground on these occasions. In the morning we ferried all the
carcasses to a convenient island close to the point, put them in _cache_
among the rocks, and proceeded down the lake, camping at sundown at the
head of a small bay near its north-east end.
The weather now changed, and once more the north wind came howling
across the open country straight from the Arctic Sea, and a steady
continuous frost set in. We hauled up the big canoe and set out on foot,
taking with us only our rifles and ammunition, a blanket apiece, and a
couple of small kettles, besides the little canoe, which proved an
awkward load to carry against the strong head-wind. We must have walked
about twenty miles, occasionally making use of a lake for the canoe,
when we reached the south shore of the Lac de Gras, much disappointed in
seeing no musk-ox or caribou all day.
The Lac de Gras is much broader than Lake Mackay, and rounder in shape,
although at one spot it is nearly cut in half by points stretching out
from each side. The Coppermine River runs in at the east and out at the
west end, and the distance is not great to the site of Fort Enterprise,
Sir John Franklin's wintering place in 1820, and the scene of the awful
disasters which befell his first overland expedition.
We were now hard up for provisions again, and the first daylight found
us hunting for something to eat. Two of us walked along the shore, while
the others paddled the canoe, but we could find neither musk-ox nor
caribou; at midday we met and changed places, King and myself making
rather a bold crossing in the shaky little canoe, while Paul and
François walked round. On approaching the north shore of the lake we
noticed a raven rise and throw himself on his back in the air, uttering
the curious gurgling note which always seems to imply satisfaction. King
exclaimed, "See the raven putting down his load! there is something to
eat there"; and true enough there was, for we found the carcasses of
eight musk-ox, killed, as we afterwards heard, a month before by a party
of Yellow Knives, who had driven the animals into the water and
massacred the whole band. Half a dozen gulls flapped away heavily, and
we caught sight of a wolverine sneaking off as we came near. Neither of
us much fancied the appearance of the feast that lay before us, but we
had eaten nothing for some time, and one is not particular in such
cases, especially as it is never certain when the next meal will turn
up. We robbed from the wolverines and ravens, and, signalling to Paul
and François, made a meal of the half-putrid flesh in a little patch of
willow scrub that happened to be close at hand. It is never pleasant to
find the game you are hunting killed by somebody else, but in this
instance it was a relief to know that we had a supply of meat, such as
it was, to fall back upon in case we came to grief later on.
After supper we crossed the Coppermine, a big deep stream even here,
with a current of a mile and a half an hour, running out of another lake
which stretched northward and eastward as far as we could see. Here we
left the small canoe to cross with on our return, and walked on late
into the night, hoping to find some more willows, but eventually made a
wretchedly cold camp without fire on a long promontory, to which we
always after alluded as Le Point de Misère. A light snowstorm made us
still more uncomfortable, and it was well on in the next afternoon
before we found willows enough to make a fire, sighting almost
immediately afterwards a big band of caribou. We killed eight, and, as
all the small lakes were firmly frozen over by this time, were able to
make the safest form of _cache_ by breaking the ice and throwing the
meat into shoal water, which would at once begin to freeze and defy all
the efforts of the wolverines. Two months afterwards we chopped out this
meat, and found it fresh and palatable, although the outside was
discoloured by its long soaking. When we had finished our _cache_ we lit
a comparatively big fire in a bunch of well-grown willows and spent the
rest of the day in eating and mending our moccasins, which were all
badly worn out by the rough walking of the last few days. We had left
our main camp badly provided in this respect, as the women had not had
sufficient time to dress any skins before we started, and in consequence
we were all troubled with sore feet during our wanderings in search of
the musk-ox.
Curiously enough, now we did not want them, the ptarmigan appeared again
in great quantities, although we had not seen any since leaving our big
canoe. The only other birds remaining were a few hawks, owls, gulls, and
ravens; the wild-fowl had all left, and as a matter of fact we had come
across very few since leaving the Great Slave Lake. About this time,
too, we killed the first Arctic hare, an animal by no means to be
despised, as it is fully as big as an English hare and will at a pinch
provide a meal for a small party; at this time of year they are
completely white, with the exception of the tips of the ears which are
black; they are usually tame, and, being very conspicuous before the
snow covers the ground, afford an excellent mark for the rifle.
On this day we crossed a peculiar ridge composed of fine gravel and
sand, resembling at a distance a high railway embankment. It is a
well-known landmark for the Indians, and is said by them to stretch,
with few interruptions from the east end of the Athabasca Lake to the
east end of Great Bear Lake.
September 27th was a red-letter day, marking the death of the first
musk-ox. Soon after leaving camp we came to a rough piece of country,
full of patches of the broken rocks that I have already described, and,
mounting a small hill, saw a single old bull walking directly towards us
at a distance of three hundred yards. We lay down in the snow, and I had
a capital chance of watching him through the glasses as he picked his
way quietly over the slippery rocks, a sight which went far to repay all
the trouble we had taken in penetrating this land of desolation. In
crossing an occasional piece of level ground he walked with a curious
rolling motion, probably accounted for by the waving of the long hair on
the flanks; this hair reaches almost to the ground, and gives the legs
such an exaggerated appearance of shortness that, at first sight, one
would declare the animal to be incapable of any rapid motion. The shaggy
head was carried high, and when he finally pulled up at sight of us,
within forty yards, with his neck slightly arched and a gleam of
sunshine lighting up the huge white boss formed by the junction of the
horns, he presented a most formidable appearance. His fate was not long
in doubt, as my first shot settled him, and the main object of my trip
was accomplished; whatever might happen after this, I could always
congratulate myself on having killed a musk-ox, and this made up for a
great deal of the misery that we afterwards had to undergo.
Although not absolutely prime, this animal was a fine specimen of an
old bull, with the yellow marking on the back clearly defined, and as
good a head as any I saw during my stay in the musk-ox country. We took
the whole skin, with head, horns, and hoofs, and _cached_ it among the
rocks, where I am sorry to say it lies to this day; I intended to pick
it up in the course of our winter hunt, but unfortunately we were caught
in a snowstorm on the Lac de Gras, and were unable to find the _cache_.
In the evening we scattered over the country, hoping to find a band of
musk-ox, but another bull, killed by Paul, was the only one seen.
On the following day the frost was much keener; the smaller lakes and
the sheltered bays in the big one were set fast, and we began to realise
that the sooner we started back the better chance we had of getting
across Mackay Lake with the canoe, and avoiding the long detour to cross
Lockhart's River, which was sure to remain open much longer than the
lakes. The winter was coming on quickly, and we were badly provided with
clothes to withstand its severity; our moccasins were in rags, and
everybody showed signs of being footsore. By rough reckoning we were
about on the 65th degree of latitude, and it seemed too reckless to push
on any further towards the North, as already we were separated from the
nearest timber by a hundred miles of treeless waste; even if we found a
band of musk-ox, we should be forced to come out again with dogs to
haul in the robes, as our big canoe was now too far back for us to think
of carrying any great weight with us. Although we had not made a
successful hunt, our trouble was not all thrown away, as enough meat
_caches_ had been made to insure us a fair chance of getting out into
the same country on the first deep snow.
Nobody liked to be the first to talk about turning back, but on reaching
the top of a low range of hills and seeing a flat desolate stretch of
country lying to the north of us, with the lakes frozen up and no sign
of animals or firewood, King turned to me and said: "It is not far from
here that the white men died from cold and starvation at this time of
year; let us go back before the snow gets deep and we are not able to
travel." The old man looked particularly tough at this moment; none of
our faces were very clean, but his was the more remarkable, as the blood
of the last caribou that we killed had splashed in it, and, running down
his beard, had mixed with his frozen breath and appeared in the form of
long red icicles hanging from his chin. I think he knew what was in my
mind and had an idea that I was laughing at him, for suddenly his quick
temper got the better of him and he broke into one of those wild volleys
of blasphemy that I had heard him give way to so often, and, turning on
his heel, said that I could do as I liked, but he was going to make the
best of his way back to the lodge. The walk back in front of the wind
was not nearly so bad as it had been coming out head to it; and in many
places we could travel straight over the ice, and, by cutting across the
bays instead of walking round, save a considerable distance. Whenever we
got this chance we put our loads on a handful of willow-brush and
dragged them after us, finding it far easier than carrying them on our
shoulders.
Another night we spent without fire on the Point de Misère, and on
October 3rd crossed the Coppermine amidst running ice, and there
abandoned the little canoe. On the south side of the river we fell in
with the biggest band of caribou we had yet seen, numbering fully three
hundred; but as we had no need of any more meat _caches_ on the Lac de
Gras, we only killed enough for present use.
This crossing of the Coppermine, by the way, is an important spot in the
history of the Dog-Ribs and Yellow Knives. It has always been a
favourite swimming-place for the caribou, and many a struggle took place
for the possession of this hunting-ground in the old days when there was
continual warfare between the two tribes. At the present day it is a
breach of etiquette for any Indians to camp here, as it is supposed that
if the caribou are once headed back at this point they will not come
south of Mackay Lake. This rule had evidently been broken lately, as we
found signs of a recent encampment, and King considered that this amply
accounted for our not finding the caribou before we reached the Lac du
Rocher.
After two more days' hard travelling we arrived at our big canoe, and
had the satisfaction of finding some meat, that we had left there,
untouched by the wolverines; but the bay was frozen solid, and there was
no open water within two miles. Beyond the points of the bay we could
see the white-capped waves running, but we knew that at the first spell
of calm weather the whole lake would set fast.
I now saw an example of the readiness of idea which King possessed in
devising shifts and expedients to get out of difficulties. Of course he
had had fifty years' experience in northern travel, but he was
certainly, in my opinion, far above the average of the many other
half-breeds and Indians who had been my companions in more or less
difficult journeys in various parts of Canada. Before I thoroughly
understood his scheme we commenced operations, by lashing together all
the poles and paddles into a rough sort of ice-raft; on the top of this
we placed the loads that we had carried so many miles, forming a smooth
bed, two feet above the level of the ice, on which to rest the canoe.
The bay had evidently frozen and broken up once, and the second freezing
had left a rough surface; many of the floes were piled on top of each
other, while the rest had been turned on edge, and it was necessary to
keep the canoe clear of these sharp edges, which would have ripped the
tender birch-bark like a knife. One man ran ahead, trying the strength
of the ice with an axe, while the others hauled on the raft, and our
method of progression was so satisfactory that just before dark, after
much ominous cracking of the ice but no disaster, we camped on the east
point of the bay close to the edge of open water. The half-breeds showed
great knowledge of ice, and, with an occasional tap of the axe, picked
out the safest route without making a mistake.
The canoe propped on her side gave us the best shelter we had had for
many a night, and, finding willows enough for a fire, we all felt
jubilant at the idea of reaching the first clump of pines on the
following day, besides getting an opportunity to rest our feet, which by
this time were in a very bad condition. In this, however, we were doomed
to disappointment.
At the first sign of daylight we launched the canoe, and, breaking our
way out through the young ice, were soon paddling in a heavy beam sea,
with every splash of water freezing on us, and many stops to knock the
ice from our paddles. After two or three hours of this work the wind
died out, and, as we approached a group of small islands that cut the
lake up into numerous channels, we saw a thin sheet of ice across the
whole width. All hope of passing with the canoe was given up, and we
headed for the south shore while a heavy snowstorm made it difficult to
keep the course; the surface water was rapidly thickening into ice, and
the sharp needles began to scrape unpleasantly along the sides of our
frail vessel. We were none too soon in reaching the land, and had to
carry the canoe over the thick ice near the shore. Here we turned her
over carefully, and putting the poles, paddles, and all necessaries
underneath, abandoned her to be buried under the snow till I might want
her again the next summer. Late in the following June we found her, none
the worse for her long exposure to the rigour of a winter in the Barren
Ground, but even then there was no sign of open water in Mackay Lake.
We had now to continue our journey on foot; but by keeping to the shore
of the lake, and sometimes making use of the ice in crossing a bay, we
only camped twice before reaching the pine timber. Late on the third day
we came to the bank of an ugly, quick-flowing stream, and saw a large
bunch of pines on the far side. Waist-deep we made a ford among the
running ice, and were soon drying ourselves by a blazing fire of
pine-wood.
The whole of life is said to go by comparison, and although a few
pine-trees in a wilderness of snow might seem the height of desolation
to a man lately used to the luxuries of the civilized world, it appeared
to us like a glimpse of heaven after the exposure of the last few weeks.
It really was a pleasant spot, and one which has impressed itself on my
memory more than any other camp that we made during this trip. A band of
caribou, passing close by, provided us with supper, while a big pack of
ptarmigan held possession of the little pine-trees, and kept up a
constant expostulation at the intrusion of the scarcely known human
beings. Hunger and danger were behind us just at present, and we felt in
the best of tempers as we lay down for a long sleep on sweet-smelling
pine-brush.
Shortly after leaving camp in the morning another band of caribou
appeared, and, as the lodge was now not far ahead, we killed about a
dozen, and put them in _cache_ for later use. We then walked steadily on
all day, and in the evening came in sight of Lake Camsell, over which
the sun was setting in full northern splendour, throwing a wonderful
purple light across the thin film of ice that coated the water. It was
late in the night, and it was not till we had fired several gun-shots at
intervals, that we heard an answering signal, and found that the women
had set up the lodge in the next bunch of pines, as they had exhausted
all the firewood close to the old camp.
Meat was abundant, for the caribou had been passing, and many had been
killed by the women and boys. Bales of dried meat formed a solid wall
round the lodge, varied here and there by a bladder of grease or a
skin-bag full of pounded meat, while bunches of tongues and back-fats
were hanging from the cross-poles to smoke. The scene reminded me of the
old fairy stories in which the hero used to discover houses, with walls
of sugar and roofs of gingerbread, full of all the good things
imaginable, while any member of the Beaulieu family would make a
respectable ogre to guard such treasures. Of course the lodge was dirty
and infested with the vermin from which these people are never free; but
there was an air of warmth and plenty about it very agreeable after the
hand-to-mouth existence we had been leading.
On looking back at this expedition I cannot help thinking that we were
lucky in getting through it without more trouble; it was just the wrong
time of year to be travelling, too late for open water and too early for
dogs to have been of any service, even if we had had them with us. One
of the heavy snowstorms that, judging from Sir John Franklin's
experience, are common in the end of September and beginning of October,
would have made the walking much more laborious, as even the little snow
that was on the ground delayed us considerably. Another source of danger
was the numerous falls among the broken rocks; but though we all came
down heavily at times, and, once or twice, with big loads of meat on our
backs, no damage was done. The caribou kept turning up most opportunely,
and we had no real hardships from want of food. Fuel was nearly always
insufficient, but we only had two fireless camps, both on the Point de
Misère. In many places we used black moss in addition to whatever willow
scrub we could collect, and so long as the weather was dry found it
quite good enough for boiling a kettle, but when the snow fell it was
perfectly useless. This absence of a fire to sit by at night is the most
unpleasant feature in travelling the Barren Ground.