It was a pleasant sight to behold the calm waters of the Bell in front of us and to realise that by our journey of less than five days we had reached the waters flowing into the Pacific Ocean, but this pleasure was soon marred when I saw the canoes in which we were about to embark.
I had been assured that one of the three was a large craft capable of carrying two men with a lot of “dunnage,” I had also expected that this one would be constructed on lines similar to those used in the east, where my man would sit in the stern and steer while I would have the pleasure of a comfortable seat in the bow and be able to assist with my paddle. But I soon realised that this would be impossible, as this canoe was built on the same lines as those I had seen at McPherson and at other points along the Mackenzie. They are very long and narrow with the bow and stern decked over similar to the Esquimaux kayak. In other respects they resemble a single scull without the sliding seat. The Captain, and the propeller of the craft, took his seat near the centre, and I was assigned one immediately behind him, so near him as to make it impossible for me to use a paddle. All I had to do was to sit perfectly still while my man did all the paddling and steering. The latter was done by his making about four strokes on one side and then changing his paddle to the other side. However, before starting, at my instance, they lashed the three canoes together by cross pieces, making a sort of catamaran, and we were soon gliding down stream at the rate of about four miles an hour, without any danger of capsizing, but with some feelings for poor Charlie Fox and his wife, who waved us good-bye until a turn in the river hid them from view. But this feeling of security did not last long. After a couple of hours we went ashore for lunch, and, to my dismay, on starting they insisted on disengaging the canoes and by no manner nor means could I induce them to desist from this determination. Finally we compromised on their agreeing to try how they would go separately, and if not satisfactory to again lash them together. With great reluctance I took my place in the largest canoe, weighed down in the centre to about three inches of the water. In a steady craft this would have been ample, but ours was about the most cranky of its species. On starting I thought it would be utterly impossible for us to continue this, but, once under way, the impetus made it a little steadier, and, as the water this afternoon was perfectly calm, we succeeded in making a landing in the evening without any accident, but with the firm determination on my part that we would revert to our former plan the next morning. In the evening we discussed the matter as best we could, considering their limited knowledge of English and my ignorance of their language. They tried to persuade me that there was less danger separately than when hitched together if the water became rough, as in that case it would splash up between the canoes and swamp them, but I soon learned that the real reason for their refusal was that they could go much faster separately, and they were in a great hurry to get to their homes before the run of the salmon was over.
Game and Fish
Heretofore the principal talk all down the Mackenzie Valley has been of the bear, the moose and the caribou but once the Pacific waters are reached the salmon occupies the same place with the natives that the wheat crop does with the prairie settler. It forms the great staple of the country and stands between the inhabitants and starvation. Sir Alexander Mackenzie tells us of how he intimidated an Indian chief near the Pacific by informing him that Great Britain owned the ocean and that unless he treated him properly he would inform his king, who would stop the salmon from coming up the rivers. His threat had the desired effect.
The day was cloudy with some rain, but the men paddled hard and on till ten o’clock at night, and when we went ashore we were probably between twenty-five and thirty miles from where we started with the canoes.
The next morning, finding it useless to try to persuade them to connect their canoes, and seeing that they were making such fast time with them separated, I docilely took my place again, but I can never forget the few days during which I occupied this position. I was aware that there was perhaps little danger if I sat perfectly still, providing we did not strike a rock or snag in the river, but to sit perfectly still for about sixteen hours out of the twenty-four was most trying. If I made the slightest move my man would look round and though he said nothing there was an expression on his face which conveyed at once a reproof and a warning. If I could have had anything to do it would have been a great relief, but to sit upright without moving was exceedingly wearisome and moreover, after the fatiguing trip across the portage, once I was relieved of exercise, the monotony of the river journey made it almost impossible for me to resist falling asleep. This I dared not do, for the chances would be that once consciousness was gone I would make a move that would upset our frail craft. I have since read an account of a canoe trip made across Great Slave Lake over a hundred years ago, by one of the early traders, in a craft of the same kind, which graphically describes a similar experience, and in which the difficulty of keeping awake is emphasised.
Shortly after starting on the first day the Indians killed three wild geese, which made us an excellent meal, and, strange to say, during the excitement of the shooting, notwithstanding the greater risk, I forgot all sense of danger that was otherwise constantly with me.
We reached the mouth of the Bell and entered the Porcupine about 10 o’clock of the second day. The Bell at our start was perhaps a hundred yards or less in width, which increased as we approached its mouth, while the Porcupine where we entered it must have been three or four times as large. The colour of the water in the Bell, too, is darker than in the larger stream. Both streams, following the character of many of these northern rivers, have strong currents, but very few rapids. So much is this the case that even with our small canoes we had not a single portage to make all the way from our starting point down to Rampart House on the Alaska boundary, a distance of not less than 225 miles. Not only this, but from Rampart House down to the Yukon, a distance equally great, was made in a small row boat without a single interruption.
A fringe of small timber, principally spruce, lines the banks of both streams but does not extend far back.
The day was cool and cloudy with occasional light showers. The Indians, however, cared not for these, but paddled very hard all day, and till 9.30 at night, when we went ashore and camped at the mouth of Driftwood River, having made probably sixty miles. The land along the route so far was clay and gravel, but no matter what its quality the climate forbids successful agriculture. At less than a foot below the surface the ground is constantly frozen, even during the hottest summer months. The Indians killed several wild geese with very little effort. Most of them, notwithstanding the fact that they were full size, were unable to fly, owing to their wings not having yet attained sufficient strength. They merely chased the fowls to the shore and killed them when they attempted to climb the steep banks of the river.