It has been said that the greater portion of British Columbia “stands on end,” and certainly to no portion of the Province does this more aptly apply than to this northern coast, and there, perhaps, was never a case in the history of the world, a case where the initial cost in the building of a city was as great as it is there to-day. The land for about a mile and a quarter back from the shore is a succession of rock ridges with swampy land intervening. At the present time in order to make streets these rocks are being levelled down to afford a passable grade. In most cases this necessitates the cutting down of the adjacent lots to get a frontage on the street level. The amount of explosives being used for this purpose must be very great. Blasting is constantly going on and the visitor can easily fancy himself in a beseiged town.
On waking on Friday morning, August 31, I found we were approaching Vancouver. It was a delightful morning, and as we entered the narrows and then passed around Brockton Point and entered Burrard inlet, we beheld that great modern city which, in a few years has risen from a small village to one of the foremost places in the Dominion. I felt that at last I was practically home again. The distance I had travelled from Edmonton to this point was about 4250 miles, and had occupied a few days less than three months.
I had now time to look over my diary and to recall to memory many incidents which had received little attention at the time. In fact nothing counted for much then that did not aid me in what I had undertaken. My one idea was by some means to make the trip to the Arctic and return exactly as I had planned it, and in doing so every day had brought its duties, and there was little time to recall what was past. The present and the future took all our immediate attention. But now there was time and with it the inclination, to retrace every foot of the journey from start to finish.
What a panorama opened to view. There was the wearisome journey on the Athabaska ending at the “Lake of the Hills.” Then opened to the mental vision the Slave River, Slave Lake and the Mackenzie ending at that strange but interesting Arctic village, McPherson. Then those anxious days on the trail over the mountains. Then the canoe trip on the Bell and Porcupine with three Indians. The encampment at Old Crow and next the arrival at Rampart House.
TOTUM POLES AT ALERT BAY ON VANCOUVER ISLAND
Then the somewhat pleasant trip still down the Porcupine till Fort Yukon is reached. The road house there. The slow trip up the Yukon to Dawson and finally the journey from Dawson to Vancouver. All these with the numerous incidents on the way passed before the vision. It was like the developing of a picture without the aid of any camera except that furnished by the human eye and recorded in the mind of the observer. And even yet, though several years have elapsed, those impressions of places, of people and of events frequently pass vividly in review before my mental vision. These impressions I have, with a feeble pen, attempted to develop for any who have had the patience to follow this review, but I am painfully conscious of my failure to pass on to my indulgent readers anything more than the bare outlines of a picture which to my own mind is not only vivid but intensely fascinating.
PART II
FOREWORD
It may be well for me to add to the foregoing narrative a few brief general observations on certain characteristics and productions of the country, such as the climate, the soil, the minerals, the timber; of the animals, the fish, the wild fowl, that migrate there and breed during the summer months; and, lastly, of the native inhabitants, as well as the traders and missionaries who have for the last century or more made their home in the country.