Across the sub-Arctics of Canada

by J. W. Tyrrell

At camp the men were variously employed. A fishing net had been put out in an eddy at the foot of the rapids the previous night, and when taken up in the morning some of the finest fish I have ever seen were found in it. Two salmon trout measured three feet one inch and three feet two inches in length respectively, and the white fish, of which there were a large number, ranged in weight from six to ten pounds. I may add, in deference to a suspicion which statements of this nature sometimes give rise to, that these facts can be amply verified. Towards evening we looked for the return of the four natives who had promised us their assistance, but they came not.

Following this day of rest came one of most laborious, exhausting work. Our camp was not only at the foot of a beautiful fall, but in consequence was at the lower end of a rough, rocky portage, found to be three miles in length, and the canoes were all heavily loaded, containing some four thousand pounds of cargo to be transported. One of our men, Corrigal, was unfortunately laid up for the time with an ugly gash in the knee, so we had only five packers; but being fresh and in high spirits they went at their work with a rush, notwithstanding a rocky hill of two hundred feet which had to be climbed, and a deep muskeg which obliged them to wade. Long before night, however, their spirits had dropped many degrees, and it became evident that the task was telling heavily on the men. Before evening their feet were fearfully blistered, and all complained of pains in one place or another. They had each carried six loads to the upper end of the portage, which represented a walk of thirty-three miles, eighteen of which were travelled with one-hundred pound loads upon their backs, over rocky hills and through swamps knee-deep with mire. This was disheartening work at the outset, but it was good training for what was to follow.

A DIFFICULT PORTAGE.

The next morning the weather was hot and the flies were out in swarms, as on the day before. The men were all foot-sore and stiff, but without a grumble resumed their work. They were obliged to make two more trips before everything was across, and by that time it was nearly noon; still, without a pause for rest, they loaded the canoes, pushed out into the lake—a small expansion of the river—and headed for the opposite shore, where we soon discovered the mouth. When yet far out on the lake we could see the river’s foaming water, and as we drew nearer could plainly hear the unmistakable roar of a cataract. Some distance to the right, on a sand-beach, we went ashore, and found ourselves at the foot of a second long portage.

Because of the condition of our men, camp was now ordered to be pitched, so as to give them some chance to recruit. My brother and I walked across the portage, and found it to be three and one-half miles in length. It was, however, much less difficult than the former one, being more level and less rocky. Its upper end terminated on the shore of Black Lake, where we hoped to find Indians who would help us across. But in this we were disappointed, and, instead of Indians, found only old forsaken “tepee” poles and blackened fireplaces. We tried to rest for a while upon the shore of Black Lake, but the flies swarmed about us with such frightful fury that we were compelled to beat a retreat, and seek rest where alone it could be found, beneath our mosquito awnings at camp.

By the way, there is an Indian tradition which says that it was on these very portages that the Great Spirit first made these black flies, and our experience, we thought, would tend to bear out that belief.

INDIAN RAFTS LOADED WITH VENISON.

On the afternoon of the 7th we started out in a north-easterly direction, following the shore of Black Lake (explored by my brother in 1892) for a distance of about sixteen miles, until we reached the hunting trail, of which he had been informed by the Indians, leading away to the northward. This place until now had been our objective point, and the way to it was known; but beyond this point we knew nothing of the road, or of the country through which it would lead us, excepting for the first few days’ travel, to which the Indians’ description, quoted at the beginning of this narrative, would apply. From this point northward, for a distance of one hundred miles, or thereabouts, we had expected to be guided by that old humbug Moberly, but he having deserted us we were now dependent on our own resources.