Across the sub-Arctics of Canada

by J. W. Tyrrell

Baker Lake, about seventy miles in length and perhaps half that in breadth, was originally discovered and rudely mapped by one Captain Christopher, about the year 1770. In searching for the North-West Passage he sailed into it with two small vessels from Hudson Bay, passing en route through Chesterfield Inlet and the two rivers flowing into it from Baker Lake. Having with us a copy of Captain Christopher’s map, though of a very sketchy character, it afforded us some information as to our future course.

Since leaving the shores of Black Lake we had traversed to this point a distance of just eight hundred and ten miles, through an entirely unknown country. We had occupied more time in doing so than we had expected, on account of the extraordinary character of the weather, but, however, on this evening of the 2nd of September we found ourselves at the mouth of “the great river flowing to the northward,” as described by the Black Lake Indians.

From our astronomical observations and survey it was found that the extremity of the lake as determined by Christopher, and as located on the existing maps of Canada, was nine miles too far south and about fifty miles too far west. At the mouth of the river the water was found to be shallow—in some places not more than three or four feet in depth—and for some distance out into the lake shoals were observed. Small sailing vessels or York boats would, however, have no difficulty in getting in, but it would be difficult to take the former any great distance up the river on account of the rapids. Large properly constructed river boats might be taken up stream without difficulty for a distance of 150 miles to the confluence of the west branch, and how far they might be able to ascend that large stream it is impossible for me to say. With the exception of perhaps one spot—the canyon rapid north of Tobaunt Lake—I believe the whole river from the Height of Land to Baker Lake might be navigated by river or York boats with comparative ease. At the rapid a portage could be made or possibly a navigable channel might be discovered.

I think it important to mention the above possibilities of access to this country, on account of the fact that from Tobaunt Lake to Baker Lake there stretches an extended area of promising mineral-bearing Huronian schists and trappean rocks, a series precisely similar to the silver, copper and gold bearing rocks of the north shore of Lake Superior and Lake of the Woods districts. The time must come—it may not be far distant—when the prospector and the miner will occupy all this vast field of mineral wealth.[4]

From the head of Baker Lake we were now to commence a new stage of the journey. The rough maps we had enabled us to form a fair idea of what lay ahead. From our camp to the mouth of Chesterfield Inlet on the coast of Hudson Bay measured about 250 miles, and thence down the coast of the Bay to Fort Churchill, a Hudson’s Bay Company’s post and the nearest habitation of white men, measured 500 more; so that 750 miles was the least distance we had to figure on travelling in canoes before the close of navigation.

It was now the month of September, and as winter is known to set in in the vicinity of Hudson Bay during October, my brother and I felt that our time must be employed to the very best advantage. The weather had been extremely adverse all summer, but it was now liable to be more so. Within the course of two or three weeks the equinoctial gales might be expected. The tides also would be a new feature of difficulty.

In consideration of these prospects, and in order to stimulate the men to greater exertions, it was thought best to explain our position to them, for up to this time they had little idea as to where they were, whether in the vicinity of the North Pole or within a few days’ travel of civilization. The effect produced by thus informing the canoemen was as desired. They resolved as one man to make longer days and put forth greater exertion.

Before daylight on the morning of the 3rd, camp was aroused by the sound of many voices, and a few minutes later, before we had turned out from our blankets, the door of the tent was pulled half open and two or three black burly heads with grinning faces were poked in. They were those of some of our friends from the Eskimo village who had come over to pay us an early morning call, before we should finally leave their shores. They all held in their hands nicknacks of one kind or another which they were anxious to trade, chiefly for needles, and some would have come in and made themselves at home had I not dismissed them until we were dressed and ready to do business at a little greater distance from our blankets, which we were desirous should be inhabited only by ourselves. Later, a few fishing-lines, spoons and such trifles were purchased.

As soon as possible, the wind happily being fair, our canoes were loaded, and with many “tabowetings” to the natives and a hurrah for Baker Lake, we started out to the eastward along the north shore. But soon the wind grew strong and caused such a high sea to run that we were forced to seek shelter, which we found in the mouth of a small river. We had then made fourteen miles. Here we waited, hoping that toward evening the wind might moderate, but on the contrary it grew worse, so on the lee-side of a bluff point camp was pitched to afford us shelter from the cold piercing blast. A high wind continued all night and during the following day, when it was accompanied by snow and sleet. The temperature was so low that the fresh-water ponds were frozen over. Such a condition of climate, together with a small and rapidly diminishing stock of provisions, made us chafe at the delay; but on the morning of the 5th we were enabled to launch, and during the day made a good run of about forty miles. The shore of the lake consisted chiefly of Laurentian rock, from 150 to 300 feet in height, but at some places broad low flats and long points of sand and boulders separated the hills from the water.

During the afternoon of the 6th, the northerly of the two rivers discharging the waters of Baker Lake was discovered. The approach to it is well marked on the north bank by a round bluff some two hundred feet in height. At first no current could be observed in the river, which, in reality, was a deep narrow fiord, but when we had advanced a distance of about two miles a stiff current, almost approaching a rapid, was met; but instead of moving with us, as would naturally be expected, it was flowing to the westward. At first sight it caused some doubts as to whether we were on the right road. The canoemen were all persuaded that we were ascending some big river and would have at once turned back, but concluding that we had already reached tide water, though sooner than we had expected, we pulled on, and before long witnessed the seemingly strange phenomenon of a river changing its direction of flow.