Across the sub-Arctics of Canada

by J. W. Tyrrell

Tin plates and cups, knives and forks were provided, but as we took hold of them they froze to our fingers, and before we could use them they had to be heated. After supper preparations were made for the night and for the morrow’s tramp. Socks, duffles and moccasins, wet with perspiration from the day’s march, were hung up before the fire to dry; robes and blankets were spread about the camp, and upon them our tired party assembled to enjoy a rest and smoke beside the fire before turning in for the night. Though cold, the night was beautifully calm and clear, and when from time to time the big dry sticks of wood were thrown upon the fire, showers of sparks ascended until they found hiding-places among the dark branches of the overhanging spruce trees.

Camp-fire stories and gossip were indulged in for an hour, then several logs were thrown upon the fire, and each man, rolled up in his blanket and with feet toward the fire, lay down to sleep. There was little sleep for me, however, because of my knee, which gave me great pain during the night.

The next morning camp was called at five o’clock, and under the still star-lit sky all hands rolled out into the keen frosty morning air. At the first streak of dawn, after breakfast and other preliminaries, our march was resumed.

It was yet dark in the woods, and to most of us there was no more indication of a trail in one place than in another, but our veteran guide, who possessed all the sagacity of the ideal red-man, led the way, and all the rest of us had to do was merely to follow his tracks. Soon we merged from the Eastern Woods, and getting into more open country, turned our course toward the south, crossing broad plains, diversified here and there by stunted, scattered trees, ice-covered ponds, and occasionally the thickly wooded valley of a winding stream. As we travelled on my leg caused me intense pain, so that it became impossible to keep up with the train. I hobbled along as well as I could for a time, but finding that I was seriously retarding the progress of the march, arrangements were made to give me a lift on one of the sleds. Pierre and Louis were also becoming lame from the use of their snowshoes, to which they were not yet hardened, but were not seriously crippled.[5]

During the second day from Churchill a band of twenty or thirty deer was seen. Some of us were in no mood or condition to hunt, but Jimmie, the guide, our own man, Jim, and Mr. Matheson, went off in pursuit of the band. Several times during the afternoon we crossed the tracks of both deer and hunters, but when we came upon the big tracks of our guide we saw the first signs of success. He had evidently wounded a deer and was giving him a hot chase, for the Indian’s strides were right upon those of a caribou, and to one side of the trail spatters of blood could be seen on the snow. Toward evening our train came up with Mr. Matheson and Jim, who had a long but fruitless run after the deer, but nothing could be seen of the guide. Some time after camp had been made for the night Jimmie walked in with a haunch of venison on his shoulder. He had wounded his deer early in the afternoon, but had been obliged to run him many miles before he could again come up with him. Lest the carcase, which was lying some distance from camp, should be devoured by wolves in the night, a team was harnessed and Jimmie himself, with another man, started off for the meat, which, a few hours later, they brought into camp. As we had had very little fresh meat for some time past, supper of venison steak was gratefully appreciated.

During the day’s march numerous wolf and polar bear tracks had been crossed, but the caribou were the only animals seen.

The next day’s tramp was a short one, not in actual miles travelled by some of us, but in distance made upon the course. We had, however, a good day’s sport, for at different times during the day no less than eight deer were shot. My brother and I were not able to take part in the chase, for by this time, though I was beginning to recover, my brother was as badly crippled as I had been, and for a time had to be drawn on a sled. I should not, perhaps, say we took no part in the chase, for my brother made one remarkable shot.

At about the close of day, a small deer which Mr. Matheson had been following, and at which he had been practising for some time with my brother’s rifle, stood still and looked at him with innocent amazement, at a distance of about three hundred yards from our train. Probably the cause of Mr. Matheson’s bad shooting was the cross wind which was blowing strongly at the time, but, however, he gave up in disgust and returned the rifle to my brother, asking him to try a shot. My brother said it was useless for him to try, as the deer had now run still farther away, and he himself had only one leg to stand on. But, dropping on his knee, he fired a shot, and down dropped the deer.

Several of the best haunches of venison secured were loaded upon the sleds, but it was not thought wise to overload the teams by trying to carry too much. The bulk of the meat was “cached” where it was killed, to be picked up by the Company’s teams on their return trip and taken to Churchill to replenish the larder. Our third camp was made in a strip of wood upon the bank of Salmon Creek, and to our Indians it will be memorable as being the place at which they had the “big feed,” for it took three suppers to satisfy them that night. With my brother and myself the hours of darkness had ceased to bring repose. Our knees were so painful we did not sleep, but only turned restlessly from side to side until the return of dawn. Happily for us all the weather had continued to be fair, with no extreme cold since the commencement of the journey, which was particularly fortunate on account of poor Michel, who would doubtless have suffered had he been obliged to ride upon a sled all day during severe weather. As it was, we were able to keep him fairly comfortable, bundled up in deer-skin robes and blankets.

On the fourth day, meeting with no deer, we made about twenty-seven miles, a good march under the circumstances. This brought us to the banks of Owl River, a stream two or three hundred yards in width, situated in a straight line about midway between York and Churchill.