Across the sub-Arctics of Canada

by J. W. Tyrrell

During the evening of the 6th and the morning of the 7th of December we crossed a succession of thirteen small lakes and some flat open plains, but the afternoon of the latter day saw a marked change in the character of the country. With the exception of two or three isolated patches, we had seen nothing in the shape of timber of any value since leaving York—indeed, I might say since leaving Churchill, or even a thousand miles or so farther back on the road. But now we had reached a heavy forest of white spruce, jack-pine, poplar and birch trees, and the change was a pleasing one.

For a distance of six or eight miles we trudged through this heavy forest, and then, just at nightfall, reached the shore of Back Lake, really an extension of Oxford Lake. One of my brother’s feet had become so sore during the day that he had been obliged to walk with only one snowshoe. On this account we had fallen several miles behind the leaders of the party, and when we arrived at the shore of the lake above described, nothing could we see of the outfit, and both because of darkness and the hard surface of the snow, it was with great difficulty we were able to follow the track. It led away across the lake, and for a time we managed to follow it. While doing so we carefully noted its bearing, but soon the faint tracks could no longer be followed, for the night was becoming dark. We feared to lose them, as there might be a change in their course and then our bearing would not lead us aright. For a time, upon hands and knees, we tried to follow the trail, but could not keep upon it continuously.

Keeping as straight a course as we could, we pressed on through the darkness toward the distant shore, the dark outline of which could just be discerned against the lighter sky. At length we reached the shore, when, after passing through a narrow strip of woods, to our joy there suddenly flashed out before us, a few yards ahead, the lights of Oxford House. A few minutes later we were the guests of Mr. and Mrs. Isbister, one of the most hospitable old couples it has ever been my good fortune to meet. Mr. Isbister was the local agent of the Hudson’s Bay Company, and was a thorough old-time Canadian, one of those men filled with reminiscences of early Canadian life in the north and whose many stories were a delight to hear.

Having reached Oxford in safety, preparations were at once commenced for our journey to the next post—Norway House—150 miles farther west. Some delay was occasioned in getting dogs, but at length three miserable half-starved teams were secured, and with a new guide and drivers we set out on the third stage of our winter journey. Without narrating the many incidents by the way, I need only say that after a six days’ tramp, with the thermometer in the neighborhood of 40 degrees below zero, we arrived safely at Norway House, an important Hudson’s Bay Company’s post, situated at the northern extremity of Lake Winnipeg. Two of the dog-teams procured at Oxford had been intended to haul my brother and myself, and for a time they did so, but the poor animals were in such a wretched condition from the effects of former hard work that we preferred to walk most of the time, and before we reached our destination considered ourselves fortunate that we escaped without having to haul the dogs.

At Norway House the difficulties of the journey, so far as my brother and I were concerned, were practically ended. Enough strong, capable dogs were here secured to admit of our travelling in carry-alls for the remaining four hundred miles still separating us from West Selkirk, the northern terminus of the railway; but of course the Indians had to stick to their snowshoes. It was here decided to divide our party, and send the three western men home, assisted by the team of Eskimo dogs which had accompanied us the whole six hundred miles from Churchill. The valley of the Saskatchewan River would be their most direct course, in taking which route they would reach their several homes by travelling about the same distance as ourselves. Arthur Omen, the driver from Churchill, chose to go up the Saskatchewan with the western men, so that of the original party there only remained the two Iroquois, Pierre and Louis, to accompany my brother and myself. With the least possible delay four good dog-teams, as many drivers, and a guide were procured from Mr. J. K. Macdonald, the Hudson’s Bay Company’s Factor, who showed us much kindness, and two days before Christmas the last and longest division of our journey was begun.

My brother and I were now warmly rolled up in robes and blankets and lying in our carry-alls. Supplies and baggage were all loaded upon the two remaining sleds, and with a driver trotting along beside or behind each team, the guide running before, and the two Iroquois sometimes before and sometimes behind, we travelled on an almost due south course over the ice along the shore of Lake Winnipeg. About the same time that we started for the south, the other section set out across the lake to the westward for the mouth of the Saskatchewan River.

Our teams, of four dogs each, were for the most part fine powerful animals, and we soon found there was no necessity for my brother or myself exerting ourselves more than we desired. The teams travelled all day, and, indeed, day after day, at a rapid trot, sometimes breaking into a run, so that it gave the Indians all they could do to keep up with them.

Taking smooth and rough together we made an average of about forty miles per day, and some days as much as forty-six or forty-seven miles. When we had made about half the distance to Selkirk, and were in the neighborhood of a fishing station at the mouth of Berens River, poor Pierre played out; but, most opportunely, we met a man teaming fish to Selkirk and secured a passage for him, while we ourselves pushed on. When we had made another hundred miles Louis, the remaining Iroquois, also became crippled. Arrangements were made to have him, too, driven in with a horse and sleigh, and without delay we pursued our journey.

At length, after along and rapid trip, which occupied ten days, on the evening of the 1st of January, 1894, under the light of the street lamps of the little town, our teams trotted up the streets of West Selkirk, and thus was completed a canoe and snowshoe journey of three thousand two hundred miles.