Behind this wall, at the point, we found a family of ptarmigan. When we appeared the mother bird tried vainly to hurry her flock away to a place of safety. Her mate flew across to an island a short distance north, leaving her alone to her task, but she and her little ones were all taken. Here the first wolf tracks we had seen on the trip were found.
After some time spent at the point it was time to camp. We crossed to the island, north, and as we landed a white-winged ptarmigan flew back to where had just been enacted one of the endless succession of wilderness tragedies. I wondered if he would not wish he had stayed to share the fate of his little family, and what he would do with himself now. It was a beautiful camping place we found. The Indians had found it too, and evidently had appreciated its beauty. There were the remains of many old camps there, well- worn paths leading from one to the other. It was the first place we had come upon which gave evidence of having been an abiding Place of some permanence. There must have been quite a little community there at one time. The prospect south, west, and north was very beautiful.
My tent was pitched in a charming nook among the spruce trees, and had a carpet of boughs all tipped with fresh green. The moss itself was almost too beautiful to cover; but nothing is quite so nice for carpet as the boughs. We were on a tiny ridge sloping to the south shore of the island, and over the screen of willows and evergreens at the water's edge, the wind came in strong enough to drive away the flies and mosquitoes, and leave one free to enjoy the beauty of the outlook. It was an ideal place to spend Sunday, and with a sigh of relief we settled into our island camp. The week had been a wonderfully interesting one; but it had also been an anxious and trying one in a few ways. I was glad to have passed Michikamau so quickly and easily. I wished it might be our good fortune to see some of the Indians.
Through the night the south wind rose to a gale, and showers of rain fell. On Sunday morning I was up at 7 A.M., and after a nice, lazy bath, luxuriously dressed myself in clean clothes. Then came a little reading from a tiny book that had been in Labrador before, and a good deal of thinking. Just after 9 A.M. I lay down to go to sleep again. I had not realised it before, but I was very tired. My eyes had closed but a moment when rat-a-tat-tat on the mixing pan announced breakfast. Joe had prepared it, and the others came straggling out one by one looking sleepy and happy, enjoying the thought of the day's rest, the more that it was the kind of day to make it impossible to travel. Returning to my tent after the meal I lay down to sleep. My head had no sooner touched the pillow than I was asleep, and did not wake till 1.30 P.M.
I could hear Gil outside preparing lunch, and went out to see how he was getting on. It was the first time he had attempted anything in the cooking line, and he looked anxious. We were to have fried cakes and tea, and Gil was cooking the fried cakes. They were not much to look at, for the wind had coated them well with ashes; but they tasted good, and the youngster looked quite relieved at the way they disappeared when we began to eat.
Michikamats was certainly very picturesque in the gale. The wind had six miles of unbroken sweep, and stirred the lake to wild commotion. Out of shelter I could scarcely stand against it. For a long time I watched two gulls trying to fly into the wind. They were very persistent and made a determined fight, but were at last compelled to give up and drop back to land. I spent nearly the whole afternoon watching the storm, running to cover only while the showers passed.
When we gathered for supper in the evening Job was holding a pot over the fire, and did not move to get his plate and cup with the rest. George gave me my plate of soup, and when I had nearly finished it Job set the pot down beside me, saying gently: "I just set this right here." In the pot were three fried cakes, crisp and hot and brown, exactly as I liked them.
There was much speculation as to what we should find at the head of Lake Michikamats, and I wondered how much scouting there would be to do to find the George River waters. If only we could see the Indians. Time was slipping away all too fast; the last week in August was not far distant, and the George River waters might not be easy to find. The days were becoming increasingly anxious for me. Our caribou meat was nearly gone, and a fresh supply of game would have been very welcome. There would be a chance to put out the nets when we reached the head of the lake, and the scouting had to be done. The nets had not yet touched the water.
In the night the wind veered to the north and a steady rain set in, which was still falling when morning came. All were up late for it was too stormy to travel, and rest still seemed very good. While eating breakfast we heard geese calling not far away, and started on a goose hunt. It did not prove very exciting, nor very fruitful of geese. They were at the head of the bay which ran in east of our island. There were a number of small islands in the bay separated by rock-strewn shallows, and having landed Job and Joe on one of the largest of these, George, Gilbert and I paddled round to the south of the group, and came out in the upper part of the bay. There just over the marsh grass at its head we saw five geese, but they saw us too, and before we could get near them were up and away. On the way back four red-throated loons, two old and two young, and a spruce partridge were taken.
It was nearly noon when we reached camp again, and the men were in the midst of preparing dinner when they caught sight of a big caribou stag swimming across to the point south of us. In such circumstances Job was indescribable. He seemed as if suddenly inspired with the energy of a flying bullet, and moved almost as silently. There was a spring for the canoe, and in much less time than it takes to tell it, the canoe was in the water with Job, Gilbert, and George plying their paddles with all their strength. As had happened before, the splendid creature almost reached the shore when a bullet dropped in front of him, and he turned back. His efforts were now no match for the swift paddle strokes that sent the canoe lightly towards him, and soon a shot from George's rifle ended the struggle. He was towed ashore, bled and gralloched, and brought to camp in the canoe.