Camp and Trail

by Stewart Edward White

Be Sure You Are Right

But if a sense of direction is the prime requisite, thoroughness presses it close. It is sometimes very difficult to command the necessary patience. At the end of a hard day, with the almost moral certainty that the objective point is just ahead, it is easy, fatally easy, when the next dim blaze does not immediately appear, to say to oneself—"Oh, it's near enough"—and to plunge ahead. And then, nine times out of ten, you are in trouble. "I guess this is all right" has lost many a man; and the haste too great to be sure—and then again sure—has had many fatal results. If it is a trail, then be certain you see indications before proceeding. Should they fail, then go back to the last indication and start over again. If it is new country, then pick up every consideration in your power, and balance them carefully before making the smallest decision. And all the time keep figuring. Once having decided on a route, do not let the matter there rest. As you proceed keep your eyes and mind busy, weighing each bit of evidence. And if you become suspicious that you are on the wrong tack, turn back unhesitatingly, no matter how time presses.

A recent expedition with a fatal termination illustrates this point completely. At first sight it may seem invidious to call attention to the mistakes of a man who has laid down his life in payment for them. But it seems to me that the chief value of such sad accidents—beyond the lessons of courage, endurance, comradeship, devotion, and beautiful faith—lies in the lesson and warning to those likely to fall into the same blunders. I knew Hubbard, both at college and later, and admire and like him. I am sure he would be the first to warn others from repeating his error.

Fatal Result of not Being Sure

The expedition of which I speak started out with the purpose of exploring Labrador. As the season is short some haste was necessary. The party proceeded to the head of a certain lake into which they had been told they would find a river flowing. They found a river, ascended it, were conquered by the extreme difficulties of the stream, one of the party perished, and the others came near to it.

As for the facts so far: The first thought to occur to a man entirely accustomed to wilderness travel would be, is there perhaps another stream? another river flowing into that lake? Encountering difficulties he would become more and more uneasy as to that point, until at last he would have detached a scout to make sure.

But mark this further: The party's informants had told Hubbard that he would find the river easily navigable for eighteen miles. As a matter of fact the expedition ran into shallows and rapids within a half mile of the lake.

What Should Have Been Done

To a woodsman the answer would have stood out as plain as print. He would have retraced his way, explored farther, found the right river, and continued. But poor Hubbard was in a hurry, and moreover possessed that optimistic temperament that so endeared him to all who knew him. "They must have made a mistake in the distance. I guess this is all right," said he, and pushed on against difficulties that eventually killed him.

To a man accustomed to exploration such a mistake is inconceivable. Labrador is not more dangerous than other wooded northern countries; not so dangerous as the big mountains; much safer than the desert. A wrong turn in any of these wildernesses may mean death. Forty men succumbed to the desert last summer. Do not make that wrong turn. Be sure. Take nothing for granted—either that "they made a mistake in the distance," or that "it's probably all right." One of the greatest of American wilderness travelers knew this—as all wilderness travelers must—and phrased it in an epigram that has become classic. "Be sure you are right, and then go ahead," advised Daniel Boone.