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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

TABLE OF CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

CHAPTER I:
A JOURNEY OF SENTIMENT


CHAPTER II:
THE FATAL ERROR


CHAPTER III:
DUTY FIRST


CHAPTER IV:
A MAN'S GAME


CHAPTER V:
A PERMANENT MEMORIAL


CHAPTER VI:
WILL THE ICE TURN US BACK?


CHAPTER VII:
STORMY VOYAGE


CHAPTER VIII:
RETURN TO NORTHWEST RIVER


CHAPTER IX:
A CHIEF VOYAGEUR


CHAPTER X:
THE BEAVER IS A BAD RIVER


CHAPTER XI:
SOUNDING THE BIG LAKE


CHAPTER XII:
BREAD WITHOUT BAKING POWDER MAKES ME SICK


CHAPTER XIII:
I NEVER TRAVELS ON SUNDAY


CHAPTER XIV:
VIRGIN AS GOD MADE IT


CHAPTER XV:
FIRST PORTAGE


CHAPTER XVI:
TRAIL COMPANIONS


CHAPTER XVII:
MURDOCK'S RAPID


CHAPTER XVIII:
TRACKING THROUGH BOULDERS


CHAPTER XIX:
MARCH TO YOUR FRONT LIKE A SOLDIER


CHAPTER XX:
IT'S ALWAYS BAD LUCK TO TRAVEL ON SUNDAY


CHAPTER XXI:
WORST COUNTRY FOR GAME I EVER SAW


CHAPTER XXII:
BACK TO GET THE BAKING POWDER


CHAPTER XXIII:
DISASTER IN THE RAPIDS


CHAPTER XXIV:
TAKING STOCK


CHAPTER XXV:
GRAPPLING


CHAPTER XXVI:
INDIANS HAVE PLENTY OF HARD TIMES


CHAPTER XXVII:
THIS RIVER IS LIKE A BAD WOMAN


CHAPTER XXVIII:
NO RELIEF FROM WADING


CHAPTER XXIX:
HELL AND TWENTY


CHAPTER XXX:
BACKPACKING TO THE SUSAN


CHAPTER XXXI:
VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH


CHAPTER XXXII:
THE MIND WORKS CURIOUSLY


CHAPTER XXXIII:
RELIVING THE PARTING


CHAPTER XXXIV:
MARKING HUBBARD'S BOULDER


CHAPTER XXXV:
A NEW DISASTER


CHAPTER XXXVI:
THE HARDEST BIT OF TRAVELING I EVER DONE


CHAPTER XXXVII:
SOMETHING WORTHWHILE UP THERE IN THE HILLS


NOTES

PHOTO GALLERY

COLOUR SLIDE GALLERY

ADDENDUM TO
THIRD EDITION

COMMENTS ON THE
NAMING COMPULSION


BACK TO THE LABRADOR WILDS

 XXXVI

THE HARDEST BIT OF TRAVELING I EVER DONE

A raft was made at once by lashing logs together with our tumplines.  Brush was piled upon this to elevate our packs above danger of wetting, and with Poppy perched upon the packs, and ourselves clinging to the sides of the raft, we propelled it to the opposite shore.

Two miles below us lay the cabin, but in our exhausted condition it proved the longest and hardest two miles of the journey; and when at last Grand Lake, shimmering in the sunlight and reaching far away to the eastward, spread out before us we experienced inexpressible relief.

“’Twas the hardest bit of traveling I ever done.  I’m most scrammed,” declared Gilbert as we dropped our packs upon the cabin floor, and stretched ourselves beside them for a half-hour’s rest free from the flies before preparing dinner.

When we had eaten, Gilbert and I went out to examine the boat.  It proved to be a curious affair, a cross in design between a canoe and a rowboat, the handiwork of an old trapper who had long before passed from the scene of his activities.  Outwardly it seemed in fair condition, but when we launched it we found that it leaked badly.  Nevertheless we determined to trust ourselves to it.

Three ancient paddles were found, and the Judge armed with one took his place in the bow, Gilbert with the other two fitted in oarlocks seated himself amidships, and I with an old tin can with which to bail placed myself aft.  Our small outfit was distributed wherever it could be stowed.  It was a small boat intended originally as hunting boat for one man, and we weighted it down until the water was within an inch of the gunwales—so low in fact that Gilbert declared he dared but turn one eye at a time when he looked around, for fear of swamping it.  Fortunately there was not a ripple on the lake, and with no cessation from bailing on my part we kept afloat.

A little way up the Nascaupee River we went ashore and unloaded our outfit, and while Gilbert went on in the boat with poppy to fetch his canoe, the Judge and I pitched our tent on the site of an old Indian camp.

The night was much warmer than any we had experienced in the farther interior, and the flies, some of which found their way into the tent in spite of its cheesecloth front, instead of climbing to the ridge at once and remaining there, as had previously been their custom, settled down to annoy us until darkness quieted their activities.  Then we discovered to our discomfort that we had placed the tent directly over a nest of black ants, and the little pests at once took up with zest the quarrel of the flies.  However, we really were out of the wilderness now, and in a mood to make merry over the tormentors.

The following day was one of intermittent showers and sunshine.  “Just like life,” said the judge.  “If it were all sunshine we would find it monotonous, and so the showers come occasionally that we may learn to appreciate the sunshine when we have it.”  It was Sunday, and we dallied down the lake in Gilbert’s canoe, enjoying the fragrant, forest scented and the rugged scenery, and running ashore now and again for a comfortable smoke, for we were in no haste.


Crossing the Beaver by raft on the return journey.
Wallace (L), Judge Malone. Gilbert Blake’s dog, “Poppy” riding shotgun.

 

Next: Chapter XXXVII: Something Worthwhile Up There In The Hills