

A BIRCH-BARK CANOE TRIP 227 



Among the most noted camping grounds that we passed I 

 must particularize the Middle Landing, where the river contracts 

 itself into a deep, narrow gorge, and then pours itself into a placid 

 pool, where grilse and salmon delight to linger ; the Big Chain, 

 one of the most picturesque parts of the lower river, where Lady- 

 McDonald spent a few weeks of the previous summer ; the portage 

 path here is like a bit of fairyland, so wondrously lovely is it with 

 iweet, flowering shrubs and hazel copses, with a bubbling ice-cold 

 ^piing and deliciously cool banks of ferns and mosses. 



Little Chain is another beautiful pool, doubtless endeared to 

 my memory because it proved a lucky one. Here I killed another 

 salmon and raised a grilse, but could not charm him to make a 

 second attempt at black-doe or fairy. A bear had been reported 

 as seen at this spot a few days previously in the act of taking a 

 bath and fishing. 



Toward evening \ve find ourselves no longer struggling with 

 a rushing current, but paddling apparently on the bosom of a 

 broad lake. Quickly traversing its expanse we enter a gorge where 

 the water at first is still and dark, and the precipitous rocks rise 

 on either side to the height of from one to two hundred feet. The 

 shades of evening were already closing over the landscape, and 

 curtained, as we were, by the steep sheer sides of the cliffs, the 

 gloom grew intense. We knew that in these rent rocks we witnessed 

 the work of myriads of slow years, during which the waters had 

 been chiselling out this passage. There was an awfulness about 

 it difficult to describe. Pushing through the gorge for nearly half 

 . mile, at a sudden turn I looked up and beheld confronting us 



The giant clement 



From rock to rock leap with delirious bound, 

 Crushing the cliffs beneath. 



I felt that seldom in my life had I witnessed anything more 

 impressive. We had passed through the galleries of the sculptor, 

 and here we stood, face to face, with the power that, unwearied 

 with untold centuries of labour, was still at work carving the solid 

 rock in the old fashion. 



A steep pathway led up from the ravine of the river bed to 

 a level plateau that formed a lovely camping ground, and had 

 evidently been very frequently used for that purpose. Here we 

 found our baggage awaiting us, and in the fast waning light we 

 cut our tent poles and firewood, and soon the air was fragrant with 

 the steaming tea, and the juicy salmon steak broiling over the 

 glowing coals. The cataract was hidden from view by a growth of 

 birch, but its roar filled the air not unpleasantly. 



