85 Northern search 



for certain where to look for them and what types of areas to 

 bypass. 



As we were leaving Meadow Lake for our return to Flotten, one 

 of our new friends came trotting up to the car with several straw- 

 berry plants. Would we mind running off the road a few miles 

 and delivering these plants to Dave Lachausseur on Waterhen 

 Lake? I had met Dave, a huge French-Canadian trader and a jolly, 

 voluble, and interesting character. It would be interesting to 

 visit the Indian village where his trading post was located. We 

 reached the Waterhen River, clattered across the rough plank 

 bridge and, finding the right turning, set off down a narrow wood- 

 land road. After a little, the road dropped off toward the river 

 again, but at this point there seemed no way across. On the far 

 shore, however, we saw a number of Indians standing around, and 

 after I had shouted to them that we wanted to cross they laid 

 some heavy planks over to our side and, with some difficulty, I 

 managed to drive over. Clear of the other side, we were soon on 

 a trail that was so far from being a road that I began to fear we 

 would never make it through to the trading post. The chief prob- 

 lem was to avoid a stump on the port side and, at the same time, 

 miss hanging up on another stump that was hidden from view on 

 the starboard side. We never found out the secret of this and 

 before long were jammed between two stumps, one of which 

 was caught solidly beneath our rear end. At this juncture along 

 came my friend Dave, full of apologies for the stumps, which 

 were his property. After getting on hands and knees to inspect 

 the situation beneath our car, he stood with his back to the heavy 

 vehicle, clamped huge paws under the rear bumper, gave several 

 deep grunts, made ferocious grimaces and, to our utter astonish- 

 ment, lifted the car free of the stump! We couldn't believe our 

 eyes. Getting clear of the second stump was mere child's play, 

 and soon we were through the woods and at Dave's place on 

 Waterhen Lake. 



It was now getting close to the end of May, but the temperature 

 was still just above freezing at night. On the twenty-fifth a small 

 flock of little brown cranes flew over, obviously migrating north- 

 ward. In that latitude there was now only some four hours of 



