Glenora Peak 



trail, explained our wants, marched him back to his 

 house, and at length obtained a little sour bread, sour 

 milk, and old salmon, our only lonely meal between 

 the Lake and Telegraph Creek. 



We arrived at Telegraph Creek, the end of my two- 

 hundred-mile walk, about noon. After luncheon I 

 went on down the river to Glenora in a fine canoe 

 owned and manned by Kitty, a stout, intelligent- 

 looking Indian woman, who charged her passengers a 

 dollar for the fifteen-mile trip. Her crew was four 

 Indian paddlers. In the rapids she also plied the 

 paddle, with stout, telling strokes, and a keen-eyed 

 old man, probably her husband, sat high in the stern 

 and steered. All seemed exhilarated as we shot down 

 through the narrow gorge on the rushing, roaring, 

 throttled river, paddling all the more vigorously the 

 faster the speed of the stream, to hold good steering 

 way. The canoe danced lightly amid gray surges 

 and spray as if alive and enthusiastically enjoying 

 the adventure. Some of the passengers were pretty 

 thoroughly drenched. In unskillful hands the frail 

 dugout would surely have been wrecked or upset. 

 Most of the season goods for the Cassiar gold camps 

 were carried from Glenora to Telegraph Creek in 

 canoes, the steamers not being able to overcome the 

 rapids except during high water. Even then they had 

 usually to line two of the rapids — that is, take a line 

 ashore, make it fast to a tree on the bank, and pull 

 up on the capstan. The freight canoes carried about 

 three or four tons, for which fifteen dollars per ton 

 was charged. Slow progress was made by poling along 



189) 



