conception of it is easy and no photograph will be neces- 

 sary to fix it in the memory. 



It was only when the canoes had glided out away 

 from the shore that we appreciated the true majesty 

 of the scene. The gorge down which we had come was 

 a mere slit between two mighty cliffs which towered to 

 a height of 1,300 feet on either side of the little fall. 

 Tree-capped, ledgy and mottled they formed an un- 

 shakable support for the upper lake. We gazed long 

 at those silent sentinels before we continued our jour- 

 ney across the lake. 



Rose Lake is one of the best of the northern lakes. 

 Those cliffs, the heavy stands of untouched timber on 

 the surrounding hills and the indented shores lend it an 

 artistic beauty that is hard to surpass. For many a rod 

 we drifted silently along the shore and watched a beady- 

 eyed little mink busily exploring the pebbly beach. He 

 seemed not to notice us at all, ran fussily along the 

 beach poking his sniffing nose into every crevice, took to 

 the water when rubbish blocked the shore and glided 

 out again when something tickled his curiosity. At 

 last he disappeared in a pile of brush and we turned to 

 our paddles to make up the time we had lost. A couple 

 of deer showed themselves on the rocky shore ahead 

 and one of them let us get pretty close. A porcupine 

 surveyed the outfit and went on indifferently about his 

 business 



We were getting pretty well along toward the end of 

 the lake when making up time suddenly became an im- 

 possibility. The canoes seemed to be fastened to the 

 bottom which had come up within a foot of the surface. 

 There was plenty of water to float the canoe ; it was not 



17 



