The Land of the Winanishe 



covered with dark spruces, which divides 

 it, is the point of He Maligne ; well 

 named, for, surrounded by heavy rapids 

 pulsating in chutes through rocky gorges, 

 it is rarely accessible, sometimes not for 

 several successive years. 



In the evening we fly down in ten min- 

 utes what it took us over an hour to mount. 

 The roar of the Vache Caille swells like 

 the sound of an approaching train. The 

 bowman stands up to look, says a word 

 to his mate, then both settle low on their 

 heels, and two bits of rapid are run like a 

 flash, though the trees slipping past are the 

 only sign of motion the passenger feels. 

 With the current setting out straight over 

 the fall, it is an ugly-looking place, but " a 

 terre, en masse ; " and a bit of quick pad- 

 dling brings the shore close. The men 

 interchange a rapid glance. " Au large ? " 

 " Pas trop." The canoe turns out again, 

 to the horror of any passenger making the 

 run for the first time ; but, before he can 

 remonstrate, tilts over the pitch where a 

 pyramidal rock backs up the water, swings 

 end for end, and sidles into an eddy just its 

 own length which has scooped out a hol- 

 low in the bank within forty yards of the 

 fall. " It is quite possible to drown one's 

 self here," remarks Pitre as he takes his 



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