42 ON SNOW-SHOES TO THE BARREN GROUNDS 



the sledges drawn on the banked-up snow at the head of 

 our blankets, made a scene that was novel to me, and also 

 somewhat picturesque. 



Every one was sleeping the sleep of the weary, if 

 not of the just, and the dogs had eaten and curled 

 themselves up in the snow for the night, when I finally 

 threw off my meditative mood and rolled up in my 

 blankets. 



It snowed all night, and when we broke camp the next 

 morning at six it was still snowing, and there was a cold 

 head-wind that made us move lively to keep comfortable. 

 The trail wound through brush and small timber, and 

 now and again across a small lake, but its greatest length 

 lay over what is called " muskeg," which is Cree for 

 swamp, and the most tiring, patience-testing travelling I 

 had ever encountered. 



Imagine a landlocked lake swept by furious cross- 

 winds, and its entire surface churned into choppy waves ; 

 suppose it suddenly congealed at its angriest moment ; 

 further, suppose a deep layer of miry earth covered by 

 thick, heavy moss moulded upon it, and stuck full of 

 close-growing stout brush. That is the muskeg. Now 

 fancy walking over a succession of uneven hummocks 

 with brush constantly catching your snow-shoe and slap- 

 ping your face, and you will have a vague idea of the 

 difficulties of muskeg travel. Level footing is exceeding- 

 ly scarce, the wind blows the snow " whither it listeth," 

 and you cannot know whether you are about to step on 

 top of one of those innumerable mounds or into one of 

 the many gutters that cross-section the swamp. You 

 know after you have taken the step. Nine times out of 

 ten you land on the slanting side of the mound, and slip 

 and trip and turn your ankle and use yourself up gener- 

 ally. It is exceedingly difficult going, and Heming and 



