62 ON THE GREAT CHURCHILL RIVER 



wooded shores, while below the curving, chang- 

 ing shore-line the broad lake water lay becalmed 

 and wholly placid and blue, and a perfect mirage 

 of leaved forest, scarred banks, spotless pebbles, 

 and dainty sandpipers was reflected on the imme- 

 diate lake margin. Overhead — with similar instan- 

 taneous sight, and marvellous quick-changing 

 flight of Swift or Swallow — swinging, plunging, 

 rising through the cool, balmy, rain-purified 

 air, flew a pair of Nighthawks, feeding on insects 

 the while they emitted their hoarse, grating call, 

 which is associated with summer evenings any- 

 where in Canada ; though perhaps most familiar 

 of all to those who camp outdoors by lake or forest. 

 Such sounds, and a few others, are inseparable 

 from Canadian wilderness ; typical in their own 

 country as the call of the Curlew or peevish 

 Lapwing on the dreary, wind-swept, highland 

 moors of the British Isles : such the maniacal* 

 laughing cry of the Loon (the Great Northern 

 Diver) heard on nearly all backwood freshwater 

 lakes ; such the eerie wolf-howl of the Coyote on 

 the western plains. 



June 11. — A day of perfect weather — very plea- 

 sant for canoeing. Progress to-day was marred 

 by our missing our true course when east of the 

 deserted Hudson Bay Cabin. There we entered 

 a long false bay to the south of the turn beyond 

 the Post and had three hours' fruitless paddle to 

 and from its blank extreme before we were again 

 back on an open course, where we discovered a 

 slight sign of current to definitely point the way. 



About 3.30 p.m. we entered Sandfly Lake, a 

 lake of lesser size than Snake Lake. This proved 



