FOREST AND STREAM 
403 
Caribou Land View Down the Copper Mine River—Barren Lands, Canada^ 
the few berries that were here did not give much 
sustenance. 
During the afternoon we were able to make 
good time with the two men lowering the heavily 
loaded boat, while Bolling and I to lighten it 
each took a load, making our way along the 
shore among the rocks and in and out of the 
water. It began to rain and was dark, dreary 
work. About six o’clock we had to camp, but 
had some trouble in clearing a place large enough 
for the tent. The loaded canoe could not be 
brought down the three hundred yards of rap¬ 
ids opposite the tent, and while the men made 
the camp Bolling and I packed the stuff over a 
litter of slippery wet boulders with water be- 
between them, in a cold driving rain. Even 
when the fire was going it was impossible to 
dry things. Water could be wrung out of Boll¬ 
ing’s blankets, but he had a few dry clothes to 
put on and then snuggled under the wet blankets. 
September 19th. We were not sorry to get 
away from such an uncomfortable camp, feel¬ 
ing somewhat worn from the day before. In 
a couple of hours we came to a fall where 
the river fell some thirty feet over a smooth 
shelf but with an easy carry around. Going 
on again through rapids, and something like 
half a mile below, was another fall of forty 
feet. This Allen declared to be the last fall 
before salt water, as he had been up to it 
some years before with a salmon fishing party 
Carrying around, we cooked lunch, such as it 
was—tea, mouldy cornmeal and rice, on the 
wide flat ledges below. The sun was warm, and 
on the clean smooth rocks we set out all our 
gear, which in a short while was pounds lighter. 
Allen said there was but six or seven miles 
of river and then eight miles of a deep narrow 
fiord from here until we reached the sea, where 
there was a fishing village or “Liveyeres,” which 
is the native name for such a settlement. There 
were no houses on the fiord, except at the 
mouth, and the shores deeply indented and lined 
with steep hills and woods so that it was evi¬ 
dent that there would be delay. Having but 
one canoe, which would not carry four of us 
and our gear, and as the fiord could not be 
traveled ashore except with much loss of time, 
it was decided to split the party, one of us to 
take Will, the canoe and all it would carry and 
push out to the village, the other two to bring 
the balance of the stuff down river as best they 
could until Will came back with assistance from 
the village; the one who went out first was to 
go across to Ramea and get a motor boat to carry 
us to Port-aux-Basques. John was sure he could 
build a raft and come down on it, but Bolling 
and I doubted this. Tossing a coin as to whether 
Bolling or myself should go with Will, the lot 
fell to him. His trip down river in a fast leak¬ 
ing, water-soaked boat, deeply loaded, that had to 
be bailed every little while, was exciting. Once 
they had to jump out into the rushing water 
waist-deep to save it. The setting sun shining 
in their faces made it impossible to see the rocks 
until the canoe was almost on top of them. 
Bolling’s journal reads, “As Will could not 
swim, the heavy water was a bit dangerous, but 
we . ran through safely. The sun had sunk 
behind the mountains, and we were in the 
shadows and very wet and cold. Just at 
dark, and none too soon, we reached the 
two narrow sluiceways, one after the other, 
through which the river gets into the fiord. We 
had short carries round these. Hardly ever have 
I seen a heavier sweep of water. It was im¬ 
possible to lower down because of the waves 
in the sluiceways and the astonishing backwash 
and suction below. Thoroughly chilled, we made 
a fire on a shelving ledge and ate our supper of 
heavy bread and tea. It was now pitch dark, 
and the prospect of paddling six or eight miles 
down the fiord against a strong tide in a canoe, 
heavily loaded and leaking badly, was not a cheer¬ 
ful one. While we were getting on a few dry 
clothes before our little fire I thought I heard 
a boat grate on the rocks somewhere off in the 
darkness. Presently we heard voices—the first 
outside our own party in twenty-six days. Will 
halloed and got an answer. He asked if the 
answerers had a boat, and if they would not 
come over. First, they said they would, and 
then that they were not coming. However, we 
persuaded them to come and they came to with¬ 
in 200 yards where they shouted that they 
could come no further for the rocks. We put 
the canoe in, just able to distinguish by our fire¬ 
light where the water was, and paddled cau¬ 
tiously down to them. There were four men 
in a great heavy boat, with long home-made 
oars. As well as we could see in the darkness' 
they appeared to be half-breeds, but they spoke' 
a sort of English, hardly understandable, and 
said they were building a camp for lumber cut¬ 
ting. (I learned afterward it was timber for 
their boat building.) I said I wished two of 
them to take me out to the ‘Liveyeres’ at once, 
while the other two took Will to their camp and 
went back with him in the morning to help 
Jones and John down the river. To my sur¬ 
prise they said, es, sir,” to all my proposals, 
without any parley or bargaining. We crossed 
to the shore where their camp was, and I took 
out all the stuff except Will’s bag. and climbed 
into the stern of their ark, leaving Will and two 
of the men on the shore. I smoked and mar¬ 
velled at the experience. There was a half moon 
for a little while, and then it went behind the 
clouds. The mountains on either side of the fiord 
