4 
466 
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Settling the Duffle for a Long Day’s Pull. 
Had we abandoned the lazy sailor’s life and pad- 
died, all would have been different. 
It was a still evening. Smoke cut off all dis¬ 
tant views. The air was warm and muggy. Mos¬ 
quitoes and other bugs of prey bit furiously. 
August 7—Dashes of rain, mingled with thun¬ 
der and lightning, woke us early. We held 
council of war and decided (i) that nature ob¬ 
scured by smoke had few charms, (2) that it 
was nearing time to turn back, (3) that if we 
turned back now, it would be impossible to prove 
just where we had been; hence (4) we should 
paddle in the empty canoe as fast as possible to 
reach the Manouan and return to camp before 
night. 
That was a gray and melancholy journey. The 
sun scarcely showed. But soon we arrived at a 
place where the current, running like a race¬ 
horse, had undercut the western bank and taken 
out a great semi-circular gouge from which 
arose a precipitous sand slope. We had a hard 
struggle here, and might not have got by but for 
some friendly driftwood that gave a chance to 
catch hold and pull. Almost immediately above 
the swift water we found the mouth of the 
Manouan. 
We ought to hace been ashamed of ourselves 
for not getting twice as far. Instead it was 
with much satisfaction that we right-about-faced 
and started back as tight as we could go. Our 
former friend the wind at least doubled the 
work for he was blowing hard and had a choppy 
sea running. As we pulled into camp rain be¬ 
gan, and that day’s lunch consisted of chocolate 
and hardtack, eaten in one of the tents. 
The rain soon stopped and I found the sun 
shining dimly through the smoke. At a second 
council we resolved to pack up hastily and hie 
us to the bee-hive camp. It sounded like a big 
order to cover a day’s up trip in three or four 
hours, but we worked vigorously. Camp struck 
and everything packed in twenty-one minutes. 
Off a little past two, with the wind much dimin¬ 
ished and paddles going like fun. W-in par¬ 
ticular seemed to fancy himself a steam engine. 
Away we slid down stream, the sandy bottom 
reeling past at a dizzy rate. Before five we had 
made the distance. 
August 8—After another warm night with 
many insects we got off early and continued our 
breakneck course. Everything favored speed 
Our spirits were high, for again we had sunlight 
and a clear sky. 
By eleven we came to the first rapid, tied our 
duffle into the canoe, and began to do some real 
going. The stretch of swift water is four and 
one-half Cabot miles It took less than half an 
hour, although we halted for five minutes while I 
landed and worked into position to take a pic¬ 
ture. 
(That picture might have been a thing of pain¬ 
ful memory. I noticed that the fellows had 
paddled at a terrific clip while bringing the canoe 
down opposite me and thought they were play¬ 
ing to the gallery somewhat unnecessarily. Then 
I realized that they had not swung wide enough 
from a rough swirl in midstream and were be¬ 
ing sucked toward a hole at least six feet across 
and garnished at the lower edge with a curl¬ 
ing wave full four feet high—a regular back- 
breaker for the canoe that stumbled in. I fan 
cied myself fishing colleagues and fragments of 
outfit from the drink and walking home. But 
they slipped clear by a narrow margin.) 
Lunch just below the rapids, on an unpleas¬ 
antly sunny beach, from which we were too laz> 
to move. Early afternoon brought us to the 
Tchitagama camp, where the odors both of cari¬ 
bou and pole-cat had pleasantly decreased. 
August 9—Another day of smoky sky. We 
got away early and headed up the lake, assailed 
by clouds of black flies. 
Prayers for wind to drive 
these pests off received a 
sudden and disconcerting 
answer. Within fifteen min¬ 
utes we were clawing our 
way in the teeth of a south¬ 
east gale that roared along 
the narrow lake, raising a 
heavy sea. After a desper¬ 
ate pull, with the waves 
smashing against the cliffs 
beside us and thin streamers 
of smoke whipping past 
above, we reached the first 
portage up the Blanche. 
Much difficulty in landing 
because of low water. The 
river itself was a mere 
trickle; as W- said dis¬ 
gustedly “not big enough to 
get a drink out of.” But 
there was better going above 
the first carry. 
Wading, and then a small 
lake before the second port¬ 
age. We all straddled the 
canoe to paddle across, 
W- in the stern, J- 
and I near the bow. She 
trimmed badly with this dis¬ 
position of weight and 
was hard to steer in the 
wind. Curiously enough the crankiness increased 
as we approached the trail and came into quieter 
air. J- and I paddled full tilt to send the 
bow right; we could hear W- puffing away 
behind us, presumably in the same effort. The 
ship balked more and more obstinately. At last 
she declined to move in the desired direction ex¬ 
cept broadside on. We bow men stuck to it for 
awhile and then gave up the struggle. Violent 
conversation followed, and it developed that 
W-, entirely ignorant of the portage, had been 
resolutely steering us toward the inlet, many 
yards to the right of the real landing. We 
finally arrived, with roars of laughter. 
We started lunch. While the erbwurst was 
boiling, a large, shaggy black dog popped up in 
our midst. Two Indians came soon after, each 
carrying about enough to furnish a seven-room 
house. They grinned cheerfully, set down their 
packs, and rested. Next we heard high pitched 
chattering on the trail, and in a minute out 
trotted two Indian children, carrying loads like 
veterans and smiling from ear to ear. It was 
At the Close of Day. 
