FOREST AND STREAM 
401 
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V 
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HHHHI 
A Restful Day At Algonquin Park. 
IN THE REAL ORIGINAL WILDERNESS 
(Continued from page 464) 
lieve that several of the vertebras of my spine 
are welded together simply by that infernal 
strap. 
This carrying on the head has its advantages, 
however, for in case of a slip an old hand will 
throw off the load and come to grass with only 
his own weight, where had the strap been over 
his chest he must have gone down with it and 
perhaps have been hurt; indeed, I knew of a 
case where a man, walking on a log over a creek 
slipped and fell with the load on his chest; with 
the usual perversity of loads in such cases, the 
pack fell on one side of the log and the man on 
the other strap slipped up across his throat; 
he hadn’t his knife handy, and was tolerably well 
choked and black in the face, when another chap, 
who was fortunately behind on the trail, put in 
an appearance and set him on his feet again. 
Tremendous loads are carried by these voy- 
ageurs 200 or 250 pounds is not called a heavy 
load for a good portage, and should I say what 
weights I believe have been carried, people would 
probably set me down as a Munchausen. 
The bark canoe is the only means of convey¬ 
ance by water. If they do leak, well, a birch- 
bark torch, a little gum, and a piece of rag, and 
we are O. K. again. Only twice have I smashed 
my canoe and both times it was the fault of tht 
crew. Crossing from the Gatineau River to the 
Lievere one fall, I could get no men, as the sea¬ 
son was near its close; so after much delibera¬ 
tion my chum and myself decided on going 
alone. I was a poor canoeman, and he was, if 
anything, worse, and neither knew anything 
about the country. However, we started, and 
all went well as long as we had the stream to 
paddle against and not to run down. We only 
got lost once, but found ourselves after a couple 
of hours’ search, and had no accident until we 
reached the watershed of the two rivers. Now 
we couldn t get lost, but we could get smashed; 
and this was our fear. One rainy morning, 
having run several rapids safely, we were con¬ 
gratulating ourselves on progress made, when 
we reached the head of a small rapid—steep, 
swift water, and in the middle, at the foot, one 
huge boulder. “T.,” said I—he was in the bow 
—“how goes it?” “We can easily reach the boot 
by holding back, but there the only water is close 
to that rock.” “Well, we’ll go to the left of it 
—and mind and don’t reach forward”—he had 
an abominable habit of reaching forward and 
putting his paddle on a rock, instead of giving 
a lift to one side. “All right,” says T., “you 
mind your end. I’ll take care.” “I’ll run her ar 
the rock; it’s the only water,” say I. “All right.” 
Down we go, “backing” here and giving a stroke 
there, and not a touch until we near our friend 
the rock, gathering speed every instant. “Now! 
Left! I shout. Swifter is the pace. “Left! 
left! I howl, as T. reaches forward and there 
is a hideous crash—then we are in the eddy, and 
then in shallow water, as she sinks under us. 
Fortunately T. was kneeling on the tent and that 
caulked her a little. There is a hole you could 
put your head into in the bow, and we almost 
weep as we think of the sugar, etc.—a-mass of 
“mush.” No use crying over spilt milk, so we 
turn her over, light bark, melt gum, tear out the 
back of my vest and stick it over the hole, and 
paddle 140 miles of river with that primitive 
patch on the canoe. 
Another upset I had that nearly cost me my 
gun and rods and other “et cetera” may warn 
other fellows if they ever sojourn in the same 
districts. Camped on a river, which a day’s rain 
would flood, and two days of wet weather make 
into a nice little torrent, my cook one morning 
woke me with “Six o’clock, sir, and breakfast 
nearly ready.” So throwing off the blankets I 
turned out and looked out of the old lumber 
shanty we had appropriated. A gloomy morn¬ 
ing, with heavy, steady rain, and as the 
same weather had held good for two 
days before we had our torrent ready, the 
river being nearly three feet over the or¬ 
dinary level. We could not afford to lose 
time, and, going on the principle of “the better 
the day, etc. —it was Sunday—I resolved to start. 
I couldn t get a man who knew the river and we 
had to go it as best we could. Now “Jim,” so 
good at fish-balls and plum-duff, etc., was no 
canoeman. Arthur was but a youth, and I was 
decidedly average with a paddle. Of course the 
bow was the delicate part, but I took that at 
once, and Jim, steering—or, rather, not steering 
—ran me down a rapid broadside on and we 
“fluked” through it by having the canoe light. 
So we take our usual places, Jim in the bow, 
Arthur in the middle, and myself in the stern ; 
and with three inches of gunwale above water 
we embark. Two rapids are run with a little 
water shipped; and we come to the head of a 
nice short little one—nice and steep and lough, 
too. We had run it before, and though I had 
sundry qualms as I saw how low we were in the 
water, I gave a word to the boys and in we ran. 
Better had we gone ashore. She goes down 
the slope like a flash in spite of our holding 
back; through the first swell goes her sharp bow 
and she is half full. I dare not yell “Out!” for 
the boys wouldn t know how to take the water 
and not upset her. No use holding back now, 
we must keep her going. Down we go, her nose 
goes under, and she gets lower and lower, till, 
when having escaped the rocks, we reach the 
eddy at the foot, she is nearly out of sight. 
Out! I howl, and out I go. Arthur slips over 
the side, and Jim, who thinks shore the driest 
place, makes a dive for it; over goes the canoe, 
and down go my rods and gun into fifteen feet 
of water. I come to the top, shake the water 
out of my eyes, and could laugh, if I didn’t feel 
like swearing. Jim is trying to get away from a 
box that evidently wants to get on his back; Ar¬ 
thur has the canoe by a bar and a grip of a 
branch; the impedimenta are running a race 
around the eddy, and I am off down stream. I 
grab a bundle, get hold of a rock and climb 
ashore, but would prefer not to have fishing 
boots on. The others, who are better swimmers, 
are on dry land. We rescue the floating “kit,” 
bundle the traps into the canoe, and paddle down 
to the cache of the day before. Here tents are 
pitched, a fire lighted, clothes changed, and we 
are once more comfortable. 
When the river falls to its usual level we go 
up and by a few lucky dives recover my traps, 
not much the worse for their dip. But the chaff 
I get makes me vow never to try it on again 
alone and with a heavy load, until, in a fit of 
laziness this summer, I run a rapid, or rather 
run a little of it, broke the canoe, go down a 
hundred yards of the swift water, hanging on to 
the stern to keep her upright, and when I do 
get ashore, portage and reach camp, am told by 
my man that no fellow ever runs that rapid.” 
Such is life. w 
