4 io 
came a serious menace. We crossed portages 
still hot and smoking from the recent flames, or 
paddled close along the river bank while the fire 
blazed and crackled among the balsams on the 
opposite shore. Like a murky red ball the sun 
leered through the thick haze and our throats 
choked and refused to be comforted. Time was 
when the abandonment of the trip took definite 
shape, but a sudden change of wind swept fire 
and smoke out of our immediate path and after 
two days only distant pillars of smoke testified 
to the occasional fire. 
Another succession of mud lakes announced 
the vicinity of the watershed between the Ogoke 
and the Albany, but evading the divide, we port¬ 
aged over into some lakes and streams which 
furnished a harder but somewhat shorter route 
to Lake St. Joseph. We had been tetering on the 
edge of the unknown for some time, but now we 
lost our equilibrium and fell entirely off the map. 
Over long unused trails, through forest solitudes, 
across ponds and lakes, down wide and rushing 
rivers we followed blindly, and upon a little in¬ 
significant creek we curled round and round and 
finally dragged ourselves over a sand bar into the 
map again and upon Lake St. Joseph, only three 
miles from Osnaburgh House. One leg of the 
triangle was finished, but half the month was 
gone and the prospect was gloomy indeed that 
the journey could be completed in the originally 
allotted time. 
Leaving Osnaburgh House with its rich crim¬ 
son banner flung to the breeze in honor of our 
visit, we crossed Lake St. Joseph and were soon 
floating on the stately bosom of the Albany, an 
epic among rivers. Whether widening into an 
island-dotted lake or compressing its mighty vol¬ 
ume into a cylinder and hurling tumultuously 
over its rocky bed or against the granite guard¬ 
ians of the channel, whether moving silently be¬ 
tween bushy banks or swiftly and noisily rear¬ 
ing its crested head against rocky obstacles, it 
never lost its dignity nor suffered its reserve to 
be broken. We could never forget that here was 
a river following in high sincerity a great and 
definite purpose. 
The Albany has no childhood, but from the 
lake of its birth it springs mature and full armed 
and enters James Bay over five hundred miles 
away, hoary with age, swollen with pride, and 
filling a responsible role among the great rivers 
of the earth. Its waters are clear, cool and pot¬ 
able, while whitefish, sturgeon, lake trout, 
speckled trout, pike and pike-perch reward the 
slightest effort to secure them. From the stand¬ 
point of the canoeist it is a delightful river to 
descend. The rapids are numerous but only a 
few are portaged; mostly the volume of water is 
so great and the rocks so deeply buried that the 
canoes sweep along like race horses, plunge down 
the incline and tear through the choppy waves 
at the foot in a brief moment of tense excite¬ 
ment. 
At Osnaburgh House we fortunately secured a 
third Indian, David, who knew the river inti¬ 
mately, and being a splendid canoeman he loathed 
portages, hence we shot rapids that our own and 
more conservative Indians would have taken 
only with lightened canoes. The joy of the In¬ 
dian in running the rapids is a combination of 
the sense of mastery over the swift water and 
the pleasure one feels in the exercise of a per¬ 
fect technique. They never hesitated, the rapids 
were either navigable or they were not. If they 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
were, David swung with ease and precision into 
the deepest channel, indicated with his upraised 
paddle the crooks and turns of the course and 
we dropped quickly and accurately into line be¬ 
hind him while the rocks and tree trunks danced 
along the banks and large boulders in the chan¬ 
nel dashed up stream like frightened animals. 
The canoes can take only a few of the rapids on 
the Nepigon because the descent is so sharp or 
the channel so rocky, while on the Albany we 
could run from one to three or four a day, some 
of them a mile long and with high, choppy waves 
that often came over the side. 
Beautiful always, it is in the evening especially 
when the direct rays of the sun can no longer 
produce glaring contrasts that the life and color 
of the river shows at its best. The glamor and 
gleam of the current as it washes the sides of 
the canoe, the drip, drip of the paddle accentuat¬ 
ing the solitude, the crooked birches and the 
groups of slim aristocratic poplars with leaves 
all aquiver and with silvery trunks shimmering in 
the oblique sunlight against the dark background 
of pine and spruce, the blue of the sky, clouds 
fringed with silver and gold, unbelievable purples 
that accentuate the tops of the distant trees—all 
combine to endow the river with the most varied 
treasures of the artist. 
The bluish gray smoke of a forest fire ran 
lazily over the tree tops and floated toward the 
ranges that began to show through the gaps in 
the river as the leviathan unfolded its ample 
coils in advance of the canoe. For five full and 
perfect days the canoes sped along this lonely 
and wonderful stream which has the very mys¬ 
tery and genius of the wilderness in its keeping, 
and then the prows were turned to the north 
where Ft. Hope opened its hospitable doors on 
the shore of Eabamet Lake. About thirty-six 
miles east of Ft. Hope lies the mouth of the 
Kageinagomi River, and like the Wabinosh and 
the Ombabika, it expands during its brief course 
into six or seven lakes that are strung along the 
slender stream like emeralds on a necklace, but 
unlike the sister waters, it is clear and cold from 
its source to its mouth. 
This practically is the end of the fur trail on 
the Albany. In the next hundred miles there are 
three portages, but from Martin’s Falls through 
275 miles of high clay banks, the river sweeps 
along in a smooth, untroubled expanse until it 
quietly joins the ocean at James’ Bay and passes 
out of existence like a man of venerable years 
who has fought a good fight and has finished his 
course. 
The propitious weather which had followed us 
thus far vanished entirely on the Kageinagomi, 
the barometer went down, a drizzling rain began, 
the wind veered to the southwest, became strong 
and squally and with a most malicious persist 
ency beat against us from this time until the last 
day of the trip? 
Between the lakes at times the river became 
quite shallow with little fretful rapids, and it was 
necessary to get out frequently, lighten the 
canoes and then track them up the swift water 
or lift them packs and all over the rocks and 
gravel into deeper water beyond. Nevertheless 
we made good progress and that night we slept 
in deep moss that covered one of the high rocky 
islands of Kageinagomi Lake, a miniature Ne¬ 
pigon about ten miles in diameter, its cold and 
sapphire waters fairly teeming with trout. The 
Kageinagomi River had degenerated into a little 
[March 14, 1908. 
willy-nilly creek that wasted its vigor in con¬ 
stant meanderings until finally it became a mere 
thread, and in a cold rain which a strong con¬ 
trary wind flung in our faces, we dragged the 
canoes over its muddy bottom into Mohomosa- 
gomi Lake. 
There followed a long paddle down the lake, 
through creeks that writhed around and through 
quaking bogs covered with tall grass, a portage 
over a crust of shivering bog that threatened to 
open beneath us at every step, a pond, a high 
rocky portage, and then we pushed quietly 
through a backset into the Ogoke River whose 
headwaters we had explored some two weeks 
before. It was now a beautiful stream, its some¬ 
what low banks as long as we saw them-being 
covered on each side by three distinct growths, 
first of sedge, bulrushes and horsetails about a 
rod wide, next a thick breastwork of alders and 
willows possibly twelve feet high, and then coni¬ 
fers interspersed with birch and aspen, through 
the branches of which flitted waxwings and 
warblers in vast numbers. 
From the mouth of the Otter eastward many 
rapids and falls trouble the course of the Ogoke 
until it enters a haven of peace with dignity in 
the Albany a few miles below Martin’s Falls. 
The banks of the Otter are low and sedgy and 
with the adjacent open country give a pleasant 
although brief change from the forest-bound 
shores of previous rivers, and strongly reminded 
us of Illinois streams. 
Here the rain ceased temporarily and the sun 
appeared through the ragged edges of the clouds, 
while in front and circling over channel and 
marsh a large harrier hawk was engaged appar¬ 
ently in teaching his young brood to swoop and 
soar by imitation of the paternal perfection in 
the art. Several times he poised on motionless 
wing, but this feat was too much for the young 
birds; to be sure they held place, but only by the 
expenditure of an immense amount of fluttering 
wing energy. We felt his eye upon us for sev¬ 
eral miles as we pushed up the current and 
branched off into a succession of meandering 
creeks and inconsequential ponds and finally 
turned southward up the Makoke River to its 
source in Summit Lake of the genus mud and 
ooze, which possesses the distinction of being 
able to discharge its waters both north and south 
of the divide. 
One memorable night found us encamped upon 
the very highest pinnacle of a rocky portage 
about half way down the Ombabika. Here we 
built a huge friendship fire and dried out the ac¬ 
cumulated moisture of four days. The end of 
the journey seemed near and a feast in celebra¬ 
tion of its successful issue was decreed. The 
cook became active, the stores w r ere ransacked 
and rare and mysterious concoctions were de¬ 
veloped and enjo}'ed. Reluctantly then we 
climbed to the tents which were almost level with 
the tops of the trees that grew in the valley and 
over whose ragged edges the full moon was just 
rising. 
STIMULATION WITHOUT REACTION. 
After a day of enjoyable sport, it is wise to 
choose a drink which helps to restore the vital 
powers rather than one which tends to deplete 
them, as in the case with many drinks. Bor¬ 
den’s Malted Milk is delicious, concentrated, 
nourishing, invaluable to the camper, made ready 
for use by adding water, hot or cold.— Adv. 
