water before the real work began, for 
once above tide-water on ihe loose 
and its tributaries there is little rest 
for the traveller, however weary he 
may be. 
THE first two days up the Moose are 
hard going. The river is full of 
flat rapids necessitating almost con- 
stant poling, and there are three steep 
heavy pitches in which a single slip 
will mean an upset. The first night 
we camped opposite the mouth of Abi- 
tib1 whose distant roar lulled us to 
sleep. The second afternoon found us 
plugging up through the White Rock 
Rapids, a long stretch of mean poling 
in shallow water, full of sharp blocks 
of limestone detached by the ice. That 
night we camped on Gypsum Point, a 
clean gravel beach just above which lies 
a deposit of gypsum molded by the 
water into picturesque cliffs and cav- 
erns, like a miniature. marble palace. 
A creek entering the river near this 
point runs from a small lake sur- 
rounded by these cliffs of gypsum, in 
which I have been told are caves which 
can be navigated by canoe. 
Above Gypsum Point traveling is 
easier as the water is deeper and the 
rapids are separated by long stretches 
of relatively quiet water. Several 
times we ran out the tracking line 
along the beaches of the islands to re- 
lieve the monotony of poling and 
paddling. Along the 
upper stretches of the 
Moose and the lower 
reaches of the Matta- 
gama and Missinaibe, 
the popular outdoor 
sport after camp chores 
are done is fossil hunt- 
ing. The gravel beaches 
are covered with fos- 
sils embedded in frag- 
ments of limestone, 
chiefly corals, molluscs 
of several kinds and a 
few trilobites. It was 
hard to_ resist the 
temptation to fill our 
pockets and ditty bags, 
but the campers’ law, 
“eo light,” is inexor- 
able, so all but a few of the best had 
te be thrown away. 
PARE Portage Island we held a con- 
ference as to whether to take the 
Mattagama or Missinaibe route, finally 
deciding in favor of the Mattagama as 
the Missinaibe is a bad river to travel 
in low water. Then followed two days 
of hard poling through strong rapids. 
As we approached the foot of each 
heavy pitch Tom would say, “You see 
dat rapeed up dere? She ver’ bad 
rapeed. One man drown’ dere las’ 
year!” And when after ten minutes of 
strenuous and exciting work we emerged 
into the quieter water above, he would 
remark, “Didn’ I no tol’ you she ver’ 
bad rapeed? Nex’ one worse. Two 
men drown’ dere!” So “two men 
drown’ dere” became a by-word in camp. 
But, to the fact that many lives are 
lost on these wild rivers, the little 
crosses and piles of stones on the banks 
at the edge of the brush bear mute tes- 
timony. 
HE third day we reached Grand 
Rapids, the worst piece of water on 
the Mattagama. For a mile and a 
half the river rushes over smooth lime- 
stone ledges on which it is difficult to 
get a good grip with the pole-shoe. 
Tom uttered a sigh of relief when we 
left Grand Rapids behind us. “Now 
we're t’rough de wors’!” he said. 
Above Grand Rapids the scenery 
gradually changes. The flat limestone 
beds give way to high ledges of granite 
and iron-bearing rocks, over which the 
river plunges in a series of heavy 
falls between picturesque cliffs, with 
stretches of relatively quiet water be- 
tween. Crowded into two hard, back- 
breaking days are the Long Portage, 
four miles, followed by half a mile of 
very hard poling—Smoky Falls Port- 
age, three-quarters of a mile, Waga- 
dowin (the bend) Falls, one-quarter 
mile, the Little Long Portage, one and 

Stranded on the mud flats with neither sea nor shore visible 
one-half miles, and Devil Falls, one- 
quarter mile. 
begin with a hard scramble up the steep 
bank, but once on top the trail is smooth 
and easy-going. There are excellent 
camp grounds in the bush at the ends 
of the portages and one beside a little 
lake in the middle of the Long Portage, 
which seem all the more cozy after so 
many nights spent on the open beach. 
Just below Devil Falls Portage is a 
long sand-bar visible under the water. 
As we approached the portage, Tom 
turned up the river to go around the 
Each of these portages. 
bar, although there was enough of 
water to have carried us over. “Tom,” 
said the Captain, ‘why don’t you cut 
across to the portage?” “Huh,” re- 
plied Tom, “Manitou leeve on dat bar. 
Indian no cross bar. White man cross 
bar. Manitou git heem.” 
BOVE Devil Falls there are no 
more serious difficulties; Shore 
Rapids is sometime rather bad, but we 
poled up along the east shore and had 
no trouble. 
Three routes to the steel (railroad) 
are now possible, the first and easiest 
by the Kapuskasing (grassy river) 
with only one portage, a lift over, and 
no bad water; the second by the Ground 
Hog, (which is by no means the stupid 
river that its name would indicate) 
with five short portages and a lot of 
hard poling; and the third continuing 
up to Mattagama, a route which I 
never had taken, but which is said to 
be the hardest of the three. This time 
we chose the Kapuskasing as the river 
was free from pulp logs. After pass- 
ing the rapids at the mouth of the 
river, scarcely any poling was neces- 
sary. Only in a few short rips we had 
to be careful in picking our course lest 
the canoe should be cut on the sharp 
rocks. By noon of the second day on 
the Kapuskasing we began to meet 
parties of picnickers from the village, 
and at four o’clock heard the distant 
whistle of the west- 
bound freight train. 
We were on the edge of 
civilization again. 
OW a few words 
about the Missin- 
aibe route which some 
of you want to travel. 
If the water is good, 
the Missinaibe offers no 
problems beyond the 
usual poling till Hell’s 
Gate is reached. Much 
of the shore is good 
for tracking. Then 
come the Long Portage, 
one and one-half miles, 
Riverside Portage, five- 
eighths of a mile, and 
Conjuror’s Falls Portage, half a mile. 
The scenery around Conjuror’s Falls 
is perhaps the most impressive of any 
in the Moose River waters. The great 
river drops down sixty feet through a 
narrow chute in the cliff, then roars 
foaming through a deep gorge, scarcely 
inferior to that of the Niagara, in the 
center of which stands a high rock 
chimney, which for ten thousand years 
has withstood the ravages of time. The 
imaginations of the Indians have not 
missed the possibilities of this rock. 
(Continued on page 563) 
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