IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-S)

'<^ %>

*^'". <L''

f/,

%
^

1.0 [S«

I.I

.25

18 12.5

■^ 1^ 12.2

t 1^

2.0

1.8

U III 1.6

c^l

^^ ^^'^.^^

"> .-y^'

<>^

<^%\
^--%

'^Z^>

CIHM/ICMH

Microfiche

Series.

CIHM/ICMH
Collection de
microfiches.

Canadian Institute for Historical IVIicroreproductions Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques

1980

Technical Notes / Notes techniques

The Institute has attempted to obtain the best
original copy available for filming. Physical
features of this copy which may alter any of the
images in the reproduction are checked below.

D
D

Coloured covers/
Couvertures de couleur

Coloured maps/

Cartes giographiques en couleur

Pages discoloured, stained or foxed/
Pages d6colordes, tachetdes ou piqu6es

Tight binding (may cause shadows or
distortion along interior margin)/
Reliure serrd (peut causer de I'ombre ou
de la distortion le long de la marge
int^rieure)

L'Institut a microfilm^ le meilleur exemplaire
qu'il lui a 6td possible de se procurer. Certains
d6fauts susceptibles de nuire d la qualltd de la
reproduction sont notto ci-dessous.

D
D

Coloured pages/
Pages de couleur

Coloured plates/
Planches en couleur

Show through/
Transparence

Pages damaged/
Pages endommag6es

Th
po
of
fill

or
ap

Tt
fil
in

M
in

u|
b(
fo

Additional comments/
Commentaires suppldmentaires

Bibliographic Notes / Notes bibliographiques

Only edition available/
Seule ddition disponible

Pagination incorrect/
Erreurs de pagination

Bound with other material/
Relid avec d'autres documents

Cover title missing/

Le titre de couverture manque

D
D

Pages missing/
Des pages manquent

Maps missing/

Des cartes gdographiques manquent

Plates missing/

Des planches manquent

Additional comments/
Commentaires suppldmentaires

The images appearing here are the best quality
possible considering the condition and legibility
of the original copy and in keeping with the
filming contract specifications.

Les images suivantes ont 6t6 reproduites avec le
plus grand soin, compte tenu de la condition et
de la nettet6 de I'exemplaire filmd, et en
conformity avec les conditions du contrat de
filmage.

The last recorded frame on each microfiche shall
contain the symbol —► (meaning CONTINUED"),
or the symbol y (meaning "END"), whichever
applies.

Un des symboles suivants apparaftra sur la der-
nidre image de cheque microfiche, selon le cas:
le symbols -h^ signifie "A SUIVRE", le symbole
V signifie "FIN".

The original copy was borrowed from, and
filmed with, the kind consent of the following
institution:

National Library of Canada

L'exemplaire filmd fut reproduit grdce d la
g6n6rosit6 de l'6tablissement prdteur
suivant :

Biblioth^que nationale du Canada

Maps or plates too large to be entirely included
in one exposure are filmed beginning in the
upper Inft hand corner, left to right and top to
bottom, as many frames as required. The
following diagrams illustrate the method:

Les cartes ou les planches trop grandes pour dtre
reproduites en un seul clich6 sont film6es d
partir de Tangle sup6rieure gauche, de gauche d
droite et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre
d'images n6cessaire. Le diagramme suivant
illustre la mdthode :

A M P I N G

IN THE

MUSKOKA REGION.

l)N NORTH RIVKk.

CAMPING

IN THE

MUSKOKA REGION

JAMES Dickson, p.l.s.

Under the greenwood tree,
Who loves to lie with me,
And turn his merry note
Unto the sweet bird's throat.
Come hither, come hither, come hither:
Here shall he see
No enemy,
But winter and rough weather.

As You Like It, Act II. Scene V.

TORONTO ;
C. BLACKETT ROBINSON,

i88(i.

t t

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.

TAliE.

Introductory 9

CHAPTER II.
Preparing for a Start 17

CHAPTER III.
Lake of Bays 21

CHAPTER IV.,
We Start Out 27

CHAPTER V.
First Night in Camf 33

CHAPTER VI.
A Canoe Voyage 41

CHAPTER VTT,
Caught in a Thunderstorm 51

CHAPTER VIII.
Nature — Animate and Inanimate go-

'^1

! ' I

,^"

."8 Contents.

CHAPTER IX.

PAOB.

A Wet Day in Camp 73

CHAPTER X.
Hunting— Successful and Unsuccessful 82

CHAPTER XI.
Canoe Lake and Naturalist Notes 91

CHAPTER XII.
About Trappers and Beavers .. .. .. 103

CHAPTER XIII.
In dents by Flood and Field .. .. 113

CHAPTER XIV.
We Continue our Explorations 124

CHAPTER XV.
More Exploration and a Good Shot .... .. .. 136

CHAPTER XVI.
The Source of the Madawaska— In a Gale .. •• .. 145

CHAPTER XVII.
We Finish our Exploration and our Holiday 155

CHAPTER I.

INTRODUCTORY.

N these days of steamboats, railroads, tourists and
newspaper correspondents, one would think that
there ougiit to be few spots now in this Ontario of
ours a terra incognita; few spots which either the
pen of the traveller has not described or the pencil
of the artist illustrated and brouf,dit vividly before
the mind's eye of those who have not had the opportunity
of seeing for themselves. Still there are many grand scenes
of lake and river, of mountain and valley, of wimpling burn
and brawling brook, of lovely forest glade and fern-fringed
dell, that have neither been described nor illustrated. The pen
and pencil of a Butler have vividly depicted the Great Lone
Land and the Wild North Land. The pen and pencil of a
Grant, a Cheadle, a Milton and a Pellesier have embellished
and brought to every fireside the snow-capped summits of the
Rocky Mountains, the dark canons and lonely valleys of the
Fraser and the Thompson Rivers. The newspaper correspon-
dent and the artist have followed in the train of a Governor-
General across that large extent of country, our great
North-West, and painted in glowing colours its fertile plains
and majestic rivers, and prophesied the great future in store
for it. Other writers and artists have accompanied another

'1 1\

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

i M

It I

tl-l

' '
I

it;

Viceroy across the continent, and published the grandeur of
the Pacific slope. Gentlemen of the same ilk have followed
the railroad engineers up the valley of the mighty Ottawa,
wound with them around the base ot the towering Laurentian
Hills, which lie north of Lakes Huron and Superior, across
the great prairie belt, down through the dark canons and
gulches of the Rocky Mountains to the shore of the Pacific
Ocean, and have in glowing language described the varied
beauties of that great extent of country.

I have, myself, stood on the shore of the Red River of the
north when it lay deep down between its snow-capped banks,
calm and solitary, held in the icy clasp of winter, and looking
like a huge rent in the far-reaching prairie, its banks dotted
at intervals with the thatched and comfortable dwelling of the
Indian half-breed, interspersed with clumps of willow, alder,
and maple and a few grand old elms.

I have stood upon the fertile bank of the same stream
when it was a huge, rushing, turbid yellow torrent, completely
filling its channel up to the level of the flower-bedecked
prairie. I have stood upon the high bank of the Assiniboine,
looked across its broad, fertile valley, and traced the windings
of the stream as it meandered from side to side of the valley
on its way east to join the Red River; looked across to the
opposite side and viewed with swelling bosom the glorious
old flag of England waving proudly in all the beauty of an
April sunset above the stockade of Fort EUice.

I have stood upon the high bank of the Qu'Appelle valley
and watched the same flag floating proudly in the breeze
above another of the Honoui^jle Hudson's Bay Company's
forts, and after crossing the vale and stream, and ascending the
opposite bank to the level prairie above, have looked back
on a dii-'zly April morning across that vale of beauty, and it

til

Introductory.

required no great stretch of the imagination to picture what
it must be when bedecked in its gorgeous summer dress. I
have passed through the poplar groves, the flower-bedecked
glades, and wound round the shores of the lovely lakelets of
the Touchwood Hills. I have crossed the great salt plain,
struggled through its quagmires and waded its saline creeks,
and stood upon the bank of the South Saskatchew:.n and
gazed upon that mighty river tracing its serpentine course
away in the broad valley, at least three hundred feet below
the level of the prairie, from south-west to north-east, and
noted the thin columns of blue smoke at my feet and in the
distance which marked the home of the French half-breed,
with the sides of the trail here and there dotted, singly and
in groups, with the tepees of the Cree, Sioux and Stoney.

I stood upon the shore of the same stream and gazed upon
the spot where, on that cold November morning, Lieutenant
Butler drove the rifle bullet into poor Blackie's brain to put
an end to his suffering, when he found it was beyond his
power to save the life of the faithful brute which had so
gamely borne him over so many miles on his western journey.
It seemed as if the whole scene was being enacted over agai^.
before my sight. The swarthy half-breed, in blanket capote,
a few paces in advance, holding the halter of the cautiously-
treading animal; his master a few paces in rear, gently urging
him forward ; the sudden giving way of the ice, and plunges
of the hardy little beast in his vain endeavour to stem the
seething current ; the master, at the risk of his life, throwing
himself down upon the ice and wriggling to the edge of the
dark chasm and seizing the halter, in the vain hope of being
able to haul him out ; his rushing up the bank when he finds
all hope of rescue must be abandoned ; the little puff" of white
smoke, followed by the sharp, whip-like crack of the rifle, and

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

lih:

Ml'

! I

I I

down goes the noble head. As I looked upon the shaggy
little animal against whose shoulder I leaned while gazing
upon the rushing river, my mind's eye reviewing the little
tragedy of that cold and now distant morning, and thought
of the many miles over hill and dale, ploughing through
snow-drifts, and wading- over miles of water-covered prairie ;
through rushing creeks of half-melted snow, where both horse
and rider were all but submerged ; trotting along, threading
his way amongst the countless badger-holes, galloping across
the level, treeless plain, or toiling through the alkali quag-
mires, through all which he had so gamely borne me ; and
then, when the bridle and saddle were removed at the close
of the hard day's work, hobbling off, with shackled feet, to
pick up his scanty supper of brown, withered grass, while his
master, after partaking of his pork and biscuit, his dish of
warm tea and evening pipe, wrapped in blanket and furs, lies
down to sleep away the few intervening hours which should
usher in another day's toil, lulled to sleep by the whistling of
the wind around his canvas covering, — I felt that I could
appreciate the feelings of the brave soldier who rushed into
his tent, sat down, and shed tears over the death of a little
horse.

I have stood upon the high bank of the North Saskatche-
wan and gazed upon the majestic stream as it lay like a huge
serpent far in the valley beneath, winding its way north-
easterly to join with the south branch at the Forks, an
apparently illimitable forest of spruce and poplar spreading
far as the eye could reach away northwards; the south shore,
with its fringe of timber, backed by the miles of prairie which
I had crossed. The mind's eye seemed to review the past
and depict the future of that great country. The past history
of those vast plams seemed to pass, like a panorama, before

(II

Introductory.

one : the countless herds of bison feeding peacefully on the
luscious grasses ; the sudden rush of the frightened animals
as the feathered and painted hunters dashed in amongst them
on their panting and foam-covered mustangs, followed by the
prowling coyote, dealing havoc and death right and left. The
peaceful Indian village ; the joyous shout of sporting child-
hood ; the busy house — or, rather, tent — wife ; the listless,
lazy hunters and warriors, lolling and smoking away the long
summer day ; the sharp, wild shriek of terror, and death-yell
of the dying, as the peaceful village is suddenly awakened at
the dark midnight hour or gray dawn by the war-cry of the
enemy; the whistling arrow and tomahawk of the bloodthirsty
foe ; the battle in the open prairie in broad daylight, when
brave manfully meets brave, when it is man to man, knife to
knife, tomahawk to tomahawk; where, hand to hand and foot
to foot, they strive for the coveted trophy of their prowess —
the bloody scalp ; the wails of despair as the vanquished
return to their village, bearing their dead and wounded, with
the sad tale of the loss of husbands and fathers, of lovers and
brothers ; the shouts of the victors returning to their village,
waving aloft the bloody proofs of victory, and leading forward
the hapless captives, who only too well know their fate to be
the torture and the stake.

But a change is gradually stealing over the spirit of the
dream : the self-sacrificing missionary begins to penetrate
those distant wilds ; many fall victims to the relentless savages ;
but no sooner is their fate known than the gap is filled by
others, who, undeterred by the fate of their predecessors,
willingly leave kindred, home, and friends — and all, many
would think, that makes life worth living — to lay down their
lives in the cause of the Great Master; and again, as in olden
*times, the blood of the martyrs has become the seed of the

• ;■ I

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

1 1

1 "I

li'l

i'l!

\ V

'. 1

Church. The Bread of Life has been cast upon the troubled
waters of a bloodthirsty humanity ; and, though in small and
almost imperceptible quantities, it is being gathered after
many days. First the presence of the Black Robe is
tolerated amongst them ; then, by the example of their blame-
less lives, a few are turned from their idols, and gradually, and
almost unknown to themselves, they become a power in the
respective tribes. A midnight attack is made upon a village
where a priest happens for the time to be sojourning, terror
and despair seize the whole camp, but the holy father
assumes command and is implicitly obeyed ; he shouts to the
warriors, in their own tongue, to seize their arms and defend
their homes, their wives, and little ones; they rally at his
call ; the enemy is driven off with loss ; the foe cannot under-
stand how they were defeated, for the surprise had been
complete. At last the intelligence reaches them the Black
Robe was in the village ; the cause of their overthrow is now
explained : how could they succeed against an enemy when
he was in their midst ?

But soon other palefaces, actuated by greed of gain and
lust of power, begin to penetrate amongst the nbes.
Humanity and justice are to them a sealed book. The good
priests feel they have now a more subtile, a more cunning,
and a more devilish enemy to deal with than the bloodthirsty
aborigines themselves — an enemy who know no scruples of
conscience ; an enemy who worm their way insidiously into
the confidence of those children of the wilds in order to work
their ruin to their own advantage ; and the carts of illicit
traders may be seen wending their way from tribe to tribe
laden with worthless gew-gaws and fire-water, setting up their
trading posts and luring on their victims to certain destruc-
tion. A craving for rum, which seems insatiable, seizes the*

Introductory .

red men : they freely imbibe all the evil propensities, and are
taught none of the virtues, of the whites, and all their evil
passions riot in excess. While under control of the Honour-
able Hudson's Bay Company none of these were allowed
amongst them ; and if the Company did not Christianize,
neither did they debauch, and a fair value was given the red
man for his labours in the chase.

But all is now changed : the buffalo, which furnished both
food and clothing, has become almost extinct. The giving
up of their nomadic life, and the adoption of the vices only
of civilized humanity, are steadily and surely decimating the
number of the Indians, and in this, as in all other parts of
the continent, the introduction of the white has been the sure
forerunner of the destruction of the red man. And it requires
not the eye of a seer to see in the near future those vast plains
covered with cities, towns, and villages, and a teeming
population ; when those wide, rolling rivers will be covered
with a fleet of steamboats, freighted with the products of the
loom, the anvil, and the soil, and the smoke of the locomotive
hovering over the plains in every direction, while the native
red man will have become almost extinct.

But while the descriptive powers of so many pens and
pencils have been employed in describing the magnificence
of that vast country, there are scenes of equal, if not greater,
beauty almost at our doors, where, although the extent of
country is not so vast, nor the streams so majestic, there are
many fairy nooks, lakes and islands, rolling rivers, tumbling
brooks and wimpling burns, of pine-clad hills and lovely
forest dells, which would task the powers of the most gifted
pen to describe or pencil to illustrate. There, in the North-
West, the rivers, though large, are all yellow and muddy
with the washings of the soil through which they wind their

VT'

I III

' y

II'

'ii;
III

)|S];

m
1^

"'I

lljil

t '■

■ J I'M

« linii

i!ll'

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

devious course, and it is only the most burning thirst which
can tempt the weary traveller to partake of their waters;
here they are clear as crystal, and so cool and refreshing
that the very sight of the water tempts one to taste the
tempting draught. There it is only the coarser varieties
of the finny tribe that are to be met with, except in the
great lakes; here almost every little creek can provide the
hungry with a rich repast of brook trout, while every lakelet
is teeming with the luscious speckled lake and salmon trout,
which can be caught in abundance either by angling or by
the night-line at all seasons of the year. There, except
the wild goose and ducks of the lakelets and marshes and
the prairie chickens, the only game now to be m.et with is
the hare, the jackass rabbit and sneaking coyote; here the
lakes and rivers abound with the beaver, mink, and otter —
the woods with the marten, fisher, and fox, the gigantic and
noble moose and graceful red deer, the gray wolf, black bear
and lynx. Come with me and we will spend a summer holi-
day in this sylvan retreat, where, though we can reach it in
a few hours' travel, we will be completely cut off i om the
busy haunts of men.

The glorious tipie of youth, lads,

When all the trees are green —
Every goose a swan, lads,

And every lass a queen ;
Then hey for rod and gun, lads.

And to the woods away,
For youth must have its fling, lads.

And every dog its day.

CHAPTER II.

PREPARING FOR A START.

HE lakes of the Lower Muskoka — Muskoka Lake,
Lakes Joseph and Rosseau — have been explored
in every nook and corner; their every bay and
inlet, solitary rock, and pine-clad islet have been
graphically described, and the best spots to secure
the denizens of their depths ; the islets where the
basket can be most quickly filled with the luscious huckle-
berry, the raspberry, and strawberry have been pointed out
to the sportsman and berry -picker. Lakes Mary, Fairy,
Vernon and Peninsula, and the winding river between, have
also afforded material for pen and pencil. One or two of the
more venturesome newspaper correspondents have hazarded
a few lines on the beauties of Lake of Bays and Hollow Lake ;
but it is the purpose of the present writer to visit the hitherto
unknown wilds of the Upper Muskoka, and endeavour to lay
before his readers some of the beauties of lake and river, of
mountain and valley, which, though almost at our doors, are
still so far away and so little known.

We leave the steamer at the thriving village of Brace-
bridge, to retrace her route with her deck-load of pleasure-
seekers down the winding river to Muskoka Lake, across to
Port Carling, through the locks and up the short stream into

rrT

|i!"

|l| ,

ill

til

lii

li;

,11

•i-il

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

Lake Rosseau, thread her mazy course among the scrub c k,.
pine and fern-clad islets to her nightly quarters at the village
of Rosseau. We secure the frugal supply of provisions neces-
sary for our sojourn in the wilds, and, engaging a team of
horses, wend our way eastward through a newly-settled dis-
trict; past the trough-covered shanty, the more substantial
hewn log-house with shingled roof, and occasional frame
dwelling of the hardy settler. Past little churches and unpre-
tentious school-houses, each with its quota of strong, hardy,
and in many cases barefooted, boys and girls, presided over
by the neatly-dressed and courteous lady teacher. The scenes
recall our own early youth, and we seem to live our school-
days over again, and, as we look into the fearless, honest
faces of the Children, we feel with the poet that

There's something in an honest boy,

A brave, free-hearted, generous one,
With his unchecked, unbidden joy.

His dread of books, his love of fun —
And in his clear and sunny smile.

Unshaded by a thought of guile.
And unrepressed by sadness —

That brings me to my childhood back.
As if I trod its very track,

And felt its very gladness.

We pass through groves of stately sugar maples, of birch,
beech, and basswood ; through stretches of woods where the
fire-fiend has left his trade-mark on giant pine and hemlock,
and destroyed many thousands of dollars' worth of valuable
timber ; through sections depleted of their timber by the axe
of the lumberman; past groves of stately balsam; through
tamarack, spruce, and cedar swamps; through clearings of
waving grain and new mown hay. Herds of kine are quietly
feeding on the luxuriant grass which has sprung up along

\ W

Preparing for a Start.

the old lumber roads, and the tinkle-tinkle of the cow-bell
i ', heard on every side. We pass over stretches of hard clay
and soft, sandy road; up stony hills, where the horses have
to strain every nerve to haul their load to the top ; down
others where it is equally difficult, even with the assistance
of a br ake on the wheel, to restrain the impetus of the vehicle ;
over Corduroys in the swamps and morasses; up an inclined
plane 'hrough the Devil's Gap; over strongly-built bridges
spanning the otherwise impassable gullies, with their ever-
present grass and alder-fringed creek beneath. Now the
timid gray i abbit is bounding along the road before us ;
again, a mother -partridge is hurrying her down -covered
chicks to cover. High over head the gray hen-hawk is
basking in the sunshine, giving forth its shrill whistle at
short intervals; while the coo of the wood-pigeon, the cher-
irr of the squirrel, and cluck-cluck of the striped chipmunk
are heard in the neighbouring covert; while from yonder
beetling crag an antlered buck may be seen gazing down
upon our lumbering waggon with its gay and chattering load..
After some sixteen miles of jolting over the rough road,
with occasional short walks up the hills to ease the panting
horses, a sudden bend is made to the right, and we enter
the busy little village of Baysville, on the north bank of the
south branch of the Muskoka River. The village is some
two miles below the foot of Lake of Bays, or, as some call it.
Trading Lake, and is the end of steamboat navigation in this
quarter. Here there is a fine water-power spanned by a sub-
stantially-built bridge, dam, and timber-slide; on the north
side is a saw-mill, and on the south a grist or flour mill, both
doing a thriving trade. Out on one of the piers a disciple
of Izaak Walton is hauling the speckled beauties out of the
seething waters, as they boil and bubble, rush and tumble^

li!;

ii;;'

[li:

! I

ilii

I [

iiii

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

over the dark granite rocks. Here we pause for the night
in one of the comfortable hotels, presided over by a courteous
landlord and attentive landlady, and sup at a board loaded
with dainties which would tempt the most fastidious epicure,
and retire for the night to a comfortable room, and a bed
which would woo the drowsy god even if we had not the
aching joints occasioned by our long and rough ride. This
is the last night we shall pass between wooden walls and
under shingled roof-tree for, it may be, several weeks. To-
morrow night, and for many succeeding, we shall sleep be-
neath our cotton tent ; our bed, the boughs of the fragrant
balsam, and, instead of snow-white sheets and feather pil-
lows, we will lie between the folds of our strong gray blankets,
with — shall we mention it? — our boots and fo'ded coat for a
pillow. To-night we may indulge in brown stout. Bass's ale,
and various other strong drinks, fragrant Havana, tea, with
both cream and sugar, tarts, pies, jellies, and puddings, with
fresh eggs and luscious butter just from the churn. To-mor-
row our only drink will be tea — in a tin pannikin, with neither
cream nor sugar, — or the pure, crystal water of the river, for
no intoxicants of any kind are to be found in our commis-
sariat. Biscuits, or as they are familiarly called, hard tack,
with pork, beans, and dried apples, and perhaps a bottle of
pickles or box of sardines for the first meal or two, shall
compose our food, while to smoke aught but a briar-root or
clay pipe is a forbidden luxury in our camp.

Here we must complete our supplies. Our birchen canoes
are to be purchased, a few forgotten articles, such as an extra
tin dish, a box of matches, a little baking soda, and an extra
plug or two of Myrtle Navy must likewise be added our
store, also a few bottles of pain-killer, a bottle of castor oil
and a box or two of pills, and a few cakes of Castile soap.

CHAPTER III.

LAKE OF BAYS.

jARLY in the morning the shrill whistle of the
little steamer awakes us from our dreams, and
in a few minutes we are up and dressed. It is
a glorious morning. The rays of the rising sun
are shining on the dark green woods to the
west, while the red face of old Sol himself is
just beginning to show above an eastern hill. A thin mist
only partially conceals the rushing river. The sharp buzz
of the saw is already to be heard converting the huge pine
log into lumber. The disciple of Walton is again at his
post with rod and fly, bent on securing his breakfast of
shiny beauties hidden beneath the surface of the bubbling
waters. The whistling of birds is commingled with the
joyous song of the trim milk-maid, as she seats herself by
the side of old Hawkie to extract the rich white milk from
the distended udder. Gay Chanticleer is strutting around,
leading the feathered beauties of his harem with their young
brood in search of the proverbial early worm — alas ! for the
poor early worm ; while a stray lady porker with her squalling
brood is trudging round — a wooden yoke, as a voucher for her
character, on her neck — on the lookout for the easiest way into
kitchen garden or potato patch.

1 1

11:

'i^l

ill
I

^I!|

\m\

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

Soon we have partaken of a hasty but substantial break-
fast, bountifully spread on the snow-white tablecloth. Our
bill is paid, and we wend our way to the dock where lies
the little steamer puffiing and blowing, and straining at
her fastenings, for though still tied to the wharf her screw
is slowly churning up the limpid waters, the engine having
been set in motion for the purpose of proving whether
the machinery is in proper working order. We are greeted
with a kindly grasp of the hand by the jolly captain, who is
perambulating the dock enjoying his morning pipe. The
hands are busily engaged in taking in her cargo ; our few
traps are soon on board, and the canoes laid on the big punt
invariably towed behind, the vessel being too small to admit
of the necessary boats being carried on deck ; a toot-toot from
the whistle, the captain grasps the spokes of the wheel, he
gives a sharp pull to an adjacent wire, there is a loud tinkle-
tinkle of a bell in the engine-room, a quick, trembling motion
and low rumbling noise, the dock with its half-dozen villagers,
who have come down to see us off, is quickly left behind, and
the plucky little vessel is stemming the placid waters at a
speed of not less than eight miles an hour.

Gracefully and swiftly she makes her way round the sharp
bends of the river, past comfortable and thrifty homesteads,
when gradually Lake of Bays opens to the view. The field-
glass is unslung from the shoulder, the focus adjusted, and
seated in front of the wheel-house, we gaze upon the varied
beauties of the Lake. Immediately in front the lake is dotted
here and there with high rocky pine-clad islands ; every rock,
tree, and limb is faithfully mirrored in the surrounding water,
— the shadow almost as distinct as the substance. There, on
the one hand, are three or four loons, the great northern diver,
with their beautiful plumage, each one, like the islands, seem-

Lake of Bays.

ing double ; on the otlier side the canoe of a settler is swiftly
approaching, a hat is waved, an answering scream from the
whistle, a tinkle of the engine-room bell, the rumbhng of the
machinery and churning of the screw ceases, and we are at
a standstill. The canoe sw'ftly approaches, delivers its
message, and we are again away on our course. A little
further on, and wheeling to the shore, we tie up at a primitive
wharf composed of a rough wooden pier with three or four
logs extending from it to the shore and covered with a few
loose planks. Piled on the bank are several cords of dry
wood, a portion of which is speedily transferred to our hold,
and the little vessel is again ploughing her way through the
calm waters of the lake.

The most of the south shore, as far as can be seen to the
east, has been redeemed from the primeval forest, and where
only a few years ago was an unbroken wilderness there are
now thriving and well-stocked farms, with good dwellings and
capacious barns. Right in front is a long, low, rocky point,
the lake extending on its right some ten or twelve miles east
to the village of Colebridge at Cedar Narrows, famous for
its trout, venison, and steaks of bear meat. Should the
traveller wish to visit Hollow Lake, that is his route ; but as
we are bent for the head waters of the branch of the Muskoka
River which extends further to the east, we steer to the north
of the point, and' a sheet of water larger than what we have
yet seen opens to our sight.

The western shore is high and bluffy, the timber chiefly
hardwood, while at short intervals the forest is broken by
large clearings, well-fenced and cultivated, everything denot-
ing the success and approaching independence of the hardy
backwoodsman who only a few years ago penetrated these
wilds, with, in many cases, only his axe and hands, to hew

!li!!'

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

Jil!

ii:ir

»l::!

I W\ ■

out for himself a home in the unbroken and then almost
unknown wilderness. How much this Canada of ours owes
to those hardy pioneers ! What an evidence of the success
which almost invariably attends the industrious and persever-
ing ! How is it that our towns and cities are so crowded with
the poor and starving, with their cry of no work ? Out here
there are thousands of farm lots of one hundred acres each,
which can be had free for the takinf,, on almost any of which
many a labourer or artisan would be better off than in town or
city. Here they have no rent, high taxes, water and gas rates,
or high-priced fuel. On nearly the worst of the land they
can grow at least potatoes and other vegetables, and keep
their cow, pig, and hens, the three sources from which so
many of the necessaries of life are drawn, while nearly all the
3'ear round abundance of work may be had at a good remu-
neration for any time that can be spared from the farm, and
within a reasonable distance of their homes.

After steaming for over an hour another rocky point is
rounded, and we are in sight of the end of our steamboating.
Away in the distance we see through the glass the end of
the North Bay. A narrow strip of yellow sand lines the
shore. Behind is a clearing filled with blackened and charred
stumps, while in the front, a few rods up a gentle incline from
the water's edge, stands a substantial frame house. At a dis-
tance of a mile and a quarter from the landing we pass a
bold, high bluff to our left. Right in our front, and an eighth
of a mile from the landing, a large creek, the outlet of some
two or three small lakelets, pours its waters into the bay;
while to the right, in a little recess, may be seen the mouth
of the North River, the stream which we purpose ascending.

Another shrill scream from the whistle, a few more turns
of the screw, another tinkle of the bell in the engine-room^

Lake of Bays.

the machinery stops, and with lessening speed we approach
and finally stop alongside the primitive dock of rough, un-
dressed logs. We have reached the end of the first stage
of our journey, the village of Dwight, at the head of the
North Bay.

Stepping on shore we are accorded a hearty greeting by
the landlord of the Dwight Temperance House and a number
of the hardy and bronzed settlers, who have come out to get
their weekly mail, and make their few purchases at the little
store which, as .ell as the post office, is kept in conjunction
with the Temperance House. Our goods are quickly trans-
ferred to shore, the mail-bag changed, a few packages of
merchandise, bags of flour and sides of bacon laid out on
the dock, and after a hearty shake of the hand and a hon
voyage from captain and engineer, the whole crew, the engine
is again put in motion, and after backing off a few boat-
lengths, the signal is given, "full steam ahead"; and wheel-
ing round to the left, first her broadside, then the gracefully-
rounded stern and the turmoil of waters are presented to view.
She proceeds on her way down round the peninsula which
divides the North from the South Bay, up which she pro-
ceeds to Colebridge, when, after performing the same round
of duties as at Dwight, the prow is again pointed westward.
W.ien the rays of the setting sun illuminate the eastern hills,
turning every object golden, striking upon some exposed fel-
spar or quartz-crystal on granite bluff, transforming them into
apparent gems of the purest water, she again, puffing and
panting like a tired horse, ties up at her dock of the morning.
The boat has made her daily round of the lakes, and both
vessel and crew have honestly earned their night's repose.

The view down the bay from the verandah of the Dwight
House is a magnificent one. Across the bay to the right

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

I i'

mi'\

the dense forest has given place to wide, well-fenced fields
of waving grain, with comfortable farmhouses and good
barns. To the left a similar transformation is taking place.
Another opening in the woods down the left shore, anr* wreath
of blue, curling smoke denotes the presence of another of
those elements of Ontario's greatness, the hardy pioneer.
The remainder of the shore seen from this point of view is
covered with a dense growth of waving maple, birch, and
basswood, with an occasional gigantic pine or hemlock tow-
ering high above its fellows. Here and there a bold, treeless
bluff, the rock nearly concealed b}^ a covering of rich brown»
flower-besprinkled moss, is visible at intervals between the
trees. But, in order to apprecirte all the beauties of Lake
of Bays, one must view it at the various seasons of the year.
In winter, all is covered with a n antle of spotless white;
the leafless boughs bent beneath their load of snow, which is
whirled at intervals by the fierce northern blast in dense,
white wreaths across the ice-bound waters. Soon as the warm
rays of the spring sun have melted the snow and released
the water of the lake from its icy covering, the trees begin
to unfold their buds, and in a few days all is in full summer
dress of deep green; and the drumming of the partridge,
the coo of the pigeon and whistle of the robin are heard
on every side. Again, as the warm summer draws to a close,
and the leaves begin to ripen, the frosty nights of October
assisting Nature in her handiwork : first the maple shows a
yellowish tinge, gradually deepening into various shades of
red; then the birch, beech, and lastly the basswood follow
suit. Here, scenes of varied beauty that would task the
powers of the most gifted pen or pencil are spread out before
the admiring eye.

'ml

CHAPTER IV.

WE START OUT.

WIGHT has become of late years a favourite
resort for the tourist, the lover of piscatorial
sport, and the deer-hunter. Many a huge trout
has been hauled out of the deep waters of the
bay, and many a noble buck has got its death-
wound while breasting the foam-crested wave to
escape the baying hound, which has roused him at early
morn from his lair under the "greenwood tree." Here,
also, the overworked and confined city clerk can spend his
brief summer holiday, and recruit his shattered nerves, inhal-
ing the pure air of forest and lake; while he can sleep on
as soft a bed and sit down to a board loaded with nearly all
the luxuries of the city, attended by the courteous landlady,
who seems bent only on attendmg to the most minute wants
of her guests. But now wc are for the first time to partake
of our own frugal fare. The tin tea-pail and drinking-dishes
are unpacked ; a fire is stt*f ted by the side of a stump ; the
tea-chest opened, and half-a-handful of the fragrant leaves
thrown into the pailful of cold water, for experience has
taught us that the best method of extracting all the nourish-
ment out of the leaves is to put them into the cold water,
and remove the pail from the fire as soon as it has attained
the boiling-point. A small pole is procured, the tea-pail hung

irpr

I ' -ii;

I ' I

t'l

I, 'I
i'l

■;
ll

!i:

llfi

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

on one end, the other held in place by being thrust under a
neighbouring log, supported in the middle by a billet of wood,
the pail hanging over the fire. The frying-pan, after beinf;'
carefully cleaned, is filled also with water. An opening is
made in the end of the rough canvas bag, in which is the
huge side of long, clear bacon. The cook, knife in hand, is
at work cutting off a number of slices, which are placed in
the pan, set on the fire, and allowed to boil a couple of min-
utes. This is called parboiling, and is for the purpose of
removing the superfluous salt. The water is now poured off,
and the next moment the air is impregnated witii the aroma
of frying pork, which in a few minutes is cooked. Suddenly
there is a frizzing sound on the fire, as a portion of the now
boiling tea forces its way by the accumulating steam out
around the sides of the lid. It is quickly removed from the
fire, the lid taken off, half-a-dishful of cold water is thrown
in, when the leaves immediately subside to the bottom. The
head is knocked out of the biscuit-barrel. The shout of the
single word, dinner, speedily brings all hands, each v/ith tin
plate and tea-dish to the spot; when each, having helped
himself to a slice of pork, a spoonful or two of gravy, and
filled his dish with the fragrant tea, makes his way to the
biscuit-barrel, where a few of the hard, brown discs are laid
on top of the pork. A neighbouring log or spot of grass
serves for a seat, the knees for a table, and do we enjoy the
dinner? Well, to use a homely and perhaps a rather vulgar
phrase, " You bet ! "

As this is the last chance of availing ourselves of Her
Majesty's mail, while our cook is washing the dishes and
packing up we hastily scribble a few lines to home and loved
ones. The river for the first eight or ten miles, with the
exception of the first two, is composed of a series of rough.

We Start Out.

roaring chutes and rapids, too rough for canoeing. What is
a chute? you ask. It is a short stretch of water, where there
is not a perpendicular fall, but the stream is hemmed in and
somewhat narrowed in its channel by projecting rocks, and
dashes foaming and tossing down an inclined plane over
sharp-pointed rocks and large boulders, terminating at the
bottom either in a deep bay or rapid. We must take our
things overland five miles to a point half a mile above Hunter's
Bridge. The distance by the winding stream being nearly
twice as far, the services of a settler and his team are secured.
A couple of men are sent on ahead with axes, to cut any
newly-fallen trees out of the way. The goods are loaded on
the waggon ; the canoes, if taken on the load, would run a fair
chance of being broken on the rough road, so they must be
carried. They are laid bottom down upon the 'ground, two
paddles laid along the two centre thwarts and fastened thereto,
a sufficient distance apart to allow the head of the bearer to
pass up between and a paddle to rest on either shoulder, then,
stooping down and grasping a gunwale with each hand, we

Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care :
[She is] fabhioaed so slenderly,

and raise the one end, turn her over above the head and let
her down till a paddle rests on either shoulder, the other end
still resting on the ground ; then, slightly stooping, v/e bend
forward till the light vessel is neatly balanced on the shoulders,
and now, straightening up, the hands still grasping the gun-
wales, away we march, in single file, after the waggon.

For the first three miles the country is level, with a ridge
of hardwood hills at a short distance from the road on the
north. The axe of the lumberman and the ravages of the
fire-king have well-nigh destroyed all the original forest be-

:! i;

il
fill

Ml;

lili

I'll

li!'

'I'

l!u;

fiiiiiijl'll

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

tween the hill to the north and the river on the south. It has
been succeeded by a growth of white birch, poplar, and red
cherry, the whole surface being covered by the wild raspberry
and black thimbleberry, while, twining amongst the roots, the
slender vines of the still more luscious strawberry are in
equal abundance, while here and there are clumps of the
sumach and black alder, with its big clusters of small red
fruit. We pass through a few small abandoned clearings.
A small lakelet lies nestled in its margin of marsh grass in a
hollow to the left, while the roar of the river, as it tumbles
over its rocky bed, may be heard, at short intervals, on the
right. The hardwood hill to the north now bends southerly
across our path, and we cross a few ridges, covered with a dense
growth of huge maples, black birch and hemlock. A mile or
so further, and we come to a stop on top of a hill some three
hundred feet high, down which the road has been cut in an
almost straight line. Here, far down in the hollow, we caich
glimpses of the silvery river shining through the trees, running
at right angles to our path, and spanned by a little dilapidated
bridge. This is Hunter's Bridge, and is as far as the road
has been built. On the edge of the hill, on the further bank
of the stream, is an old deserted clearing of an acre or two in
extent, with the remams of an old shanty in the centre.
Here, a number of years ago, a man named Hunter built his
cabin, and moved his family into the woods far from any other
settler. He was in the habit of crossing the country to the
settlement of Cedar Narrows, some nine miles to the south,
at regular intervals. During the depths of an uncommonly
severe winter a longer interval than usual had elapsed since
his last visit, and the settlers at the Narrows becoming alarmed

for his safety, Mr. C , with the never-failing solicitude

which one dweller in the bush feels for the welfare of another,

We Start Out.

donned his snowshoes and, alone, made the long tramp over
the deep, soft snow. The poor man was found laid out a
corpse in his lonely hut. He had been dead for several days.
The mateless woman and fatherless children huddled round
a small fire, eating a few frozen potatoes, their only food.
The bread-winner was gone.

Lay him low, lay him low

In the clover or the snow ;
What cares he? He cannot know.

Lay him low.

Hunter's Bridge is the eastern terminus of a Government
colonization road, and connects also at this point with the
northern terminus of the BoDcaygeon road. We now turn to
the left, and the waggon proceeds half a mile further over a
rough trail, when it readies the end of its journey. At noon
we bade good-bye to steam power, and must now part with
horses and waggon. Henceforth our only means of transport
will be the bark canoe along the smooth stretches of the river
and across the lakes ; while crossmg the portages, bending
beneath our packs, with tump-line across the brow, we must
be our own pack mules.

The waggon is quickly unloaded, turned round with some
little difficulty amongst the closely growing trees, and is away
on its homeward journey. Here our labour begins in earnest,
and hastily turning the canoes bottom upwards — for the gra-
dually gathering clouds portend an approaching shower — as
many of the goods as they will cover are placed underneath ;
as much of the remainder as we will be unable to take in the
first trip is piled together and covered with a light rubber
sheet. Each man now hastily snatching up a pack and
swinging it upon the shoulder, we hurry off along the narrow
trail. One hand grasps the tump-Une, while with the other

ii'i

■'111

■I

III

I' ;

lif

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

we ward off the numerous limbs projecting across the path,
which, if not thus guarded against, miglit play sad havoc with
eye and face. We scramble, or half roll, over a fallen tree or
two, and bend beneath another which has been torn out by the
roots by some passing storm and arrested in its fall by coming
in contact with another. Another half mile and again the
shining river, glinting through the trees, bursts upon the
view. A few steps more and we are at the landing. Only
a very small piece of the stream is visible from this point,
while to the right is heard the roar of a short rapid where
the river is divided into two parts by a small island at
the top of a ledge of rock. We have reached our first
camp-ground. The packs are tossed off, and we seat our-
selves for a moment upon them, while hats are removed
and pocket-handkerchiefs hastily applied to reddened brows
and perspiring faces. We straighten up, and gaze for a few
minutes on a scene of sylvan beauty. The view is very
limited in extent, for neither fire nor the hmiberman has
caused destruction here, and great pines, maple, hemlock and
cedar, with a dense undergrowth of balsam and hazel, encircle
us on every side. But there is little time for either rest or
meditation, for though the clouds are passing off without the
threatened shower, the slanting rays of the fast declining sun
denote the near approach of night. The remainder of the
goods are to be brought in from the end of the road. Tents
are to be put up, brush for the beds to be cut, gathered, and
spread, the firewood for the night to be procured; for although
it is here in abundance and to spare, still it has to be cut and
brought in, the fire started, packs undone, supper cooked and
eaten, and a dozen and one other odd jobs — known only to
those accustomed to a life in the woods — to be got through
with before darkness finally sets in.

CHAPTER V.

FIRST NIGHT IN CAMP.

HE camp ground is an old one, having been used
for many years by surveyors, hunters, and trap-
pers, so there is no clearing-off or levelHng of
ground to be done. The force is divided; apart
return for the remainder •" the baggage, while
two others cut tent poles and pegs, and set up
the tent; another cuts down a balsam, carefully selecting one
with a large top: the pin-covered limbs are broken off at a
short diacance from the. trunk, and brought in. The tent has
been erected, carefully and evenly stretched, and the brush-
ing is begun. We commence at the back by laying down
each separate limb with its top to the rear, and the side whic!\
was undermost when growing on the tree turned on top.
This process is continued till the whole surface is covered
with a sufficient thickness to make a soft and even bed, care
being taken to keep the broken ends next the ground. A
pole, five or six inches in diameter, is laid across the ends of
the brush at the door, and kept in its place by pegs driven
into the ground at each end. The whole floor now presents
a soft, smooth, dark green elastic surface. By this time the
goods are all in except the canoes, and as neither bears nor
wolves will eat them, and there are no thieves here, they are

Camp Life in Northern Ontario,

I;?

I-

'I'll

m\ \i

1%
^ nil'

111!,

ij'ii
ill'
tfl

III;, I
ilii

safe where they are till " to-morrow morning." A few pro-
jecting limbs have been left four or five inches long on the
upright pole at the back of the tent, on which to hang powder
horn, shot bag, field-glass, etc., while the rifle and double
barrel are stacked around, and carefully tied to the same pole,
for the double purpose of protecting them from the damp and
reducing the chances of an accident to a minimum. The
packs are opened, our dunnage bags and everything not imme-
diately wanted are stored away in the bole at the back ot the
tent. The blankets are spread out and rolled back to the
head till bedtime. Our heavy boots are removed and replaced
by a light and easy pair of gaiters or mocassin slippers,
and we begin to feel at home and are quite comfortable.

Darkness has now set in, and what about supper ? Our
cook has not been idle ; a huge fire is blazing away a few feet
in front of the door ; a stout post about four feet long, cut
from the top of a small tree — where the trunk has branched
off into two parts, and these both lopped off a few inches
above the point of divergence, thus forming a crotch, — has
been securely driven into the ground a foot or so from each
end of the fire. Across those another stout pole has been
laid, from which the tea pail is depending. The cold water
and dry leaves are in process of being quickly transformed
into tea. The cook, with glowing but merry face, leans over
the frying-pan, carefully stirring up and turning the frizzling
slices of the " unclean beast." The little can of mustard is
got out ; the one bottle of pickles produced, the neck broken
oflF, to save the trouble of drawing the cork. In a few
minutes everything is in readiness, and the dinner scene is
enacted over again. Pork and biscuits and dishes of tea
disappear with amazing quickness and in goodly quantities,
for the afternoon's work has given all hands a good appetite,

First Night in Camp.

while joke and jest are bandied from side to side. Supper
finished, pocket-knives, pipes, and plugs of T. B. or Myrtle
Navy are produced. We have no tobacco-pouches with
ready cut, but prefer cutting a pipeful as it is requirec?. Pipes
are lit and a general smoke is begun. The sight is a pleasing
one. Here one is seated on the ground with back against a
log, puffing away in silence; two or three, seated on the pole
at the door of the tent, are engaged in quiet conversation,
discussing the morrow's programme ; others are reclining on
elbow, or stretched at full length on the dry leaves. One who
does not indulge in the weed is laid out with hands under his
head on the brush in the tent, and with lusty voice is shout-
ing to the company how

I was dreaming last night,

Oh, bad luck to my dreaming ;
I was dreaming that Teddy

Was false unto me ;

while still another is equally intent on informing the com-
pany how he

Met her in the garden
Where the praties grow.

We retire a few paces into the shade and survey the scene.
We have seen on canvas many pictures of camp life, but
never aught that did the scene justice. The merry group,
the snow-white tent, the blazing fire, the illuminated trunks
of the huge pines, the lights and shadows amongst the green
leaves, the silvery ripple of the river where a single ray from
the fire has penetrated to its surface, the glittering stars over-
head, the soft, mellow light of the moon as she shows her face
above the eastern hill, the solemn stillness of the night,
broken only by the gentle murmur of the adjacent rapid.
Attempt to describe it. Pshaw !

"TT

I !ill

. Ml!

ill

I. II.

!;s:

\\\y

I ;;:i

'1 1)1
'il'ii

Cnmp Life i:i Nortkerti On'ario.

The cook is hard at work. The dishes have been washed
and carefully piled, bottom up, on a piece of newly-peeled
hemlock bark. All the birch within a considerable radius of
this old camp-ground has long since been denuded of its
yellow coat. Pork is to be parboiled for breakfast, and more
boiled for dinner. The round pointed steel shovel has had a
handle inserted in its socket. A hole a foot and a half in
diameter, and of an equal depth, has been dug close to the
fire and filled with burning embers to dry out and heat it.
A tin pail half filled with water is got ready. The bag of
white beans is brought forth, a few tea-dishfuls are care-
fully picked over and emptied into the pail of water, which is
now hung over the fire. Another pail of water is placed
alongside it, the sack of dried apples brought within the
radius of the light, a few handfuls are taken out and carefully
washed in the big tin dish, then squeezed between the hands
and dropped into the second pail. The dirty water is now
thrown out of the dish, and replaced by a few dipperfuls of
clean hot water. The sack of bacon is again visited, several
square chunks are cut ofT, and tossed into the dish of hot
water, scraped and washed clean, and deposited in still
another pail of water, which now takes its place as number
three over the fire. Our cook has now a breathing-spell, and
has time to light his pipe also . iid join in the conversation
for half an hour or so. At the end of that time the lid of the
apple pail is removed, a large iron fork thrust down to the
bottom, and the whole mass stirred up. Another dipper of
water is added, as the swelling fruit has absorbed most of the
first supply. The lid is then replaced, and the bean pot
treated in a similar manner. The pail of boiling pork is also
subjected to a careful scrutiny to ascertain if it is not boiling
dry. A part of the top is now taken off a box of raisins, from

First Nifjht in Camp.

which a few handfuls are carefully picked and waslied clean.
Another inspection of the apple pail shows that their cooking
has reached the proper stage ; it is removed from the fire, the
raisins emptied in and carefully and evenly mixed with the
apples, when it is again replacetl on ihe fire and allowed to
simmer for a few minutes, then finally taken off and a few
spoonfuls of sugar added, the lid replaced and it is set to one
side ready for breakfast, A bake-kettle which has hitherto
been kept in the background now makes its appearance, and
is scraped and thoroughly cleaned. The i)eans, which are by
this time boiled soft, are emptied into it, the grease from the
pork we had for supper is also put in. A few slices of raw
fat pork are laid on top, the lid put on ; the hole by the fire is
emptied of its embers, a quantity of hot sand thrown in,
and the bake-kettle put in on top, the whole being covered
witli hot sand and ashes. The boiling pork is now also done
to a turn ; it is taken from the fire, the swollen pieces held up
in turn on the prongs of the big fork, and cold water poured
over them, when it also is set aside ready for the table. The
cook's day's, or rather night's, work is now over, for we hear
his " Get out of the way, boys; I want to go to bed."

It is now time for all hands to retire, for we must be astir
betmies in the morning, and the slight preparations for
turning-in are soon made. The wide-brimmed straw hat is
placed bottom up a little above where the head is intended
to rest. The contents of the trousers pockets are emptied
into the crown. No small article must be left round in a
loose manner, or the chances are that it will be lost in the
brush. The vest is folded, watch-pocket uppermost, and
laid on top of the hat. Braces and socks are removed, and
placed under the dunnage bag which, along with coat or
smock-frock, is to form our pillow. The blankets have been

ii^i

Mini

'ifi

1 !

■: liil

' III

'I 'I'

1 I'l'

.1 llit

1 '!n

■il .||i

' ! I

ll '

11 !
■I'l

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

unrolled, and turning down the upper end of one of them we
slide in between. "Are you coming to bed, Jack?" is
addressed to a smoker seated at the door, who is reluctant to
abandon the fragrant weed. "Yes, just in a minute, Tom."
"Well, you had better hurry up then, and not disturb a
fellow when he is asleep." "Lie over, Jim, and straighten
out those big legs of yours, and try and be satisfied with
your own half of the bed." " Now, Dick, straighten your-
self out ; I am quite willing to let you have half the bed, but
must protest against your taking it out of the middle."
" Straighten yourself. Bob, and keep your big feet to your
own side," accompanied with a preliminary snore.

Such are a few of the expressions, garnished by sundry
adjectives which it is not necessary, nor would it be polite,
to repeat, which are to be heard on every side. A hushed
conversation is still being carried on by one or two couples,
when, " Come now, boys, you had better adjourn the debate
till morning," is heard irom the boss. This gentle and easily
understood reminder is at once taken, and in a few minutes
all is hushed in silence, broken only by the heavy breathing
of the sleepers and the gentle murmur of the flowing river.

The first rays of the rising sun are just beginning to
change into golden the green tops of the giant pines, when a
loud " Hurrah, boys, breakfast ; are you going to sleep all
day," is heard from the cook, who has been up since the first
gray streak of dawn, and in an incredibly short space of time
all are up. The few articles of clothing which had been
taken off the previous evening are donned, while negative
compliments touching the respective merits as bedfellows
are bandied from side to side, accompanied by a gentle
reminder to the one who had spread the brush of " a big root
or limb, right under my back or shoulder," the ready and

First Night in Camp.

consoling retort, " Well, if you don't like my work, you can
make it yourself to-night." '• I guess I had better, and not
trust it to you again if I want to sleep" ; all, however, in the
best of humour. Towel, soap, and comb in hand, we make
our way to the side of the river. We have frequently read
descriptions of the morning ablutions of camp life, in which
the campers are represented as standing on stone or log, and
stooping down to bathe the head in the limpid water. This
method we consider both inconvenient and awkward, so we
have provided ourselves with a handy tin wash-dish, which,
having filled with water, is set on a moss-covered log or
neighbouring bank, at a convenient height from the ground
to avoid an unnecessary amount of stooping, and after having
well scrubbed hands, face, and neck, empty the dish, which
is immediately taken possession of by the next in waiting.
The hasty toilet is soon completed, and we wend our way
back to camp.

The pail of hot tea and pan of fried pork are standing
invitingly ready. The shovel is again called into play to
scrape the ashes off the top of the buried bake-kettle. A
hook, out from an adjacent sapling, is inserted into each ear ;
it is gently lifted out and set down at a convenient distance
from the fire.

The dust is carefully wiped off the lid, one of the hooks
inserted in the ring on top, it is lifted off, and the rich, steam-
ing mess exposed to our admiring gaze. Spoons are at once
dipped in ; each one helps himself, a liberal quantity being
laid on each plate. The biscuit barrel is again relieved of a
portion of its contents, and with light hearts and hungry
stomachs we find seats and begin the wholesome repast. In
a few minutes both pork and beans have vanished. The
plates are replenished with a few spoonfuls of the apple sauce

4 ! ii
i if

It :1 lip.

ii li

:| <l

fjS

H i

!iil!

ill

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

we had seen so carefully prepared the preceding evening. In
fifteen or twenty minutes the meal is over, for when we sit
down to eat here we mean business, and very little conver-
sation is indulged in. A few stray remarks, such as " That's
wiiat will stick to a fellow's ribs, boys!" " Is that your fifth
biscuit, Charlie ? " " It is none of your [adjective] business,
Bill;" " Better set down your plate and take the pot, Chris.,"
the speaker being in doubt whether the said plate or pot con-
tains the most beans, being the only conversation indulged
in. Breakfast over and pipes lit, we must now begin to pack
up and prepare for the start up the river.

^,^

^1^

CHAPTER VI.

A CANOE VOYAGE.

HE canoes are sent for, and are soon laid alongside
a log which extends out into the water of the
little eddy. The ends are drawn a foot or two
, on to the soft shore to prevent their floating
away. The tc;nt is struck, and we proceed to
arrange our goods and make the packs. We
have been careful not to overstock ourselves with a super-
abundance of either clothing or provisions. It is a source of
no small amusement to the genuine woodman to witness the
vast quantity of supplies the amateur feels it necessary to
take with him for a few days' — or, at most, weeks' — sojourn in
the bush. There are the heavy canvas tent, with extra pro-
jecting fly ; tlie bundles of blankets, waterproofs, and rubber
sheets, and inflatable India-rubber bed and pillow ; the boxes
of bread, biscuit, and cheese ; the bottles of pickles and
spices ; the cans of condensed milk and prepared fruits ; the
rolls of spiced bacon and tins of fresh beef and pressed
vegetables ; and last, but by no means least, the demijohns
of brandy and gin, bottles of old rye and boxes of cigars.
They have been in the enjoyment of nearly all the luxuries of a
city larder, all the comforts of the drawing-room, and after a
week or two's sojourn, return to town and recount to sym-

4'^

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

II
1 1

liii

111'

!
1 1'

Ml'!)

■ I

i; ':
\ il!i;

pathizing groups the many hardships they have endured.
They tell of the many hours of severe toil, seated in the bow
of a canoe, holding the end of a trawling line and puffing a
fragrant Havana while a hired assistant paddles them round ;
or borne swiftly across the lake, propelled by the strong arms
of the guide in the stern, rifle in hand, in pursuit of an unfor-
tunate deer which has been driven in by the hounds ; or
standing by the foot of a fall or rapid, casting the fly to tempt
the speckled denizens of the waters, with a dozen mosquitoes,
half as many black-flies and sand-flies buzzing around, vainly
endeavouring to effect an entrance to gloved hand or veil-
protected face and neck. They have endured all those hard-
ships, and now return home, vainly hugging the idea that they
have been " roughing it."

Let us inspect our larder. We have several sides of long,
clear bacon, Ramsey's best, sewn up in coarse brown canvas
bags, about one hundred pounds in each sack ; there are
several bags of the best flour and a barrel of biscuits,
sufficient to last till we can be long enough in one camp to
enable the cook to bake loaf bread ; a box of mixed green and
black tea, a sack of dried apples, a few bushels of white
beans — the smaller the bean the better the quality ; a quantity
of split peas for soup ; a box or two of raisins ; a quantity of
rice and sugar, and a few bars of the best soap — a sufficient
proportion of each to last the time we purpose being out.
Each man carries his own tobacco, a few small cans each of
mustard and pepper and a bag of table-salt ; a box of matches
and pound or two of yeast cakes and baking-soda, in the
immediate charge of the cook. This is our larder. For
liquors we have none, except a half-gallon tin flask filled with
the best brandy, into which, by the advice of our family
physician, we have put a sufficient quantity of quinine to

A Canoe Voyage.

make it a valuable ague medicine, should we be threatened
with an attack of that enervating and troublesome disease.

For protection against the weather, we have a large tent
of No. 3 duck or heavy twilled gray cotton for ourselves and
men, and another smaller one to hold the cookery and pro-
visions. Each man has one pair of the largest and best gray
blankets, and by way of wearing apparel, a pair of strong kip
or cowhide boots, with patch bottoms and Hungarian tacks
in the soles. The leg must not be long enough to interfere
with the free use of the knee-joint. A pair of light gaiters,
or moccasins or leather slippers, to put on when round camp ;
three or four pairs of light woollen socks, a couple of pairs
of strong Guernsey drawers and as many shirts of the same
material, and two strong cotton ones, one pair of brown duck
and another pair of woollen pants, one coat and vest and a
few coloured coiton handkerchiefs, a hat and towel : this
comprises the whole of our wardrobe, and experience has
taught us that it is a sufficient supply for all our wants.
What is not required for immediate use we stow away in a
common cotton grain bag, and the whole weighs only a few
pounds. This is known by the name of the dunnage bag.

The writer of this has lived in the woods under canvas
for months at a time, and at all seasons of the year, and has
found the above-mentioned supplies ample ; but if it is to be
a winter party, the clothing will require to be of heavier
material, with the addition of mitts and moccasins, and in
deep snow, snowshoes will also be necessary. He has invari-
ably brought his men out healthy, fat, wiry, and strong, and
fitted for any amount of hard work.

But we must get to work and pack up. A pair of blankets
is spread and doubled on the ground. The tump-line, which
is made of two leather straps, each about six feet long by

■ii Hill

'■ m

ill
I I

III

;l I

ill

; I r
ili

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

three-fourths of an inch wide, and tapering to a point at one
end, three inches of the other end has been passed through
a small iron ring and securely sewn. Another strap three
inches wide at the middle and two feet long, of good stiff
harness leather, the ends tapering so that they also can be
passed through the iron rings and sewn thereto, is laid across
the blanket, the broad part projecting beyond its sides, and
the straps two and one-half feet apart. The ends of the
blankets are then turned in over the lines. Some other
neatly folded blankets, dunnage bags, and other small traps,
a sufficient quantity to make up the pack, are laid thereon.
One man now seizes the broad part, or head band, near the
iron rings. Another takes hold of the straps at the edge of
the blanket on the opposite side, when each raises up his
side, and the ends of the long thongs are passed through the
rings. Then, each man straightening himself up, thong in
hand, and a foot pressed on the pack, pulls them tight; a
half knot then being made at each ring, the ends of the
blanket are drawn together till they overlap. The thongs
are crossed in the middle, the men changing with each other,
and again drawn tight. The pack is now turned over and
the thongs which have been passed around it again change
hands. A half knot is made and the pulling process repeated
till it will yield no more. A double knot is now made, and,
as there is still a considerable length of the lines left, these
are carried up the ends, again passed through the iron rings,
drawn tight and securely tied. The pack is now completed,
and is nearly round. The broad part of the line forms a big
loop, and to raise it up, this is seized by the hands close to
the rings, and by one swinging lift it is landed on the shoulders
with the broad part across the forehead. If it has been
properly made it will be small in comparison to its weight.

A Canoe Voyage.

and will stand any amount of knocking round without be-
coming undone ; besides being easily stowed away in the
canoe. All the remainder of the goods are done up in like
manner. The bake-kettle is carefully done up in one of the
tents to prevent it from being accidentally broken. In the
meantime the cook has got his dishes washed, and is in the
act of stowing them away also, so as to make the least pos-
sible bulk.

The tea-pail, which is usually the smallest, is selected ;
our cooking utensils have been all made to order, so there is
little difficulty in putting them together. First, the tin plates
are laid in the bottom ; next the tea-dishes are put in ; the
spoons and knives and forks follow, all having been carefully
counted to see that none are lost ; the lid is put on, the pail is
then set in the next largest, the handle turned down, the lid
of this one also put in its place ; and the same process is
gone through with till the largest alone is visible. The lid of
this latter one is now securely tied on ; a tump-line wound
round the whole and tied with the projecting loop to receive
the forehead of the carrier. Everything is now ready, and we
proceed to load the canoes.

But while that is being done, another small but important
matter must be attended to. Our birchen canoes are frail
craft and easily damaged. A scrape on a stone, or bump
against a snag, may pierce a hole in the bottom, or, at least,
knock off a small piece of the gum from its seams, which are
sewn together with the pliant roots of the tamarack — the watap
of the Indians — and then coated over with gum. A small
leak, soaking into the cedar lining, and thereby adding
materially, to its weight, besides wetting the goods, would
quickly be the result. In order to be always prepared for
such an emergency, each one is provided with a "gum dish."

riW ""W

Camp Life in Northern Ontario,

illl

liii

i'!;

\ liilij

■Mil

MHh

A quantity of unmade shoemaker's resin, or tamarack gum,
to which a sufficient quantity of grease to overcome its brittle-
ness is added, is put in the dish and placed on the fire till
the whole is thoroughly melted and mixed together. It is
then taken off and allowed to cool, and whenever a leak
begins to show the canoe is at once run on shore, emptied of
its load and turned bottom up. A small fire is made, and
the gum dish placed thereon in charge of an attendant. The
bottom and ends of the little craft are carefully examined,
but no hole is visible. The lips are now applied successively
to certain suspicious-looking spots, pressed tight to the bark
and the breath sucked in. If we can draw in air, the leak
has been found, and a small wooden spoon, which has been
hastily made with a pocket-knife, is dipped in the melted
resin, a small portion is neatly spread over the hole, and the
leak is stopped. The tiny craft is replaced in the water and
held in place by one of the crew so that no part of it touches
either a stone or the shore, while the other replaces the load,
and again seated in their places they paddle away on their
course. The whole delay has not been more than ten or
fifteen minutes.

Our canoes are now loaded. Each pack is laid gently in
its place, and in such a manner as to leave the bow a few
inches higher than the stern. A sufficient space is left in
both bow and stern for the two men who are to form the
crew. The bowman takes his place, kneeling on the bottom,
his knees resting on a few balsam or cedar boughs ; the
steersman, with paddle in hand, gently shoves her a few feet
out into deeper water ; then, as the other, with the blade of
his paddle resting on the surface of the water, steadies her,
he steps lightly in, also kneeling on newly plucked boughs.
The canoe is then shoved out a few lengths, and turned

A Canoe Voyage.

broadside to the shore. Resting on their paddles, they now
ask, " How is she trimmed, boys ? " and the answer is given,
" All right." The paddles, one on the right, the other on the
left, are now dipped in the water at the same moment, and
propelled by the powerful strokes of their strong arms, the
little fairy shoots swiftly and gracefully forward on her course.
In a few minutes the others are loaded. The boss or cook
takes a careful look around to see that nothing has been
forgotten, and we are off.

The shores of the river are here completely overhung by
projecting cedars, alder, birch, and hemlock, with here and
there the top of a fallen tree nodding and swaying, the lower
limbs being submerged in the rippling water ; while straight,
tapering cedars, denuded of their limbs, but studded with
sharp projecting knots, lie treacherously a few inches under-
neath the surface. It is the duty of the man in the bow to
be constantly on the look-out for those hidden dangers, for a
moment's carelessness may be the cause of a hole being
pierced in the bow of the frail bark, or a sudden capsize,
spilling both men and goods into the stream.

As we are now about entering a section of country which
is the undisturbed home of the deer and moose, of the beaver
and muskrat, the man of the party who is the best shot and
has the quickest eye is selected for the bowman of the fore-
most canoe. The loaded rifle, or double barrel, one barrel
loaded with ball, the other with No. 3 shot, is laid carefully,
the butt between his knees and muzzle projecting upwards
over the bow of the canoe, ready to be snatched up and fired
at any moment. The occupants of the first canoe are
instructed to keep at least a quarter of a mile in advance of
the rest of the party.

At the distance of only a few chains above the starting-

;li !«

i.ii

1 1

. 1
■i

' 1'

: ■ )

ll|i

!!ii

'^ i

i '
ij

1
■ \

■ I 1

1 )

1 1

''1

' i
i

ill

ii'

1-
1

■ ' jiiiii!

iii

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

point there is a short rapid, and we must be careful to shoot
the canoe in between a projecting cedar tqp on the left and
some slightly submerged boulders on the right. Right in our
front little ripples on the water indicate the presence of other
rocks, which must also be avoided ; but a few skilful, swift
strokes of the paddles, and we are gliding through the smooth
waters above, the water curling up round the bow and gliding
in tiny bubbles past the sides of the slim vessel.

At the end of a five minutes' paddle, a low, murmuring
sound ahead denotes our approach to another rapid. There
is a bend in the stream, and a few rods ahead a few tufts of
tall grass, surrounded by the smooth, dark, water-worn shingle,
are seen on the left. The river is rushing down in tiny wave-
lets over its stony bed on the right. We paddle gently up the
right shore, assisted in our progress by the little eddy which
is invariably found at the foot of every rapid. Now the
paddling ceases altogether, and we glide slowly forward till a
slight grating noise is heard underneath. The canoe has
touched the bottom, and we are at a standstill. Our paddle
is now pressed tightly on the bottom, and the paddle and gun-
wale of the canoe grasped firmly, with one hand holding her
steadily in place, while the bowman, laying his paddle across
the gunwale in front of him, rises slowly to his feet and steps
lightly out into the water, firmly grasping at the same time
the bow with his right hand. Here there is no waiting for
orders; every one knows the part he is expected to perform,
and is ready for it. He now pushes the bow gently out a
little, so as to bring the stern into the shallow water in order
that we also may step out without incurring the risk of
getting wet. We can lead her up this rapid with her load,
so, laying the paddles on top and taking hold, one at each
end, we commence wading and guiding her up the stream.

A Canoe Voyage.

The slightest toucli on the bottom is easily and distinctly felt.
Suddenly she comes to a full stop ; her bow has lun upon a
hidden stone or tree root. A single glance shows us where
there is sufficient water to float her. She is gently backed
down a foot or two. We step a little further into the stream.
We may get over the boot-tops or suddenly step into an un-
seen hole up to the waist, but what of that ? The water is
warm, and, in anticipation of such an accident, pipes, tobacco
and matches have been stuck in the ribbon of our hats. In a
few minutes we are at the head of the rapid, and our canoe
lies safely by the side of the deep, still water.

We stand still for a few minutes to allow the water to drip
from our wet bodies, then, leaning with one hand on our
paddle, we raise one foot up behind and, taking hold of the
toe of the boot, bend it up as far as we can, when the water
pours out at the knee. A like performance with the other
foot, and we get rid of as much of the water as has not been
absorbed by our clothes. We again embark and have another
half-hour's paddle along short stretches of almost still water,
with occasional short, quick spurts where it rushes with
accelerated speed round sharp bends. The stream is every-
where overhung with dark green cedar, hemlock and balsam,
and here and there a soft maple, birch and clump of alder.

Here a naked trunk, which numerous spring floods with
their loads of ice have completely denuded of both limbs and
bark, and with root still firmly held on shore, is laid out far
into the water, with only a few inches above the surface.

We observe a spot where a few chips have been knocked
off the top and a short hardwood peg driven into the yielding
water-soaked timber a few inches from it. What does this
mean ? It is where a trapper has set his, steel trap the
previous fall or spring to catch the little muskrat, and he will.

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

,. ■:!!

Il'll

:llij

: ili'iiii

liilliii i'l'' i

most likely, do so again as soon as the close season is over
and the furred denizens of the forest have donned their
winter garb of rich, glossy, frost-defying fur. The small ring
at the end of the chain to which the trap is attached is passed
over the little peg. The trap, after the spring has been set,
is laid on the spot from whce the chip has been cut. During
the night Master Rat is in tne habit of making a roost of this
log, for what particular purpose man knoweth not. He in-
cautiously sets his little foot on the spring. There is a sharp
click, a sudden spring and plunge in the water, and he is
hanging by the foot completely submerged. There is a brief
struggle, and a drowned rat is dangling from the end of the
chain. Next morning the trapper paddles up, the game is
taken out, and the trap re-set for another victim. But how
does our hunter know on which log to set the trap ? As the
partridge invariably drums on the same fallen tree, so does
this denizen of the water return to the same log, which is
easily distinguished from its fellows by the quantity of excre-
ment left thereon.

But while surveying the log and discussing the method of
tr.king the muskrat, we have forgotten the distance we have
wOme. V/e are now entering the little bay, with a sudden
bend to the right at the head of it, - ' "nother and somewhat
larger one opens on the view. ^ .ing this little bay the

ears are greeted by the sudd . of rushing waters, when,

looking up, we see a little to xeft, and at about ten chains'
distance, a mass of water tumbling out of a small opening
among the trees,

A few more strokes of the paddle, and there are the rest
of our canoes lying at the head of the bay a short distance to
the left. They have reached the landing at the foot of the
first portage.

CHAPTER VII.

CAUGHT IN A THUNDERSTORM.

HERE is room only for one to land at a time, and
while the first canoe is unloading the men are
quietly resting in the others. As soon as the
contents of the first have been tossed on shore, it
is lifted out and placed bottom up a few yards
from the shore to leave room for the others. We
are quickly alongside. *' What did you shoot, boys ? " We
had heard a shot a few minutes after the first canoe left.
"Oh, it was only Jack firing at the fish-hawk nest on the top
of the tall pine stump on the west shore a short distance
above the first rapid." " Did he hit it ? " " Well, he made
the old lady leave and the young imps squeal at any rate."

In a few minutes everything is on shore, and with stooping
heads and laden shoulders we wend our way across the level
portage of a quarter of a mile or so, to the foot of Ox-Tongue
Lake. We are now in the township of McCHntock, having
crossed the boundary between it and Franklin a short distance
above the starting-point.

This being the first day of our canoeing, we had everything
to arrange and were late in getting a start. For as every
man has his own particular duty to perform, so every canoe
has its own portion of the goods to carry, and by this arrange-

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

i;l||i';i:

■ mil

liNi
'i'llli

M;ii'

ill'

ment the danger of anything being left behind or forgotten is
reduced to a min'mum. By this time the sun has well-nigh
reached the meridian, and we conclude we had better have
dinner before re-embarking.

The pack of pails, henceforth termed the cookery, is taken
over the first trip. While the cook unp ""cks, starts the fire
and sets the tea a-going, the balance of uie stuff is got over.
Wet socks anil clothing are taken oflf and hung up in the
bright sunshine to dry, others being substituted in their places.
" That biscuit barrel is an awkward load to carry. I don't
mind the weight of the darned thing, but it cuts into a fellow's
b: ck so. Couldn't we put the biscuit in a bag and leave it
here ? " As we can see no reasonable ground for opposing
this, we give our consent. The top is once more and for the
last time taken out, and while one holds a bag two men
speedily transfer the contents of the barrel. It takes two
bags to ho.'d the biscuits, and being emptied the [adjective]
" birrel " is unceremoniously kicked to one side.

The tea is very soon ready, the boiled pork produced, when
each one, a biscuit with a slice of pork on top in one hand,
and a dish of hot, fragrant tea in the other, finds a seat in some
shady nook to discuss the frugal but wholesome fare. Dinner
is soon over, and while the cook is washing the dishes, stowing
away the fragments and packing up, the after-dinner pipe is
indulged in. While we are in full enjoyment of the fragrant
weed, the sun is suddenly obscured. A low rumbling noise is
heard in the north-west. A sudden wind begins to moan in
fitful gusts amongst the tree-tops, and in a few minutes a
thunderstorm will be upon us. Instantly every man is on
his feet, for all know what is required in such a cast. Two,
axe in hand, are off into the woods for tent poles, some more
are clearing off a sufficient space for the tent, another hastily

Caught in a Thunderstorm.

cutting anc\ pointing tent pins, while still others are gathering
the clothefi which had been hung up to dry, and stowing
a portion of the goods unde^ the upturned canoes. In an
incredibly short space of time the tent is up and everything
made snug, and we watch the rapidly approaching storm.

In a few minutes it is upon us in all its fury. Dark
masses of clouds are chasing each other in quick succession
towards the south-east, rent by vivid flashes oi forked light-
ning. Loud peals of thunder follow each other in rapid
succession. The trees shake and bend before the fierce gale
which is now raging. Fragments of limbs are torn off the
trees and borne far out on the lake. The rain descends in
torrents, but we are perfectly dry. Our light tent does not
leak a drop.

In half-an-hour the brief but fierce storm is over, and the
noonday sun is again out in all his glory. We step outside.
A light shower is still falling in the woods from the surcharged
leaves, while huge drops of water depending from the ends of
limbs and sprigs of green moss are transformed into a myriad
gems by the bright sunshine. The merry whistle of the gray
Canada bird and the chickadee-dee of the little titmouse, as
he hops from limb to limb, are heard on every side, accom-
panied by the chirrer of a red squirrel, seated saucily on a
limb overhead with tail laid along his back.

A short half-hour and the well-stretched tent is again dry
and formed into a pack, the canoes again loaded, and we are off.

Only a very small portion of Ox-T' ague Lake is visible
from the landing, and as we paddle out from the shore we
catch sight of the tossing waters of the rapid around which
we have had to portage. Now a larger portion of lake opens
upon the sight. Right in front is a hill densely covered with
hardwood and hemlock, while a long, narrow bay extends

111

it;

'liiti

' I

i:!i'

i;ti

i!! ^

i;:iliij

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

fully a mile to the south, terminating in a small, shallow,
reed-covered marsh. We turn to the left in a northerly
direction and steer for the head of the lake. Numerous small
bays indent the shores, and the overhanging trees are beauti-
fully mirrored in the water. Many huge trunks, with roots
on shore and tops deeply sunk beneath the surface, are to be
seen on every hand. A short distance from the landing we
pass a sandy shore on our right, a favourite camping-ground
of the deer hunters ; but a recent fire, occasioned by a care-
lessly-left camp-fire, has robbed it of the greater portion of its
pristine beauty. Right opposite, on our left, a hardy settler
has cleared a few acres, put up his little house, and is
endeavouring to hew out for himself and family a home.
The house is surrounded by Indian corn, potatoes and vege-
tables. The oats growing in a small field, together with
beaver hay, will furnish the winter's supply of food for his cow.

Gradually, as we get out into the open lake, we begin to
ieel the effects of the stiff nor'-wester, which — to use a nautical
phrase — strikes right on the port beam. Our little vessel bobs
up and down in the short, rough sea, and must be kept with
her bow quartering to the waves to avoid being swamped in
the trough between them.

Hitherto we have been seated on the thwarts, now we
crouch low down in the bottom to lower the centre of gravity.
Both eye and arm must now faithfully do their duty. A
moment's carelessness or the missing of a single stroke at the
proper moment may lead to irretrievable disaster. We must
not paddle too hard, or we will drive her under, but keep
steadily at it, and, as the huge swell comes rolling forward,
lift her gently to it. The bow rises up, ships a few drops of
water; the wave rolls under, lifting the stern, and she gUdes
softly down on the other side and is ready for the next. Thus

Caught in a Thunderstorm.

we glide on up the lake, gradually approaching the west shore.
We dare not look round ; to do so might be fatal, for our
canoe is a ticklish lady and demands all our attention. A
buck is quietly looking on from beneath the spreading boughs
of a projecting cedar ; but he is perfectly safe, and seems to
realize the fact that we have other business on hand which
requires all our attention. We must forego the luxury of
tempting venison steak till a more convenient season. The
land in front is low and level, with a wide stretch of cedar
swamp extending right down to the water's edge. A few tall
balsams and still taller spruce, pine, and tamarack tower high
above their fellows.

A mile or so in the rear is a range of high hardwood hills,
extending away northerly in a line parallel to the shore. We
are now well in with the land and out of the heaviest sea and
are able to shape our course in a more direct line up the lake.
Right in front is another long, narrow bay, extending for a
mile and-a-quarter beyond the head of the lake proper. At
its head empties in a large brook, the outlet of Fatty's and
Dotty's Lakes, each half as large as Ox-Tongue, which lie,
the former in the township of Finlayson and the latter on the
boundary between that and Sinclair. On the west side of
this bay is a strip of rich, alluvial, hardwood land. On the
east the shore is composed of high hardwood and pine-clad
hills. We round a point and the clearing of another pioneer
is before us. These are the last settlers on the river, and are
eight miles distant from the nearest neighbour. With a last
look at the little dwellings standing on that wild shore, we
bid adieu to civilization. Getting abreast of the clearing, we
are opposite the mouth of the river, to which we can now run
across before the wind. We turn round to the right and, for
the first time, catch a sight of the east shore. It is a series

h'l

• ""lit I

•I ! !

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

of high hardwood hills, extending right down to the water's
edge. In a little sand-fringed bay is a small abandoned clear-
ing of an acre or two in extent. On our right is a low, birch-
clad island, another favourite camping-ground for the deer
hunter. For no part of the backwoods is more famous for the
numbers or fatness of its deer than the maple-clad hills which
surround Ox-Tongue, and the blood of many a noble buck
and graceful doe has dyed its waters in response to the rifle
crack, as the fugitives bravely stemmed the wave in their
flight from the pursuing hound.

We pass to the right of another spruce-clad island, with
its surrounding bed of water-lilies, and steer along the north
shore, covered with stately red pine, with dense undergrowth
of balsam and hazel. We glide swiftly and smoothly over
the seething waters. No danger now, as v/e are running
straight before the wind, and have only to keep the canoe
steady and straight on her course. In a few minutes we are
at the mouth of the river. An ugly swell is rolling, as the
current meets the wind-tossed waters of the lake. With a
few more strokes of the paddles we are in the smooth water
beyond. We run into the west shore, and the man in the
bow takes hold of a small, projecting alder and draws it
underneath him. We rise gently up from our recumbent
positions, and seat ourselves on the thwarts to ease our
cramped limbs. The little vessel is now perfectly still, held
in her place by the limb our bowman is sitting upon. Pipes
are filled, and we take a smoke.

After a fifteen minutes' rest, the alder limb is let go and
we are again under way up the river, paddling easily against
the gently-flowing current. In a few minutes we pass to the
left of a small dot of an island, which at a distance looks like
a large alder bush, so completely is the land concealed and

Caught tn a Thunderstorm.

ater's
:lear-
jirch-

deer
or the
which

buck
e rifle
1 their

1, with

; north

^rowth

y over

unning
canoe

we are
as the

A^ith a
water
in the
aws it
imbent
se our
1, held
Pipes

ro and

against

to the

ks Uke

ed and

the shore overhung by the dense fohage. The banks of the
stream are of only a moderate height, and are covered with
large pines, birch, and balsam ; the dry land here comes
right to the water's edge, then again retreats a short dis-
tance back, leaving a few rods of marsh, covered with alder
and tall beaver grass, elevated only a few inches above the
surface of the stream, and completely submerged at every
freshet. Now we are gliding along a stretch of clear water.
Anon through a mass of long water-grass, the tops swaying
with the current. Now we pass over a stretch of deep wr' .>- ;
again, all at once, it shallows up to only a foot or two in depth.
Hist ! there is something moving yonder close - to the shore
beneath the projecting boughs of yonder alder bush. We
glance in the direction indicated, and there is a little brown
head with sharp eyes moving swiftly up-stream, at a distance
of only a few feet from the shore. A foot or so behind the
head is a curved black object about the thickness of one's
finger. Both ends are in the water, and the centre elevated
a couple of inches above the surface in the form of a small
arch. This is the tail of the httle muskrat, the body being
completely submerged. Suddenly both head and tail dis-
appear, and he is off to his house underneath some projecting
bank.

A little further on and we pass an alder floating down. It
has been newly cut, for the leaves are quite green. We
pause, and taking hold of it lift it out of the water. It looks
as if it had been cut with a pocket-knife by some schoolboy.
Every stroke of the knife — half-a-dozen or so — is distinct
from each other. But a closer examination shows that the
knife-marks, instead of being straight and smooth from the
keen edge of the blade, are slightly rough and a little concave.
It is the hand, or rather the tooth-work, of the beaver. The

Camp Life in NortJtern Ontario.

ifiiiiiil

1 1

(■ 1

' r.. , /ill

• m

1''

alder has been cut probably with the intention of making it
a part of next winter's supply of provisions ; but by some
oversight it has been allowed to float down the stream, — for
beavers, like men, are occasionally careless, — and it is con-
pequently lost.

Again we encounter some wands, or pieces of alder and
birch, the bark completely stripped off, every tooth-mark of
the animal being distinctly visible on the surface. On these
master, or mistress, beaver has supped the previous evening.
The animal lives exclusively on the bark of trees. The poplar
is seemingly his favourite food, after which comes the alder
and white birch.

Now we pass a large pile of alder and white birch saplings
beneath the water, and close into the shore, where the soft
Alluvial bank has attained an elevation of a few feet above
the surface of the water. This pile of brush is the beaver's
supply of food for next winter, and he has burrowed a hole in
the adjacent bank for his castle, the entrance to which is down
deep beneath the surface of the water, thence sloping upwards,
till it reaches the chamber m the interior of the dwelling,
where it is both dry and warm. Here, if he is a new-comer, it
has been the summer's work of himself and partner to prepare
the home and gather the supply of provisions for the long and
severe winter. Beavers never venture out while the river is
frozen over, except to the brush-pile, when, after hauling a
stick out of the water and eating off the bark, the trunk is
again thrust out and allowed to float away. Here the wily
trapper knows exactly where to set his trap, which he fastens
to a picket driven into the bottom of the stream. It must be
put down in such a position that the animal, when caught, will
be unable to drag the trap on shore, or he will in a very few
Jhours release himself by cutting off his foot. Should he

Caught in a Thunderstorm.

dng it

some

L,— for

s con-

er and
lark of
n these
craning,
poplar
e alder

saplings
the soft
;t above
beaver's
hole in
is down
ipwards,
welling,
;omer, it
prepare
.ong and
river is
|auling a
trunk is
the wily
|e fastens
must be
ght, will
very few
lould he

succeed in thus freeing himself, the wound quickly heals over,
and it is no uncommon thing for beavers to be caught with
both front feet gone, the fellow, like an old warrior, hobbling
round upon his stumps. It is here also during the winter
months that they bring forth their young.

A little over a mile above the lake, after having followed
numerous sharp bends and windings, a roar of falling waters
begins to be heard, gradually growing louder. The river
narrows somewhat. We round a bend, where right in front
is an inclined mass of dark shingle, with water boiling and
bubbling through amongst the stones. We now turn abruptly
to the right, and shoot swiftly across in front of the fall in a
rapid froth-covered current. To the left the water is rushing
down amongst the boulders and round the roots of some large
hemlocks and elms. Half-a-dozen strokes, and we wheel
suddenly to the left. The next moment our bow is up against
the stones and we are at a standstill. We have reached the
end of the portage at the foot of the Ragged Falls.

In a few minutes everything is on shore, the packs
shouldered, and we are off over the portage of ten or twelve
chains. It is rather steep and rough, and, owing to the rug-
gedness of the shore, we are compelled to ascend a considerable
distance higher than what is actually necessary to overcome
the difference in level of the water and again descend to the
shore at the head of the chute.

Around a little bend in the river is an old camp-ground,
and here, though it is still early, we will camp for the night,
this being our first day out.

CHAPTER VIII.

NATURE— ANIMATE AND INANIMATE.

N half an hour everything is over the portage, and
while camp is being pitched, we determine to hav
a look at the falls and see also if we cannot add to
our larder a few of the trout that we think ought to
be lurking amongst the eddies of the chute, although
the water is now warm, and they will mostly have
retired to the colder strata near the bottom of the lake. A
small hook is quickly made fast to the end of a fine line ten
or twelve feet in length, and, knife in hand, we are into the
woods and have cut a maple sapling of the same length as the
line. Securing also a piece of fat pork, we wend our way
back to the foot of the falls, and, climbing up over the big
boulders to where it takes its final leap, we find beneath some
huge trunks of pine borne down by the spring freshets a deep,
dark pool at the foot of a ledge of rock. On either side are
high granite rocks, below which it spreads out somewhat and
finally reaches the foot, or smooth water, by narrow channels
amongst the loose stones. During the spring freshets or
heavy rains of the fall it is a great, roaring flood, but now it
is low water, and we ascend easily without wetting a foot.
The water is boiling and churning in the pool, so that one
would scarcely think even a trout could maintain its position

Nature — Animate and Inanimate.

in the seething mass. Our line is quickly got ready, a small
piece of pork stuck on the hook, and it is cast in. Scarcely
has it sank beneath the surface, when there is a sudden jerk
and quivering of the line. We give it a quick pull, and a
speckled beauty is dangling in the air. Our pocket-knife is
again quickly out, and a small crotched sanling is cut, the fish
taken off the hook and one end of the crotch passed in through
the gills and out at the mouth. Our first fish is thus secured
and laid safely to one side. The bait is replenished and again
cast in. There are a number of the pot-like holes similar to
this, and they are all tried in succession.

Smile not, professional angler! who believes that trout can
only be taken with the fly. We have seen many a fine string
of little beauties caught in this manner. The fish seem to
have dashed at the swiftly-moving bait and got caught before
they felt the taste of this, to them, novel food. If, by any
means, one of them has tasted it without getting hooked, you
may bid him good-bye till you have something more tempting
to offer.

Climbing over logs and stones, and casting the line into
every pool or lump of froth as we pass, we make our way to
the top of the falls, and finally regain the camp with a fine
string of as lovely trout as one could desire. A half-dozen
willing hands are quickly at work. The fish are cleaned and
placed in the frying-pan along with the pork. In a few
minutes supper is ready, and the scenes of the previous even-
ing are enacted over again, while the merry jest and verse of
song are heard on every side.

In due time all hands are in bed. The fire is beginning
to burn low, and the conversation is all but hushed. The
mellow light of the moon is playing hide-and-seek amongst
the tree-tops, as they gently wave to and fro in the night

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

breeze. A night-owl is uttering his ho-oo-oo in a tree-top
hard by the camp, and is answered by some belated member
of the same family from the otiier side of the river. Suddenly
we hear a crackling of dry sticks a short distance behind thvi
camp. "Hist, boys; what is that?" The welkin is now
awakened by a shrill something between the toot of a horn
and a whistle — a sound easily imitated by the mouth, but
one which we,- at least, cannot describe with the pen. It is
the whistle of a deer. Immediately one of our most ardent
hunters — one only in theory, making his first trip into the
wilds —is up and undoing the rifle from the tent-pole.

" Where are you going ? "

" I am going to shoot that deer."

'• Well, you had better take a grain of salt with you to
put on his tail. He aint agoin' to stand there looking at you
and the camp till you get near enough to shoot him,"

Our amateur hunter is inclined to take this as something
approaching an insult, and steps lightly out in bare feet,
carefully, as he thinks, avoiding all dry limbs, and while
avoiding one as surely steps on two others, and larger ones.
At last he stops, thinking he must be nigh the game, when,
after listening for full five minutes, another faint whistle is
heard away in the distance. The deer has quietly walked
off, no one knows how or when.

Our hunter now returns to the tent, grumbling in some-
what forcible language at having got his toes hurt by the
brush. A half-hour is now passed in listening to thrilling
tales of deer-hunting, or some wonderful exploits in tall
shooting, when the conversation again gradually lags, and
finally perfect silence reigns, — a silence and calmness which
we have never experienced anywhere except in the deep
woods, broken only by the occasional whistle of the Canada

Nature — Animate and Inanimate.

bird or cry of the whip-poor-will, the chirp of the tree-frog,
and roar of the adjacent falls.

It is another glorious morning, when, in response to the
" Hurrah, boys; breakfast !" we emerge, towel in hand, from
the tent. The air in the early morning in the dense woods
seems as if it were possessed of a peculiarly invigoratmg
freshness which we have never felt in any other place. In
half an hour breakfast is over. It is no daintily-prepared
meal of hot rolls, buttered toast, luscious beefsteak, and fresh
eggs, washed down with well creamed and sugared tea or
coffee, but dry biscuit, baked beans, and fried pork, with a
top-dressing of cold apple-sauce, and a dish of tea. It was
a meal we could not eat at home, but is just what we want
here. And such a meal as we do make of it ! Each man
disposes of as much as would suffice for half a moderately-
sized family in town or city ! We have been considerably
annoyed during the early morning by mosquitoes and black-
flies, and the insidious and almost imperceptible sand-fly, —
but this is an annoyance we all knew we had to put up with,
and has scarcely been as bad as was represented.

Immediately after breakfast packing up is begun, and a
stranger would think, from the apparent confusion in which
everything is lying around, that half a day at least would be
consumed in the process ; but each man knows his own
blanket and his own share of the heterogeneous mass, and
in another half-hour the work is completed, and a number
of neatly-tied packs are all that are fo be seen. Not a single
article has been overlooked or forgotten. The embers of the
fire are carefully scraped together, and, before the cookery
is packed up, deluged with water ; the dry turf which sur-
rounded the fire being carefully examined and thoroughly
wetted to drown out any scattered embers, which, if over-

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

looked, might remain smoulderin^'^f for days and then break
out into flame and destroy many miles of valuable timber,
besides materially damaging the land as well. This care is
imposed upon us by an Act of the Provincial L^.gislature to
prevent the spreading of bush fires in certain localities, and
were we to neglect it, we would be liable to a heavy penalty.

A very few minutes suffice to load the canoes. Each is
furnished with an axe, as we are likely to encounter newly-
fallen trees or floodwood, through which we shall have to cut
our way. In a few minutes we are off, giving short, vigorous
strokes with the paddle. A short, quick stroke is preferable
in a bark canoe to a long, steady pull, such as is best in a
punt or skiff. Our little vessel is so light that as soon as the
paddle is lifted out of the water her headway slackens, con-
sequently the short, quick stroke is preferable to the long,
steady one in a heavier vessel.

Here the current is much more swift than it was below
the falls, especially around the bends and where the higher
banks come right down to the water. But the practised eye
of the steersman sees on which side of the stream is the
slowest current, or the little returning eddy, which is quickly
taken advantage of. In about twenty minutes we see ahead
a perceptible fall, or rather miniature chute, of a dozen yards
or so in length. The water is rushing through amongst the
half-submerged shingle, a bar of which extends out from
either side, leaving a narrow canal of smooth, swift water
ir. the middle of the stream. Towards this narrow passage
the water above, fan-like, converges, then rushes down in a
smooth and unbroken sheet, till at the foot it meets the
retiring eddy on each side, and dashes away down the centre
of the stream in a narrow, rippling, heaped-up ridge, till,
meeting the still, deep waters below, it spreads out, is ab-

!l I

Nature — Animate and Inanimate.

sorbed, and vanishes. We gently propel our vessel up along-
side this ridge till close to tiie foot of the barrier of stones,
when quickly and deftly the canoe is shot into the centre.
With a few skilfully-directed and vigorous strokes we dash
right up the centre, and the next moment are skimming
swiftly and gracefully over the still, deep waters above. A
little further on and we are gliding over a smooth, pond-like
expanse, with a narrow strip of low, alder-covered land, bor-
dered at the water's edge with luxuriant reeds and coarse
grass on either side. Another half-mile, and the water ahead
is seen rushing swiftly but smoothly, broken only by tiny
whiilpools, around a bend to the right. At the foot of this
rapid we see a narrow opening in the woods at either side of
the stream, extending in an easterly and westerly direction
in a straight line. A blackened spot is seen on the trees
that stand close to the open space, where pieces of the bark
and timber have been hewn off. These marks are called
"blazes," and have been made to mark the line; and this is
the boundary or townline between the townships of McClin-
tock and Finlayson.

Impelled by the quick and skilfully-plied strokes of the
paddles, we quickly glide up the swift waters round the little
bend. Here we must be doubly careful, for though we must
ply both swift and powerful strokes, there are many large
stones scattered all round, with only an inch or two of water
above them. To strike against the sharp edge of one at this
speed would be fatal to our light vessel. Another half mile,
we have overcome one or two more of those little raceways,
and are in another pond-like stretch, with its margin of alder-
covered marsh to the left. We perceive ahead in the dis-
tance the stream flowing swiftly round a bend to the left, and
tumbling over and through a bed of large shingle, elevated

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

a couple of feet or so above the level on which we are floating.
We keep along up the shore on our right, straight for a little
sharp bend in the bank, with an eddy just about large enough
to hold a couple of canoes right at the foot of the tumbling
waters, where we see some of our party engaged in unloading
their canoes under a spreading birch.

The packs are again quickly transferred from canoes to
shoulders. A three minutes' walk across a narrow neck of
Ian i, and we find Otirsclves again on the side of the river.
To follow it round the bend would be a full quarter of a mile,
up which it would be impossible to propel the canoes.

Here we meet the swiftly-flowing river at right angles.
During the spring floods it is a rushing, roaring stream of
ten or twelve rods in width, and at least twelve feet deep ;
now it is confined to a narrow channel of some sixty feet
along the north bank. The remainder of the channel is now
dry shingle, amongst which are many tufts of lovely tall ferns.
Above this the stream conies in abroad, shallow body round
a bend from the east, and is spread out over the whole
channel. The end of the portage on the other shore is
directly opposite, and, as the water is too deep to wade, the
canoes are again launched, and all are ferried across. This
is the foot of the High Falls portage, and once more we
trudge off" beneath our loads. For a short distance the
narrow path is level, and cuts off a short bend of the river,
glimpses of which we catch to the right, through amongst the
trees. Now we are on the shore and ascending the side of a
hill. A dull roar ahead has been gradually increasing, till at
last, on reaching the top of the ridge, the noise becomes
deafening. We lay down the packs to draw our breath and
enjoy the view. Stepping to the brow of the bank we catch
our first sight of the " High Falls." Away a few chains to

Nature — Animate and Inanimate.

the east, and at about the same level on which we are stand-
ing, — for we are now many feet above the level of the river, — a
dark body of water is seen rushing apparently right past the
sharp angle of a perpendicular granite cliff. It dashes down
the narrow iron-bound channel, in two or three quickly suc-
ceeding leaps, full forty feet into an almost round basin
bordered by shelving rocks ; then gliding round to the other
shore, rushes along the base of a perpendicular clifif, fringed
on top with cedar, hemlock, and pine. Pieces of white froth
at short intervals become detached from the mass at the foot
of the fall, and twirl and bob away down the stream. They
are now momentarily arrested by a projecting ledge of rock,
or caught by an overhanging limb of a tree ; then shooting
swiftly down a smooth stretch, are finally lost in the dis-
tance, where, being deprived of the churning powers beneath,
the upper bubbles gradually collapsing, after playing around
for a short time in some little eddy, become gradually absorbed
in the surrounding water.

Returning, we resume our loads. Advancing by a crooked
path up another elevation, then across a gully, which extends
by a narrow gap between the rocks, down to the foot of
the falls, we emerge on an old camp-ground, a rod or two
in extent, by the side of the river above the falls. The whole
portage has a length of perhaps thirty chains. After a drink
of ice-cold water out of a litile spring we have discovered in
the rocky gulch we have just crossed, and a ten minutes'
indulgence in the amber-tipped bria^'-root, we are again off to
the lower end of the portage for another load ; in an hour or
so everything is up to this point.

The stream for the next sixty rods is so shallow and full
of stones that we find it more convenient *" carry our goods
up along the north bank for that distance ; and so, resuming-

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

the packs, we wend our way along a path we had brushed out
on a former trip, and deposit the burthen by the side of the
still waters, on a grassy plot beneath a drooping balsam. In
a little while everything is got there except one light load,
and by this time our cook has the tin pail full of fragrant
boiling-hot tea, iianked by a pile of biscuit and plate of boiled
pork, cut into large slices, and laid out on an empty bag for
a table-cloth, awaiting us.

As usual, we are ready for dinner. Seldom, indeed, are
the words, " I am not at all hungry," heard when we are once
fairly at work. Talk of your horn of brandy or glass of gin
to whet the appetite ! We have been vigorously plying the
paddle, trudging over the rough portage, bending beneath a
heavy load, breathing the pure air of heaven, and when
thirsty drinking the pure water of the river. Our brows, nay,
our whole bodies, have been " wet with honest sweat" ever
since early morn. What need have we of any drink, of that
soul and body destroying element which man's ingenuity has
manufactured out of the fruits of the earth which God gave
for wholesome bread, to give us a relish for our food ? The
vigorous attack on the plain, but strong, diet s'^ows whether
we are hungry or not, and the pail is quickly drained of its
last drop.

After dinner we take a look at the falls from the top,
which is only a few steps off. Here, immediately above the
fall, the river is between two and three chains wide, when
suddenly the shores turn almost at right angles to the stream,
and the water approaches in a smooth, deep, dark, unruffled
mass to the very brink, where it is only a little over thirty
feet wide ; then it suddenly dashes from ledge to ledge away
into the swirling eddy beneath. A mimic Niagara ! what a
spot for trout in the early spring, or late in the fall, when the

Nature — Animate and Inanimate,

fish come up out of the deeper waters of the lake. An hour's
rest, and perhaps a five minutes' siesta — for the drowsy god is
very apt to steal upon one as he reclines, pipe in mouth,
beneath the shade of a friendly balsam. We had no intention
of going to sleep. We did not think we were asleep till
suddenly we start up from a state of obliviousness to find the
pipe has slipped from our mouth. There it is lying amongst
the leaves where it dropped as the soothing deceiver stole
upon us.

By this time the cook has everything that had been loosed
again packed up. The loads are tossed upon the shoulders,
and away we go. A few minutes suffice to reload the canoes,
and once more we are under way.

Another short paddle over comparatively still water, a
few swift, strong strokes up another short rapid, a sudden
bend to the right, and we reach another short, rough spot,
but by keeping close to the right bank of the stream we are
able to thread our way amongst the stones by paddling and
pushing alternately. A five minutes' paddle brings us to
another difficult place, but this time there is only a very
short portage on the south side. It is only three or four
chains in length, and everything is quickly across. One of
the canoes has been butted against a stone at the last rapid,
and a small leak is the result. A few shreds of bark are torn
from a neighbouring birch, and laid out on the dry shingle
in the bed of the river, some dry limbs broken and laid on
top, and a lighted match applied. While one holds the ever
ready gum-dish over the flame, others turn up the canoe,
when a careful survey reveals the small leak. The surround-
ing bark is carefully wiped dry, then a burning brand is held
over it, and by the time the gum is melted the bark is thor-
oughly dry. This is absolutely necessary, for the gum will

■HT^

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

not adhere to the bark if the latter is at all wet when it is
applied. In a couple of minutes the craft is once more water-
tight. The packs are again laid carefully in their places.
Extra care is taken this time to make the seats comfortable,
for it is a long pull to the next portage, and if we encounter
much floodwood and have long delays in consequence, it may
be camping-time before we can reach it.

We now glide smoothly and noiselessly along a deep, dark
stream, upwards of two chains in average width, frequently
pulling through heavy banks of long water-grass. In many
places the current is scarcely perceptible. The river is very
crooked: now the sun is directly on our back, then on the
left, again on the right hand ; anon another sharp bend brings
it almost directly in our faces, and the prow is pointed to
every point of the compass in rapid succession. Here we
are able to steer straight from point to point on alternate
sides of tiie stream; there we must run half across the river
to avoid the bushy top of a fallen balsam or spruce at some
narrow bend. Everywhere the shore is lined right down to
the water with overhanging alders and balsams, their lower
limbs submerged ; and there are tall pines and spruce in the
background. There, on the north shore, is a high hill,
clothed with a dense covering of heavy hardwood, a short
distance back from the river. It is soon left behind, but
after another half-hour's pull it is again almost directly in
front, seemingly as near as it was before. Another sharp
turn tc ^he east, and we bid it a final good-bye. " Hist !
there is a duck just at yonder point." We paddle gently up.
Our bowman with gun in hand is ready for a shot. There
she is ! a shell-duck with a dozen young ones no bigger
than your fist. They now discover our approach. There is
a. sudden dash, and away they go, the old lady leading, fol-

Nature — Animate and Inanimate.

lowed closely by the little gray mites. Swiftly they dash
along, faster than we can follow. Scarcely anything is
visible save half a dozen streaks of sparkling white water.
They are soon out of sight, and are seen no more, having
diverged into some one of the numerous small lagoons which
open out at short intervals all along the shore where the
surrounding country is swampy.

There, right ahead, is the naked trunk of a great lofty pine,
its roots resting against one shore, the top sticking against the
other. It has been uprooted and brought down during the
high water, and by some means swung athwart the stream,
there to remain, either to be released by the next freshet or
form the key-log of a mass of floodwood, gradually increasing
in size, as tree after tree is brought down, and added to the
pile We cannot get round either end, but the centre of the
tree is submerged, and we may be able to run over it. We
paddle slowly up and find there is only two or three inches
of water above the trunk at the deepest part, not nearly
enough to float the canoe, deeply laden as she is. She is laid
alongside. We step lightly out on the submerged tree, then
bringing the bow up with one of us on either side, she is
easily lifted over. We again step in, lay hold of the paddles,
and resume our course. Before going much further another
obstruction is met with. This time a dozen or more trees
have got locked together, completely blocking the channel.
The thickly growing aiders overhang the mass of timber on
both sides, and before we can begin to make a passage some
of them must be cut out of the way. One of us is quickly on
shore, and the little craft is made fast to a projecting limb.
The obstructing bushes are soon cut and tossed into the
water. After ten minutes* work with axe and long pole,
cutting, parting and pulling, a narrow passage is cleared

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

'» ,1 1

between the mass of floating timber and the shore, and pushing
the canoe up the opening, we once more embark and are off.

We are now skirting along by the side of a stretch of
burnt land on our left. A dense mass of poplar and white
birch, intertwined with red raspberry and thimbleberry bushes,
completely cover the ground. Amongst these bushes are
numerous tall blackened trunks of half-burnt pine and birch,
varied by an occasional green top which has escaped the
devouring element. The fire has taken place some ten or
twelve years ago, and has been caused by the carelessness of
some deer-hunter or trapper.

Another mile along the winding stream and we pass the
mouth of a river coming in from the south side, nearly half as
large as the one we are ascending. This is called the South
Branch, and has its source some ten or fifteen miles to the
south-east in the township of Livingstone. After passing
this point we are for some distance clear of the marshy
ground, and for the rest of this day's travel, at least, the current
is much more strong, and our progress correspondingly slower.
Besides, there are more frequent interruptions with tree-tops
and masses of floating timber. The sun is now getting low
in the west ; it is nearing six o'clock, and all hands are on the
lookout for a proper spot to pitch camp for the night.

The river banks are here formed of either sandy loam or
stiff clay with points of rock sticking out at short intervals,
and have a perpendicular height of from six to ten feet. At
length we reach a spot where the land rises less abruptly from
the water, and turn into the shore. An old and experienced
hand leaps out and up the bank. For perhaps a couple of
minutes he is out of sight. He then returns to the top of the
bank with the welcome announcement : " This place will do
very well, boys."

CHAPTER IX.

A WET DAY IX CAMT.

N five minutes everything is on shore. The canoes
are taken out and turned bottom up, and every
man is busily employed at his allotted portion of
work. In less than an hour the tents are pitched,
the beds prepared, and everything made snug for
the night. Our iieavy boots having been removed,
we are seated round on moss-covered logs, or reclining on tlu'
frc^.j^rant boughs of balsam, awaiting supper.

So far our only bread has been biscuit or hard tack, and
there is now a general desire for a change. The cook has
passed the word that if we will but have a little patience he
will make pancakes for supper. This offer is hailed with
delight. A pail of water is hung over the fire, the necessarj-
quantity of flour emptied into the big tin dish, to which a
handful of salt is added, and the requisite portion of hot
water, and the mass stirred with a spoon mto a thin batter.
Meanwhile half a bake-kettleful of pork has been frizzling
and frying; it is now done, the meat lifted out and placed in
a plate, and the boiling grease put in another, a quantity of
the flour batter poured in, and the kettle again placed on the
fire. In a few minutes the underside is done, when it is
divided into quarters by the big butcher knife, carefully

i i

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

Jl II'

■

turned and replaced on the fire. A few minutes more and it
is thoroughly cooked. The pieces taken out, and a quantity
of grease poured in, the bottom again covered with the batter,
and the same process gone through with till the cooking of
the whole mass is accomplished. The vigorous attack, com-
plimentary remarks, and the empty plates bear ample testi-
mony to the quality of the food. Supper over and dishes
washed, it is proposed to have some cakes for breakfast.
Another visit is made to the bag of flour, and the necessary
quantity, together with salt and water, emptied into the dish.
This time a small portion of baking-soda is added, and the
whole kneaded into dough. Both bake-kettle and frying-pan
are this time called into service, carefully wiped clean, then
rubbed over with grease to prevent the cakes from sticking to
the metal. A piece of the dough is laid in, carefully kneaded
and flattened out on the bottom with the hand, for here there
is neither rolling-pin nor bakeboard. It is surprising liow
few articles we find absolutely necessary for our work, and
how many heretofore deemed indispensable are discarded
and done without. A few coals are drawn out from under-
neath the fire, the bake-kettle set on them, and the lid
ornamented with a light covering of the same material. The
frying-pan is propped up in a slanting position before the fire,
with a shovelful of coals thrown down behind it. Care must
be observed that the cooking process is not done too hurriedly,
or a sodden, half-cooked cake, with almost impenetrable
crust, will be the result of the labour. But our cook is master
of the position, and in an incredibly short space of time a
dozen rich, light-brown cakes, the scones of our early child-
hood, and bannocks of the North-West, are ranged around
cooling against trees ai 1 logs.

During the last hour the sky has been gradually becoming

A Wet Day in Camp.

nd it
intity
atter,
ng of
com-
testi-
iishes
ikfast.
essary
3 dish,
id the
[ig-pan
n, then
king to
neaded
re there

how
rk, and
carded
under-
the lid
The
the fire,
re must
irriedly,
letrable
master
time a
' child -
around

ecoming

overcast. Tlie cry of the large black woodpecker has been
heard at short intervals all day. Low gusts of wind are
sweeping up from the south, and moaning among the tree-
tops. The flies, during the last half-hour, have become
much more troublesome, while the tree-frogs are keeping
up an almost continuous chirping. The smoke from the
fire, instead of rising in graceful spiral columns, and melt-
ing away above the trees, is floating in heavy masses down
the river, and everything betokens the unmistakable approach
of rain. It will be no sudden summer thunder-sliower of
only an hour or two's duration, but a steady, even down-
pour, which may detain us where we are for the whole of
to-morrow. Our small dishes are piled bottom up with the
larger on top. The canoes are all right, for they were laid
bottom up when we landed. Care is taken to see that each
part of the tent is evenly stretched, while every article that
water can at all injure is put in a dry place. Nothing must
be allowed to touch the canvas, or the water will soak
through it. Everything is soon housed. The sides of the
front part of the tent, hitherto turned back and left open, are
drawn together and laced, and we sink to rest. There is no
noise of tumbling waters for a lullaby to-night, for the slowly
flowing river rolls noiselessly past ; but we are lulled to sleep
by the moaning of the wind among the giant mountain pines ;
grandest of music, and old as the everlasting hills.

About midnight we are awakened by the pattering of
the heavy drops of rain overhead. The wind has risen to a
gale, and is now howling through the trees. In a short space
of time it is a steady downpour, now falling almost perpen-
dicularly ; again in a slanting direction, borne by the varying
blast. "Lie over, Hank; I am jammed right against the
tent, and my shoulder is wet through," exclaims one suddenly-

Camp Life in North.crn Ontario.

" III
::ip

■M

awakened sleeper. " By Jove, 1 left my socks outside to dry
by the fire ; I guess 1 had better bring them in," says another.
As the speaker hastily rises and stumbles out into the dark-
ness he is followed by the request to bring in a forgotten pair of
pants from one quarter, and a shirt or hat from another. In
a very brief space of time he returns, with such of the articles
as he has been able to lay his hands on in the pitchy darkness.
And, while securing a pair of lialf-dried socks or pants, he
has succeeded in getting his own shoulders and feet com-
pletely soaked. He stumbles in, stepping on some leg or
foot, evoking from the unfortunate owner sundry expressions
most emphatically uttered, but liardly fitted for ears polite,
and which always look bad in print. In two or tliree places
heavy drops of water are falling from the tent. A match
is now struck, and a sperm candle lighted, as we always
carry a supply, and have one left convenient to the hand
every night on retiring, to be ready in case of an emergency.
The leaks are occasioned by small twigs or leaves which have
fallen on the canvas. These are knocked off, when the drops
at once cease. A careful survey of the interior is now made,
and sundry articles that have moved are readjusted. The
guns, which had been tied muzzle up, are reversed, in order
to ensure no water getting into the barrels. Pipes are lit
all round and a midnight smoke is indulged in. A half-hour's
conversation and badinage ensues. The subject recalls some
reminiscences of a similar night spent on some lonely island
or river shore. The candle is extinguished, and all is again
hushed in slumber's soft calm.

With the first gray streak of dawn we are attacked by
myriads of mosquitoes and black-flies. They are always
worst either immediately before or during rain. In a few
minutes all hands are awake and stirring. We step to the

A Wet Dry in Camp.

door, undo the fastenings and look out. What a contrast
between this morning and yesterday!

Then, Ave were greeted with the whistling of the " Little
bird with bosom red," the merry chirping of the squirrel as
he gambolled from bough to bough, or chased his mate round
the gnarled trunk of a neighbouring birch, the shrill cry
of the blue jay, and other kindred songsters ; while the tree-
tops were turned a bright golden yellow by the first rays of
the rising sun. Now all animated nature is hushed. A wild
gale is howling among the trees, tiireatening wreck and ruin
to many a stately forest monarch.

The rain is descending in torrents. The surface of the
river is tossing and timibling in a million little globules, as
the big descending drops of rain strike the water. A heavy,
dark, impenetrable veil is hanging over all, with thin fleecy
patches of clouds scudding before the ragmg gale. A thick,
Avhitish mist is hanging low amongst the trees and over the
river. Everything betokens a wet day.

The flies are almost beyond endurance. A man steps out-
side and after a short search succeeds in getting a handful of
dry chips and bark. The door of the tent is again closed, a
small space of ground cleared at the back end and a fire
started. As soon as the dry chips have kindled into a blaze,
damp moss and leaves are laid on top. The flame is at once
extinguished and replaced by a dense cloud of smoke. This
is what woodmen call a " smudge," and no variety of the fly
family can live in it,— and neither can man while it is so dense.
So the door is again opened, and a thick volume rolls out,
and with it also the flies. One or two with towels, or hat, in
hand, drive them from the corners. The smudge is now
reduced to more moderate dimensions, so that it will give
forth only a light smoke in which we can breathe without

i'flll'

?«

Camp Li/f in Northern Outtir'io.

much inconvenience, and wc resume our couch for another
sMDoze. Our sleep is not of long duration, however, for the
cravings of hunger are felt, and we must eat. The cook,
enveloped in a waterproof, soon has the tea-kettle merrily
boiling. We must all bestir ourselves, for it is the rule of the
camp that none shall eat until he has performed his morning
ablutions.

The blankets are carefully rolled up to prevent their
being trodden upon by dirty boots, A hasty toilet is per-
formed, and we are ready for breakfast. The rich steaming
mass of baked beans is set down on the brush in our mi'^st,
danked by the pail of tea and pile of bannocks. Our ever-
thoughtful cook had made provision the previous evening for
the protection of the bake-kettle from the anticipate ' ain by
placing a log on each side of the " pot-hole," and laying on
top of them a sheet of bark stripped from a neighbouring
hemlock, to prevent the fire from being drowned out. Break-
fast is soon disposed of, and we recline at our ease patiently
awaiting the ceasing of the rain. But reclining in perfect
idleness is what we can only endure for a very limited period.
In a short while a pack of cards is produced by one, and a
euchre party is quickly formed. A few who are fond of
reading unearth from some mysterious corner a book or two;
while others, needle in hand, are at work replacing a lost
button, mending a torn shirt, a pair of dilapidated pants, or
darning a sock. Another, who had not taken the precaution
to have tacks put in the soles of his boots before leaving
home, has made the discovery that the smooth soles are
rather slippery when wading amongst the wet stones. This
intelligence is communicated to the company in general, as
he ruefully compares the covering of his pedal extremities
with those of his more thoughtful companions. " I have a

A Wet Day in Camp.

box of Mun^'arian tacks," says one, •' and will ^ive you
some. " The offer is gladly accepted, and he is speedily at
work driving Iheni in with the pole of our lightest axe. The
work is not such as would be turned out of first-class shoe-
maker's shop ; but they are at least driven well home, and
will answer the purpose very well, though the rows may be a
little irregular.

About nine o'clock the rain slackens ; the weather begins
to clear, and there are some prospects of a fine day yet, as
small rents are seen in the dark mass of overhanging clouds.
All hands step outside to have a look. The mist has risen to
the tree-tops, and is hanging in white wreaths; small detached
portions are still higher, while the wind has become almost
entirely hushed. Those who are on their first trip volunteer
the opinion that the rain is over ; but the older hands know
l)etter, for long experience has taught them that when the
mist ascends after rain it is sure shortly to descend again in
more rain.

So the cook is informed that we shall not move to-day, or
at least not before noon, and he will have time to make a pot
of pe:i-soup, and also to boil some rice for dinner. The
predictions as to the weather are soon verified. The rent
clouds close up. Once again the wind is howling through
the woods ; and down comes the rain heavier than ever, and
we gladly return to our snug quarters inside. There is
another lull in the storm between eleven and twelve o'clock,
and again aoout one, during which we partake of the plate of
rich and wholesome soup, with a top-dressing of rice pudding
and bannocks, and the never-overlooked dish of tea.

The weather is now settled down to a steady afternoon's
rain. The wind has entirely gone down, and perfect silence,
save only the pattering of the rain on tent and leaves, reigns.

• f

Camp Life in NortJiern Ontario,

The afternoon is spent in chaff and chatter, interspersed by an
occasional song. The cards are kept steadily going, one
party succeeding another in rapid succession ; while the
consumption of tobacco is something be)'ond all conception.

A wet day is the only one that seems long in camp, and
the hours drag wearily along. About four o'clock the steady
pour of the last three hours gradually begins to slacken, and
by another hour small spots of deep blue sky are becoming
visible. There is a general lighting-up in the west. A
beautiful rainbow is seen against an eastern hill. The merry
whistle of birds and the chirping of squirrels are again lican'..
The whole western hemisphere is now clear, and the sun is
setting in all his glory ; while yonder dark mass of clouds is
moving slowly but steadily cowards the east. The dark
foliage of the woods seems to have put on a darker and richer
green, and all nature seems to rejoice at having had its thirst
quenched by the refreshing rain. By sundown the last
vestige of cloud has disappeared, (iradually the shades of
evening gather around, and countless hosts of twinkling stars
begin to shine on the sleeping face of nature ; while myriads
of fire-flies are emitting their flashes of light in all directions.
We retire to rest in the full confidence of a bright to-morrow.

The heavy mist which has risen from the wet surface of
the earth is being slowly dispelled by the rising sun, as we
emerge from our tent in the early morning. Every small tree
and bush seems to have been invaded daring the night by a
host of spiders, and is almost completely covered by their
webs, which are gHnting in the sunshine. A gentle, invigor-
ating breeze is blowing up the river, lifting and driving before
it the heavy banks of mist from the surface of the water.
Breakfast is speedily disposed of, and the packs done up;
but the tent is saturated with water, and will require to be

A Wet Day in Camp.

dried before being folded up. A big fire is made. The
crutches which support it are driven into the ground a few feet
from the fire, one at each end, and the ridge pole laid on top.
Over this the tent is spread, and in charge of two men to
guard against its being burned. It is turned as soon as one
side has been dried, and in less than half an hour is perfectly
dry.

CHAPTER X.

HUNTING— SUCCESSFUL AND UNSUCCESSFUL.

Y seven o'clock everything is on board, and once
more we are stemming the current of the river.
The canoes are bounding Hghtly on their course,
the water parting before them, giving forth a Hght
swish as they dart forward at each stroke of the
paddle. The river becomes more crooked than
it was below this point, and the current more swift, especially
as it circles round the sharp bends. Now we are passing a
sandbank, covered on top with rank, coarse grass by the side
of a small lagoon which extends a chain or two from the
river. It is literally covered with deer tracks. But what are
those as large as those made by oxen, and sunk deep into the
sand ? There are no domestic cattle here. They are the
footprints of the lordly moose, the largest of all the wild
animals of the continent, for we are now within his haunts.
After an hour's lively pulling, and rounding another sharp
bend to the left, we see, a few rods ahead, the whole channel
completely choked with the white trunks of trees, from the
large pine to the small alder. We have a couple of times
this morning already had some difficulty in getting past a
single tree, but managed to make our way without having to
get out. But this time the fact of there being a well-defined

Hunting — Successful and Unsuccessful.

portage to the right is proof positive that we must unload.
We step on shore, where we get a better view of the mass of
timber. The whole channel is filled for fully twenty rods
with all sizes and varieties of trees, logs, etc., piled together
in every conceivable shape, and in most places solid to the
bottom, the water boiling and bubbling amongst them.

Those masses of driftwood will frequently remain in one
spot for years; then perhaps the whole will move down to
the next bend, or portions of it will be loosened, and move
down to form separate jams at other points. What we found
last year as one large mass we may now meet in three or
four different places, with spaces of clear river between. Each
mass creates a new and unexpected obstruction, rendering it
impossible to make the estimated distance in a day.

Three-quarters of an hour is consumed in making this por-
tage, reloading, and getting a fresh start. In half an hour a
similar obstruction bars our way, when there must be another
getting out and portaging across the point of land— for those
masses of floodwood are almost invariably met with at bends
in the stream. We reload, and once more the paddles are
plying swiftly and our little vessels are bounding gaily along
the quickly-flowing river. Now we are avoiding an over-
harging limb, and then we have to evade a simken snag, one
end of which is resting on the bottom, the other on a level
with the surface, its presence only indicated by a slight ripple
in the water.

It is the special duty of the man in the bow to guard against
those hidden dangers, for nothing will more speedily or
irretrievably ruin a canoe than to strike — when sailing fast —
against the i.harp point of one of those hidden snags. Another
ten minutes' pull, and the roar of falling water is heard,
gradually increasing in loudness as we approach. A bend

«4

Camp Life in Nortlicm Ontario.

opens out a small pond of an acre or two in extent. We
keep along near the shore to our left, skirting a thin fringe of
tall reeds. As in nearly all similar spots, a small creek is
winding its way into the river through a border of alders.

We see a tall, long-legged, long-necked, and long-billed
bluish-coloured bird standing in the shallow water near the
head of the bay. It is a crane engaged in the enjoyment of its
morning meal on luckless frogs and small fish which may
come within reach. We have hardly entered the little bay
when its quick eye detects our approach. One quick glance
satisfies him that the moving objects are most to be ail mired
when seen at a distance, and for his own safety he had better
be moving. There is a quick bending of the long, dark
brown legs till the body nearly touches the water, then a
sudden spring and unfolding of the long wings, and he rises
almost perpendicularly into the air. The long limbs hang
straight down till a sufficient altitude has been attained, then
they are drawn up and project straight out behind ; the long
neck assumes a similar position in front, and with slow and
steady flaps of the huge wings, the stately bird sails slowly
away up the valley of the river.

But his sudden flight has alarmed another feathered
denizen of the water, which has hitherto been concealed
among the tall reeds. There is a quack, quack, a whirr
of wings, and a big black duck is speeding quickly after
the crane. Its young ones, whose wings are not sufficiently
developed to support in air their fat bodies, are scudding
to cover, warned by the cry of the fleeing parent that danger
is nigh. A few of them would prove a welcome addition to
our larder, for, though unable to fly, they are more than
half-grown; but with all our woodcraft we might spend a
whole day, and then fail to discover the retreat of a single
one of them.

Hunting — Successful and Unsuccessful.

On the right, and away up at the head of the bay, we see
the white water tossing and tumbhng over great boulders, a
few green alders and ferns forming a small island in the
centre. We are soon in the little eddy, and are borne gently
up to the landing at the foot of the short portage. It is the
old story over again. The stream dashes through a narrow
gorge, formed by projecting rocks on either side, which con-
tract it to less than one-fourth of its average breadth, and for
a distance of four or five chains it dashes and tumbles over a
fall of eight or ten feet. In the next half-mile we have two
more of those short portages, besides one where, by moving
a few stones, we can lead the canoes up the short chute
without unloading.

By the time we arc over the last portage sundry cravings
and a feeling of emptiness in the region of the belt warns us
that our inner man requires replenishing. And as there is
now a long stretch of unniterrupted navigation before us, we
conclude to take dinner l^efore again embarking. Wet socks
are replaced by dry ones, and one or two small leaks attended
to while the tea-pail is being boiletl.

At the end of the usual liour for dinner we once more get
off. Our best shot is given a ten minutes" start. For this is
not only the hottest season of the year, but it is also the time
when the flies are at their worst, and both deer and moose
come out of the thick woods and stand and wade in the shal-
lows alongside the frequent fringe of tall beaver-grass that
lines the shores. The moose are fond of the large leaves of
the water-lily, which almost completely conceal the surface
of the water. The stream is now for some distance much
wider, and has a slower current ; and at a little distance the
high, dry banks give place to low, muddy shores, covered
with alder and balsam.

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

Hearing the report of a gun ahead, and quickening our
stroke as we round a bend, we perceive the canoe lying in
by the shore with only one man in her. In answer to our
query we are informed that, on rounding the last bend, a
large moose had been seen standing in the water and feeding
on the water-lilies. They had stolen up as near as they could
without alarming him. When Jack fired, the huge brute had
stumbled to its knees, and then springing up, dashed off in
amongst the alders, and Jack is now off in pursuit of the
noble game.

The canoes are quickly run in, and all hands leap on shore.
There are the large, ox-like tracks sunk deep in the soft mud.
and we also are off along the trail. It is easily followed, ever,
without looking down to the tracks, for the great brute has
made a wide opening in his hurried retreat through the thick
mass of alders. He is wounded, sure enough, for there are
the fresh blood stains on the green leaves. We are soon
clear of the alders, and ascending the side of a pine-c.'ad hill.
It is easy following the trail by the big hoof-prints and the
sticks and leaves dashed aside in the hurried rush, and by
the big drops of fresh blood. W^e have only gone a short
distance further when Jack is met returning for instructions
as to whether he shall continue the chase.

A hurried consultation is held. He informs us that he
fired at the neck, expecting either to cut the jugular vein or
break its neck. But the fact of its having risen at all after
being shot is demonstrative evidence that the neck has not
been broken, and by the way it is bleeding it is equally evi-
dent that the jugular vein has not been injured. It is conse-
quently only a flesh wound, and not at all likely to prove
fatal ; therefore to follow it would he a wild-goose chase.
The moose, when thoroughly alarmed, will trot continuously

Hunting — Successful and Unsuccessful.

for many hours without stopping. Besides, a red deer would
be preferred at present, for only a small portion of the six or
seven hundredweight of dressed carcass of the moose could
be disposed of by our small party before the remainder would
be spoiled at this season of the year. We could easily make
use of a whole red deer before any of it could become tainted.
Jack is duly cautioned not to fire again unless he is sure he
can lodge the bullet in a vital part, and is then given another
ten minutes' start.

After traversing another half mile, on rounding a bend,
our hunters are again overhauled, resting on their paddles.
They inform us that they have seen another moose, but as
his position was not such as would ensure a fatal shot from
the canoe they had not fired, although less than half gun-shot
distance. " What did he look like, boys?" " Oh, a great big
brute of a dark gray colour, as large as a horse, with a big,
clumsy head, thick, heavy lips, and ears like a mule's,'

Another half-mile, and another little spurt at a short rapid,
and again smooth water, the shores still lined by the ever-
present alder and balsam ; now also we see occasionally a
clump of willows and high cranberry bushes. A few miles ot
this, and the hard, dry land begins again to gradually close
in to the edge of the water, rising to low hills and knolls, tim-
bered with pine and white birch, with here and there a moun-
tain ash, the rowan tree of Scotland —

How fair art thou in simmer time,

Wi' a' thy clusters white ;
How rich and rar^^ thy autumn dress,

Wi' berries red and ripe.

Now we have before us a short straight stretch of river
between high sandy banks. The water is flowing with a swift
current, and al! our strength has to be put forth to propel the
little vessel against it. In a little while we are at the foot of

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

1i'

a short rapid ; part of the load is landed and carried up a few
rods to the smooth water above. Returning, we step into the
water and lead the canoe up with the balance of the stufl".
The eastern boundary of the township of Finlayson crosses
the river in the middle of this rapid, and we are now in the
township of Peck. Another five minutes' paddle brings us to
another floodwood portage. Like the others, it is soon over-
come. Here the river well retains its width, but it is visibly
becoming more shallow. Numerous water-logged trees with
dangerous projecting limbs encumber the bottom, and an
lialf-covercd with sand.

For the next mile our progress is very slow, owing to tlu'
numerous fallen trees. Here we have to shove through
between the end of one and the shore, there lift over another,
or cut a piece out ol a third. iV sudden ([uack, quack, and
another duck is darting off up the stream, while a dozen young
ones, nearly as large as their parents, arc: hurrying to and fro
endeavouring to conceal themselves among the floating timber.
A quick shot is taken, and a couple, after briefly sputtering
and flouiidering, are floating dead on tlie water. All the
others have suddenly and mysteriously vanished, w^e know not
where, but a ten minutes' search fails to discover a single
head. The dead are picked up, and are found to be plump
and fat, and will be an agreeable addition to the supper
table.

In a little while our ears are again saluted with the noise
of falhng water as the river, hemmed in between overhanging
cliff's, dashes over an obstructing ledge. We paddle in
amongst the stones at the end of the portage on the north
fuore, and land at the foot of " Whiskey Falls." The sun is
now sinking low in the west, our watches are consulted, and, to
our surprise, we find the hands indicate six o'clock. It is

Hunting — Successful and Unsuccessful.

fro
ber.
ering
the
not
ingle
ump
pper

noise

tiging

e in

orth

un is

id, to

It is

time to camp. Between paddling and pushing we have
covered a good distance during the day ; all are tired and also,
as a matter of course, hungry.

In a very few minutes everything is on shore, and each
man at his allotted task in getting up the tent and putting
everything in order for the night. Along a perpendicular
cliff on the opposite shore is a deep eddy dotted over with
lumps of white froth. There ought to be trout there, close in
to the foot of the fall. In a few minutes 'a hook and line are
rigged, and launching a canoe we paddle across to the foot of
the eddy, then floating up, step out on a half-submerged
stone. By the time the work on the tents is finished, and the
pork for supper is frying, a half-dozen speckled beauties are
flopping about in the bottom of the canoe, and we again embark
and re-cross to camp. The ducklings have been plucked,
cleaned, and quartered. Our fish are soon cleaned and all
deposited in the boiling grease, after the pork has been taken
out. Before putting in the trout they are rolled in flour, and
while cooking a little salt and pepper are added. This may
not be the orthodox methoa of cooking young ducks and
fresh trout, but before you condemn it, gentle reader, just try
one of the fish or a leg of duck ; if you will then say you ever
tasted anything more delicious, or made a heartier meal, we
will admit the cooking a failure. By this time the bannocks
have been all disposed of, and we are down again to the never-
failing and ever-ready hard-tack. But, as the evening is fine,
the cook has time to prepare a pot of rice for to-morrow's
breakfast in addition to the apple-sauce and pork.

There is no idling or dozing in bed in camp for two or
three hours after sunrise. We retire with the first gray dusk
of evening now that we are fairly in harness. And the first
rays of the rising sun are just beginning to gild the upper
limbs of the giant pines when all are again astir.

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

During the night an awakened sleeper had heard a par-
tridge drumming a short distance behind the tent. He is
Again heard while we are engaged at our toilet. A man picks
«p the double-barrel, and steals quietly away in the direction
of the noise. He proceeds a few rods, then pauses to listen
for a repetition of the sound, to find out which of the numerous
upturned trees the gay Lothario has chosen on which to
sound his love-notes. In a few minutes the drumming is
•repeated, and before the swiftly moving wings have ceased
Iheir motion, the quick eye of the woodman has located the
spot. There he is on yonder old pine. The gun is at once
brought to the shoulder, for one is generally within shooting
distance before he gets sigiit of the game in those thick woods.
The echoes of the report reverberate among the rocks.
There goes a shower of feathers. The bird tumbles head-
long to the ground ; there is a brief fluttering of wings and
kicking of the feet, and the man triumphantly returns with the
first partridge shot by the party.

CHAPTER XI.

CANOE LAKE AND NATURALIST NOTES.

S usual, but a very brief period suffices to dispose
of breakfast and packing up. Packs and canoes
are shouldered, and we are off across the short
portage. Heavy drops of dew are showered down
upon us from hazel-bush and alder, as we brush
along the narrow path. Here the landing is small,
by the side of a shelving rock, and we can only load one
canoe at a time ; each, when ready, proceeding on its way.

But what pattering is that we have heard on the hill-side
all morning, as if some animal were taking a single heavy
step at a time and then coming to a full stop ? Gun in hand
we go up the bank to have a look and try to find out what it
IS. We pause beneath a tall green pine and listen. Suddenly
the noise is repeated close behind us. Wheehng round to
look it is again repeated, a little to one side this time. Next
we feel a smart slap on one shoulder, when, looking up, one
of the green cones whicn grow near the top of the pine' just
misses our face. We step a few paces to one side for a better
view and look up. The mystery is at once explained. High
up in the very top. where the cones are most numerous a
tmy squirrel is seen running from limb to limb, and with his
sharp teeth nipping off cone after cone ; and if we choose to

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

7jt

1.0

I.I

11.25

■^ 1^ III 2.2

1.4

1.6

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

remain long enough, we will see the little gentleman run
head-first down the tree, seize one of the newly-plucked cones,
seat himself on a log, and, holding it between his fore-paws,
tear off the green husks with his teeth, and make his break-
fast of the soft white pith within.

Having satisfied our curiosity, and solved the problem of
the peculiar noise, we retrace our steps to the landing, and in
a few minutes are again under way. The stream is now a
series of short stretches of smooth, deep water, alternating
with shallow rapids, varying from a foot to three or four
inches in depth ; and it is a continual repetition of getting
out and in, of paddling or pushing with the paddle along the
deeper parts, and leading the canoe up the shallows. The
bottom of the stream is composed of reddish-brown gravel.
After a mile and a half of this, in which most of the forenoon
is consumed, as we have frequently to take out part of the
load, we enter a little bay. At the head of it a couple of pine
trunks extend almost completely across the river, leaving a
channel of only a few feet at the north shore. On reaching
this point we have again to resort to wading for a few yards.
During the last quarter of an hour we have been hearing the
gradually-increasing noise of a chute ; and on rounding the
end of the pine trunks, and passing under an overhanging
birch, the fall bursts upon our view as it rushes down a
narrow, rock-bound gorge. We step into the canoe, and paddle
across the little deep bay to a flat rock almost even with
the surface of the water, at the end of a well-worn portage on
the south side of the river, and step on shore. Above us, at
a distance of three chains, lies the foot of Tea Lake.

This is the last portage we shall meet until we are a mile
and a half above Canoe Lake. As it is our intention to go
only as far as an old camp-ground about half *vay up that

Canoe Lake and Naturalist Notes.

lake to-night, and there spend to-morrow, which is the
Sabbath, we conclude to have dinner at the head of this
portage. We take advantage of the pause to dry our wet
garments.

Here the river rushes through a narrow gorge in the dark
granite rocks, and has a fall of about nine feet in a distance
of three chains. It is so rough and full of stones that no
canoe or punt could run it, even when at the highest. At
the proper season of the year this is one of the best spots on
the whole river for trout fishing. Not only the small brook
trout, but also the large speckled trout of the lakes, may be
taken in unlimited numbers.

The midday meal is quickly despatched, the usual smoke
indulged in, dry clothing donned, and the canoes are re-
loaded. There is only a short narrow neck of the lake visible
from the landing. And the first few rods above the falls are
so completely filled with stones that there is no small amount
of difficulty in guiding the canoes safely through. In a few
minutes, however, we are clear of obstructions and into deep
water, and soon enter another and larger bay.

Straight ahead a small piece of second-growth timber
marks the spot where at some former time there has been a
hunters' camp. We round a point of rock on the south shore,
and the small but lovely sheet of water lies before us. Right
in our path, and at the distance of three-fourths of a mile, a
small pine-clad island rears its head high out of the water.
We can see all the south shore, which is comparatively
straight, right to the head ; and as we proceed the north
shore gradually opens to the view, extending away to the
north-east in a series of points and small bays. Away to
the north-east is a long narrow streak of red felspathic sand.
The land nearly all round rises abruptly from the water's

. i

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

til

edge to moderately-sized hills. A fringe of low, dark green
cedar and balsam overhangs the water all round the shore ;
while a dense forest of hardwood and hemlock, and an
occasional cluster of white pines, rearing their heads high
above all others, is all around. As we get fairly into the
open lake, our light vessel begins to feel a fresh northerly
breeze, and dances merrily over the tiny wavelets.

There to the right a number of trees have been cut down ;
their brown tops are lying in the water. As we pass them a
narrow open lane is seen extending away up the hill to the
south. Glancing northwards, a similar line is seen in that
direction also. It is one of the many surveyor's lines which
mark the limits of the farm lots into which the land has been
divided ; for this whole section has been laid out into one
hundred acre lots, and lines have been cut straight through
the woods, at right angles to each other, and at a distance of
one hundred chains apart.

We glide merrily past the south side of the island, and
discover another and smaller one immediately to the east of
it. On our right a small spot of coarse grass and reeds
marks the mouth of a small creek, the outlet of a small lakelet
half a mile to the south lying in a little hollow amongst the
dark green woods.

On the smallest island are the traces of an old camp-
ground, and a rude frame of poles raised a few feet above the
surface of the ground lenotes where fishing parties have
dried the fish they had caught at the outlet, in order to
prepare them for being taken home — a treat for their city
friends.

In a few minutes we are out from the lee of the islands,
and have to cross a neck of rough water ; but it is soon
passed. We are now skirting the shore of a lovely hardwood

Canoe Lake and Naturalist Notes.

point. Away half a mile to the east a large brook is rolling
out from amongst the trees. It is the outlet of Smoke Lake,
which lies a mile and a half to the east.

We advance round the point to the left, and are soon at
the mouth of a narrow bay, extending a quarter of a mile
northwards. At its head a solitary pine, standing on a slight
elevation in a lily-fringed marsh, points out the mouth of the
river. The ridge of hardwood extends all along its west
shore, while on its east side is a forest of tall pines. The
water is shallow and clear, and we pass over several shoals
of trout lying near the bottom.

The river is still a couple of chains wide, with a bright
sandy bottom, but very shallow. A short half-mile of river,
and we enter a pond stretching like a huge bag for nearly
half a mile to the east. We steer along the north side, round a
grass-covered sandy point, and again enter the stream, which
extends away in a north-easterly direction along the base of
a high rocky hill on the east side. A few rods from the
mouth is a bar of stones which almost completely fills up the
channel ; but steering close by the east side of a big boulder
we find a narrow passage sufficiently deep for our little
vessels. Now a big creek, the outlet of some beaver pond,
away amongst the western hills, is gliding in through a bed
of tall ferns. The river now becomes much deeper, and has
a black muddy bottom. The west shore is for the most part
low and swampy ; while on the east are high, pine-topped
bluffs.

There, a little dark-brown animal is running along the
shore. It is about the length of an ordinary-sized cat, but
shorter-legged, and has a somewhat smaller body and a black
bushy tail. It has not observed us before plunging into the
water, bound, evidently, for the opposite shore, and we can

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

see nothing but the round bullet head and a pair of sharp
eyes. It is a mink ; but we refrain from taking a shot, as the
fur is almost worthless at this season of the year. Suddenly
Ihe quick, piercing eyes catch sight of us, down goes the
little head, and he is off in another direction.

Away at some distance ahead a reddish-brown animal, as
large as a good-sized dog, is seen walking out on a fallen tree
which rests on the surface of the water. The canoe is stopped,
and the animal looked at through the field-glass. It proves
to be a large wolf. He has already caught sight of us as
unfamiliar objects, but he is safe, as he is too far off even for
a rifle-shot, especially when fired out of a canoe. After sur-
veying us for a few minutes, he walks leisurely back to the
shore, and skulks away into the woods.

Our attention is now attracted to an object on shore, a
few feet from the water's edge. A number of short pickets
are driven into the ground close to each other, and leading
out about a foot from the root of a tree. At a distance of six
inches from this is another similar row parallel with it. These
pickets are about one foot in height ; on top are laid a few
small balsam limbs. This is what is termed a mink house. A
small steel trap is set at the door, with a few leaves laid care-
lessly over it, so as to conceal it from the intended victim. A
fish, a piece of muskrat, or leg of partridge, is fastened at the
back end of the house, and as the little animal reaches in for
the bait one of his legs is sure to be caught in the iron clasp.

Half a mile up, the stream shoals to about a foot in aver-
age depth, with a bright sandy bottom. Pulling round to the
left of a small island, and over the top of a bed of tall reeds,
we see a large opening, when, on rounding a couple of bends,
Canoe Lake, in all its picturesque beauty, is before us, extend-
ing away a little east of north. Right ahead, and at the dis-

Canoe Lake and Naturalist Notes.

tance of a mile, is a large rock-bound island, covered with
graceful red pine. Only that portion of the west shore south
of the island is visible from this point. Away to the east the
land is high and mountainous, topped with a dense forest of
pine. The brisk northern breeze has raised a heavy swell,
and long white-capped waves are chasing each other into the
mouth of the river. We are soon into it, and our canoes
dance merrily over the swells.

Our way is straight up the lake to the west of the island.
The sea is very rough, but .ve think we can weather it. We
edge as closely as possible to the west shore, in order to be in
shallow water in case of accident. But scarcely are we well
out of the river, passing close by a low, moss-covered, rocky
point on our right, when a loon suddenly plunges screaming
into the water, and, propelled both by foot and wing, dashes
out into the open lake. She must have a nest near here.
The loon, having no joint in the leg, cannot walk, and is
never found on shore far from water.' We run in behind a
sheltering ledge of rock, and step on shore. There on the
bare ground, a few feet from the water, is a little black ball ot
down, scarcely bigger than a lady's clenched hand. A small
black bill and pair of sharp eyes are visible on the upper side
of it. The little fellow is evidently only a few hours out of
the broken shell, which is lying to one side. He has not yet
taken his first bath, because he is probably waiting for his
mate, whose chirpings are heard issuing from another egg
hard by.

Loons are very numerous in all those northern waters.
They arrive as soon as the ice is out in the spring, returning
south again iv the month of October. As they cannot walk,
they are never met with on land, but manage, by the aid of
their wings, to flop a few feet on the shore, and lay their one

■i

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

r A

or two eggs on the bare ground. As soon as the young are
hatched they take to the water, and the tiny black dots are to
be seen following the old one around or seated on her back.
She feeds them with newly-caught fish.

Our progress up the lake is exceedingly slow, for if we
put on too much speed we will, in all probability, be swamped.
A long, narrow bay extends away to the south. There is an
old camp-ground on the south end of the island, but as it is
too much exposed to the wind, we prefer a little bay behind
a protecting ledge of rock, where others have camped before.
It is a quiet nook where we will be perfectly protected from
the wind. Here it is our intention to remain for a few days.
The last bag of hard tack is getting low. Not, we confess,
to our regret, for all are getting tired of it, and are longing
for other bread. After supper the cook begins making pre-
parations for baking.

He overhauls his stores for the package 01 pressed hops,
but it is nowhere to be found. It has been forgotten. Well,
it really does not much matter. He can easily find a sub-
stitute. A handful of moss is gathered from a neighbouring
maple, and boiled as hops would be. The big tin dish
is half-filled with flour, and into this the boiling liquid is
strained ; a yeast cake or two reduced to powder, and to
it a handful of salt is added. This, with a portion of the
flour, is mixed to the necessary consistency, when a couple
of small sticks are laid across the top, and a clean towel
spread over all. It is now set on one side till next morning.

But as Canoe Lake, like all the others in this region, is
famous both for the size and flavour of its trout, preparations
are made to secure some. They are not to be had at this
season of the year, either by angling from the shore or
trawling, as the fish are deep down in the cold water beneath.

Canoe Lake and Naturalist Notes.

and recourse must be had to the night line. One or two
minnow hooks are soon obtained from some mysterious quarter,
and baited with a crumb of bread or a tiny piece of pork,
when fishing for bait begins. As soon as caught it is placed
in a pail of water for the purpose of being kept alive. It
would be labour thrown away to bait the hooks with lifeless
material. The long trawling line we have brought is unwound,
and hooks with two or three feet of line attached to it at
intervals of five or six feet. A favourable locality with
twenty-five or thirty feet of water is selected. A half-dozen
pieces of dry cedar are made into floats ; another line, tied to
a stone, is made fast to each end of the trawling line, and
also one of the floats with a sufficient length of line to keep
the main one at least ten feet below the surface. All is now
taken out in a canoe, and the end let down into the water.
While one paddles slowly in the direction in which we wish
the line to lie, another baits the hooks and pays out the
line ; at equal distances of about twenty feet the floats are
attached till the whole is submerged.

The yeast is working splendidly, the cook informs us as
we emerge from the camp next morning, and he promises us
a fresh loaf for dinner ; while so saying he uncovered the
dish, displaying the white frothy mass ready to overflow.
With bared arms, he is quickly at work kneading it into
dough ; it is then carefully smoothed over and lightly dusted
with dry flour and the cover replaced. Our morning toilet
is soon made, and in all the glory of clean guernsey or cotton
shirt and socks, we sit down to breakfast. But what about
the night line ? Has any one been out to see ? No, we will
overhaul it after breakfast, and probably have fresh trout, as
well as fresh bread, for dinner. One never thinks of any
other fish than trout here. True, there are a few ling and

! ...

lOO

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

lots of suckers ; but if by any chance one is got on the line, it
is contemptuously tossed back into the water. It is a lovely
morning ; there is not a breath of air stirring. The surface
of the lake is as smooth as a sheet of glass, and the sun
looms, with veiled face, through a thin fleecy cloud, which
overhangs yonder pine-clad mountain. Perfect silence reigns,
broken at short intervals only by the ho-o-o of a couple of
loons sailing leisurely, gazing on the uncommon sight of our
tent, and the smoke of our fire in this unbroken wilderness.

The floats on the night line are plainly in sight of the
landing. One of them is twirling and shaking, and is slowly
drawn down ; in a couple of minutes the end again bobs up,
topples over, and resumes its former position, to disappear
again a moment afterwards. •• There are fish on the line,"
is whispered, and instantly a canoe is launched and speeding
off to the spot. The loons see it and down they go ; we watch
the spot, to see them rise again to the surface, for full five
minutes, and we then hear a distant " ho-o-o." There they
are, fully fifty rods away down the lake from where they dis-
appeared. By this time the canoe has reached the line ; but
as it is moving across our range of vision and is also between
us and the line, we can only conjecture that the men are
unhooking the fish. In the course of a few minutes the prow
is turned towards us, and the landing is quickly reached.
What beauties ! A dozen at least ! Look at the great big
fellow with black back and gray sides ! We have no means
of weighing him, but he is two and one-half feet long at least,
and of that peculiar kind of corpulency supposed to be char-
acteristic of aldermen. There is another only a few inches
shorter, but tapering in shape, and so beautifully spotted that
it is only by the shape of his tail we know him to be a salmon
and not a speckled trout ; and here, also, is one of the genuine

Canoe Lake and Naturalist Notes.

lOI

speckled trout of the lakes, fully a foot long, and nearly half
as much in depth. They are handed out to those on shore.
The pail of minnows is taken on board, and the men push oflf
again to the line to rebait the hooks. The fish are soon
decapitated, and split down the back, cleaned, and washed in
the pure lake water. What rich-looking flesh ! it is as red as
any salt-water salmon !

The cook divides the fish into convenient-sized pieces for
cooking, lightly sprinkles them over with salt, piles them on
tin plates, and sets them away in a shaded corner ready for
dinner. By the time this is done his dough is ready for its
next stage in its progress towards bread. A clean towel ie
spread out over a large piece of bark, laid on the ground for
a bakeboard. A portion of the dough is cut off, firmly
kneaded, and placed in the well-greased hake-kettle ; three
more pieces of like size completely cover the bottom, and
fill it half way to the top. The pothole is scraped out, and a
shovelful of hot sand and coals thrown in. The bake-kettle
is carefully placed in position ; a thin coating of cold ashes
laid on top, and the whole completely covered with hot sand
and coals, so as to effectually prevent any escape of steam.
A note is now taken of the time of day, and an hour after-
wards the kettle is taken out and the lid removed. There is
the rich brown top ; it is full to the brim, and the lid slightly
hfted. A knife or sliver of wood is passed down through the
centre ; on being withdrawn it is found to be as clean as when
put in. The big loaf is then turned out. " It is as light as a
feather," remarks the cook, as he sets it on edge in the shade
of an old stump to cool, and in the course of a few minutes
another is undergoing the same process.

A few of the boys have washing to do, and this is the next
thing attended to. Then quietness reigns in camp till noon^

I02

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

By this time the second loaf is cooling by the side of the first,
and the grease produced by last night's and this morning's
pork frying emptied into the bake-kettle, and set on top of the
fire ; as soon as it has arrived at the boiling point, the big
lumps of fish are rolled in flour and laid in the bubbling mass.
In half an hour we are enjoying dinner — and what a dinner!
Fresh bread and newly-caught trout. The bread light and
spongy, such as no cooking stove or bake-oven could ever
produce, and it will keep for days without becoming either
dry or hard ; whilst more nutritious or rich( flavoured fish
than our lake trout do not swim in any water, either fresh or
salt.

,„ (fiiii

f 11 m

, t

^' II III

CHAPTER XII.

ABOUT TRAPPERS AND BEAVERS.

N camp on the Lord's Day we do not hear "the
sound of the church-going bell." There are sundry
httle jobs of work done that would never be thought
of at home. The usual quiet ol the day, however,
is not altogether forgotten. Here and there soli-
tary ones may be seen seated perusing their pocket-
bibles, and the holy strains of '• Hide me, O, my Saviour
hide," and - From Greenland s icy mountains," or that grand-
est of all sacred songs —

Know that the Lord is God indeed ;

Without our aid He did us make:
We are His flock, He doth us feed,

And for His sheep He doth us take,

are wafted at intervals and in snatches across the quiet
waters of the lake.

A ramble in the still, green woods, and a sail into the
rock-bound and sand-fringed bay away to the north-east, are
indulged in, and a little before sunset we sup of the same
luscious fare on which we dined. By the time darkness has
fairly set in all are in bed, refreshed and invigorated by the
day's rest.

I04

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

At intervals d-'.ring the night the silence is broken by a
long single cry, or rather howl, from the loons. At daybreak
V"" are awakened by the howling of a pack of wolves, up on
the hills a short distance behind the camp. A few short,
quick yelps are succeeded by a long dismal howl. Breakfast
is soon despatched, the night line, with a dozen or so more
fish, taken in, and ere the rising sun has dispelled the light,
fleecy mist we are again speeding northwards across the
smooth, unruffled waters of the lake.

In a few minutes we are crossing the mouth of a little bay,
into which a small creek empties its cool waters. There goes
a round, brown head, with a small streak of dark-brown fur
behind it. We pause, gun in hand, ready for a shot, should
it come within reach. But in a moment we are discovered ;
up goes a black, trowel-shaped object a few inches behind the
streak of fur, and descends with a loud whack on the water.
This act is of itself sufficient proof that the animal is a beaver
taking his morning's swim. The little animal never dives
when alarmed without striking the water a smart stroke with
its tail, making a noise that may be heard for at least a quarter
of a mile.

Straight ahead, at the east end of a belt of sand, we see a
large clump of tall, dark-green alders. Towards this object
we steer, for we know it marks the mouth of the river. In
half an hour we are out of the lake. Here the Muskoka is no
longer what might be strictly termed a river, but a m.*?re creek,
scarcely two rods wide, winding slowly, by a tortuous course,
through a narrow alder and spruce swamp.

Half a mile above the lake another and almost equally
large creek comes in from the west, which might easily be
mistaken for the main stream. We ply our paddles up the
one to the right, which rapidly becomes shallow, as well

About Trappers and Beavers.

105

|e see a
object
:r. In

:a is no
creek,

Icourse,

jqually

[sily be

up the

IS well

as narrow, and the numerous tree-tops which obstruct the
channel render our progress exceedingly slow. At last, after
a mile or so, another portage is reached. To the right the
water comes tumbling over a perpendicular fall of eight feet,
and for the next half-mile is one continuous rapid filled with
fallen timber, till Big Joe Lake is reached. This is another
favourite spot for trout-fishing durmg high water.

The well-cleared and level portage is soon crossed, and
we come to the foot of a long, narrow bay stretching to the
north. Immediately on the right hand is the outlet. The
view towards the north is cut off by a high, pine-clad hill.
In a few minutes we are all afloat, and picking our way
through a mass of floodwood which has accumulated round
the outlet. The bay is hemmed in between high, pine-topped
hills. On reaching its northern end the elevation which ob-
structed our view is found to be an island, the larger part of
the lake stretching away round it to the east. Our course
lies along its west side. Straight ahead a narrow opening
is seen between the mountains, and a larger opening beyond.
Just after passing the north end of the island we can see a
narrow opening extending westerly up the side of the moun-
tain. This line is the north boundary of Peck, and we are
now in the township of Hunter. A few strokes more and
we are in a short, deep, narrow channel, and another lovely
lake is before us, stretching away a mile and a quarter to the
north. At its upper end a long, narrow neck of water is
almost concealed by a small, mossy island. Should we fol-
low this direction we would find a brook tumbling out of a
little beaver pond over a ledge of rock. We cross this, and
go for a quarter of a mile up a muddy, sluggish creek, ten-
anted by countless numbers of bull-frogs, the croakings of
which are almost deafening in the early months of spring,

T *v

io6

Camp Lije in Northern Ontario.

and even now the cry of individual members is frequently
heard, and we enter Doe Lake. It is another beautiful sheet
of water, and lies spread out around numerous low, rocky,
pine-clad points, or extends into picturesque bays.

Should we wish to visit Bear Lake, we turn to the left
up another wide, marshy creek, the water almost completely
concealed beneath a covering of water-lilies, for half a mile
further ; or, if we proceed up the south-east bay, we will find
a hunter's trail, pursuing which for ten minutes by the side
of a brawling creek, tossing and tumbling over its bed of
gravel, we arrive at the foot of the short and narrow Hawk
Lake.

Each one of those numerous lakelets has been named, and
every nook and corner in them explored and examined by the
fur-trapper, for each contains its quota of beaver, mink, otter,
or muskrat, and their names have probably been suggested
by the first animal or bird seen on their shores. Each, as
we enter it, seems more lovely than the last, displaying some
new beauty of pine-covered bluff or rock-bound bay. As it
is not our intention, however, to visit them at present, we
steer for the west shore, where a few charred and blackened
balsams and cedars are seen.

We now reach another portage, and all are soon landed.
We shall leave a portion of our party here for a day or two,
while with the others we explore the country to the north.
After dinner the packs are quickly made up with the neces-
sary supplies for our short absence.

There is a special reason why we should not forget this
spot. A few years ago, when engaged in a survey in this
neighbourhood, we had our store camp at this point. It
was found out by an enterprising bear. Several hundred-
weight of pork was carried off before his depredations were
discovered, entailing on the whole party short rations.

About Trappers and Beavers.

107

landed.
)r two,
north,
neces-

[et this
I in this
Int. It
indred-
is were

Tossing packs and canoes on our shoulders, we wend our
way into the woods. Here there is a portage of a mile and
a half to be crossed, and the heavy packs are more than once
thrown on the ground, while big drops of perspiration are
wiped from flushed faces. After descending a mountain side
we come to a large creek meandering through a bed of big
stones. This is the same stream which we passed in the
morning a little above Canoe Lake. It is crossed by step-
ping from stone to stone. Threading our way for a few rods
up its west bank we arrive at the foot of Potter's Lake. Only
a narrow neck of water is visible from where we are standing;
but as we glide over the surface, ruffled slightly by a light
northern breeze, its beautiful bays and points are one after
another approached and passed. We lay our course for its
most north-westerly bay. Past a solitary rock, rising like a
lone sentinel out of the water, several small islets are also
passed, and a few beaver-houses are seen on the shores.
The canoe is drawn out beneath the spreading boughs of an
overhanging cedar, a few rods to the south of where another
good-sized creek empties in its waters.

Again we shoulder our traps for a distance of thirty chains,
by the side of a creek flowing down a rocky gorge. It is
perceptibly smaller than the stream below Potter's Lake, for
we are nearing its head waters. This brings us to the foot of
Burnt Lake, another small gem scarcely a mile in length. We
cross to its northern end. A small rivulet of a couple of yards
in width is meandering through an opening in a ledge of rock.
Stepping on shore and shouldering the packs, in less than five
minutes we are at another small sheet of water extending a
quarter of a mile to the east. Across its outlet, and completely
stopping up the creek, is stretched an embankment of earth,
stones, Hmbs of trees, and short junks of wood. It seems a

m-.^

■:h ^Tc^' rsffi

1 08

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

mass of matter thrown accidentally together, forming a narrow
ridge on top, over which the water is trickling. On the lower
side it is perpendicular, with the ends of limbs and timber
sticking confusedly out, while on the upper side it presents
a smooth surface of gravel and black mud extending, by a
gentle slope, away into the bottom of the pond. This is a
beaver dam, and has been built by the little animals in order
to raise the water of the small lake a sufficient height to pre-
serve its winter's supply of food beneath the surface.

The beaver does not always select a lake for its home,
but more frequently a small creek flowing through a swamp
is pitched upon, and a dam from four to six, and sometimes
as much as eight, feet high is built across its lower end to the
high land on either side. Then the beaver house, shaped
like a large cock of hay, is constructed some distance above
the dam. By instinct the creatures seem to know how high
the water will reach, and the house is made high enough to be
four or five feet above the surface of the water. The entrance
is near the bottom, while near the top and just above the
highest water ' vel a dry, warm chamber is left ; in this
undisturbed home they pass the long winter and bring forth
their young. Gradually the water rises till the top of the
dam is reached, when the surplus overflows in tiny little drip-
pings. A large quantity of their favourite food is collected
and deposited by the beavers in a pile by the side of the house
for the winter's supply. The trapper is careful not to cut
away the dam — if he does the family will at once decamp for
♦' fresh fields and pastures new " ; but a small cut is made in
the top of the dam. By the side of this the trap is set a few
inches underneath the surface of the water ; it is made fast
by a chain, a few feet in length, to a stout picket driven into
the bottom a few feet further out in the water, — more frequently

About Trappers and Beavers.

log

to what is termed a tally-pole, — that is, a thick pole of light,
dry wood and six or eight feet long with the trap-chain made
fast to the centre of it : this is left floating.

The trapper is careful to leave as few ti aces of his presence
as possible, and if the whole can be done without his getting
out of his canoe at all so much the better, for the sense of
smell in the beaver is very acute. The quick instinct of the
animal very soon detects the slightest variations in the height
of the water, and during the night an examination is made in
order to find out the cause. As soon as the cut is discovered
they at once set to work to repair the damage. Ere long a
foot of one of them is in the iron grasp of the trap ; he then
dashes off for his only harbour of refuge, the deep water, and
is speedily drowned. If the trap has been made fast to a
picket stuck in the bottom, the game is bagged as soon as the
pond is visited ; but if it has been fastened to a tally-pole, it
may be found in any part of the pond, for the beaver will live
for a considerable time under water, and will swim around
until dead, dragging the pole along with him. This is usually
made heavy enough, however, to float both beaver and trap,
and is easily discovered. Not only is the beaver valuable for
his fur, but his flesh is held in high esteem, the tail especially
being a rare delicacy.

The area of the ponds which have thus been formed vary
in size from an acre or so in extent to several hundred acres,
and the timber, being constantly under water, dies in a few
years, falls down, and in course of time is completely decayed.
What was once a thick swamp is now an open lake, with
here and there the white naked trunk of an extra large
tamarack or cedar standing. But hunters arrive on the scene.
If they are Indians, and there is no danger of the white man
coming in to dispute the hunting-ground, only a few of the

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

m^i

beavers will be taken each year. The dam is left intact, so
as not to frighten the rest of the family or families : since they
breed rapidly, a large ir crease may be depended upon each
succeeding year.

If the trappers are white men a very different course is
pursued, and the animals, if possible, are completely cleaned
out. A large gap has been cut in the dam so that the game
may be the more easily captured ; or, if this has not been
done, the embankment will, in the course of a few years, get
out of repair, causing leaks, when the pond will gradually
become dry. A few years more it will be found completely
covered with a luxuriant growth of tall grass, and become what
is called a " beaver meadow." The grass is known as blue
joint, and is cut in large quantities in the autumn months by
the lumbermen, who put it up in stacks for horse and ox feed
in the shanties during winter. If properly cured in season,
and lightly sprinkled with salt when being stacked, it is con-
sidered little inferior to the best timothy hay.

This who: section of country is hunted over by an army
of trappers during the months of October and November,
and again in March and April. The hunt is made singly and
in couples. Each has his own trapping ground, and by a
code of laws peculiar to themselves no one ever trespasses
upon the limits of his neighbour. Before commencing their
operations an examination of the section selected has been
carefully made, and all the various signs of the different kinds
of fur-bearing animals noted.

A rude camp is constructed on the shore of some lake or
river, near the centre of the limits. The space is then gone
over, and the various kinds of traps set for the amphibious
animals ; while a line of dead falls is also constructed through
the woods, in various directions, away from the waters,

About Trappers and Beavers.

Ill

by a

t>asses

their

been

kinds

for fisher and marten, and perhaps an additional one or two
for bears.

The rapper calculates on visi ing his traps at least
once a week, to secure the game and reset the trap or dead
fall. In some sections he can do this and return to camp
each night ; while in others the extent of territory is too
large, or the lakes and streams are so located, that he cannot
get over the ground so expeditiously, and in this case he has
a number of camps located at convenient distances, in each
of which he spends a night alternately, collecting all the fur
as he proceeds, which he brings to the central or store
camp.

The fur-bearing animals are all the trapper attempts to
take. Only a sufficient number of deer are killed to supply
the camp with venison ; and probably a few moose for the
sake of their skins and massive antlers, the whole carcass of
rich juicy meat being left to rot, or to feed the wolves. As
soon as the ice begins to form in the fall, or before it breaks
up in the spring, the hunters return to the settlement with
their load of valuable furs.

But wliile discussing the habits of the beaver and his
natural, and we might say his only, enemy, the sun has been
gradually but steadily declining in the west, and we are yet a
considerable distance from where we propose to camp for
the night. In a brief space of time we are across the little
pond, and speeding over a narrow portage to the north-east.
In half an hour we find ourselves on the shore of another
lakelet, with its small outlet immediately to the right of the
end of the portage. Here again we embark. No one ever
thinks of walking round any of those sheets of water, no
matter how small they may be, and we carry the canoes and
make them carry us alternately. At the end of half a mile

-"re

M- I

112

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

ft !

wc arrive on the siiore of Mcintosh Lake. It is a Ir 'ely
sheet of water, studded with naked rock and small rocky,
pine-clad islets. Immense pines overhang the water and
crown the rocks on its eastern shore ; while its western hills
are clothed in a dense growth of black birch and maple,
with a fringe of cedar, hemlock, and alder round the shore.
Here there is no stream emptying to the south or west ; but
a large creek is seen winding in through a large tamarack
swamp from the south. In the north-east a valley of alders
is seen extending in an easterly direction between the moun-
tains, with a quantity of white driftwood piled up against the
shore denoting the outlet.

The ridge we have just crossed between this and the last
lakelet is the Height of Land, and for the present we are done
with the Muskoka ; the waters we are now gazing upon find
their way to the ocean through the valley of the Ottawa.

We paddle straight into the head of a deep bay almost
due north from the end of the trail, and pitch our camp for
the night.

CHAPTER XIII.

INCIDENTS BY FLOOD AND FIELD.

HE mists engendered by the cool night are still
hanging heavily on the waters when our camp is
struck. A short half mile, through a lovely
hardwood glade, brings us to " Wolf Lake," a
sheet of pure limpid water. Proceeding for a
mile or so across the mouths of the small narrow
bays which indent its eastern shore, a V-shaped bay is
before us, extending to the north-east ; arriving at its foo^ we
enter the outlet, a creek with just water enough to float the
canoes. We proceed down its winding course, across a
beaver meadow covered with a luxuriant growth of blue-joint
grass, pass through a narrow opening in an old beaver-dam,
and in another hour are in Misty Lake. It is seen extending
away to the west, between high hardwood hills, and is dotted
here and there with small islands. Away at the distance of
a mile two objects are seen moving steadily towards the
north shore. Are they loons, or what ? The field-glass is
brought to bear upon them. They are seen to be an old cow
moose and her calf. The flesh of the calf would be a rare
delicacy ; but they are too far away for us to overtake them,
and long ere we could come within shot they would be far
into the deep, dark woods, where pursuit would be hopeless.

I ..>

I » r \

114

Camp Life in Northern Ontario,

We wend our way towards the north-east, and rounding a
point, pass through a short, shallow narrows a chain or so in
width, when we find the water again expanding into a
broad lake stretching away a mile and a half to the east. An
open and recently cut line on the narrow neck of land on the
south side of the narrows is the boundary between the town-
ships of Hunter and Devine. Proceeding easterly to the foot
of the lake, here is a narrow neck extending still further a
little to the south of east, till finally the outlet is reached.
There is a stream at least four times the size of the Muskoka
above Canoe Lake. It is rushing away to the east over a bed
of huge boulders. There is a well-cut portage on the south
siiore, where we land, and follow it a quarter of a mile, when
it ends by the side of a smooth, deep, rapid stream. We
have discovered another river. What is its name ? Let us
retrace our way to Joe Lake, and endeavour to find it again,
at a point lower down, and by another route.

We must endeavour to rejoin the camp we left yesterday
on Joe Lake this evening, or go supperless to bed. While
seated by the shore of the newly-found river we had eaten our
last crust, and lake and portage are each in succession passed
as rapidly as possible. The sun is nearly set by the time we
arrive at the head of Potter's Lake, and total darkness has set
in before we step on shore at the outlet. It is only a mile and
a half to camp ; but a mile and a half over a rough and hilly
portage, bending beneath a canoe or pack, on a dark night is
rather more than we care to undertake. A big fire is soon
blazing up, by the light of which a few small balsams are
felled. The night is clear and calm, with no signs of rain,
and the dense foliage of the trees will effectually keep off the
heavy dew ; so we shall dispense with the tent by which an
extra half-hour's work in the darkness is avoided. As a sub-

Incidents by Flood and Field.

stitute for supper, an extra pipe is smoked, after which
each one spreads down a few balsam boughs as he chooses,
and wrapping himself in his blanket, tired Nature claims her
rights, and in a few minutes all are sound asleep.

The first rays of the morning sun have not begun to gild
the tops of the tallest pines when all are awake and on their
feet. Ten minutes later, and we are wending our way along the
narrow portage. It does not take long for us to reach the
camp, and with a loud cheer awaken our comrades from their
morning nap.

While breakfast, of steaming beans and newly-caught
trout, is being prepared, we indulge in a refreshing plunge in
the crystal waters of the lake. A hearty breakfast is soon
partaken of, and word passed round to strike camp and
pack up.

In less than another hour everythinf? is done up, the
canoes loaded, and once more we are off. In a few minutes
we are through the narrows, and speedinp^ east between the
north shore of Joe Lake and the island. A mile to the east
a small spot of tall beaver grass marks the inlet. Just before
reaching it we discover, through a grove of alders on our left,
a small pond in a beaver meadow. Pausing to have a look
at it, an antlered buck is seen feeding on the far shore. Our
hunter is quickly set on land, and creeps stealthily to the
thin grove of alders, which are now found to be growing on
the top of an old beaver dam. It is a long shot, but the deer
may step into the woods at any moment, and taking a hasty
aim he fires. The antlered head is instantly raised high in
air, the eyes turned towards us, and the small column of
smoke discovered, denoting the presence of an enemy. He
sharply wheels round, his white tail rises, and with a single
bound he is out of sight. The bullet has passed over his

ii6

Camp Life in Northern Ontario,

back, for Jack informs us that he overestimated the distance,
and sighted the rifle too high.

We are now in a shallow, tortuous creek, with scarce
water enough to float our light canoes. In less than ten
minutes Little Joe Lake is reached. Half a mile straight
ahead is a grass and alder covered marsh. To the left the
shore is comparatively low, and timbered with pine and hem-
lock ; while on the right rises a high mountain covered with
hardwood. Soon the edge of the marsh is reached, through
a bed of water-lilies, out of which half a dozen ducks have
risen. They fly right round the lake, gradually attaining a
higher elevation, then pass swiftly overhead speeding towards
the west.

The Muskoka River is now found to be only v\ few feet
wide, and the canoes must ascend it in Indian file. In a few
minutes we are sailing along a narrow crooked lane between
overhanging alders, and have frequently to duck the head to
escape the interlaced limbs, and an occasional newly-fallen
balsam has to be cut out of the way. In about an hour we
arrive at a portage on the south side, and must land. About
this the alders hang so thick and low over the water that it is
impossible to force even a small canoe through them. We
have now reached the head of canoe navigation on the Mus-
koka River. True, it is still a few miles to the fountain-head,
but we shall make the distance by lakes, as the stream itself
is no longer navigable.

Portaging along another quarter of a mile through a thick
grove of tall pines we make the shore of a little pond. Hastily
loading up, in five minutes we are across it. It is on the
creek, for there is the outlet to the left where it rushes through
a mass of boulders ; while to the right a small cataract is
tumbling over a ledge of rock into the pond, reminding us

Incidents by Flood and Field.

117

that we are still on the main river. Climbing another rough
portage of ten or twelve rods we reach another long narrow
pond nestling between high pine-capped hills, and stretching
away for half a mile to the north. Two-thinls of the way up
a small fern-clad island lies nestled close to the east shore.
When nearing the upper end of the pond the ear is once
more greeted with the noise of falling water. Picking our
way for a couple of chains amongst the stones in the little
brook, there on our right are the first falls of the Muskoka,
counting from what may be fairly termed its source. Another
short rough portage of about the same length as the last, and
a small sheet of water lies stretched before the eye extending
apparently about half a mile eastward. We are now on the
shore of Island Lake, and shall dine before re-embarking.

A ten minutes' pull suffices to bring us to the eastern end
of the water visible from the landing, when, rounding a rock,
we enter a narrow neck of water, and a few strokes of the
paddle carry us through. There before us is Island Lake,
, stretching away to the north-east. On the north is a tower-
ing mountain, clothed to the summit with tall, graceful red
pine. On the south is a magnificent ridge of high hardwood
land. Away at a distance of a mile and a quarter to the east
the view is cut off by a high and heavily-timbered rocky
point jutting out from the south, and a cluster of small islands,
while a deep bay extends away to the south-east. On our
right an open lane in the woods extending south marks the
east boundary of Hunter, and we are now in the township
of McLaughlin.

We skim lightly across the deep blue waters, assisted by
a light south-western breeze ; and in half an hour are passing
through the cluster of small islands seen from the narrows.
Here another ba'" extends about half a mile to the north :

ii8

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

and here again we pass through a narrow neck of water.
The main body of the lake lies before the eye stretching at
least four miles to the north-east. To the south-east lies
another deep bay, into which empty the waters of Linda's
Lake, embosomed between high hardwood hills three miles
to the south. Away in the far east is seen a high mountain,
clothed in maple and birch, a few miles beyond which, we
are told, lies the great Opeongo Lakes.

Numerous picturesque bays indent the shore on either sir" .
While still a mile from the east end we turn to the left around
a low, rocky point, and pass between the shore and a long
narrow island. On our left another bay stretches nearly a
mile and a half to the north. At its head is a swamp, through
which a creek winds its way from a valley between the moun-
tains in the background. Follow it up and you will find, at
the distance of a mile or two, its origin in a small marsh or
beaver meadow, and you will have reached the fountain-
head — the source of the great Muskoka River. Away still
further north is seen a mountain towering high above its
fellows, clothed in hardwood timber, with a few green pines
stretching sentinel-like over all.

Before us on the main shore, and south of this bay, are a
few acres of land which have been burnt over, and are now
clothed with a dense growth of small poplar and cherry.
Towards the east end of this we lay our course. But before
we can touch shore our little vessels ground on a bed of
yellow sand. We carry the loads on shore, and then lift the
canoes for the last time out of the waters which go to sv/ell
the volume of Lake Huron. When thej^ are again launched
it will be on a tributary of the Ottawa.

The sun is still high, and we conclude to cross the por-
tage, and, if we can make no further progress, camp for the

Incidents by Flood and Field.

119

por-
the

night at the other end. We have scarcely gone half a mile
up and down a few knolls, through the thick, green woods, in
a north-easterly direction, when other water is seen glimmer-
ing through the trees. It looks like a pond extending only a
short distance to the east. We cannot tell whether, on the
whole, we have been ascending or descending from Island
Lake, for we seem to have travelled as much down as up
hill, and have also passed a few narrow necks of swamp, anJ
the two waters have apparently about the same level. But
this narrow elevation forms at this point the dividing ridge
between the waters of Lake Huron and the Ottawa River.

Scattered round at the north end of the portage are a few
leg-bones, ribs, and vertebrae of a moose. By the time every-
thing has been got across our usual hour for camping has
arrived, and all hands immediately set to work in getting up
tents, and doing all the other odd jobs of camping-time.

Another lovely morning. As usual, we are up with the
lark, and soon speeding across the pure, limpid water. Emerg-
ing from the small, pond-like bay, we enter a broad sheet of
water extending nearly a mile to the east. Nearing the bot-
tom, it is seen spreading away towards the north. We steer
round a point, and keep along its west shore, heading towards
a naked rock at the north. When about half way across, a
large island is passed on our right hand, the main body of
the lake extending to the east behind it. This sheet of water
is Little Otter SHde Lake. In a few minutes the outlet is
reached. The trunks of two or three large pines have fallen
across the stream. Stooping under one, lifting over another,
and cutting the end off a third, we are finally in a broad,
shallow, muddy creek, with a scarcely perceptible current.
To the right is a high mountain, thickly timbered with large
pines and hemlocks right down to the water's edge. On the

1 20

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

left is a large spruce swamp, backed by a high hardwood hill
in the distance. The stream is so shallow that soft, black,
slimy mud is turned up with every stroke of the paddle, and
in several spots the canoes can only with difficulty be forced
through it. We dare not step out, for if we did we would be
engulfed in the soft, black, spongy mass.

In half an hour another large lake is entered. We are
almost at the west shore, and it extends in a broau sheet
away to the east. Straight ahead, at a distance of a mile,
a pile of driftwood marks the outlet. The south shore is a
high hardwood bluff, while pine and hemlock-capped moun-
tains encircle the north side. The , -eater part of the lake
lies completely hidden behind a large island and a cluster of
smaller ones, and unless we go east beyond those we shall
only have the pleasure of gazing upon a very small portion
of Otter Slide Lake.

The landing is immediately to the west of the head of the
creek, and is soon reached. The same old process of taking
out, packing-up, crossing, and loading-up again, that we have
become so well accustomed to, is repeated.

The portage this time is almost perfectly level, well cut
out, and scarcely a five minutes' walk, when we are again
afloat in a tiny little pond, guiding the canoes past stones
and around sunken timbers. Another somewhat longer, and
decidedly rougher, portage has to be overcome, and we
emerge on the creek at the foot of a shallow, stony rapid.

The stream is not wide enough for two canoes to go
abreast ; and by this time the cravings of the inner man
have again warned us that the dinner-hour ought to be near.
The pail of hot tea is quickly prepared, and each with his
chunk of bread and pork is busily engaged. An hour later
finds us paddhng slowly down the gently-flowing stream. It

Incidents by Flood and Field.

131

to go
man

[near.

|h his
later
It

is in many spots so shallow that there is scarcely water
enough to float us; and as we pursue its windings we are
steering towards nearly every point in the compass. It runs
through a wide marsh dotted with clusters of alders, balsam,
and spruce, nearly the whole surface being covered with tall
beaver-grass. At short intervals we pass over deep pools,
and, peering into the water, a fine trout is seen darting from
underneath a projecting glder.

Suddenly the echoes are awakened by the report of a gun.
What have the lads got this time ? We round a sharp bend.
There is the canoe lying with its end drawn up on a muddy
bank, but there are no men to be seen. We pause and look
round, when suddenly, a few rods off, they rise to their feet
by the side of a clump of alders, and advance, dragging with
them a fine fat yearling buck. Its head is .domed with a
small, neat pair of velvet-covered horns. A single drop of
blood behind the shoulder marks the spot where he received
his death-wound. Mutual congratulations are exchanged;
and we shall now, in addition to fresh trout, enjoy the luxury
of fresh venison. The game is laid on its back, ripped open,
and the entrails removed ; the head is also cut off, for we
carry no useless weight, and left alongside the other refuse
as food for the ravens, which are croaking overhead and
perched on the limbs of a neighbouring tree. There is a
slight shifting of cargoes to make room for the venison, and
again we are under way. We now enter another small pond,
or expansion of the creek, a couple of chains wide by twice
as many in length. At its foot is an old and dilapidated
beaver-dam, and a low murmuring of water below announces
the presence of another rapid. To the left is seen the end of
the portage ; and one canoe, suddenly fired with the ambition
to reach the landing first, dashes off ahead of the others, but

122

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

yRl- ./- V

scarcely has it got fairly under headway when it strikes
against the sharp top of a sunken stone ; a big hole cut clean
through the bark is the consequence, and the water rushes
in. Ere they can make the landing and disembark, the
bottoms of the packs are submerged. As they are being lifted
out a tiny stream of water pours from each, and half the
contents are thoroughly soaked. This is the first serious
damage any of our little fleet has sustained. The canoe is
turned up for examination. There it is, a large, ragged hole,
with the torn bark doubled in against the ribs. It is care-
fully smoothed out again, and the torn edges brought together.
A piece of strong gray cotton, perhaps twice as large as the
rent, is got ready, and the gum melted to its thinnest capacity.
The cotton is put in, and thoroughly saturated with, the melted
gum, when it is taken and smoothly spread over the hole, the
greatest care being observed that the edges are well smoothed
down. In a few minutes it is dry and cold, and the canoe is
as sound as ever.

Half-way across the portage we find the stump of a large
pine that has been cut with an axe. The body of the tree
has been taken away, but in the place where it lay a number
of slabs and a large quantity of chips bear unmistakable evi-
dence that it has been made into a stick of square timber.
We are again in the track of the lumberman. The last we
saw was on the portage between Lake of Bays and Hunter's
Bridge. This is of itself sufficient evidence that we are on
other than Muskoka waters, and the creek we are threading
must be either a tributary of the Madawaska or Petewawa
Rivers.

We are in a little while again afloat, and moving noise-
lessly down the narrow creek. The ease with which the
canoe is propelled is a pleasant change from the steady^

Incidents by Flood and Field.

li^

strong stroke which had to be constantly maintained while
ascending against the current.

But it has been gradually clouding up ever since nine
o'clock, and now heavy drops begin to fall. They soon
thicken into a steady rain, and the light rubber sheets, which
have been kept ready for such an emergency, are quickly
spread over the loads. In half an hour we reach a short,
shallow spot, where the stream — though it can scarcely be
called a rapid — is almost completely filled with big stones,
and we will require to make a short portage. The rain has
been steadily increasing — there is every indication of a wet
evening, and we conclude that our best course is to camp for
the night.

The canoes are quickly unloaded, drawn out, and inverted
over their cargoes. All is hurry and despatch now. Not
only will the goods get wet, but we will soon be drenched
ourselves. In a few minutes the tent is up — the floor made
as level as possible. The balsam brush is picked and laid in
place, although it is dripping wet. No water ever penetrates
the short, green spines; a single sha^e releases it of all that
clings to it, and when spread down it is as thoroughly dry as
if there had been no rain at all. A large fire is soon blazing
near the door of the tent, and a tump-line stretched along
the ridge-pole is soon loaded with wet clothes hung up to
dry, and the rain gives us very little annoyance.

ading
wawa

teady»

IIP

,11 ',rl

k':

m'\ I

i '1

CHAPTER XIV.

«'

■'^mA

a grumble

WE CONTINUE OUR EXPLORATIONS.

E knew before starting that there were discom-
forts in camping which we would have to beat
with, and that we need not expect to make
our trip without being occasionally caught in
a shower, and probably getting a thorough wet-
ting, so the little inconvenience is borne without
We are to have fresh venison for supper, and
in due time a part of the carcass is stripped of its hide.
The heart and liver of the animal were preserved. The bake-
kettle is nearly filled with rich juicy steaks, and a few slices
of fat pork. What a supper we do make ! By the time we
have had enough of the luxurious morsels there is no room
left for either apple-sauce or rice.

After supper two of the party take a canoe, and go down
the brook a short distance to a deep pool to angle for trout ;
for, contrary to expectation, the rain has entirely ceased, and
the sun is shining out at short intervals through rents in the
parting clouds.

But they speedily return, literally chased from their fish-
ing ground by myriads of sand-flies and mosquitoes, which,
they say, no man could withstand. Every wet article is now

We Continue our Explorations.

125

iown
[rout ;
I, and
In the

fish-
^hich,
now

got out and spread before the blazing fire, and by the time
the night has fairly set in all is once more thoroughly dry.

A bright starlight night, with countless hosts of fire-flies,
succeeds the wet afternoon, but the sand-flies are so annoying
that a smudge has to be kept going in the back of the tent
till long past midnight.

A heavy veil of mist is enshrouding both marsh and
stream, hanging also in thick masses in the dense woods of
the swamp, as we emerge from the tent in the early morning.
A mile or more of what may very properly be termed narrow
navigation brings us to the head of the long portage. The
stream is still more winding than we found it yesterday. At
one point we are speeding over a deep, clear stretch ; then,
with heads stooped to avoid the overhanging alders, we are
winding round a sharp bend ; at several points logs are to be
got round or cut out of the way ; then again floating beneath
an arch of boughs which completely veils the stream, till
finally we bring up at the end of the portage on the left bank,
and bending beneath our loads are off down the shore of the
creek. In a few minutes the path crosses the stream to the
opposite side, and we get over on a fallen tree. Some of the
party could not walk the slippery log, and have to wade the
stream. They get wet feet, but what of that ? So long as the
water is warm they do not care, for as soon as the portage is
passed, the wet socks can be replaced by dry ones, and one
rarely ever catches cold in camp.

This is the longest portage since we crossed the Height of
Land ; but after crossing the creek, it is along an old lumber
road, and so the travelling is much easier, although it is some
five-eighths of a mile long, and the packs are finally laid down
by the side of still water in another little alder marsh.

Less than five minutes further in the canoe and we reach

126

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

''WM

ill

ini

III

still another landing. It is not merely the end of a narrow
portage this time, for here is a small cleared space covered,
not with wild grass, but by clover and timothy hay, and the
trough-roof of an old lumber shanty is also to be seen. Step-
ping up the bank, there, a few rods off, is the big old build-
ing of rough, unhewn logs, notched into each other at the
corners, roofed over with other split logs slightly hollowed out
to carry off the rain and melted snow. A small frame of slabs
rises up four feet from the centre of the roof: this is the
chimney, the big caboose being directly beneath it. The
entrance is through a small door three by four feet in the
centre of one end ; a few panes of glass half-way down one side
serve for a window. The building is at least thirty by forty
feet, and seven or eight in height. It must have been built a
good many years ago, and the dilapidated condition of the
adjacent stables bears testimony that it is a number of years
since it was used. But as the interior of the shanty is now
filled with provisions for both man and beast, it is *he evident
intention of the owners to re-occupy it next winter.

The construction of roads is so expensive in this unbroken
wilderness that the owner of timber limits finds it cheaper
and more convenient, before the ice in the lakes and streams
breaks up in the spring, and the smooth winter roads have
become impassable, to lay in a sufficient supply of provisions
to last his gang of men, who usually are sent into the woods
about the end of autumn, till the ice has again taken, and the
snows of the early winter render the roads passable.

A few men are generally left in charge during the summer
months to raise vegetables at some central point, which goes
by the name of the farm or depot ; and at short intervals they
visit all the shanties, where provisions, sleighs, and such like,
have been stored, to see that everything is safe, and that none

We Continue our Explorations.

127

like,
none

of them have been broken into and an attack made upon the
provisions by bears, and also that no fires have been started
in the woods. In this instance the door of the shanty is
firmly barricaded and chained up, and the chimney is also
covered with heavy timbers, to resist the attacks of Mr. Bruin.
On going round to the side of the building a small excavation
is seen where one of those gentlemen has attempted to dig
his way in underneath the foundation, but has had to relin-
quish the task, and forego the pleasure of dining on salt pork.

The obstructions in the creek have been so numerous, and
have occasioned so many delays, that we have only made a
short distance this morning ; and when everything is on shore
by the side of the old shanty, it is time to prepare dinner. We
hear the noise of a fall behind the building, and while the
cook is preparing the tea and frying a venison steak a fishing-
line and rod are fitted up, and we make our way down a nar-
row path to the side of the stream. Here, at the foot of a
beautiful cascade, it is spanned by the remains of a rude
bridge. A rough lumber road winds up the opposite bank.
Immediately beneath the bridge is a deep pool, and here there
ought to be some brook trout. The hook is quickly baited and
thrown m. It is scarcely ten seconds out of sight when there
is a succession of sharp, strong tugs, and a big white fish, at
least a foot long, is the next moment floundering on the shore.
We pick it up and examine it. It is entirely covered with
large, white scales. This is no trout, but the chub of the
Ottawa waters. A considerable quantity of chub are to be
had in the Muskoka waters ; but there they are always small,
scarcely larger than a good-sized minnow. Here they are
as large as the biggest speckled trout, and are to be found in
almost unlimited numbers.

Before either the pork or venison is cooked, we are back

I i 1

■ h

128

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

at the camp with a half-dozen large fish, which in a very few
minutes are dressed and added to the pan. The bright noon- .
day sun is intensely hot, and each, with a plate of steaming
meat, large slice of bread, and dish of scalding-hot tea, seeks
a shady nook in which to discuss his meal.

The stream below the shanty is still small, having nothing
except a few small rivulets to swell its waters below Otter
Slide Lake. Again we are tracing its winding course through
an alder marsh. There are high, dark woods on either side,
but straight down stream an open space is gradually increas-
ing in size. In half an hour, passing through a narrow open-
ing in a bed of rushes, we suddenly find ourselves in open
water, and White Trout Lake, in all its varied beauty, is
spread out before the eye; and our canoes rise and fall on
the heavy ground swell.

A stiff western breeze is blowing, and has raised a heavy
sea, which is too much for our light canoes, so we steer along
the west shore, and find it all we can do to cross the mouths
of a couple of small bays. As we slowly proceed the lake is
gradually unfolded to view, stretching away to the north and
east. Coasting along the shore, we pass the end of an open
line leading westerly. This is the northern boundary of the
township of McLaughlin, and we now enter the township of
Bishop. In half an hour after entering the lake a rocky point
is reached, where the shore trends sharply to the west ; and
here we must stop, for the canoes could not live for five
minutes in the long white-capped rollers which are thunder-
ing by, chasing each other in rapid succession.

In a few minutes everything is disembarked and laid out
on top of the bank. It is a lovely spot for a camp, and com-
mands one of the best views on the whole lake. The field-
glass is quickly adjusted, and brought to bear successively all

We Continue our Explorations.

129

round. A deep bay, thickly indented with smaller ones,
extends for upwards of a mile to the west. Right in front
and to the north-west is a cluster of small pine-topped islands
which obstructs the view in that direction. Looking beyond
their east end a part of the west shore is seen, on which is a
narrow strip of small poplar, an evidence of its having a few
years ago been burnt over. This extends northerly to near
the outlet, which is concealed by an island densely clothed
with the same variety of young timber ; while on the east
side of the outlet, and extending away inland, is a high hard-
wood mountain with a margin of pine and other evergreens
encircling the waters. Right north of us the hardwood
mountain slopes down to the water's edge at a point a mile
and a half distant, on which a recently erected lumber-shanty
is standing. A deep, bottle-shaped bay stretches away to the
north-east and rounds up to another hardwood hill a quarter
of a mile south-east of the shanty. From this a bay extends
far away eastward, its end concealed behind still another
cape. The remainder of the lake bends again in a graceful
curve away to the east, and finally winds up by a regular
sweep to the mouth of the creek we have just descended.
The whole shore is covered by a dense primeval forest of
hardwood and evergreens, and the scenery during the latter
part of October, when the now green foliage has assumed its
autumn colouring, must be gorgeous beyond conception.

Heavy masses of dark clouds are drifting athwart the
heavens, emitting at short intervals light squalls of rain, while
away on the east shore the swell is breaking in clouds of spray
at least twenty feet high on the boulder-strewn beach. The
tents are soon set up, extra care being bestowed on the beds
to have them level and soft, as we are likely to remain here
for a few days, and a number of balsam tops dragged forward

^^TT

130

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

and piled up to windward of the camp to break the force of
the gale. Another dozen or so of the big white chub were
caught while we were descending the last part of the creek,
and the little sheltered bay in which we landed is laid under
contribution for as many more, so there is a bake-kettleful of
fried fish for supper. They have not the delicious, tender
flavour of the trout, and there are sundry small bones distri-
buted promiscuously through the flesh ; but still they are
good, wholesome food, and are most thoroughly enjoyed.

We are now at the close of another week, and are well
pleased to have arrived at such a pleasant spot in which to
spend the Sabbath. The instructions of the Fourth Com-
mandment are not very strictly adhered to, and the day is
spent in a manner somewhat similar to the last. There is
more clothes-washing and, in addition, considerable more
mending done, for this packing over rough portages is very
trying on our dry goods as well as the feet wear.

Shortly after dinner the cook is observed to be engaged in
some mysterious operations by the side of the bake-kettle.
A little water has been put in the bottom, which is then
covered with slices of fat pork ; on the top of this a layer of
little ffat lumps of dough is placed, then another of square
chunks of venison, then more pieces of dough and venison are
placed side by side till the kettle is filled, and a thin crust of
dough aid completely over all. He now sets it in the pot-
hole and covert, it over with hot sand and coals. Next a big
roly-poly pudding of dried apples and raisins is sewed up in
a clean cotton cloth and placed in the largest pail, which has
been half-filled with water, and then hung over the fire. By
six o'clock both the contents of the pail and bake-kettle are
cooked, and we sit down to a supper fit for a king.

It is another glorious morning ; the wind has entirely gone

We Continue our Explorations.

«3i

gone

down and the surface of the lake is as smooth as a mirror.
The high winds of the two preceding days seem to have com-
pletely dispelled the damp and mist occasioned by the recent
rain, and the atmosphere has now a peculiar clearness but
rarely seen.

We purpose to-day exploring the west part of the lake
into which, we have learned, the waters of Misty Lake empty.
The camp is left in charge of the cook, and taking with us a
light lunch an early start is made. We always prefer an
early start in the morning, when the air is cool and fresh.
We thread our way through amongst the group of islands to
the north-west of the camp, and steer across the mouth of
another bay, which is now for the first time discovered, ex-
tending away to the west. Past a few more little islets, right
in front is a beautiful birch point, on the north of which we
now discover another picturesque and birch-fringed bay. A
high hardwood mountain is on the left : as we skirt its base
up the bay it gradually closes in till at last it is merely a nar-
row neck of water scarcely a chain in width. A few strokes
of the paddle suffice to speed us through the short narrows,
and we enter what the trappers call Little White Trout Lake,
stretching away to the west for upwards of two miles.

Numerous small birch and pine-fringed points indent
the north shore, while on the south a bold, burnt bluflf
of at least three hundred feet high towers above the
water ; high up near the top a bald-headed eagle may
be seen rising from her nest on a narrow projecting
ledge. We paddle sharply for half an hour along its base,
then the shore turns suddenly to the south-east. Right
opposite the rocky point round which we are steering, and
at a distance of three-eighths of a mile, is another low
point clothed in dark green pines, maple, and hemlock.

\\\ ,ik

■l"!

■, iHie

132

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

To the south of it lies a lovely bay, on the south shore
of which an old lumber shanty is visible in a patch of
raspberry bushes.

We steer straight south round a narrow peninsula which
extends out from the west. On rounding its low rocky point
we catch sight of a high hardwood mountain — a mile to the
south — towering above the surrounding hills. This is the
mountain we saw to the north of Island Lake, which is only
between three and four miles directly south of our present
position.

The head of White Trout Lake is at last before us at a
distance of three-fourths of a mile. An open marsh extends
all across it, hemmed in on either side by high pine-clad
hills. The view up the marsh as cut off by a thickly-wooded
island, which lies right in the centre of the soft, spongy ground,
round the base of which, in the fall of the year, large quanti-
ties of cranberries may be gathered. Steermg along the noith
shore, we enter the river, a stream about six rods wide, wind-
ing slowly along. At the distance of about two miles another,
two-thirds its size, enters from the south-we'_.£. This one
is the outlet of Mcintosh's Lake, which lies a little over three
miles to the west. Bending to the right the main stream fol-
lows an arm, or offshoot of the marsh, for about a mile and a
half further, when the end of the marsh is reached. From
this point it consists of a series of smooth stretches and short
chutes to the point we left a week ago below Misty Lake.
It can be followed for several miles further above that lake,
when it spreads out into a network of lakelets and small
creeks, which form its source.

The drier parts of this marsh is a favourite haunt of the
moose in the fall of the year, or during the fly season, and
have at one time been well-timbered with cedar and tamarack,

We Continue our Explorations.

133

now nearly all dead and strewn on the ground or standing
bare white poles, their places being rapidly taken by large
clusters of alders.

Before sunset we are back to camp discussing a hearty
meal prepared of the same viands and in the same manner as
yesterday's supper. To-day we have been tracing out the
source of the Petewawa, one of the Ottawa's largest tribu-
taries. We shall devote to-morrow to following its windings
a few miles further towards the north of White Trout Lake.
We have frequently during the day seen large trout leaping
up out of the water, end now find that the cook has his night
line set, and will probably have the pleasiire of testing their
merits, as compared with their namesakes of the Muskoka,
for breakfast.

The sun is scarce an hour high when we are again merrily
dancing over tiny wavelets, and heading for the north end
of the lake. We shall not return to-night, so a tent, blankets,
and a two days' supply of provisions are taken along. We
have not been disappointed in our anticipations of trout for
breakfast, and have found the quality quite up to our most
sanguine expectations.

In an hour or so we enter a little cove just beyond the
burnt island seen from the camp, and there a short distance
right ahead is a newly-built timber-dam and slide — another
evidence that the axe of the lumberman will be heard in
those woods during the approaching winter. In five minutes
more we are at the landing. It is but a few steps across to
the foot of the portage, when we reach the head of a small
pond. The fall is only a few feet, and the dam has evidently
been constructed for the sole purpose of keeping back the
waters of the spring freshet, in order to retain them for use
in floating the timber over some of the more shallow rapids

* I'

13^

134

Catnp Life in Northern Ontario.

further down the stream, as the summer advances and the
waters begin to subside. A five minutes' paddle suffices to
bring us to the foot of the pond, where there is another
short chute with a few feet of fall, and where the narrow
raceway is overhung, and the water almost completely
sheltered, by tall pines and hemlocks. At its foot is a deep,
dark pool — a rare spot for trout. We are now in another
lake ; away to the west, at a distance of half a mile, is
seen a belt of rushes, behind which a hollow between the
hills marks the channel of White Pine Creek, which empties
its waters thro'iffVi the rushes. This stream is famous for its
trout, and also as being a favourite haunt of the moose. A
few strokes of the paddle, aided by the current from the
falls, carry us out of the little cove and into a long narrow
lake, stretching away almost due north, hemmed in at the
lower end by a high mountain, clothed like the others with
hardwood and pine. On the east side the hills rise only to
a moderate elevation. They have already been depleted of
most of their pine timber. On the west, the land attains a
much higher elevation, and becomes mountainous. The chain
of waters here forms the boundary of a timber berth, the for-
est being still untouched on the west shore. Arriving at the
foot of this body of water, a narrow alder and balsam-covered
valley is seen winding its course by the base of a mountain
towards the north-west, through which another fine trout
brook meanders to the main stream. Here the waters be-
come reduced to the dimensions of a river, and taking a
sharp turn to the east, flow for a few chains through a grassy
marsh, when they once more spread out for a quarter of a
mile or so into a shallow pond. There is another sharp bend
almost at right angles ; this time it is to the north, and we
find ourselves in a deep, gently-flowing stream of eight or ten

We Continue our Explorations.

135

rods in width. In a few minutes another short portage is
reached ; then a few short stretches of smooth, still water,
where the stream spreads out a little, and a couple of short
rapids down which we run the canoes, and enter Red Pine
Lake.

At first sight it seems only another trifling expansion of
the river, with a pine-clad bluff on our right front ; but just
before reaching this, a narrow neck of water leads into a
beautiful rock-bound nook to the east, and the bluff turns out
to be an island. Skirting along between the island and the
west shore, a lovely little gem of an island, on which are a
number of clusters of alders and a few graceful red pine, is
sighted. Stepping up the bank, above the narrow strip of
dark shingle, it is seen to be literally covered with huckle-
berry bushes. Many large clusters of the blue fruit are
already ripe, and like a band of school-children we revel in
their sweets.

The body of the lake is now seen extending away to the
east. The north shore is overhung by groves of the timber
from which it derives its name. Moss-covered rocks and
pine-crested mountains overshadow the numerous pictu-
resque bays on the south side. Here, as the sun is by this
time nearing the meridian, we conclude to have dinner, and
the pail of tea is soon steaming on the mossy turf.

' V, , ^■

CHAPTER XV.

MORE EXPLORATION AND A GOOD SHOT.

FTER the usual noon-day rest we again embark,
and pursue our course northward. Having passed
several beautiful moss-covered isles and points, on
emerging from a neck of deep water only a few
chains in width we enter a large sheet of water
stretching away far to the north and wesi. We
head along the east shore, steering from point to point for
some distance across the mouths of numerous small bays to
where it bends in a graceful and regular curve towards the
north-east. On nearing the north end, the side of a hill,
which has been burnt over, is descried, and from this it has
probably derived its name of Brftl^ Lake. The shore still
keeps trending to the eastward, the north side gradually clos-
ing in till the two almost unite, when the pent-up waters rush
over a rocky bed on either side of a small island. We land
at the head of the rapid, and, following a well-beaten portage
for five minutes, reach the foot, and there lies the Petewawa
River, flowing, in a majestic stream, to the eastward.

We have traced it almost from its source ; seen it gather-
ing together its scattered waters, gradually increasing in
volume, until it has now assumed the form of a deep, swift

More Exploration and a Good Shot.

137

to
the

iwa

river, and from this point to continue on its way, collecting
the scattered waters from the large valley it drains, till finally
it empties into the Ottawa ten miles north-west from the town
of Pembroke. We shall now leave it, and retrace our steps
to Canoe Lake, and endeavour to find the source of another
tributary of the Ottawa River, the Madawaska.

Here there are numerous traces of old camp-grounds, as
the river drivers have been detained here for some time each
succeeding spring guidmg the timber and saw-logs down the
rough rapid at the outlet of the lake.

As the sun is by this time low down in the west, we shall
camp for the night, and explore the windings of the west
shore on our way to the south again on the morrow. On
steering westerly it is seen that while on our way north a
large part of the lake was hidden from our view by a number
of small islands scattered over its surface, many of which had
been mistaken for the shore of the lake. The day is half spent
in steering in and out of the numerous bays which indent the
western shore, and admiring and speculating on the value
of the dense forest of large and valuable white pine which
encircles it and extends away to the west. The north boun-
dary of the township of Bishop crosses this lake, and its
nox ''lern part lies in the township of Osier. By the time we
have retraced our way to the island on which we dined yester-
day it is long past noon, but a remembrance of its mass of
luscious berries induces us to return and dine again to-day.
But just before reaching it a canoe is seen rapidly approach-
ing from the east. A white pufFof smoke rises from its bow,
followed by the crack of a rifle. This is taken as a signal
that they wish to speak to us, and, firing a shot in reply, we
lie still till they come up. They turn out to be two of our
own men we had left in camp the preceding morning.

? i,

138

Camp Life in NortJieni Ontario.

They tell us they had left camp in the early morning to
explore the deep bay, seen extending easterly from the lum-
ber shanty on the north shore of White Trout Lake. On
arriving near the foot of the bay they had found the end of
a winter lumber-road leading in a north-easterly direction.
Shouldering the canoe, and following the road for a mile and
a half, they had found that it ended on the shore of another
lake, when, launching the canoe, steering northward and pass-
ing a narrow point, they found a large sheet of water extend-
ing apparently for miles to the east, its south shore rising
into high hardwood ridges, and the north covered with red
and white pine. It is named Lake La Muir. Beautiful hard-
wood mountains enclose its west shore. Our men had sailed
through amongst a cluster of islands past the mouth of a
mountain stream finding its way through a gorge between
the hills, and had landed by the side of a swamp at the head
of another bay in the north-west corner of the lake. Here
they found another lumber-road, along which they travelled
three-fourths of a mile, mostly through a large spruce swamp,
when they struck the most easterly point of Red Pine Lake,
and began speculating as to whether it would be better to
retrace their way to camp by the route they had come, or
endeavour to find the river, by which they could return, when
our canoe was espied. As they had brought no lunch with
them, the demon Hunger, which seems to be ever hovering
round when one is inhaling the healthful, bracing air of those
woods and waters, was tormenting them, and they gladly
joined us at dinner.

The sun has gone down and darkness set in before our
canoes are again launched on the waters of White Trout
Lake. But as soon as we get past the little island, and are
fairly out on the bosom of the lake, the camp fire, although at

More Exploration and a Good Shot.

139

our
Trout
d are
ghat

a distance of nearly three miles, is distinctly visible, and we
quickly speed across the calm, still waters to the landing. We
are soon agreeably engaged in discussing a plate of rich pea-
soup and trout with a top-dressing of rice-pudding, which the
cook had prepared in expectation of our return.

We indulge in an extra hour's sleep next morning, as the
work of the last two days has been unusually hard, and the
boys were thoroughly tired out. By eight o'clock everything
is packed up, and we are retracing our way to the mouth of
Otter Slide Lake Creek. We find it tedious, as well as very
laborious, paddling and pushing up the shallow stream, for the
water has perceptibly fallen since we descended, and it is
drawing towards the close of the second day ere we have
crossed the Height of Land and again emerge on the shore of
Island Lake. It had been our intention to cross to the foot
of it this evening, but a stiff western gale is blowing, and we
are impelled to retire a few rods into the woods and pitch
camp for the night.

If time permitted, we might steer southerly across a couple
of small bays on the east shore, and landing on the east side
of a small islet, follow a surveyor's line which we would find
running away eastward ; in a mile and three-fourths we would
make the shore of a pond emptying its waters towards the
west, and the creek winding away in a south-west direction,
then gradually assuming a more southerly course, increasing
in volume, and fed by numerous springs and rivulets, till finally,
having increased to the size of a small river, it empties its
waters into Lake of Two Rivers on the Madawaska River.
Crossing this pond, and passing over a hill about half a mile
further on, we would arrive at another body of water named
'• Hailstorm Lake." Launching out on its waters, and steer-
ing eastward for half an hour we would arrive at its outlet, a

^ 'P

'■■jV

140

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

.'A-y

. * 'J"

:!'■ L ,'

Stream meandering through a spruce swamp; then slowly
working our way down it for a mile and a half, we would cross
the east boundary of the township of McLaughlin, and enter
the newly-surveyed township of Bower. A little over a mile
further we would find it joined by a stream from the north.
It is now a good-sized, but sluggish brook, flowing through an
open marsh, in many places the water completely covered by
the broad leaves of the water lily, and one of the best spots in
this whole section of country for duck shooting. After an
hour's paddle, rounding the last of its numerous sharp bends,
the largest body of water we have yet seen would lie spread out
before us, stretching in deep bays away to the north and east,
liemmed in by grand, majestic, heavily-timbered mountains.
Bending our course easterly along its high south shore, in a
little over an hour we would pass into another large bay
extending to the south-west, then gliding through a cluster of
islands, and steering southerly along the east shore, another
large body of water would be seen stretching far to the south-
west. Still tracing the east shore, at the end of another mile
■we would turn suddenly to the north through a neck of
deep, swift -flowing water, scarcely three rods wide, and in a
couple of minutes more the largest bay of all would be opened
to view, stretching away to the north and east. Right ahead
on the left a large farm, with substantial log buildings
and groups of cattle and horses, would be seen. Landing,
we would be informed that we were on the Great Opeongo
Lake, and that this is the depot of the lumbering firm of
Messrs, F. & M.

Ascending a slight elevation, we would find ourselves on a
narrow neck of land, where we could see the magnificent
sheet of water stretching far both to the east and west,
studded here and there with pine-clad islets literally blue
with huckleberries.

More Exploration and a Good Shot.

141

We are standing by the side of an old Indian burying-
ground, but the destroying hand of the Paleface has defaced,
removed, or destroyed all relics that would make it histori-
cally interesting. Beside the defaced g) ^es of the aborigines
a pine slab marks the last resting-place of a Mr. D., the
pioneer of this section, who was killed a few years ago by a
bear on the shore of the creek we have just descended. But
as time will not permit, we must forego the pleasure of a visit
to the Great Opeongo for the present.

Towards the close of the next afternoon we are again
breasting the waters of Canoe Lake, heading for the old camp-
ground, where we shall spend to-morrow, which will be the
Sabbath. Scarcely have the tents been pitched when an object
is seen sailing out from behind the north end of the islai 1,
and heading for the shore to the west of the inlet. At first
sight it is taken for a loon, but as it is moving swiftly and
steadily forward, the field-glass is brought to bear, and
the sharp nose and long ears of a fine doe are revealed. A
canoe is instantly manned, and two of us are off in pursuit.
She is well-nigh a mile away, and we will have to strain
every muscle to overtake her before she reaches land. We
are within sixty rods before our approach is discovered, as we
are moving in a line almost at right angles to her course. As
soon as we are discovered, however, she dashes away at
double her former rate of speed ; we must hasten for she is
now well in towards the shore, but we now rapidly approach
and dash across right in front of her. A couple of minutes
more and she would have been in shallow water, when a few
bounds would have placed her out of danger and beyond
pursuit. She wheels sharply round and heads for another
point ; but she is now completely at our mercy, and can be
guided in whichever direction we choose. After heading

^^^

llll.l'

:l|l

14a

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

her off a few times, and watching the motions of her
graceful, tapering limbs in the water — (the thought of accom-
plishing her destruction is too deeply seated in our minds for
us to take any notice of the large, liquid, soft, pleading eyes) —
we steer up behind her till the canoe almost touches her quar-
ters, and discharge a load of No. 3 shot into the back of her
head. She floats lifeless by our side. As we look at the finely-
shaped, but drooping head and protruding tongue, the blood
oozing from the nostrils and dyeing crimson the pure waters
of the lake, a feeling of shame comes over us at the cowardly
manner in which we have accomplished her destruction. We
wonder how persons calling themselves sportsmen can go out
day after day and idly lie on the edge of some bay or point
listening for the baying of the hound which heralds the
approach of the harmless animal fleeing to this her only
harbour of refuge, watch the graceful form leap into the
water, imagining herself now safe from her bloodthirsty pur-
suers, watch till she is sufficiently far from shore to preclude
the possibility of her return ere he gets within striking dis-
tance. He has only to exert his strength for five or ten
minutes with the paddle, when the poor dumb brute is help-
lessly at his mercy — as completely in his power as the
fettered sheep is in that of the butcher — and then to call this
sport ! Rare sport, indeed ! If this is not pot-hunting, then
the word is a misnomer. If the hunter desires real sport,
sport where the game will have some chance for life, and
where man's intelligence and endurance is pitted against
the instinct and endurance of the denizens of the woods, he
should dispense with the use of the hounds. Let him shoulder
his rifle and go off alone into the woods, train the feet to
avoid treading on fallen limbs, and to step lightly over rus-
tling leaves, train the ear to detect the various sounds peculiar

More Exploration and a Good Shot.

143

to the woods so as to be able to distinguish the movements of
an animal from the creaking of one tree upon another or the
rustling of the winds, ar -" train the eye to detect the whisk-
ing of a tail, the flop of an ear, or movement of a limb, and
the dun form from the surroundin gtimber, the antlered head
from an upturned root, and, lastly, train the hand to make a
quick and steady shot.

When the hunter has bagged the game by this proper
method of hunting, he will feel that he has earned it, and that
to track and bring down the wily buck in his native wilds is
a feat any huntsman may be proud of. He will find that
venison killed in this manner is a very different article from
that produced by the carcase of a deer which has been chased
at full speed for several hours, until its blood is at fever heat,
then suddenly plunged in the ice-cold water of the lake, and
slaughtered before the body has had time to cool down to its
normal condition.

There is also another method of deer hunting with dogs,
which is quite as objectionable as that of killing them in a lake.
It is known by the name of "shooting on the runways." Deer
have almost invariably some particular spot for crossing a
swamp, going over or round a hill, or course for swimming a
lake or river. These crossings, where deer are plentiful,
frequently assume the torm of well-beaten paths, which may
be followed for miles, and in many instances a number of them
will converge and form one large runway. In the early
morning a companion is sent off into the woods with the dogs
to start the game, when the other, gun in hand, takes his
station at some well-known spot on the runway behind a tree
or log. The approach of the deer is heralded by the baying
of the hounds, and finally it is seen dashing along at full
speed intent only on escaping from its pursuers without pay-

144

Camp Life in Northern Ontario,

ing any attention to danger ahead. The hunter can so station
himself as to be able almost to touch the animal as it rushes
past, or, if it is a short distance off, a sudden whistle or shout
will bring it to a standstill to look for the new danger, when
in either case the hunter has a pot shot. In this case he has
not even the labour of a short paddle to get within shooting
distance, but has simply to stand still until the affrighted
animal rushes into the place of ambush.

If deer were only slaughtered by the still hunter, there
would be little necessity for game laws to protect them, and
they would not, as they are now, be driven to the outskirts of
the settlements, for there is enough of uncleared wild lands in
all the northern counties in Ontario — lands unsuited for agri-
cultural purposes — to form excellent game preserves. Were it
not for this chasing with dogs, deer would be still as numerous
in the settlements as they were before, as they are safer there
from their natural enemies, the wolves.

As the slain deer furnishes an abundance of fresh meat for
the table, there is no setting of the night line this evening.
During the forenoon of the next day an excursion to the old
camp-ground on the island reveals the fact that here there is
a large quantity of ripe huckleberries, and the cook prepares
large roly-poly with some for supper.

i^/'<i

m^^^

CHAPTER XVI.

THE SOURCE OF THE MADAWASKA— IN A GALE.

, NOTHER bright morning, and ere the sun is two

^w^^Un^ hours above the horizon we have sped swiftly
across the calm surface of the lake into the south-
east bay, and are trudging with stooping heads
across half a mile of a comparatively smooth
portage to Smoke Lake. The ,,amp is pitched on
its shore, and we shall spend the day in tracing its headlands
and bays, and also in having a look at Ragged Lake, which
lies only a short distance beyond its southern end.

Smoke Lake lies nearly due north and south, its extreme
length being a little over three miles. Immediately to the
west of the landing a bay extends for a distance of half
a mile to the outlet, which, as we have before observed,
empties into Tea Lake. The iMid around the north end
is net very undulating, but about half-way up a hard-
wood mountain on the west, and another, almost directly
opposite on the east side, towers high over the surround-
ing country. There are a few small islands, covered with
pines and huckleberry bushes, scattered over its surface ;
and t vo deep bays directly opposite each other, near the
southern end, give the lake the appearance of a large and
rudely-shaped cross. It g 'adually narrows down in the south

rwfm

It )

146

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

into a small, lily-covered bay, where a brawling braok comes
tumbling in over a mass of large boulders. This affords
another favourite haunt for trout. Ascending ?. short, rugged
portage, a small pond is encountered, on crossing which
another five minutes' climb brings us to the shore of Ragged
L' e, and we are quickly skimming over its waters. A high
pine-capped mountain lies directl}' a short distance ahead.
On emerging from the little bay at the outlet the water is
seen extending away to the east, and on approaching the
mountain it is found to be an island with a narrow channel
between it and the west shore. Passing through this, we
wind along the high western shore nearly due south. The
lake extends in a number of small bays away to the east. On
our right a narrow strip of young poplars, with tall, blackened
trunks towering high above them, attest the presence, a few
years ago, of a bush fire. On approaching a point on the west
side, we pass out of the township of Peck into the township
of Livingstone. In a few minutes more the shore turns
.abruptly to the west, where a broad belt of water extends
south to a large tamarack swamp, behind which is a back-
ground of lofty pine-clad mountains. Approaching the west
end, we turn north through a short narrows, re-entering Peck,
and come upon another large sheet of water stretching away
to the noth-west, but so numerous are the little capes and
islands that only a small part of it is visible at the same time.
The sun is getting low before we have completed the circuit
of its shores, and had a look at all its varied beauties. By
the time we are back to the end of the portage at the outlet
darkness has set in.

Should the excursionist wish to visit Hollow Lake and
return home by that route, let him steer into the end of the
lake east of the high island, and he will there find another

The Source of the Madawaska — In a Gale.

trail, and following it south through a number of smaller
lakelets, he can reach that large and picturesque sheet of
water in about half a day's travel.

A stiff north wind is now blowing, and, even were it
possible to cross the portage in the darkness, it is question-
able if we would be able to face the heavy seas that must now
be rolling into the head of Smoke Lake. We conclude to
remain here for the night, and after getting a big fire in full
blaze, make a light supper from the fragments left at lunch
time.

Judging from the appearance of the weather, we fear there
may be rain during the night, so by the aid of the fire and
cedar bark torches a brush tent is soon constructed by the
side of a big fallen pine. It will not, by any means, be quite
waterproof should there be a heavy fall of rain, but it will at
all events partly protect us from the wet, and the abundance
of dry limbs scattered within easy reach will enable us to
keep a good large fire easily going. After the usual evening
pipe, the fire is replenished, and each disposes of himself in
the best manner he can for the night.

It is a dark, gloomy morning ; heavy banks of dark, leaden-
crfloured clouds are moving slowly towards the south. As
soon as it is sufficiently light enough to enable us to find the
trail we are off, and the sun is scarcely up by the time we
have reached the foot of the portage.

The wind has moderated considerably, but there is still a
heavy swell rolling into the mouth of the creek, which under
ordinary circumstances we would not care to face. But im-
pelled by the urgent demand of empty stomachs, and the
certainty that they will have to remain in the same unsatis-
factory state until camp is reached, we make the attempt ;
we are confident that the adjacent rapids and deep pools con-

1 ;

148

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

tain unlimited numbers of trout, of which we could soon im-
provise a rough but substantial breakfast. Before cooking,
however, it is necessary they should first be caught, but by
some oversight no one of the party has brought either a hook
or line. So we launch out at once and gently propel the
little vessels across the big rolling waves. The canoes are
light, and we ride like corks over the foam-crested swells, ship-
ping only a very small quantity of water, but each succeeding
ship drenches both the face and arms of the man in the bow.
As the bow rises on the approaching wave the gunwale at her
stern is almost on a level with the surface of the water. Our
progress is exceedingly slow, for the canoe must have time
to rise as she is caught by each succeeding wave ; if she has
not, she will plunge right into it and must inevitably swamp.

The wind, as is frequently the case at this season of the
year, increases in velocity as the sun attains a higher altitude,
and ere we are half a mile on the way a fier e gale is blowing.
We dare not turn back, for fear of getting swamped in the
trough of the sea. Consequently our only safe course is to
steer straight ahead, and assist the canoe with the paddles at
the proper moment. We soon find that she is completely
under control, and that by careful management we c^n
weather the gale. Crouched low down in the bottom, so as
to lower the centre of gravity, carefully and steadily we
ply the paddles. Away straight ahead is an island towards
which we lay our course. As we approach it a creek is seen
emptying in at the foot of a small bay on the east shore,
while a belt of beaver-grass on the west side marks the inlet
of another, — the outlet of a small lake a mile away amongst
the hills, from the deep, clear waters of which many a splendid
trout has been hauled.

The force of the wind and size of the waves gradually

The Source of the Madawaska — In a Gale.

149

subside as we draw in under the lee of the island, and
reaching a little cove we step on shore. Between the water
we have shipped and the spray which has washed over us
we are pretty thoroughly drenched. The matches, however,
have been kept dry, and in a few minutes a roaring fire of
dry red pine limbs is started. One article of clothing is
taken off and dried at the fire, then another removed and
replaced by the dry one, and this exchanging process is kept
up until everything is thoroughly dried; and, were it not
for the cravings of hunger, we should feel quite comfortable.
Stepping up from the shingly shore to vhe top of the
island, our camp is plain in sight on the north shore. The
whole surface of the ground is blue with huckleberries.
Overhead the tall, slender trunks of the red pines, with their
bushy tops, are playing round like whipstocks in the fierce
gale, which by this time is tearing through their midst. All
hands are quickly at work in the enjoyment of a very fair
substitute for breakfast. How much sweeter the fruit seems
to the taste when newly-plucked, and eaten out of the hand,
than it does at any other time, no matter what else may be
added to it !

Away in the north-east is a deep bay, at the bottom of
which a large red object and two smaller ones are seen
moving about. An application of the field-glass reveals a
doe, feeding on the tender shoots of the young maple, with
her two beautifully-spotted, tiny fawns dancing around and
over each other, like a couple of lambs, on the yellow sand.
All around our islet the angry waters are tossing and tumbling
in high, white-crested waves, breaking with a loud continuous
roar on the shingly beach, sending great columns of spray
high up amongst the trees, in a manner which makes us
thankful that we were able to reach this goal before the gale

r': if

I •

^, 'i

' ',

r
*

7 , ■

150

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

had risen to such fury, for none of our canoes could live
a single minute in that rough sea.

The sky is now perfectly clear, and there is not a single
speck of cloud to be seen. The whole day is spent in alter-
nately eating berries, smoking, and sleeping.

Towards evening the wind gradually begins to subside ;
but it is long after nightfall before the water has sufficiently
quieted down to enable us again to put out. The smoke of
the fire on the island has betrayed our presence to our friends
at the camp, and a huge fire is kept burning as soon as it is
dark. By the light of this friendly beacon we guide our
course to the camp, where, in the enjoyment of a rich supper
of venison steak, fresh trout, and delicious white new-made
bread, washed down by deep draughts of fragrant tea, the
trouble and dangers of the preceding day and night are
entirely forgotten, or made the subject of a jest. In less than
an hour after landing all are fast in the arms of Morpheus..

The sun is beaming brightly down from a cloudless sky
as we emerge from the tent next morning. The gale of
yesterday has completely subsided, and perfect silence reigns.
To-day we shall move eastward and endeavour to find the
fountain-head of another of the great tributaries of the Ottawa.
As is usually the case, but a brief space of time suffices to
have everything packed up and loaded in the canoes. The
water is as smooth as a sheet of glass as we wend our way
round a low, rocky point, and across a deep bay north-east
of the camp.

A dozen yards north of a small belt of rushes, which
marks the outlet of a small creek, a few blazed trees denote
the end of another portage. This will be the longest carry
we have yet had, and to guard against a possible thunder-
shower, one of the tents is erected to protect our goods while

The Source of the Madawaska — In a Gale. 151

we are gone with a load. It is well-nigh two miles by the
winding path before we shall again be enabled to make use
of our canoes. Away, with laden shoulders and stooping
heads, we march up *' c /alley of the little creek. We
proceed at a good wir,. pace, for by this time we have
become inured to our wuik, and are able, not only to take a
much heavier pack, but also to carry it much farther without
resting than we could when we first started. After about a
mile's travel, now on one side of the creek and then on the
other, we er - ige on a long beaver meadow, extending for
nearly half a mile to the east. By our side is an old and dilapi-
dat.^^ beaver-dam. Were the beavers still here the long bed of
grass before us would be a lake, and would save three-fourths
of a mile of portage ; but all the industrious little animals
have long since been destroyed by the ruthless hand of the
trapper, and the decayed dam, the gnawed stumps of the
trees on which he fed, and the old beaver-house, are all that
now remain to indicate his former presence. The trail leads
through the tall grass to a point covered with timber, jutting
out from the north side, on reaching which the meadow is
seen spreading out northwards to a spruce swamp. Away
on the south side a pine-crested mountain, at least three
hundred feet high, rears its lofty head against the blue,
cloudless sky.

Another quarter of a mile to the east a small lake lies bask-
ing in the bright sunlight. The tall grass on its shores, and
the mountain in the background, are faithfully mirrored in its
deep, clear waters. It is directly in our path. As it will take
all day to get the baggage up to this point, and as there is
no high ground nearer the water, the tent brought along with
us is set up here, the packs undone and stowed away inside.
After winding the tump-lines around the shoulders, we retrace

1,1

152

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

iit^

our steps to Smoke Lake, where our cook has a substantial
dinner awaiting us. By sunset everything is across the
portage, stowed away, and supper over.

As usual, the sun is scarcely well above the horizon before
we are astir next morning, and in another hour we are wending
our way by the side of its small outlet to the boggy shore of
the lake. Suddenly a beautiful otter springs out of an old
beaver-house, and with two or three graceful leaps plunges
into the water. At a distance of a few rods from the shore
his round bullet head shoots above the surface. He surveys
us for perhaps half a minute, then as suddenly as he rose he
ducks down again, and we see him no more.

A few minutes' paddle enables us to cross the twenty-five
chains of lake, where a short time is spent in picking green
cranberries, which are growing thiokly on the few rods of
marsh intervening between the water and the green woods.

Here again a well-cut portage is found extending towards
the east, and in less than ten minutes we are stariding by
the side of a large body of water spreading out towards the
east. Ten minutes afterwards we are skimming over its deep,
blue waters. The west shore is formed by a number of little
bays, while a short distance out are a few small but lovely
islands. The course is shaped nearly due east. The south
shore is rather low, there being only a few knolls which rise
more than a few feet above tlie surface of the water. The
timber is a mixture of nearly all the varieties peculiar to the
country. On the north, at a short distance from the water, is
a high maple-covered hill. At the distance of about a mile
from the west shore a large creek is slowly winding in through
a tamarack swamp on the north shore, behind a few small
rocky islets. Away to the east the land rises into heavily-
wooded mountains. Half a mile from the east end a small

The Source of the Madawaska — In a Gale.

153

grassy point juts out from the south side nearly opposite
a large and heavily-timbered island. A few chains further
and the east boundary of Peck is crossed and we enter the
township of Canisbay. Rounding a point, still another bay
is seen stretching for a quarter of a mile to the south. Its
sides are completely covered with fallen timber, leaving only
a narrow space of clear water in the middle. At its foot
there is an old beaver-dam, and a large creek tumbles over
a rocky bed in a south-east direction. We have found another
river, for this is the head-waters of the Madawaska. Here
is its very fountain-head, and the last portage is the dividing
ridge between it and the Muskoka. This is Source Lake,
the most westerly of its waters.

A fifteen minutes' tramp brings us to the foot of the por-
tage. It is all either level or down-hill this time, and for
most of the distance the noise of the creek is heard as it
tumbles down the rocky ledge a few rods to the left. We
emerge on its shore at the foot of the rapid, at the head of
a beaver meadow almost completely overgrown with alders.
The stream is scarcely big enough for one canoe to pass
at a time. It is only a short distance to the next por-
tage, and the remainder of the day is spent in alternately
pulling and paddling down the narrow creek and carrying
our baggage across the rough portages. At the head of
each portage is an old and dilapidated beaver-dam. The
land rises at a short distance on either side into high ridges,
all densely covered with pine, hemlock, and hardwood tim-
ber. The black muddy shore of each little pond is literally
covered with deer and moose tracks, and one moose is
seen at a distance dashing ofi through the alders, head-
ing for the high dry land.

154

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

We finally halt for the night at the foot of the last por-
tage on this part of the stream ere we emerge on the next lake,
where there is an old camp-ground. We always prefer pitch-
ing camp if possible on an old camping-place, as it saves the
trouble of clearing off the ground and there are generally old
tent poles lying around that can be utilized.

CHAPTER XVII.

WE FINISH OUE EXPLORATION AND OUR HOLIDAY.

ROM this point, although both very crooked and
narrow, the creek is deep enough to enable us to
make constant use of the paddle. In fifteen
minutes, on emerging from a bed of tall grass, we
find ourselves in another lake, which lies away to
the west, a short distance into the township of
Peck. We keep along its east shore, across the mouths of a
few small bays, and a little over half a mile arrive at the
outlet, guarding which, at the distance of a few rods, is a
small island. Steering slowly through big trunks of flood-
wood and large stones for a short distance, we reach a
sluggish stream about four rods wide, and with barely water
enough in some parts to float us. Its shores are lined with
water-lilies and fallen timber, an occasional tall, white trunk
extending half-way across, around which we carefully pick
our way.

Rounding a bend to the left the stream is seen in the
distance widening out into a small lake or pond, while a few
rods in front a narrow riband of ferns and beaver-grass
spans the creek. This is another old and deserted beaver-
dam, which, when in good repair, must have dammed the

.i '

I 7 ■

:'i

156

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

water back as far as the foot of the last portage ; and this, no
doubt, made the small beaver meadow between the end of
the portage and the lake. The top of the dam is now between
two and three feet above the surface of the water. A narrow
cut, large enough to admit a canoe, has been made in it near
;the centre. Through this we pass, and in a few minutes are
■in deep, clear water. This is found to be no small pond, but
Cach^ Lake. A lovely birch-clad island lies right before the
mouth of the creek, and on its west end is seen a hunter's
cabin. The water extends away past a high point on the
south side to the south-east, and also north of the island
in a north and easterly direction. We steer down the south
side of the island. Gradually a large body of water is
unfolded to view, stretching away past the east end of the
island to the north, and also in two long bays to the south-
west, with a bold, rocky, but straight south shore, till it
rounds up in a beautiful bay in the south-east.

South of the lake the country is rugged and mountainous,
and heavily timbered with pine and hemlock. On getting
within three-fourths of a mile of the east shore, we turn to the
north-east down a narrow neck of water, between a peninsula
on the west and a high mountain on the east, extending in
dark granite cliffs to unknown depths beneath the surface of
the water. Arriving at the end of this channel, another bay
opens out, extending to the east and south, leavmg another
small peninsula on our right. At the east end of the bay a
pile of floodwood denotes the outlet, and as we draw near a
roaring of water indicates the presence of a fall or chute.
The portage is on the south side of the stream, when, trans-
ferring the loads from the canoes to our shoulders, at the end
of a quarter of a mile we re-embark in smooth water below
the rapids.

We Finish our Exploration and our Holiday. 157

The volume of water is now very much larger than above
Cach^ Lake. Gliding smoothly and swiftly down the stream,
in a few minutes we are again on the track of the Ottawa
lumberman ; a cluster of old lumber shanties are passed, and
the stumps of large pine which have been cut are thickly
studded along the banks : this is the most westerly point
to which their operations have extended on the Madawaska
River.

At a short distance below the shanties a long, narrow
marsh, hemmed in on either side by high, rugged mountains,
is entered. The water is beautifully clear, and we glide
smoothly, with only an occasional dip of the paddles, along
the gently-flowing current. Presently the marsh is seen
extending beyond the point of a high mountain to the south.
Our stream also takes a southerly turn, and in a few minutes
another, more than half its size, empties into it from the
south-west ; up this we wend our way, and in half an hour
arrive at a little rapid, where the cookery is unpacked and
dinner eaten.

A portion of our loads, not needed for the night, are
cached at this point, and carrying over the short and shallow
rapid, we continue our route against the stream. At the
head of the rapid another long, narrow marsh is entered, and
at the end of a mile the high dry land again closes in on the
water. The channel of the stream is divided into two parts ;
that on the west side is a broken and rough chute, with the
water dashing down amongst the stones. Across this is the
remains of an old, roughly-constructed, but strong dam, built
by the lumberers to throw the water into the other channel,
which is at present perfectly dry. This one is a smooth,
inclined furrow in the granite rock, in shape like a huge
trough, its sides and bottom smooth, as if made by a plane.

158

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

In a few rods more the mountains again recede on either side
of the stream, leaving between them another marsh, through
which it winds its devious course. In half an hour the high
lands once more close in on the water, and we step on shore
at the foot of another stony chute. A short portage brings
us to the head, where the remains of another dam are
encountered, and we are at the foot of what seems to be a
small pond. After embarking, a few strokes of the paddle
carries us up to and beyond a point on the south side, when
a beautiful sheet of water is seen stretching towards the
south. This is Head Lake, and here we conclude to camp
for the night. Landing the loads, while our men prepare the
tents, we take a paddle round the silent shores, and have a
look into the small picturesque bays. This lake is a perfect
gem, completely mountain-locked. Away in the south-west
a creek, some two or three yards wide, enters, half-way down
its southern shore, and a smaller one is rolling in down a
mountain-side ; while in the extreme east a small marsh,,
with a narrow valley between the hills, denotes the presence
of a third. Each of these has its source in a small lake, or
beaver pond, and this is the head of the second stream
which forms the nucleus of the waters of the Madawaska.
This lake, like all the others, literally teems with trout.
Its northern shore has been well-nigh denuded of its pine
timber, but on the south the dense primeval forest is still
untouched.

We have a lovely spot for our camp, on the point south-
west of the dam. The young crescent moon with its lights and
shadows gleams brightly through the trees, and the mountaia
and pines of the north shore are faithfully and beautifully
mirrored in the deep clear waters, the perfect silence only
broken by the shrill, weird cry of a couple of loons.

We Finish our Exploration and our Holiday. 159

By ten o'clock next day we are back to where we dined
and left a portion of our loads on the way up. Beyond the
forks the stream, which is now beginning to assume the
dimensions of a river, pursues its zigzag course through the
marsh. At the end of another mile we arrive at the foot
of the marsh, and the hard land approaches again to the side
of the water. On the south, a few rods from the shore, a per-
pendicular cliff rears its head for at least one hundred feet
skyward, its top crowned with majestic red and white pine,
standing in a carpeting of dun-coloured moss, in which one
sinks ankle-deep at every step, and the whole surface almost
blue with clusters of ripe huckleberries, while from every
crevice on the face of the cliff a small pine or cedar, bunch of
ground hemlock or small white birch, is maintaining its posi-
tion, looking healthy and vigorous in spite of the very limited
quantity of soil which surrounds its roots.

Here there is another chute and the remains of a timber-
dam, and a portage of four or five chains. For the next few
miles the stream is an alternation of short rapids and smooth
stretches of almost still water enclosed between high moun-
tains, an occasional break in the hills affording egress to a
small spring creek, where we can enjoy a drink of ice-cold,
crystal water. We pass across many rare pools for trout, but
our time is too limited to allow us to indulge in sport. We
finally enter a bed of alders beyond which no timber is seen.
After rounding a sharp bend and shooting past the last clump,
we are suddenly rising and falling on the long steady swell
produced by a north-east breeze on the Lake of Two Rivers.
Paddling a few rods out into the lake, another stream fully
as large as that we have just descended is seen winding in
through a bed of rushes about ten chains to the north. It
is from these the lake derives its name.

i6o

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

Were we to follow this river a few miles towards the
north-west, we would pass numerous little ice-cold rivulets,
and finally reach a point where its waters are divided into
two streams of equal size, the one winding its way from the
north-west, the other from the north-east ; each one becom-
ing again subdivided as we proceed, the main branch grow-
ing steadily less, and each of the numerous rivulets draining
some small gully or swamp, till the last is finally lost beneath
the root of some giant cedar or pine, a ledge of rock, or
impassable bog. The longest, and that which extends farthest
towards the west, has its rise in the small lakelet east of
Island Lake.

The south shore of Lake of Two Rivers is a high maple-
crested mountain, and, as is usually the case with all the lakes
in this section of country, having a narrow fringe of cedar and
balsam along the edge of the water. On the north is a forest
chiefly of white pine. About half-way down the north shore
there is a deserted clearing with a dwelling-house and barn.
This was a fev/ years ago the central depot of a large lumber-
ing establishment, the distributing point, whence the outlying
camps were supplied. The lake is about two and a half miles
long by one wide. Skirting alor-"' the south shore, the outlet, a
deep swift river flowing in a soutii-easterly direction, is reached.

We launched our frail canoes on the broad bosom of the
Muskoka, and followed its windings, finding it gradually grow-
ing smaller and smaller, as we passed one brook and lake after
another, till we finally reached its source in Island Lake.
From thence we crossed the Height of Land, and tapped tne
waters of the Petewawa, following its winding course, and
gazed on the varied beauties of the lovely lakes which form
its source, bidding it adieu, and retracing our steps, when we
found it had assumed the dimensions of a large river.

We Finish our Exploration and our Holiday. i6i

In like manner we have crossed the watershed between
the Muskoka and Madawaska, explored and viewed the vari-
ous creeks and lakes which form its source, till we have found
them uniting together and forming a deep, wide stream, which
is performing the double functions of draining the surrounding
country of its superabundant water and forming also the
highway down which the wealth of timber which is produced
by the vast surrounding forest is conveyed to market. For
three-quarters of a century it has annually borne upon its
bosom a rich freight of valuable timber, which has been manu-
factured and drawn on to its icy covering during the pre-
ceding winter, then delivering it to the mighty Ottawa, to be
borne onwards by its waters, a portion of it being manu-
factured into sawn lumber by the mills along its course, the
residue loaded on ocean vessels at the city of Quebec, and
from thence conveyed to all quarters of the globe.

As we stand b} the shore of the sw'ft-flowing river, the
scenes of our early youth are recalled vividly to the mind's
eye. Far away, near where its waters mingle with those of
the Ottawa, our early youth was passed. We recall many a
happ); hour spent by the side of the turbulent, long rapids,
bathing and fishing in its swift, clear waters, gathering the rich,
ripe berries which grew so abundantly along its rugged shores
in the early autumn, or tracking the deer in the deep cedar
swamps and along the dar: rocky gulches during the first
snows of winter.

But the track over which we have passed is famous for
other scenes than those produced by inanimate nature. Far
in the lemote ages of the past, those valleys and woods were
th'''i'iy peopled by the Red Man. And those waters were one
of the highways by which the Iroquois of the Ottawa marched
to make war on their hereditary enemies, the Hurons. One

l62

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

party ascending the Madawaska, another the Petewawa, and
uniting their forces in Canoe or Tea Lake, together descend
the Muskoka and attack the villages scattered along the shores
of its lower lakes, and from thence, marching overland, carry
destruction and death to the shores of Coucouching and Sim-
coe ; while their defenders were away repelling the attack of
other war parties assailing them by the way of French River.

Could the veil in which the unwritten past is enshrouded
be withdrawn, scenes of valour, scenes of heroism, and scenes
of cruelty and blood would be beheld, equal to any told in the
histories of the Old World. But the aborigines of this conti-
nent were utterly without the simplest forms of literature, and
the history of the tribes has only been preserved in legendary
lore handed down from sire to son. They had no Homer to
write the history of their sieges, no Ossian to sing of the valour
of their chieftains, the fierceness of their combats, or the
beauty of their daughters, and there is now no Byron to
bewail their fallen greatness.

One almost expects when crossing the narrow portage to
meet a lin of plumed and painted warriors treading noiselessly
with moccasined feet along the winding path, to see them
speeding swiftly across the tossing waters of the lakes, or
along the silent reaches of the rivers. No cumbersome provi-
sion or ammunition train accompanied the army of the red
man. The stout elm bow, the glittering tomahawk and scalp-
ing-knife were his only weapons, the quiver full of arrows
slung behind the shoulder his only ammunition. The forest
and water afforded abundance of his frugal food. The naked
earth was to him a luxuriant couch, and the foliage of the
woods and canopy of heaven an ample covering.

In those shadowy dells the Indians were born, in those
they lived, in those they died and were buried. They knew

We Finish our Exploration and our Holiday. 163

no other world than their native forests. They hankered
after neither wealth nor fame. Their only ambition was to
excel in the chase or on the field of battle.

Here the dusky maidens viewed their graceful forms and
bathed their shapely limbs in the crystal waters, and entwined
their raven tresses with garlands of maple leaf and silvery birch .

Around those pine-clad mountains the buckskin-dressed
hunter tracked the lordly moose and elk, or chased them in
his light canoe across the still waters of the lakes, and sent
the quivering arrow into their vitals.

Beneath those spreading cedars the youthful hunter
brought the trophies of the chase, the painted warrior the
spoils of battle, and laid them at the door of the wigwam as
proofs of their prowess, with which to woo and win their
youthful brides. And in those moonlit dells as daring deeds
of chivalry were wrought and as tender tales of love told as
ever were sung by a Scott or a Burns.

Kind reader, our task is ended. When we began this
little book it was our only ambition to attract the attention
of lovers of romantic scenery to those unknown wilds,
which, although within such easy distance, are almost un-
known. But to see this section of country in all its varying
beauty, one would have to visit it during the depth of winter,
when the forest is clothed in its mantle of white, and the
waters of lake and river lie still and hushed beneath their icy
covering. Again in the early spring days, when the buds of
the gray woods are unfolding into the green leaf, the wim-
pling burn is a brawling brook, and the calm-flowing waters
of the rivers are roaring torrents. And again in the fall of
the year, when the green leaves are turned to red and golden
yellow, and the ice-coated limbs of the trees are glittering in
the bright sunshine.

I-

164

Camp Life in Northern Ontario.

While we have endeavoured to describe some of its varied

beauties, there are still other spots of equal loveliness in

those dark woods, which the limited time at our disposal will

neither allow us to visit nor illustrate. But at the close of

our holiday we return to our labour? among our feUow-men,

invigorated and strengthened, both in mind and body, and

better able to appreciate the beauty and truthfulness of the

lines —

For me kind Nature wakes her genial bowers,
Nurses each herb and spreads out all her flowers ;
Annual for me the grape, the rose, renew,
The juice nectarious, and the balmy dew. '

For me the mine a thousand treasures brings ;
For me health gushes from a thousand springs ;
Seas roll to waft me, suns to light me rise,
My footstool earth, my canopy the skies.

t: I

!»

h 'J

ied
in
vill
J of
en,
ind
the