ngle, and life is a joy.
Early in the forenoon we reached rapids and quickly portaged around
them; all were short, the largest being not more than half a mile. At
ten o'clock we ate luncheon at the foot of one of the rapids where we
caught, in a few minutes, fourteen large trout. Just above this rapid
the river opened into long, narrow lakes, and the canoeing was superb.
Suddenly the river took a sharp turn to the westward, and appeared to
lead directly into the mountains. At that we sent up three rousing
cheers--the river problem seemed to be solved; apparently the road to
Michikamau lay straight before us.

A little above the bend in the river we came upon an old gander and
goose and two unfeathered young. The gander with a great squawk and
flapping wings took to the bush, but we killed the old goose with a
rifle, and George "knocked over," as he expressed it, one of the young
ones with a pistol. More luck (and food) came to us a little later.
While George and I portaged around the last rapid that evening, Hubbard
caught fifty trout averaging over a pound each. They jumped greedily to
the fly, four or five rising at every cast.

Above this rapid the river again took the form of a long, narrow
lake--a lake so beautiful that we were entranced. It was evening when
we arrived, and the very spirit of peace seemed to brood over the
place. Undoubtedly we were the first white men that had ever invaded
its solitude, and the first human beings of any kind to disturb its
repose for many years. On the north a barren, rocky bluff rose high
above the water; at all other places the shores were low and wooded. A
few miles to the westward could be seen the barren Kipling Mountains,
and between them and us was a ridge of low hills covered with
black-green spruce. The sun was setting in our faces as we paddled
slowly along the lake, and as it went down behind the mountains a veil
was gradually drawn over the lovely scene. Not a breath of air was
stirring, and hardly a sound broke the stillness save the ripple at the
bow of the canoe and the soft splash of the paddles. In the placid
waters two otters were swimming and diving. One was timid and remained
at a distance, but the other was bold and inquisitive and came close to
the canoe. Here and there all over the lake, its mirror-like surface
was broken by big jumping trout. Two loons laughed at us as we drew
the canoe on to the sandy beach of a low jutting point, and they
co