e paused to enjoy the grandeur of the
scene. We had travelled about six miles through the pass, and this
hill marked its end; the mountain barrier that at one time seemed so
formidable had not proved so difficult to cross after all. And in
accomplishing the pass we had reached the great interior plateau--the
land that lay hidden behind the ranges.

After we had paddled along Lake Hope a hundred yards, we struck a
sharp-pointed rock that tore a hole through the bottom of the canoe.
This accident forced us to take refuge on a near-by island where George
could repair the damage and procure gum from the spruce trees to cover
the patch.

Sunshine came with Sunday morning (August 23), and we dried our
blankets and camp outfit before starting forward, so that it was after
ten o'clock when we quit the island. Lake Hope proved to be long and
narrow, and we soon realised that it could not be Michikamau's
southeast bay; but at the western end we hoped to find a strait
connecting it with another lake, and as we approached the western end
with a feeling of uncertainty as to what lay beyond, George remarked:
"It's like goin' into a room where there's a Christmas tree."

Sure enough there was a strait, and as we turned into it, we saw beyond
big water stretching away to the westward for miles. "There's a
Christmas tree without a doubt," said Hubbard. We felt positive now
that this second lake was Michikamau's southeast bay, and we broke the
solemn stillness of the wilderness with three lusty cheers. It is
violating no confidence to say here that the second lake was not
Michikamau's southeast bay; it was simply the peculiarly-shaped body of
water that appears on my map under the name, Lost Trail Lake.

Two and a half miles up Lost Trail Lake we climbed a barren ridge,
where we found blueberries, mossberries and bake-apple berries. The
latter berry is salmon-coloured, and grows on a plant resembling that
of the strawberry. The berry itself resembles in form the raspberry,
and has a flavour like that of a baked apple, from which fact it
derives its name. It ripens after the first frost. The mossberry is
small and black, resembling in shape and size the blueberry, and is
sweet and palatable after being touched with frost. It is usually
found on the moss clinging to rocks. On the ridge it grew in
abundance, and we ate a great many. The blueberry of Labrador is
similar to the blueberry of the United States.

Some distance b