expansions. For a mile above its mouth we had good canoeing. Up
to this point the river was not more than thirty yards wide, and
was deep, with little current. Then it began gradually to widen
and become shallow and swift, with a boulder-strewn bottom. Soon
we had to jump into the water, and with Hubbard at the end of the
tracking line, and George and I at either end of the canoe, haul,
lift, and push the heavily laden boat up the river, while we
floundered over the boulders. Sometimes we would be able to get
into the canoe and pole, but never for long. Around the worst
places we portaged the whole outfit, canoe and all. It was
desperately hard work, and when night came on and we went into
camp, we were only two miles above the little lake.

Hard as it was, we should not have minded our work in the rapids so
much had it not been for the flies. For the first time we now
realised the full form of what had been told us about the fly pest
of Labrador. We had considered them annoying at Rigolet and
Northwest River, but as soon as we began to buck the rapids they
came upon us in clouds. They got into our nostrils, into our ears,
into our mouths, into our eyes even, and our faces and hands were
streaked with blood from their bites. They were villainous,
hellish. Hubbard frequently remarked that the mosquitoes seemed
friendly in contrast--and the mosquitoes were by no means
considerate of our feelings and comfort either. We had purchased
some cheesecloth at Rigolet for face nets, but the trial we had
given it during the afternoon had proved that it was too closely
woven for us to see through it and do our work, and it was useful
only as some measure of protection for our ears and necks. On our
faces we also tried some "fly dope" that we had purchased in New
York, but it kept the pests away for a few minutes only.