After warming ourselves by a big fire and eating luncheon, Hubbard
and I took our rods and fished the greater part of the afternoon,
catching between us twelve or fifteen trout.

"You had better cook them all for supper, George," said Hubbard.
"This is my mother's birthday, and in honour of it we'll have an
extra loaf of bread and some of her dried apples. And I tell you
what, boys, I wish I could see her now."

On the following day (Tuesday, August 11) the weather had somewhat
moderated, but the east wind continued, and the rain still fell
during all the forenoon. We could get no fish at our camp, and at
two in the afternoon started forward, all of us hungry and steadily
growing hungrier. Hubbard whipped the water at the foot of every
rapid and tried every pool, but succeeded in getting only a very
few trout. While he fished, George and I made the portages, and
thus, pushing on as rapidly as possible, we covered about four
miles.

While George and I were scouting on Sunday, we had each caught
sight of a ridge of rocky mountains extending in a northerly and
southerly direction, which we estimated to be from twenty to
twenty-five miles to the westward. Previous to Tuesday, these
mountains had not been visible from the river valley, but on that
day they suddenly came into view, and they made us stop and think,
for they lay directly across our course. However, we did not feel
much uneasiness then, as we decided that our river must flow
through a pass in the mountains far to the north, and follow them
down before turning east.