"We'll take it easy," said Hubbard while we were paddling upstream,
"and make a little picnic of it. I'm dead tired myself. How do you
feel, Wallace?"

"I feel tired, too," I said. "I have to make an extra effort to do
any work at all."

Hubbard was inclined to attribute this tired feeling to the freedom
from strain after our nerve-racking work of the last few weeks,
while I hazarded the opinion that our purely meat diet had made us
lazy. Probably it was due to both causes.

As Hubbard was anxious to obtain definite knowledge as to what
effect the high ridge of rocky mountains had upon our river, George
and I, with the object of ascertaining the river's course, left
camp in the canoe on Friday morning (August 14), taking with us, in
addition to our emergency kits, our cups, some tea, and enough
caribou ribs for luncheon. We portaged around a few short rapids,
and then, about eight miles above our camp, came upon a lake
expansion of considerable size with many inlets. On the northerly
side of the lake was a high, barren hill, which afforded us a
splendid view of the surrounding country.

Winding away to the southeast was the river we had ascended. To
the west was a series of lake expansions connected by narrow
straits, and beyond them were the mountains, which we estimated
rose about 2,500 feet above the country at their base. In
sheltered places on their sides, patches of ice and snow glistened
in the sunshine. Barren almost to their base, not a vestige of
vegetation to be seen anywhere on their tops or sides, they