As the morning was fine, I had walked from camp to the fall while
the men brought up the canoes. I was striding along the terrace,
not thinking at all about my surroundings, when I suddenly became
conscious of a most delightful fragrance, and looking down I found
myself in the midst of a tangle of the long, trailing vines of the
twin flower (Linnea borealis), sweetest of all Labrador flowers,
with hundreds of the slender, hair-like stems bearing their
delicate pink bells. How delighted I was to find it. Other
Labrador flowers were beautiful, but none so lovely as this.

Above the falls the river was very rough, and in the next half or
three-quarters of a mile we made three more portages, and landed a
little before noon at a high, rocky point on the south shore, to
find ourselves at the edge of the hill country again. Here the
river was crowded between high, rocky hills where it flowed too
swift and deep for either poles or paddles. We could keep to it no
farther, and so made camp, for now some scouting for a portage
route would be necessary.

While at dinner that day a thundershower passed. The thunderstorms
of Labrador seem very mild and gentle as compared with those we are
accustomed to. Later it settled to steady rain. Job went
scouting, and the others lay in the tent most of the afternoon, Joe
and Gilbert not feeling very well. Trouble--change of diet with a
little too much of it. Job on his return in the evening reported
the river bending away to the southwest a few miles farther on, and
impassable as far as he could see. There would be a long portage
west and south, but the country was not very rough, and a number of
small lakes would give some paddling.