The forest fire which I have mentioned as having swept this country to
the shores of Grand Lake some thirty-odd years ago, had been
particularly destructive in this portion of the valley where we were
now encamped. The stark dead spruce trees, naked skeletons of the old
forest, stood all about, and that evening, when I stepped outside for
a look at the sky and weather, I was impressed with the dreariness of
the scene. The wind blew in gusts, driving the rain in sheets over
the face of the hills and through the spectral trees, finally dashing
it in bucketfuls against our tent.

The next forenoon, however, the sky cleared, and in the afternoon
Richards and I went ahead in one of the canoes to hunt the trail. We
followed the north shore of the lake to its end, then portaged twenty
yards across a narrow neck into another lake, and keeping near the
north shore of this lake also, continued until we came upon a creek of
considerable size running out of it and taking a southeasterly course.
Where the creek left the lake there was an old Indian fishing camp.
It was out of the question that our trail should follow the valley of
this creek, for it led directly away from our goal. We, therefore,
returned and explored a portion of the north shore of the lake, which
was very bare, bowlder strewn, and devoid of vegetation for the most
part--even moss.

Once we came upon a snow bank in a hollow, and cooled ourselves by
eating some of the snow. Our observations made it quite certain that
the trail left the northern side of the second lake through a bowlder-
strewn pass over the hills, though there were no visible signs of it,
and we climbed one of the hills in the hope of seeing lakes beyond.
There were none in sight. It was too late to continue our search that