The Long Labrador Trail by Dillon Wallace
page 70 of 266 (26%)
page 70 of 266 (26%)
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luncheon one of the men remarked, "Duncan said once that if there are
no flies there, hell can't be as bad as this, and he's pretty near right." The river left the lake in a rapid, and while Pete was making his fire, Richards, Easton and I went down to catch our supper, and in half an hour had secured forty-five good-sized trout--sufficient for supper that night and breakfast and dinner the next day. Since leaving Otter Lake, caribou signs had been plentiful, fresh trails running in every direction. Pete was anxious to halt a day to hunt, but I decreed otherwise, to his great disappointment. The scenery at this point was particularly fine, with a rugged, wild beauty that could hardly be surpassed. Below us the great, bald snow hills loomed very close at hand, with patches of snow glinting against the black rocks of the hills, as the last rays of the setting sun kissed them good-night. Nearer by was the more hospitable wooded valley and the shining river, and above us the lake, placid and beautiful, and beyond it the line of low sand hills of the miniature desert we had crossed. One of the snow hills to the northwest had two knobs resembling a camel's back, and was a prominent landmark. We christened it "The Camel's Hump." Heretofore the streams had been taking a generally southerly direction, but this river flowed to the northwest, which was most encouraging, for running in that direction it could have but one outlet-the Nascaupee River. A portage in the morning, then a short run on the river, then another |
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