vegetation on its summit. The top of the hill was strewn with
bowlders, large and small, lying loose upon the clean, storm-scoured
bed rock, just as the glaciers had left them.

What a view we had! To the northwest, to the west, and to the
southwest, for fifty miles in any direction was a network of lakes,
and the country was as level as a table. The men called it "the plain
of a thousand lakes," and this describes it well. To the far west a
line of blue hills extending to the northwest and southeast cut off
our view beyond. They were low, with but one high, conical peak
standing out as a landmark. Another ridge at right angles to this one
ran to the eastward, bounding the lakes on that side. I examined them
carefully through my binoculars and discovered a long line of water,
like a silver thread, following the ridge running eastward, and
decided that this must be the Nascaupee River, though later I was
convinced that I was mistaken and that the river lay to the southward
of the ridge. To the cast and north of our hill was an expanse of
rolling, desolate wilderness. Carefully I examined with my glass the
great plain of lakes, hoping that I might discover the smoke of a
wigwam fire or some other sign of life, but none was to be seen. It
was as still and dead as the day it was created. It was a solemn,
awe-inspiring scene, impressive beyond description, and one that I
shall not soon forget.

We outlined as carefully as possible the course that we should follow
through the maze of lakes, with the round peak as our objective point,
for just south of it there seemed to be an opening through the ridge:
beyond which we hoped lay Michikamau.

The next day we portaged through a marsh and into the lake country and