A Mile And A Half Of Very Rough Portaging Brought Us At 3 P.M. To The Head Of The Falls, And There We Found Ourselves On A Lake At Last.

Perhaps few will understand how fine the long stretch of smooth water seemed to us.

That day the portaging had been very rough, the way lying over a bed of great, moss-covered boulders that were terribly slippery. The perspiration dripped from the men's faces as they carried, for it was very hot. The big Labrador bulldogs (flies as large as wasps) were out in force that day, as well as the tiny sandflies. One thing we had to be thankful for, was that there were no mosquitoes. The men told me that there are never many where the bulldogs are plentiful, as these big fellows eat the mosquitoes. I did not see them doing it, but certain it is that when they were about in large numbers there were very few mosquitoes. They bit hard, and made the blood run. They were so big and such noisy creatures that their horrible buzzing sent the cold chills chasing over me whenever they made an attack. Still they were not so bad as mosquitoes.

And now we were afloat again on beautiful smooth water. The lake stretched away to the southwest six and a half miles. We camped that evening on a rocky ridge stretching out in serpent-like form from the west shore of the lake above. The ridge was not more than fifty feet wide, but it was one mile long.

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