I had just opened him up
and taken out the inside and was struggling to cut off his head
when somehow my hunting-knife touched his spinal cord in a way that
made his tail fly up almost into my face. I sprang up with a
shriek but suddenly remembered he really must be dead after all,
and returned to my task. Presently Job emerged from the bushes to
see what was the trouble. He suggested that I had better let him
clean the fish, but I declined. Finally I did get the head off,
and soon carried my fish to the camp in triumph. The big one was
boiled for supper, and, oh! how good it tasted, for all were
desperately hungry. The night was clear and cold, and after supper
I sat at the camp fire till quite late - reluctant to leave it.
Finally it died down, and leaving the glowing embers to burn
themselves out, I went to my tent.
We were off early next morning with a fine southwest wind, and were
at the head of the lake sooner than we had expected. From here we
had to cross almost to the west shore to reach the bay at the north
end of the lake. It had grown rough since we left camp, and it did
not seem to me that we could get to the point, for it meant running
into the wind part of the way. It was an exciting hour's work, and
the men were very quiet. There was none of the usual merry chat.
Evidently a storm was coming, and unless we could pass that long,
rocky point, and win the shelter of the bay beyond, we might be
delayed for days. The big waves came rolling up the lake, and as
each reached us the bottom of the canoe was tipped towards it a
little to prevent its coming over, and George's head turned
slightly to see how it was treating his charge. At the same time I
could feel my fingers which were just over the edge on the other
side run along the top of the water, and now and then it came over
and slipped up my sleeve.
It was squally, and anxiously five pairs of eyes watched the sky
and the point. It was a relief when the wind dropped a little, but
then we could see it had risen again, roughening the water in the
distance some minutes before it reached us. As I watched the other
canoe slip down the long slope of a big wave I wondered, often, if
it would come up again, for it looked as if bound straight for the
bottom of the lake. Soon, however, it was on the crest of another
wave and ready to dip again. The most exciting part of the
experience was watching its motions. The perspective made them
seem more remarkable than those of my own, which indeed were
startling enough at times.
With glad hearts we felt the wind drop a little as we neared the
point. Then, bending to their paddles with all the strength of
their strong arms, the men carried the canoes beyond the breakers
to where we could turn our backs to the wind, and we slipped into
the quiet bay.
CHAPTER XI
STORM-BOUND ON MICHIKAMATS
We had not reached our haven too soon. Almost immediately the wind
rose again, and by noon was blowing so strong that we could have
done nothing in any part of Lake Michikamau, not to speak of
crossing the upper end in a heavy south wind. Around the point I
did not find things look as I expected. It was only a very shallow
bay, and where we looked for the islands a long, narrow point of
land stretched out from the west shore to the northeast. Flowing
round the eastern end of this point was a rapid, some two hundred
yards in length, and at the head of this we found a little lake,
between two and three miles in length, lying northeast and
southwest. All the eastern portion of it was shallow, and it was
with considerable difficulty we succeeded in getting the canoes up
to the low shore, where we had lunch. I wondered much if this
could possibly be Michikamats, which is mapped in, in dotted lines,
as a lake twenty-five miles long lying northwest.
In the afternoon my perplexities were cleared up. A small river,
coming down from the northwest, flowed in at the east end of the
lake. Three-quarters of a mile of poling, dragging, and lifting
brought us up to another lake, and this proved to be Lake
Michikamats. For half a mile or more at its lower end the lake is
narrow and shoal. Its bed is a mass of jagged rocks, many of which
rise so near to the surface that it was a work of art to find a way
among them. A low point ran out north on our left, and from this
point to the eastern shore stretched a long line of boulders rising
at intervals from the water. This line marks the edge of the
shallows, and beyond it the lake is deep and broad and stretches
away northeast for more than eight miles of its length, when it
bends to the northwest.
As we entered it we saw that the low range of wooded hills on our
left formed the western boundary of the lake, and over the flat
wooded shore on the right we could see the tops of big, barren
hills of a range stretching northward. These are a continuation of
the round-topped hills which border the east shore of Michikamau
south of where the lake narrows. For some miles of our journey up
northern Michikamau we could see these hills miles back from the
low shoreline.
