Here on
the left of the outlet we made our camp. On either side rose a
high hill only recently burned over - last summer Gilbert said.
George, Gilbert and I climbed the hill back of our camp in hopes of
catching a first glimpse of Seal Lake, but we could not see it.
What we did see was very fine, and I stood watching it for some
time after the others had gone back to camp. Eastward the great
hills rose rugged and irregular, and farther away in the blue
distance the range lying beyond Seal Lake, all touched to beauty by
the evening light.
Slipping down the hill again, I reached camp just as the supper was
ready, and after our meal George, Job, Gilbert, and I crossed to
climb the hill on the other side, which rose 540 feet above our
camp. It was 7.45 A.M. when we started; but a brisk climb brought
us to the top in time to see the sunset, and one of the most
magnificent views I had ever beheld. Some miles to the east was
the lake winding like a broad river between its hills. In every
direction there were hills, and lying among them little lakes that
were fairy-like in their beauty. George pointed out the ridge of
mountains away to the southwest which he had crossed with Mr.
Hubbard, and where he thought they had crossed it from the head of
Beaver Brook, their "Big River," and I named them Lion Heart
Mountains.
The wind below cold on the mountain, and a shower passed over from
the northeast; but it was soon gone, and the sun set over the hills
in a blaze of red and gold. The way down seemed long, but when we
reached camp at 10.15 P.M. it was still quite light. Joe had been
fishing, and had four brook trout for my breakfast. Job and
Gilbert had gone down the valley prospecting, and soon came in with
the information that a mile below camp we could put our canoes into
the water. Beyond, there would be two short portages, and then we
should not again have to take them out of the water before reaching
Seal Lake.
After I went to my tent there floated out into the quiet night the
sound of the men's favourite hymns, "Lead Kindly Light," "There is
a Green Hill Far Away," "Abide With Me," and, as always, the
singing ended with their Indian "Paddling Song." When I put out my
light at 11 P.M., a full moon was throwing shadows of the spruce
boughs on my tent.
The view from the mountain-top seemed an inspiration to the party,
and on Monday morning, shortly after four, I heard Job's axe making
ready for the early breakfast. By 5.30 A.M. they were off with
their first packs. Then all was quiet again. The tiny mirror-like
lake was yet in shadow though sunlight touched the tops of its
encircling hills, and I wished that I might wait, till it was time
for me to go, on the summit of the one we had climbed last night.
When the last load was ready I, too, went forward.
It was a glorious morning, with just such sunshine one would wish
for a day so eventful. The trail led down into a valley opening
eastward to Seal Lake, and walled in on three sides by the hills.
On either hand reaching up their steep slopes were the spruce woods
with beautiful white birches relieving their sombreness, and above-
-the sheer cliffs. A network of little waterways gave back images
of delicate tamaracks [Larches] growing on long points between.
Not a leaf stirred, and silence, which is music, reigned there.
The valley was flooded with golden light, seeming to hold all in a
mysterious stillness, the only motion the rapids; the only sound
their singing, with now and again the clear call of a bird.
After reaching the point where the canoes could again be launched,
it was but a few minutes till we were in the rapids. They seem
very innocent to me now, but then running rapids was a new
experience, and it was tremendously exciting as the canoes sped
down the current, the men shouting to each other as we went.
Two more short portages, which led down over a fine bear trail cut
deep into the white moss; two brisk little runs in the canoes, and
we reached smooth water, where, rounding the last bend in the
brook, we could look straight away eastward into Seal Lake. A
little way below the bend our brook joined a river, coming down
from the northwest, which the trappers call Thomas River.
The lake was little more than a mile wide where we entered it, and
extended southward nearly two miles. Gilbert pointed out the
opening in the hills to the southwest where the Nascaupee River
leaves the lake, and I had George and Job paddle across that I
might see it. A continuation of the hills, south of the valley we
had passed in the morning, swung round the south shore of the lake
and culminated in what I called Santa Claus Mountain; for the
outline of its rugged top looked as if the tired old fellow had
there lain down to rest, that he might be ready to start out again
on his long winter journey. I knew then that the beautiful valley,
through which we had just passed, must be that vale where his
fairies dance when it is moonlight.
About the outlet the country was wild and rugged, and from the
point where the river leaves the lake the water breaks into a
tossing foaming rapid.
