also put out mouse traps, and altogether we made a collection of data and skins that would add to the fund of such knowledge in the museum. But aside from the necessary work for which expeditions are sent out, there are impressions one gets which seem aimless at the time but which add much to the personal value of a remembered journey.
I remember I found out something about myself that first day—a surprise to me. I had thought I was an expert with the canoe. That was at least one thing I could feel familiar with, for I had had years of experience on the Red River in Minnesota. We boys had even built our own canoe, using barrel hoops for ribs, with a covering of sturdy wheat sacks, which were in common use at that time. But here on the Bell River I soon saw something different. We had a long way to travel, and our Indian guides were really going places. Their paddle strokes were quick and powerful, and we all had to keep the fast rhythm set by Paul in the bow. How different from the lazy Sunday-afternoon kind of canoeing! Nothing was said. The Indians set the pace, and in time we got used to it. This was canoe travel in wilderness. The canoe was an Indian invention and these Indians knew how to use it.
As we slid rapidly down that river, I kept looking at the forest along the banks. What was it like in there? We had glimpses of birds, little ones, like certain flycatchers and sparrows which live in the north woods, and larger ones like the ravens. As we camped, I explored back from the river and collected specimens. That was my job, and I was eager to make good on this my first expedition. I remember when I brought in the first specimen, a ruffed grouse; how embarrassed I was as Mr. Todd watched me skin the bird! After all, he had only my word that I could do these things. On the other hand, he won my admiration when I noticed that he could identify every little sound a bird made. Certainly his notes were eminently authentic. Once in a while, whenever I had a few spare moments, I would make a sketch of a bird, in black and white or in color. Today these sketches mean a great deal to me.
We traveled along, got acquainted, found something to admire in one another. We were all different. I became very interested in the Indians, their skills and their characters. And they taught me much about canoe travel. The endless stream of water going down the river channel in varied country is not always placid. There are rough places filled with boulders and, downhill, the river rapids. All this was new to me.
When we approached and looked down on the watery turmoil ahead, I thought: “Are we going down through that in the canoe?”
Yes, we were. There was some conversation in Ojibway between the two guides, evidently over planning the route. Then down we went. I was grateful that the Indians were in charge. I just sat there paddling hard when they told me to and trembling with fear as our big canoe bounced around like a feather among the rocks, where water was pouring over, whitened by the speed and turmoil; we would bounce off a swell, meet another one, and ride over. Right away I learned to do what the Indians told me. We had to reach a speed greater than the rushing water in order to go where we wanted; otherwise we would drift onto the rocks, smash over, and the river would have its way with us. So, contrary to my instinct to hold my breath and hope for the best as a rocky lump in the water rushed toward us, I would paddle hard for greater speed, and we would glide by at one side. Time seems long in an emergency, but we were going fast, and it must have been a very short time before we would glide into a quiet pool below the rapids. It was over, and we were still afloat!
Our route was not all river travel. Sometimes we portaged across to a lake or another stream. I was glad the Indians knew where we were going and how to get there. All I had to do was paddle, carry a load over the portages, collect specimens on shore, write notes in my diary about birds seen along the way, and enjoy the passing Canadian scene.
In the diary I find the following notation for June 8:
“In the evening olive-backed thrushes, water thrushes, and a white-throated sparrow were singing, nighthawks were swooping, and an occasional chirp of some other bird was heard, making a pleasing combination with the twilight.”
What a varied life—adventuring on river and lake, seeking scientific knowledge, and enjoying beauty!
The lakes also taught me something, for I had always canoed on rivers. On the large lakes, where winds had the say of things when they came, we found it necessary to calculate carefully before starting across. Sometimes we had to stay in camp a whole day while the wind whipped up big whitecaps. Sometimes we would start traveling as late as four o’clock in the afternoon, whenever the weather would let us. But these periods ashore gave me an opportunity to explore the woods, prepare museum specimens, and sometimes make another drawing.
Those woods! In there were down logs, bushes and many kinds of plants, birds, signs of rodents—all that goes with a coniferous forest environment. Here was a forest exhibiting the true balance of nature’s process. Aside from the aesthetic quality of such a place, it had great scientific value in the emerging phases of ecology.
We had not been many days on our trip when I became aware that this northern wilderness was populated. This, I found, was canoe and Indian country. All travel in summer was by canoe, and the travelers were Indians and a few fur traders, with occasional inquisitive scientific parties like our own.
This was brought home to me vividly one evening. We had made our camp on the shore of a big lake. All was quiet, and dusk was approaching when I heard a rhythmic sound. I looked out in the direction it came from, and there appeared a long canoe with at least seven Indians crossing the lake. Their paddles all dipped in unison, and all the bodies leaned forward with each stroke, the sounds coming across the still water with strong, repeated emphasis. There, in the twilight on a smooth lake, was a beautiful symbol of Indian life in this north country, with the canoe and its inventor in one appropriate setting.
A few days later we arrived at a Revillon Frères trading post on the shore of another lake, with an Indian camp as part of it. The post surprised me, but I was to learn that these adventurous fur traders had gone into many far places in the north. We stopped there to camp.
After a while I paddled out on the lake with our empty canoe to photograph the shore. I had given little attention to an offshore wind until I wanted to return to camp. Then I was in trouble. The canoe bow rose high in the air; sitting in the stern, with the wind swinging it one way and then another, I found I had a real problem. Just then I noticed a row of Indian women standing on the shore watching this inexperienced white man trying to make the canoe do what he wanted it to. This scene did not help my morale. I was sure the stern of a canoe was the proper place from which to steer it. Struggling desperately, I finally managed to make long slants with the wind on the quarter and eventually reached shore. Paul waited there to help me beach the canoe. He used one of the nicknames he and Jocko had given me as he said quietly: “Baptiste, next time just get in the bow, kneel down, and paddle right in to shore.”
Each day was different. One day I wrote in my journal: “Painted a violet.” Another time: “Sketched a nighthawk.”
We found nests of ravens. One day’s notation: “Camped on Sugar Loaf portage. An Indian camp there—two women, three children, and some dogs. The men were off after supplies.”
One day we were going down through the tumbling waters and big waves of another rapids. We were having a lot of experience with white water, and I was getting used to it, but I was still apprehensive each time we went into it. We were paddling hard in this one, and I watched each wave closely as it approached us. Then I heard Jocko’s quiet but urgent voice behind me:
“Baptiste! Give me your paddle!”
Without looking I reached my paddle back and felt his hand take it. I just sat there, watching the white water around us. Soon we were safe in the quiet water below, and we all relaxed. The others had been so intent on the canoe problem before us that they had not heard Jocko’s request. Now we learned that halfway down his paddle had broken in two—and he in the important position in the canoe! I was glad I had passed my paddle very quickly in response to his quiet request.
One day Paul surprised me. I don’t remember exactly what our conversation was—possibly I was making a confession to him, with whom I had become pretty chummy, but I remember not wanting the others to know how scared I was in rapids. Paul made the statement, “I never go through a rapids without