At six the men went past with
loads. They had brought up the outfit that was left behind on
Saturday. The day was fine, and we made good progress. George
said: "Oh, it's just fun with this kind of portaging." It was
nevertheless hot, hard work. I felt resentful when I looked at the
river. It was smooth, and appeared altogether innocent of any
extraordinary behaviour; yet for the whole three miles above North
Pole Rapid it flowed without a bend so swift and deep that nothing
could be done on it in the canoes.
All day the flies were fearful. For the first time George admitted
that so far as flies were concerned it began to seem like Labrador.
We ate lunch with smudges burning on every side, and the fire in
the middle. I was willing that day almost to choke with smoke to
escape flies; but there was no escape. In spite of the smudges
there were twenty dead flies on my plate when I had finished lunch,
to say nothing of those lying dead on my dress of the large number
I had killed. I had to stop caring about seeing them in the food;
I took out what could be seen, but did not let my mind dwell on the
probability of there being some I did not see.
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