After dinner on Sunday
we again went forward with a whole mile of paddling to cheer us on
our way. From the head of the lake another mile of good portaging
brought us at last to waters flowing to Seal Lake, and we were
again in the canoes to taste for a little the pleasures of going
with the tide. For long we had been going against it--and such a
tide!
Our way now led through three exquisitely beautiful little lakes,
to where their waters drop down over rocky ledges in a noisy
stream, on their way to the lake we were trying to reach. 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.
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