For miles in every direction were the lakes. Countless wooded
islands, large and small, dotted their surfaces, and westward,
beyond the confusion of islands and water around us, lay the great
shining Michikamau. Still we could see no open way to reach it.
Lying along its eastern shore a low ridge stretched away northward,
and east of this again the lakes. We thought this might perhaps be
the Indian inland route to George River, which Mr. Low speaks of in
his report on the survey of Michikamau. Far away in the north were
the hills with their snow patches, which we had seen from Lookout
Mountain. Turning to the east we could trace the course of the
Nascaupee to where we had entered it on Sunday. We could see
Lookout Mountain, and away beyond it the irregular tops of the
hills we had come through from a little west of Seal Lake. In the
south, great rugged hills stood out west towards Michikamau. North
and south of the hill we were on were big waters. The one to the
south we hoped would lead us out to Michikamau. It emptied into
the lake we had just crossed in a broad shallow rapid at the foot
of our hill, one and a half miles to the west.
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