" In the pot were three fried cakes, crisp and
hot and brown, exactly as I liked them.
There was much speculation as to what we should find at the head of
Lake Michikamats, and I wondered how much scouting there would be
to do to find the George River waters. If only we could see the
Indians. Time was slipping away all too fast; the last week in
August was not far distant, and the George River waters might not
be easy to find. The days were becoming increasingly anxious for
me. Our caribou meat was nearly gone, and a fresh supply of game
would have been very welcome. There would be a chance to put out
the nets when we reached the head of the lake, and the scouting had
to be done. The nets had not yet touched the water.
In the night the wind veered to the north and a steady rain set in,
which was still falling when morning came. All were up late for it
was too stormy to travel, and rest still seemed very good. While
eating breakfast we heard geese calling not far away, and started
on a goose hunt. It did not prove very exciting, nor very fruitful
of geese. They were at the head of the bay which ran in east of
our island. There were a number of small islands in the bay
separated by rock-strewn shallows, and having landed Job and Joe on
one of the largest of these, George, Gilbert and I paddled round to
the south of the group, and came out in the upper part of the bay.
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