The upper river proved a succession of lake expansions of varying
sizes, their waters dropping from one to the other down shallow
rapids. At the Height of Land, and for some miles beyond, the
country is flat and boggy, and sparsely wooded with tamarack and
spruce, many of the tall, slender tops of the former being bent
completely over by the storms. The spruce was small and scant,
increasing in size and quantity as we descended from the highest
levels, but nowhere on the northern slope attaining the size
reached in the valley of the Nascaupee.
Gradually low, barren ridges began to appear, their white mossy
sides marked by caribou trails which formed a network over the
country we were passing through, and all were freshly cut with hoof
marks. Every day there were herds or single deer to be seen along
the way, and at a number of points we passed long piles of whitened
antlers. Other game too, ducks, geese, and ptarmigan had become
plentiful since we entered the caribou country, and now and then a
few were taken to vary the monotony of the diet of dried caribou
meat. Loons were about us at all hours, and I grew to love their
weird call as much almost as the Indians do.
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