CHAPTER XXIX

PIKE'S PORTAGE Part of my plan was to leave a provision cache every hundred miles, with enough food to carry us 200 miles, and thus cover the possibility of considerable loss. I had left supplies at Chipewyan, Smith, and Resolution, but these were settlements; now we were pushing off into the absolute wilderness, where it was unlikely we should see any human beings but ourselves. Now, indeed, we were facing all primitive conditions. Other travellers have made similar plans for food stores, but there are three deadly enemies to a cache--weather, ravens, and wolverines., I was prepared for all three. Water-proof leatheroid cases were to turn the storm, dancing tins and lines will scare the ravens, and each cache tree was made unclimbable to Wolverines by the addition of a necklace of charms in the form of large fish-hooks, all nailed on with points downward. This idea, borrowed from, Tyrrell, has always proved a success; and not one of our caches was touched or injured. Tyrrell has done much for this region; his name will ever be linked with its geography and history. His map of the portage was a godsend, for now we found that our guide had been here only once, and that when he was a child, with many resultant lapses of memory and doubts about the trail. My only wonder was that he remembered as much as he did. Here we had a sudden and unexpected onset of black flies; they appeared for the first time in numbers, and attacked us with a ferocity that made the mosquitoes seem like a lot of baby butterflies in comparison. However, much as we may dislike the latter, they at least do not poison us or convey disease (as yet), and are repelled by thick clothing. The black flies attack us like some awful pestilence walking in darkness, crawling in and forcing themselves under our clothing, stinging and poisoning as they go. They are, of course, worst near the openings in our armour, that is necks, wrists, and ankles. Soon each of us had a neck like an old fighting bull walrus; enormously swollen, corrugated with bloats and wrinkles, blotched, bumpy, and bloody, as disgusting as it was painful. All too closely it simulated the ravages of some frightful disease, and for a night or two the torture of this itching fire kept me from sleeping. Three days, fortunately, ended the black fly reign, and left us with a deeper sympathy for the poor Egyptians who on account of their own or some other bodies' sins were the victims of "plagues of flies." But there was something in the camp that amply offset these annoyances; this was a spirit of kindness and confidence. Old Weeso was smiling and happy, ready at all times to do his best; his blundering about the way was not surprising, all things considered, but his mistakes did not matter, since I had Tyrrell's admirable maps. Billy, sturdy, strong, reliable, never needed to be called twice in the morning. No matter what the hour, he was up at once and cooking the breakfast in the best of style, for an A 1 cook he was. And when it came to the portages he would shoulder his 200 or 250 pounds each time. Preble combined the mental force of the educated white man with the brawn of the savage, and although not supposed to do it, he took the same sort of loads as Billy did. Mine, for the best of reasons, were small, and consisted chiefly of the guns, cameras, and breakables, or occasionally, while they were transporting the heavy stuff, I acted as cook. But all were literally and figuratively in the same boat, all paddled all day, ate the same food worked the same hours, and imbued with the same spirit were eager to reach the same far goal. From this on the trip was ideal. We were 3 1/2 days covering the 8 small lakes and 9 portages (30 miles) that lie between the two great highways, Great Slave Lake and Artillery Lake; and camped on the shore of the latter on the night of July 31. Two of these 9 lakes had not been named by the original explorers. I therefore exercised my privilege and named them, respectively, "Loutit" and "Weeso," in honour of my men. The country here is cut up on every side with caribou trails; deep worn like the buffalo trails on the plains, with occasional horns and bones; these, however, are not so plentiful as were the relics of the Buffalo. This, it proved, was because the Caribou go far north at horn-dropping time, and they have practically no bones that the Wolves cannot crush with their teeth. Although old tracks were myriad-many, there were no new ones. Weeso said, however, "In about four days the shores of this lake will be alive with Caribou." It will show the erratic nature of these animals when I say that the old man was all wrong; they did not appear there in numbers until many weeks later, probably not for two months. Here, at the foot of Artillery Lake, we were near the last of the timber, and, strange to say, we found some trees of remarkably large growth. One, a tamarac, was the largest and last seen; the other, a spruce--Pike's Lobstick--was 55 inches in girth, 1 foot from the ground. At this camp Weeso complained that he was feeling very sick; had pains in his back. I could not make out what was the matter with him, but Billy said sagaciously, "I think if you give him any kind of a pill he will be all right. It doesn't matter what, so long as it's a pill." Of course "cathartic" is good blind play in case of doubt. He got a big, fierce rhubarb, and all went well.