The morning of the 29th was fine and the river was looking lovely in the brilliant sunshine.

Just before the Indians with their canoes arrived, a doe deer came down on to the shingle across the river. As we required meat, neither sex nor season was taken into consideration. My rifle was not ready, so Smith had a shot at about 120 yards and missed. I then had a try and missed the deer, which stood without moving, but with a second shot I brought her down. In a moment "Nigger" was into the river and across worrying the carcass—what for I could not understand, for the poor beast was stone dead. It was lucky we secured this meat, for it was the last we saw for many days; but we afterwards regretted our generosity in leaving half the carcass behind as a present to our host's family.

On the arrival of the big Siwash canoe, with two Indians to pole, we loaded up our kit and at last were off on our trip. Smith went on through the forest on the chance of seeing any game, when he was to communicate with me. Lansdown and Thomson went up in Lansdown's canoe, but spent most of their time in the water hauling it over the many rapids. My Indians were splendid boatmen and poled up all but one of the rapids. The river has a considerable fall from the lake, and heavy rapids and miniature cataracts alternate with deep pools—an ideal fishing water.

Without stopping to fish, I trailed a small Tacomah spoon behind the canoe and got twelve cut-throat trout, weighing 9 lb., by the time we entered the lake.

The scenery, as pure river scenery, was superb the whole way, the banks being clothed with dense forest through which the river rushed and tumbled on its short course to the sea. It reminded me very much of the scenery on the Kippewa River in Eastern Canada. The river opened out as we approached the lake, and the scenery as we entered the lake was, if possible, more beautiful than that we had passed through.

To the south extended the Nimquish Lake as far as the eye could see. The perennial snow of the Vancouver Mountains formed an impressive background, while a dense forest clothed the sides of the steep hills, which in some places fell almost perpendicularly down to the lake. The evening was lovely, the lake without a ripple, mountain and forest reflected as in a mirror. The whole scene gave a feeling of peace which can only be found in communion with nature.

Camp and dinner took our thoughts away in a more practical direction, and leaving Smith and Thomson to pitch camp, Lansdown and I started for the lake end of the river to secure a few more trout for the pot.

There was the most extraordinary collection of driftwood on the beach—colossal trees lying packed across one another, showing how high the lake must rise when the torrents descend from the precipitous mountains.

On our return, we found Smith and Thomson had pitched camp in the forest near the lake, but the ground was sodden and covered with a thick moss. No drier spot could be found, so we had to make the best of it. The mosquitoes were troublesome till sunset, when they disappeared. I had the same experience during the entire trip. Very often unbearable the hour before sunset, they disappeared as night closed in, and I never had occasion to use a mosquito curtain. The nights were cold, which perhaps accounted for it.

I could not help contrasting the camp and its arrangements with my camping experience in Eastern Canada, some seven years before. There we had ideal camping grounds, on the bank of some river or lake, dry sandy soil, a fairly open forest with undergrowth only in parts, and lovely views from the tent door over rushing river or placid lake. I had French Canadians for companions and guides and they have a perfect genius for making comfortable and even luxurious camps; unlimited supplies, for we travelled with two canoes, and most of our way was over lakes or rivers with short portages; a comfortable tent, and if we were to camp for two or three days, my men soon ran up a dining-table and bench under a birch bark shelter. The table was always laid with a clean napkin, and an excellent dinner of soup, fish, stuffed ruffled grouse, deliciously cooked, was served. We had plenty of knives, forks, plates and drinking cups—in fact, all the comfort which two canoes allow.

Here, we had only once a decent camp, and that was on Lake Keogh. The edges of the lake were generally swamps and piled up with driftwood. Our camps had to be pitched in the forest, a short distance from the shore of the lake, or on the bank of the river on the most level bit of land we could find. The ground was always sodden, and a few branches of damp hemlock with a waterproof sheet spread over them was my bed. We each had a tin plate, cup, knife, fork and spoon. We all ate together, sitting on the damp ground in front of the camp fire. Lastly, the comforting tot of whisky at or after dinner had to be abandoned, for we had only two bottles of rum in case of illness.

At the first camp we fared quite luxuriously, for we had the venison we had brought along and the trout I had caught en route—but later on, the daily fare of bacon and beans became, to say the least, monotonous. In one thing we were lucky: Thomson baked the most delicious bread; so we were certain of good bread and tea.

The morning of the 30th broke fine and we got away about 8.30 a.m., but before long the rain came down and we plodded along through the forest for some seven hours, during which we did not cover much more than three miles.

The undergrowth was nearly everywhere dense, consisting of wine-berries and that curse of the forest, the thorny devil-club. The trees rose from one to two hundred feet in height over our heads. Windfalls of timber were numerous, adding to the difficulty of the march.

Of animal life we could see nothing. Deer marks were plentiful, and in the early morning before starting we heard the melancholy howling of two wolves. Game might have been in abundance, but what was the good when it was impossible to see more than a few yards ahead. I began to have serious misgivings as to what stalking a wapiti would be like in such a country. The wapiti country was, however, far away and we had still to get there.

About 4 o'clock we pitched camp, if possible on a worse ground than that of the day before.

Packs for two men had been left behind to be brought on next day, which meant that I had to remain in camp on the 31st with nothing to do, for there was neither game nor fish in the neighbourhood. Smith went on to find the way for next day's march, and the other two men went back to bring up the loads left behind. They turned up about 7 p.m. Smith got back in the afternoon, having found Kitsewa River, which was to be our objective the next day.

About 5 p.m. the rain came down in torrents and continued all night. Fortunately my little tent was quite waterproof. One great advantage of a camp in the forest is that there is no wind to drive the rain through the tent. I doubt whether my tent would have kept out such rain if the camp had been in the open.

September 1st. The rain stopped about 5 a.m. but the trees and undergrowth were dripping and a bad wet march was before us.

Getting away about 8.30 a.m.—it was always difficult to get the men to make an earlier start—we were soon wet to the skin. Smith, having got the compass bearings of the river, tried to find a better route than that he had taken the day before; but towards the end of the march we hit on a very bad windfall on the slope of a steep hill. Giant trees lay in a dense tangle, over, under and across which we had to make our way. It was timber crawling at its worst, and the trunks of the trees being covered with damp, slippery moss made the going really dangerous at times. Unfortunately I was wearing a pair of strong shooting boots with Scafe's patent rubber studs instead of nails. They had no hold on the slippery trunks of the trees we had to cross; the result was a bad fall and a sprained knee which caused me great pain and discomfort for the rest of the trip. I shall never forget the end of that march, for my knee kept giving way, and I stumbled and tumbled about till I was covered with bruises.

We made the Kitsewa River after six hours' march, and as the rain again set in, we camped at a disused trapper's hut on a high bank overlooking the river. The river here was about thirty yards broad and full of humpbacked salmon, but apparently no trout. We had seen many tracks of deer, wolves and one cougar on the march, but the undergrowth was so dense that shooting was impossible.

September 2nd. The men had again to go back to bring up the packs left behind. These double journeys were most annoying, and yet I do not see how they could have been avoided. We certainly only had the bare necessaries of life—more packers would have meant more mouths to feed and more provisions to carry—yet each double journey meant a lost day.

My knee was so swollen and painful I could not move from the tent, so Smith decided to go on and hunt for the Keogh Lake—where his brother Eustace had on a previous trip left the material for a rough raft; where the Keogh Lake was, he was not quite certain, but it had to be found.

Left alone in camp I could not help thinking what would have happened had I broken my leg. Putting the question to the men they said, "Oh! it would have been all right—we would have packed in food to you." In fact I would have had to lie in my tent till I recovered or died, for it is impossible to move a sick or injured man through the Vancouver forest. With nothing to read and obliged to lie on my back, the day was long in passing, and I find the following entry in my diary: "Knee very painful, am quite unable to walk and miserable at the idea that my entire trip may be spoiled and that I may have to turn back. Am black and blue with bruises from the many falls I had yesterday after I injured my knee."

Smith had succeeded in getting one willow grouse, shooting it with a pistol, but he missed two others close to the camp. The men returned about 4 o'clock, having made good time, as we had blazed our track of yesterday. Smith got in about 7 p.m., utterly exhausted, and having failed to find Lake Keogh.

Here was a man, certainly one of the best woodsmen in the island, defeated by the difficulties of the Vancouver forest. It must be remembered the northern portions of the Island are unsurveyed, so marching was all compass work. There had probably been some slight error in the bearings given him by his brother, but the fact remained, that Keogh Lake had still to be hunted for.

Dick had found a cougar and Smith shot him—a fine specimen of a male. Smith's appearance with the skin fastened over his shoulder was certainly dramatic, rendered more so by his throwing himself on the ground in a state of utter exhaustion. Here the rum came in useful, and after a good tot and some food, he was quite himself again. I think he felt bitterly that he had failed to find the lake, but he had done his best, and no man can do more.

September 3rd. My knee was still painful and I was quite unfit to march. It was useless to start without knowing where we were going, so after consultation we decided that Smith and Thomson should go ahead and try to find the lake. As it turned out Smith had gone too far east the previous day.

Lansdown and "Nigger" remained in camp, but Dick, who must have been pretty tired after yesterday's work, refused to leave his master.

Cutting a strong stick—my daily companion for the rest of the trip—I hobbled down to the river to try and get some fish for ourselves and the dogs.

There were shoals of humpbacked salmon in the pools, but they were hideous to look at, as the spawning season was coming on. They would not look at a fly or minnow, so I had resort to the worst form of poaching: "sniggering." I soon had five on the bank and could as easily have had fifty. To us the fish were quite uneatable, but the dogs thoroughly enjoyed them. I could see no sign of trout of any size or in any number. I only caught one tiny cut-throat. Dead humpbacks were lying in all the pools, and along the banks of the river; there were tracks of a big bear close to camp and many deer tracks, but the dense undergrowth destroyed any chance of a shot.

Returning to camp about 6 p.m. I set out for a grassy hollow, fairly open and close to the river where Lansdown said deer were certain to come out to feed in the evening. I stood the mosquitoes for about five minutes when I had to retire ignominiously, as they were simply in clouds.

Night fell and there was no sign of Smith or Thomson. Fortunately the weather had been quite perfect and a bivouac in the woods would be no great hardship.

"Nigger" was a source of continual amusement to me that day. He was a dog of great character and had become much attached to me. He liked the camp fire and never was so happy as when sitting on his haunches as close as he could get to it and blinking with intense joy. His master, I fear, often drove him away, but he always crept back a few minutes after. He loved, too, to crawl under the fly of my tent and curl up for the night at the foot of my blanket.

I spent a portion of the day cleaning and skinning the paws of the cougar, and as I finished each paw, threw it away some distance from the camp. "Nigger" carefully watched my proceedings, and when he thought I was not looking, slunk away and had soon retrieved each paw, and carefully buried it for future use. Poor beast! I expect he had experienced many a hungry day and instinct had taught him to make provision for the future.

September 4th. Smith and Thomson had not returned, which meant another wasted day. Here we were the sixth day out from the lake, but we had only made two marches and were not yet in our hunting ground. Eustace Smith had said it was only a two or three days' march at the outside—but he probably travelled alone, very light, and knew his way. The two men turned up about 3 p.m., pretty well tired out, as they had been walking all the day before and from 6 o'clock in the morning. They reported the country ahead very bad going, but they had found a river which must have had its source in the Keogh Lake; the lake itself they had not reached. I had caught about a dozen salmon parr, so had a poor fry as an addition to the never varying menu of bacon and beans.

September 5th. We did not yet get away till 9.30, as the men were tired after their two days' tramp. We followed the bed of the Kitsewa River, crossing and recrossing the stream several times, which was very tiring. Fortunately the water was only above our knees, but a slip with his pack gave Lansdown a real ducking. Though the going was bad over rough boulders, still it was a relief after the struggle through the undergrowth of the forest. The packs were heavy, as we were now packing everything, so our progress was somewhat slow. We had cachÉd some provisions in the trapper's hut and had got through six days' supplies, still the packs were as heavy as the men could well manage and a rest every fifteen minutes was necessary.

Leaving the river after about two miles, we again struck some bad country, and at 4 p.m. arrived at the stream supposed to flow out of Lake Keogh. The men were pretty well done from the extra heavy packs, so a halt was decided on and we pitched camp as best as could on the side of a precipitous hill. My knee was very painful; marching was anything but a pleasure and I was glad of an early rest.

Smith went ahead and came back reporting the lake only half-a-mile away, so it was a pity we had not gone on a little further. He had also seen the track of a big bull wapiti and a fresh bear track, which news cheered us all up.

September 6th. Starting early we were soon on the shore of the lake—a lovely sheet of water about two miles long, surrounded by steep forest-clad hills a few hundred feet high. The growth round the shore was so thick, and the rocks in parts so precipitous, we decided it would save time to build a raft to get to the end of the lake. We found some logs with which Eustace Smith had made a raft and soon put them together, and had a rough raft on which we paddled slowly to the north end of the lake.

We pitched camp on the first decent camping ground we had found. The men were in shelter under an enormous cedar-tree, of great age and quite hollow in the middle. My tent was pitched on an open bit of ground running out to the lake, over which I had a beautiful view.

Misfortune was still to pursue us—Smith had had a bad fall two days before, but did not attach much importance to it. He now felt very ill and complained of great pain and tenderness in his side. On examining him, it appeared to me that one of his ribs was cracked if not broken. He was not a very strong man physically, though as hard as nails. All we could do was to foment his side with one of our flannel shirts and let him lie in his blankets near the fire, which had been lit at the base of the cedar-tree.

There were some open glades at the end of the lake and the country looked more gamelike. I went out in the afternoon to have a look round. The country was more open and I found a two-day-old track of a big bull, so game was in the neighbourhood—there were also fresh bear tracks and bear droppings close to camp.

I returned to try for a dish of trout while Thomson went out to lie in wait for deer coming out to feed at sunset—a form of sport I did not appreciate.

The question of food was now becoming serious, as the men had calculated on plenty of deer and grouse, and we had had no fresh meat since the deer I shot the day we started up the Nimquish River. Fishing from the shore and from our raft I caught six cut-throat trout, the largest about half-a-pound, with the fly. The lake was very deep and peaty—no doubt there were bigger fish in it, but they would not rise freely; it was late in the season and possibly my flies were not big enough.

Thomson returned, having wounded a deer—I don't think he was a crack shot, but like all the men I met on the coast, very fond of loosing off. He also reported having met a bear which he missed clean, but doubt was expressed in camp as to the bear.

September 7th. The rain was coming down in torrents and the camp most uncomfortable, while to move on was impossible, as Smith was feverish and in considerable pain, quite unfit to carry a pack. I had, therefore, most reluctantly to decide to remain where we were.

Thomson took "Nigger" out to find the wounded deer and returned in the evening successful. The deer was a young doe. There was great joy in camp at the prospect of a meat meal at last, for we had had no fresh meat since August 29th.

During the night we had an alarm. The men had pitched their fly under a very old cedar-tree and the camp fire was lit against the tree, which was hollow. About midnight there was a sound of an explosion and a roar of flames. Jumping out of bed, a most extraordinary sight presented itself; the entire tree was in flames from the base to the summit. The fire had evidently crept up the hollow trunk till the whole tree was ablaze.

Pulling down the fly, the men saved everything from being burnt, but morning found the tree still a roaring pillar of fire.

In Eastern Canada in the fall of the year such an occurrence might have set the whole country ablaze and resulted in one of those tracts of burnt country called "brulÉs" so common through that country. While on the Campbell River we heard of great forest fires taking place on the Mainland, but in the north of Vancouver Island I saw no sign of a burnt forest, for it was too saturated to burn.