By Tim Newark & Angus McBride
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The first explorers saw these too. In Macdonell's 3i This page intentionally left blank very fond of this companion of ours, which carries us along so resolutely. All the more because one is so thwarted in an affection for a canoe —there's nothing to do for it. If I could only give it a loose rein, or feed it hay or gasoline! But it is completely independent. I can only pat it slightly now and then. Later it rained more gently, so we put on our raincoats and went out to fish. I decided that fishing in the rain is far more glamorous than fishing in the sun, for the lake was gray moire, the mistiness changed from gray to soft Madonna blue, and the distant islands had dimmed to phantoms of faint violet.
And the lakes were motionless. But we weren't; we were hot and dripping. Who was it told me I'd freeze in this canoe country? Then Lee decided to teach me to paddle and steer at the same time, and I was not a success. My exertions and Lee's hootings were becoming quite unbearable when, just after three, we turned north away from the international route, and found paradise. In the first place, we came to a cliff and felt real shade for the first time since early morning. Here we drifted awhile, dipping our hands in the water, and cooling our vivid faces.
Never hear a cow moose in the night, when you don't know what it is! It is the most blood-freezing sound, a wild and wailing whoop, uncanny as Dracula. I heard it first at midnight. "Lee! " If he doesn't know what it is, I thought, after all his canoe trips! " And then that awful howl, much nearer this time. But there wasn't anything to be done and I went back to sleep. However, Lee, hearing it again before daylight, decided it was a lovelorn moose. So he woke me up and we started out to find it.