When Mackenzie discovered and explored this river in 1789, he met some Indians a short distance above this place. After confidence had been established by means of presents, he prepared to start onward; and, although his newly-made friends told him there was great danger ahead in the form of a rapid or cataract which would swallow him and his party without fail, he continued, the Indians following and warning him of his danger. He advanced cautiously into the “Ramparts,” but could hear or see nothing to verify their statements. At last, when through, they admitted that the only bad weather to be encountered was now passed, but that behind the island just below was a bad spirit or monster which would devour the whole party: failing there, the next island below would surely reveal him.
From this incident the two islands have received the names of Upper and Lower Manitou, respectively.
Forty-eight miles from Fort Good Hope, Sans Sault Rapid is reached. It is caused by a ledge of rocks extending partially across the river.
A ridge of hills here extend beyond the river from the Rocky Mountains, occasional glimpses of which can be caught from the water.
Just above this the Mackenzie turns sharply to the east from its southerly course, and skirts the base of the mountains for six miles. Its course then curves a little to the south, when, what might be termed a cañon, is entered, which extends for nine or ten miles. The river here averages a mile in width, and is walled on both sides by perpendicular limestone cliffs, rising from one to two hundred feet above the water. On the south side, this wall terminates in what is known as “Wolverine Rock,” which rises perpendicularly from the water to a height of three hundred feet. The formation is limestone, the strata of which stand almost on edge, and the water has worn through them in several places, so that one can sail underneath. Above this point the mountains again approach the river for a few miles, when they suddenly drop almost to the level of the plain. The banks here are clay and gravel, with an average height of from one hundred to one hundred and fifty feet.
Six and one-half miles above Sans Sault Rapids, Carcajou River empties its waters into the Mackenzie from the west. This river I believe to be the largest tributary of the Mackenzie below the Laird.
Four hundred and forty-four miles from Fort McPherson brought us to Fort Norman, which is situated on the east bank of the Mackenzie just above the entrance of Great Bear River. I arrived here on Saturday, the 28th of July.
About three and a half miles above Fort Norman on the east bank of the river, two extensive exposures of lignite occur. The upper one is overlaid by about fifty feet of clay and a few feet of friable sandstone, and is about fifteen feet thick. The other seam is of about the same thickness, and probably forty feet lower. When I was there, it was nearly all under water.
The upper seam _has been on fire for over a hundred years_, as it was burning when Sir Alexander Mackenzie passed in 1789, and according to Indian tradition, it must have been burning much longer. The place is locally known as “Le Boucan,” from the fact that the Indians hereabout smoke and cook large quantities of meat or fish in these convenient fire pits. The fire extends at present about two miles along the river, not continuously, but at intervals; when I passed, it was burning in three or four places. After it has burned a certain distance into the seam, the overlaying mass of clay falls in, and, to some extent, suppresses the fire. This clay is, in time, baked into a red coloured rock, in which are found innumerable impressions of leaves and plants.
About a hundred miles above Fort Norman, on the west side, a river discharges a large volume of clear, black water, which rushes bodily half-way across the Mackenzie, and preserves its distinctive character for several miles before it mingles with the main stream. The name applied to this river by the people at Fort Wrigley was “_La rivière du vieux grand lac_.” It is said to flow out of a lake of considerable extent, lying not far from the Mackenzie. Many peaks can be seen up its valley.
Six hundred and twenty-four miles from Fort McPherson brings us to Fort Wrigley. This post was formerly known as “Little Rapid,” but has received the name it now bears in honour of Chief Commissioner Wrigley, of the Hudson’s Bay Company. Just above the Fort there is a swift rush of water over some limestone rock which appears to extend across the river. On the west side two small islands confine a part of the stream in a funnel-like channel, which, being shallow, causes a slight rapid, and gives rise to the former name of the post.
At Fort Wrigley, some slight attempts had been made at cultivation, but I do not consider them a fair test of the capabilities of the place. When I was there, the people were gathering blueberries, then fully ripe, and as large and well-flavoured as they are in Ontario. Ripe strawberries were found on the 9th of August ninety miles below this, and a few raspberries soon afterwards. Above Fort Wrigley, wild gooseberries, and both red and black currants were found in abundance; some of the islands being literally covered with the bushes.
For about sixty miles below Fort Wrigley a range of mountains runs parallel to the river on its east side. Above Fort Wrigley the east bank is generally low and swampy, but the west (although low near the river) gradually rises to a height of seven or eight hundred feet. Fifty-eight miles above Fort Wrigley this hill terminates in a bold, high point, and the ridge turns off to the south-west, enclosing a deep, wide valley between it and the mountains, which here approach the river. This range continues south-eastward out of sight. The positions and heights of some of the peaks were determined by triangulation. One of them was found to rise 4,675 feet above the river.
We arrived at Fort Simpson on Friday, the 24th of August, and remained until the following Tuesday.
We arrived at Fort Providence on Saturday, the 8th of September. Wild gooseberries and currants were plentiful along the banks, but at this season somewhat over-ripe. At the fort, where we remained over Sunday, the usual collection of buildings at a Hudson Bay Company’s post is to be found. The Roman Catholic Church has also a mission here.
Forty-six miles from Fort Providence we enter Great Slave Lake. The south shore of the lake, between the Mackenzie and Great Slave Rivers, is so low and flat that most of it was submerged when I passed. Fish are numerous in the Mackenzie. The principal species is that known as the “Inconnu.” Those caught in the lower river are very good eating, much resembling salmon in taste, being also firm and juicy.
THE LOIRE
VICTOR HUGO
I have some recollection of having already said so elsewhere: the Loire and Touraine have been far too much praised. It is time to render justice. The Seine is much more beautiful than the Loire; Normandy is a much more charming “garden” than Touraine.
A broad, yellow strip of water, flat banks, and poplars everywhere--that is the Loire. The poplar is the only tree that is stupid. It masks all the horizons of the Loire. Along the river and on the islands, on the edge of the dyke and far away in the distance, one sees only poplars. In my mind there is a strangely intimate relationship, a strangely indefinable resemblance, between a landscape made up of poplars and a tragedy written in Alexandrines. The poplar, like the Alexandrine, is one of the classic forms of boredom.
It rained; I had passed a sleepless night. I do not know whether that put me out of temper, but everything on the Loire seemed to me cold, dull, methodical, monotonous, formal, and lugubrious.
From time to time one meets convoys of five or six small craft ascending or descending the river. Each vessel has but one mast with a square sail. The one that has the biggest sail precedes the others and tows them. The convoy is arranged in such a fashion that the sails grow smaller in size from one boat to the other, from the first to the last, with a sort of symmetric decrease unbroken by any unevenness, undisturbed by any vagary. One involuntarily recalls the caricature of the English family; one might imagine one saw a chromatic scale sweeping along under full sail. I have seen this only on the Loire; and I confess that I prefer the Norman sloops and luggers, of all shapes and sizes, flying like birds of prey, and mingling their yellow and red sails with the squall, the rain, and the sun, between Quillebœuf and Tancarville.
The Spaniards call the Manzanares “the viscount of waterways”; I suggest that the Loire be called “the dowager of rivers.”
The Loire has not, like the Seine and the Rhine, a host of pretty towns and lovely villages built on the very edge of the river and mirroring their gables, church-spires, and house-fronts in the water. The Loire flows through a great alluvion caused by the floods and called La Sologne. It carries back from it the sand which its waters bear down and which often encumber and obstruct its bed. Hence the frequent risings and inundations in these low plains which thrust back the villages. On the right bank they hide themselves behind the dyke. But there they are almost lost to sight. The wayfarer does not see them.