File:Outing (1885) (14578055860).jpg

Identifier: outing48newy (find matches)
Title: Outing
Year: 1885 (1880s)
Authors:
Subjects: Leisure Sports Travel
Publisher: (New York : Outing Pub. Co.)
Contributing Library: Tisch Library
Digitizing Sponsor: Boston Library Consortium Member Libraries

View Book Page: Book Viewer
About This Book: Catalog Entry
View All Images: All Images From Book
Click here to view book online to see this illustration in context in a browseable online version of this book.

Text Appearing Before Image:
u moss. Walking onthat moss was like walking in deep snowwithout snowshoes. At every step onesank half way to the knee, and the rootsof the moss, which were always wet andslimy, caused continual slipping. Peteand I carried the canoe alternately, untilat last the wind made it impossible for oneman to handle it. Then we were obligedto make two trips on the portage, and whennight came.we were still four miles fromthe flour. At one oclock of September13th we reached the Nascaupee River andthe cache. We at once dug up the preciousflour; the bag was covered with greenmold and the flour itself was full of greatmoldy lumps, but when mixed and bakedin the frying-pan, good was no wordfor it. It was late in the afternoon when westarted down the river from the cache.The current of the Nascaupee is swift,though only at intervals is there whitewater, and in forty minutes we had cov-ered a distance that had taken us a dayon the inland journey. Every few mo-ments we would pass familiar places, scenes
Text Appearing After Image:
Dillon Wallace in Labrador 27 of some little incident weeks before.Theres where we boiled the kettle, Petewould say. Theres where I fell in,laughed Stanton. That night we built ourfire by the site of one of our old camps.The sun was just setting on the hills acrossthe river, and the dark green of the dwarfedspruce stood out in striking contrast againstthe white caribou moss above the timber■line. Here and there along the shore theleaves of the gnarled alders showed the redsand browns of autumn. To quote frommy diary, It is a beautiful country—when a man has grub and there are noflies. As we sat smoking after supper by thecharred embers of the old camp fire, itseemed very lonely. Do you rememberthe bread we had here, and those caribousteaks? But the last question was al-ways the same, and no one ever answered:I wonder where Wallace and Easton areto-night? On the 14th of September we had ourfirst snow. All day the storm raged on themountains, and in the valley the big flakesfloated

Note About Images