Sunday, August 30th.—­Beautiful, clear Sunday, but no Sunday rest for us.  I jumped up early, called George, and built fire.  Started at 5.54 A.M., portaging from little lake to little lake, north and west, to where we know Michikamau must lie, somewhere.  For two days we have heard geese flying.  Thought our goose chases over, but to-day five walked down bank into water ahead of canoe on a small lake.  Wounded two at one shot with rifle.  Two old ones flew.  Left wounded to chase third young one.  Shot and killed it with pistol.  Could not find wounded.  Made 3 miles before dinner.  Good.  In P.M. about 1 1/4 miles more.  Then reached range of semi-barren ridges, running east and west, and seeming to reach to barren mountains north.  George and I climbed first ridge from a little lake, with blue green, ocean-coloured water.  Heard stream ahead.  Little river running through ponds.  George went back for outfit and Wallace.  These are trying days.  We are not quite up to normal strength.  I think too much routine of diet, lack grease, sugar and grain foods.  The feeling of not knowing where we are or how to get out adds to our weakness, still we are all cheerful and hopeful and without fear.  Glad all of us to be here.  How we will appreciate home and grub when we get out.  I crawl into blankets while the boys smoke their evening pipe.  Then I think of M. and our home at Congers, and plan how she and I will go to Canada or Michigan or somewhere, for a two week’s vacation when I get home.  I wonder when that will be.

Monday, .August 31st.—­Ice on cups this morning.  Thermometer out of order.  Lat. 53 degrees 57 minutes.  I hate to see August end with us so far from the George River, or so perplexed as to the road.  We are in camp now, on the stream we reached last night.  I am writing and figuring in the early morning.  The whole character of our country changes here.  Ridges and hills extending into mountains on the north.  Must know what lies there before we proceed.  George will scout.  Wallace and I will dry fish.  While George was scouting, I lay in tent awhile, too weak to fish even.  Fish not biting though.  Oh, but I’ll be happy to see Michikamau!  George returned late.  Climbed mountains to north.  Reports fair line of travel to northwest, long lakes and tolerable portages.  Will go that way, I think.  Wallace got a few trout.  George killed two partridges with my pistol.

Tuesday, September 1st.—­West wind.  Fair, warm.  Very weak to-day.  Our stuff so light now we can take all but canoe at one trip over portage.  Have just crossed portage from lake by yesterday’s camp, to other lakelet N.W.  Boys gone back for canoe.  I sit here and write.  Very rough portaging here, all rocks and knolls.  Little clear lakes between.  Have to put canoe into water every 40 rods or so.  Shot a plover with pistol to cook with George’s partridges.  Later.  Made about 4 1/2 miles.  Caught about thirty-five trout at edge of lake where stream empties.