The thought of Grand Lake had troubled me a little.  It is forty miles long and four miles wide, and only a little wind is needed to make such a body of water impassable for loaded canoes.  M. Duclos had offered his yacht to take us to the mouth of the Nascaupee River, but when we were ready to start there was not enough wind to carry her past the rapid, and we decided not to wait.  On entering the lake we turned to the right and landed to put up our first sails.  Soon they were caught by the light breeze and, together with the quick paddle strokes, carried the canoes at a rapid pace towards Cape Corbeau, which rose high and commanding twelve miles away.

At 6 P.M. we landed for supper, hard tack and bacon and tea, and then as quickly as might be were on our way again.  There was need to make the most of such perfect conditions for passing Grand Lake.  Sunset, and we were nearing Cape Corbeau.  Then came twilight which was almost more beautiful, and I sat sometimes thinking my own thoughts, sometimes listening to George and Job as they chatted with each other in Indian.  Ten o’clock came, and still the dip, dip, of the paddles went on.  Now and again they were laid across the canoe, and the pipes came out, or the tired arms rested a little.  It was not till eleven that we finally turned in to camp at Silver Pine Lodge, having made twenty-two miles of our journey.  The sky was still light in the north-west.

The men soon had a roaring camp fire, for it had grown cold after sunset.  We had a second supper, and at 12.45 A.M.  I made the last entry in my diary and went to my tent.  Meanwhile, the light slowly shifted from west to east along the northern sky, but did not fade away.  The men did not put up their tent, but lay beside the fire, for we meant to be up betimes and try to make the mouth of the Nascaupee River before the lake, which was already roughening a little, became impassable.

At 3 A.M.  George called, “All aboard.”  A quick breakfast, and we were started.  Paddling straight towards Berry Head we passed it about six o’clock, and by 8 A.M. were safe on the Nascaupee River, where the winds could not greatly trouble us.

The sand-hills stand about the wide-mouthed bay into which the river flows, and many little wooded islands lie at its head, and in the river’s mouth, which is entirely obscured by them, so that it is not until you are close upon them that the river can be seen.  For a mile we threaded our way among these islands and found ourselves at the mouth of the Crooked River where it enters the Nascaupee on the north.  The two river courses lie near together for some distance, separated only by a sandy plateau, in places little more than a mile wide.

At 10 A.M. we halted for lunch, and after the meal the men lay down in the willows to sleep.  I tried to sleep too, but could not.  The Susan River had been so rough and hard to travel, and this river was so big, and deep, and fine.  The thought of what missing it two years before had cost would not be shut out.