C Ihe Ladies c cu. V'VVAN - History and Classics, Department of

38 THE LADIES, THE GWICH'IN, AND THE RATsome branch or tree fell into the water and now, on this island, some of thosemighty trees were no more than sawdust that would crumble in the hand.On such a downward course a chip of wood and a whole tree trunk are tossedwith equal facility. Here, on this island shore were branches, twigs, saplings andfragmentary trunks lying across each other, water-logged fragments of bark andwood, and also beds of pulpy fibrous texture into which we would sink, ankledeep, at every step. We realised, as never before, the destructive power of waterand the vastness of this wild country. In the heart of the island the bush wasalmost free from mosquitoes. There were beds of crackling silver lichen whosemoist roots are food of the caribou, and beds of deep green moss dotted withpatches of the little lady's slipper, an exquisite pink Orchis. All about us werespruces giving out their fragrant breath in the sunshine.We touched at Fort Resolution in the middle of the night but remained in ourbunks, so we saw nothing of this trading post that is frequented by many Indiansat certain times of year. Two days later we came at dawn to Hay River, an attractivesettlement with Indian tents and tipis, a Church of England mission, a RomanCatholic church and the usual store, all clustered close together on the banks ofthe quiet lake. After an hour or two ashore there, we found ourselves movingsteadily forward across the lake that was still as glass. Our world was now only skyand water in which we could detect no solid object except one seagull flying like awraith across our bows. Far ahead, dividing sea and sky, there was a narrow greenline. We could not see any break in that line, as we scanned its length, looking forthe opening where the Mackenzie River flows out from the lake on its northwardcourse.Were we imprisoned in this fragile universe of air and water? It was one ofthose quintessential moments when the spirit of the world's beauty seems tocome near us, saying: "Yes. You have sought me far and wide. Here I am."Certain experience, unlike harvest or coin of the realm, is not transferable, yetsomething impels me to try and recapture this one in words that are bound tofumble and to fail.... We are lost in a tenuously silken web of water below and sky above where asingle feather-light cloud hangs overhead. The Slave River Delta, through whichwe entered the lake, is out of sight and the green line of forest far ahead is rigidand unbroken. In any case, why should we wish to leave this lake? Why should wenot float on for ever in a world that is so calm and beautiful? The things that wehave left behind are remote and unreal, those years of dreaming and months of