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

Above McDougall Pass.looking east (Summit orLoon Lake is in the lowerleft corner). 1994.Michael Peake. Collectionof the photographer.helped, as best we could, to drag the canoe over these longer portages, but it mustbe confessed that most of our energy was expended on keeping our balance, sincethe ground was carpeted with muskeg and niggerheads wherever it was not actualswamp. Mter that third portage we came to Loon Lake, ringed round by mountainsand holding, in utter stillness, their reflections.There are some feelings too deep for tears, some thoughts that may notendure the captivity of words, some memories that are set apart among life'senduring treasures. I can shut my eyes now, dismiss all that has happened in 35years and recapture the silence of Loon Lake. We were two middle-aged womentravelling for pleasure, dishevelled and unwashed, with tired feet and tiredbodies but I think, as we stood on the shores of that lake, gazing down at thereflected mountains, listening to the silence that was almost audible, we musthave experienced what the saints describe as ecstasy. Gwen said never a word. Nordid!.We were now on the height of land, for Loon Lake marks the Divide betweenCanada and Alaska. The river at the far end of the lake was no more than anarrow brook hardly wider than the canoe and overhung by alders and willows.We teased rather than paddled our craft through this waterway until the boughsand leafage from either side met in the middle and then we had to carry it ashorefor our last portage. Had it not been for those overhanging shrubs, we could have