Journals, стр. 63

south and southwest by west half a mile, northeast half a mile, south one third of a mile, northeast by north one sixth of a mile, east by south one fourth of a mile, south one eighth of a mile, southeast three quarters of a mile. The canoe had taken in so much water, that it was necessary for us to land here, in order to stop the leakage, which occasioned the delay of an hour and a quarter, northeast a quarter of a mile, east-northeast a quarter of a mile, southeast by south a sixteenth of a mile, east by south a twelfth of a mile, northeast one sixth of a mile, east-southeast one sixteenth of a mile, southwest half a mile, northeast a quarter of a mile, east by south half a mile, south-southeast one twelfth of a mile, east half a mile, northeast by north a quarter of a mile, south-southeast a quarter of a mile, northeast by north one twelfth of a mile, where a small river flowed in from the left, southeast by east one twelfth of a mile, south by east a quarter of a mile, southeast one eighth of a mile, east one twelfth of a mile, northeast by north a quarter of a mile, south half a mile, southeast by south one eighth of a mile, northeast one fourth of a mile, southeast by east, and southeast by south one third of a mile, east-southeast, and north-northeast one third of a mile, and south by west, east and east-northeast one eighth of a mile.

Here we quitted the main branch, which, according to the information of our guide, terminates at a short distance, where it is supplied by the snow which covers the mountains. In the same direction is a valley which appears to be of very great depth, and is full of snow, that rises nearly to the height of the land, and forms a reservoir of itself sufficient to furnish a river, whenever there is a moderate degree of heat. The branch which we left was not, at this time, more than ten yards broad, while that which we entered was still less. Here the current was very trifling, and the channel so meandering, that we sometimes found it difficult to work the canoe forward. The straight course from this to the entrance of a small lake or pond, is about east one mile. This entrance by the river into the lake was almost choked up by a quantity of driftwood, which appeared to me to be an extraordinary circumstance: but I afterwards found that it falls down from the mountains. The water, however, was so high, that the country was entirely overflowed, and we passed with the canoe among the branches of trees. The principal wood along the banks is spruce, intermixed with a few white birch, growing on detached spots, the intervening spaces being covered with willow and elder. We advanced about a mile in the lake, and took up our station for the night at an old Indian encampment. Here we expected to meet with natives, but were disappointed; but our guide encouraged us with the hope of seeing some on the morrow. We saw beaver in the course of the afternoon, but did not discharge our pieces from the fear of alarming the inhabitants; there were also swans in great numbers, with geese and ducks, which we did not disturb for the same reason. We observed also the tracks of moose-deer that had crossed the river; and wild parsnips grew here in abundance, which have been already mentioned as a grateful vegetable. Of birds, we saw bluejays, yellow birds, and one beautiful hummingbird; of the first and last, I had not seen any since I had been in the northwest.

Wednesday, June 12.⁠—The weather was the same as yesterday, and we proceeded between three and four in the morning. We took up the net which we had set the preceding evening, when it contained a trout, one white fish, one carp, and three jub. The lake is about two miles in length, east by south, and from three to five hundred yards wide. This I consider as the highest and southernmost source of the Unjigah, or Peace River, latitude, 54° 24′ north, longitude 121° west from Greenwich, which, after a winding course through a vast extent of country, receiving many large rivers in its progress, and passing through the Slave Lake, empties itself into the Frozen Ocean, in 70° north latitude, and about 135° west longitude.

We landed and unloaded, where we found a beaten path leading over a low ridge of land eight hundred and seventeen paces in length, to another small lake. The distance between the two mountains at this place is about a quarter of a mile, rocky precipices presenting themselves on both sides. A few large spruce trees and liards were scattered over the carrying-place. There were also willows along the side of the water, with plenty of grass and weeds. The natives had left their old canoes here, with baskets hanging on the trees, which contained various articles. From the latter I took a net, some hooks, a goat’s-horn, and a kind of wooden trap, in which, as our guide informed me, the groundhog is taken. I left, however, in exchange, a knife, some fire-steels, beads, awls,  etc. Here two streams tumble down the rocks from the right, and lose themselves in the lake which we had left; while two others fall from the opposite heights, and glide into the lake which we were approaching; this being the highest point of land dividing these waters, and we are now going with the stream. This lake runs in the same course as the last, but is rather narrower, and not more than half the length. We were obliged to clear away some floating driftwood to get to the carrying-place, over which is a beaten path of only an hundred and seventy-five