An Early Picnic - by Howard Lionel Bodwell

from: Kith and Kin of the Bodwells, April 1, 1904

THE MISQUITOES AND ANTS WERE MISSING BUT THERE WAS COLD LUNCH

There are very different conceptions of a picnic. To some it means a happy combination of a summer's day, a shady grove, a quantity of sandwiches, cake, mosquitoes, and ants, and a crowd of jolly people. To the surveyor it may have a different meaning. It is not necessarily in summer. The summer day and sandwiches are not essentials and the company may be limited to one. Let me tell you of the last one I enjoyed.

After six months in the bush under canvas, I had to go out to civilization on business. The survey was just finished and as our cook was leaving, we agreed to walk out together. Our camp was situated on the north shore of Sand Lake, an expansion of the Winnipeg river. From camp to Rat Portage, the nearest town, the distance is about thirty-five miles, by a toboggan trail which leads nearly all the way on the ice of the Winnipeg.

On Sunday morning, March 20^th, we rose early. After a breakfast of bacon and bread, my friend the cook shouldered his fifty pound pack and at six twenty we trotted down the trail onto Sand Lake. Snow shoes were not necessary for the frail was well frozen, but of course I took mine for the return Journey. It was a glorious morning and we made good time. By taking turns at carrying the pack, it did not grow in weight quite so rapidly as it would have done otherwise. But even fifty pounds grows monotonous after the first twenty miles. In the forenoon my companion when not carrying the pack, enlivened the way with snatches of "Le Montaignard" and other French songs. But as we trudged on, the songs became less frequent and finally ceased altogether.

At two P.M. we reached the Indian village at the Dalles Rapids. This was quite cheering, for we had been told that it was only ten more miles to Rat Portage. About six miles further on we came to a well beaten sleigh trail made by teamsters hauling wood to town. But this was not an unmixed blessing for a shod horse leaves a rough trail for sore feet; and by this time ours were tender. My friend, the cook, had of course done very little walking all winter and so his feet were very soft. Instead of songs he now favored me with some choice French ejaculations, which I'm sure could not be translated into English.

The last three miles must have taken nearly two hours. After walking wearily for a little way we would sit down and apostrophize that horrible pack; or perhaps soliloquize on the scarcity of water holes where we might drown at least a portion of our sorrows. But it ended at last and at seven o'clock we were enjoying a good dinner at a hotel. That dinner was in itself almost worth the journey out. After four days in Rat Portage, I commenced the return trip. This time my companion was one of another survey party also camped on Sand Lake.

We had wakened that morning to find four inches of fresh snow on the ground and more falling. The wind too, was blowing a gale from the north, but there was no help for it. At seven-thirty we struck the trail or rather what had been the trail; for the drifted snow completely obliterated it in many places. We were the first travelers since the storm and it was heavy going. Our six miles of sleigh track was drifted full and we had to take to the open lake. In several places our way was through brush. Here the young birch and alders were so heavily laden with ice and snow that they were bent over to the ground and interlaced across the trail in a heavy, dense tangle. Naturally our progress was slow.

At noon we had covered only the ten miles to the Dalles. So we gave up hope of reaching camp that night and took a whole hour for lunch. This we ate in the shack of an Indian preacher and he very kindly made us a cup of tea. He also told us of a deserted lumber camp some fifteen miles north where we might spend the night.

It had stopped snowing when we set out again but all day the wind blew fiercely from the north. The trail was much better as we proceeded, for most of it now lay on the river. At precisely five o'clock we reached the lumber camp and that was only about twelve miles from our respective parties on Sand Lake. A little argument persuaded my friend to push on with me to camp that night. He was rather reluctant and complained of lameness; said he did not believe he could walk twelve miles. Alas! It proved too true.

When three more weary hours had dragged by and we were still six miles from camp my mate called a halt. "See here," he said, "you may go on to camp if you want to, but I'm going to stay right here. I can hardly walk, I'm so stiff." I wasn't feeling particularly spry myself but hated to give up so near camp. However it was no use. My friend who was an American and not used to snow shoes, found them too much for him. It was a touch of the dreaded "mal de raquette". As I had induced him to come it seemed to me that the least I could do was to camp with him. So we found a sheltered spot in a deep bay and there built our fire.

As we had no ax the fuel problem furnished some difficulties. Fortunately there were a few dead poplars near by and we were able to collect a good supply by breaking off the dead limbs and by digging in the snow for the branches of fallen trees.

We dined royally. The menu was as follows: Kokoosh broiled, on the coals, otherwise salt pork; Winnipeg Wafers (sometimes called hardtack) and tea, our 'Billy', a very good list under the circumstances. Dinner over, we scooped out a hole in the snow beside a fallen tree, and having moved our fire to the bottom of it proceeded to line our nest with balsam boughs. They were nicely coated with shining ice, so for fear of breaking any of it we lay down on our snow shoes. It was a long night. At two o'clock we gathered a fresh supply of wood and while it was burning high perused the pages of The Saturday Evening Post. At three the moon set. Then we must have both fallen asleep, for it was nearly an hour later that I realized that the fire was rather low.

At five we made tea and enjoyed another hardtack preparatory to setting out. My mate was not quite so stiff as he had been and willingly put on the snow shoes. Our trails diverged about a mile from the bivouac and then we said 'good morning' and steered for our respective camps.

It was just two hours later that I reached camp. The thermometer registered 15 degrees below zero, which may be considered cool when you have no blanket. Once back in camp it seemed to me that the atmosphere of the cook's tent was most agreeable-and there let me say goodbye.