32 In Great Waters

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model of small craft of Noah’s time. In this humble
boat I rowed and paddled hundreds of miles along
the shores of my parish, through storm and calm,
rain and shine, by night and day. I had, of course,
thrilling and dangerous experiences. On one trip,
taking ten days, I went from Bear River in Johnston
Strait to Vananda, about seventy-five miles away.
While working my way through a bad tide-rip in
Blind Channel I lost my oar during an attempt to
bale out enough of a wave, which I had shipped, to
prevent swamping. I recovered my oar after an
anxious quarter-hour swirling about in those wild
waters. Miles farther on I entered the six miles of
roaring, travelling whirlpools, the strongest and
longest tidal rapids on the coast, called the ‘ Yucul-
tas.”’ The tide was running with me so I took a
chance and headed into them. All went well until I
entered the noisy tumult of waves in Canoe Pass.
My dug-out met a strong eddy at the foot of a
cataract over which I had to go and was upset. I
hung on for dear life, and although beth canoe and
man were sucked under a dozen times, we were at
long last thrown out into quieter waters towards
shore. I was nearly ‘‘done’”’ by the time I got to
land. Fortunately there was a little logging camp a
few miles through the bush to which I struggled.
Paddy Furrie, a Roman Catholic, was foreman. I
couldn’t have been more kindly treated by my own
mother than I was by Furrie and his men. [I lost
everything I had, except the boat, including a vaiu-
able .303 Savage rifle. That summer I visited