Lost in the Barrens

by Farley Mowat

  There had, of course, been snow in Hidden Valley while the boys were working. But the sun, striking on the protected slopes, had generated enough heat to melt it soon after it fell. Out on the plains the snow lay deep, and winter had come at last.

  It was a bitterly cold and frightening trip to Stone Igloo Camp and back into Hidden Valley. They sighed with relief when they were again on the esker and walking on snow-free sand.

  “It’s a good thing we found this valley,” Jamie said. “I’d hate to spend the winter out there on the frozen plains.”

  “We had good luck,” Awasin replied, “but we’d better not stretch it. Winter will hit this valley soon. We must hurry and finish the cabin.”

  With renewed energy they tackled the roof. They worked hard to keep warm. Even in the protected valley they were beginning to suffer from the cold. Their blanket-coats were awkward and not very effective.

  After several searches through the valley they managed to find a dozen slender poles some twelve feet in length. These they used as rafters, letting them overhang the walls a foot on each side to protect the rawhide lashings on the logs from the weather. They planned to make a flat, or “shanty,” roof, sloping from front to back, but before they began laying the covering on the rafters they took time out for a hot meal and a good warming by the fire.

  Awasin was just putting some deer tongue slices on to fry when a thought struck him. He dropped the pan and whirled around to where Jamie was sipping a mug of Labrador tea.

  “Jamie!” he cried. “What are we going to do for a stove, or a stovepipe!”

  Jamie’s mouth fell open. “It never crossed my mind!” he admitted foolishly. “Guess I just took it for granted that when we were ready for a stove, we’d have one handy. D’you think we could build a fireplace of stones and chink it up with mud?”

  Awasin retrieved the deer tongues and started them cooking. “No,” he replied shortly. “It would fall apart as soon as the heat got to it. The only thing I can think of is an open fireplace in the middle of the cabin, and let the smoke rise up through the roof.”

  Jamie looked dubious. “There’d be room for the smoke—but not for us too,” he said. “Even with a big smoke hole, that flat roof will hold the smoke down and most of it’ll stay inside. We’d choke to death in no time.”

  For a moment Awasin didn’t answer. Then he said, “Our roof slopes up toward the front. Suppose we made it a peak roof, then it would slope up to the middle as well. It would make a sort of channel to take the smoke to the highest point at the front, where we’d leave a smoke hole for it to get out.”

  Jamie looked impressed as Awasin continued: “There’s another thing. We should leave holes under the walls to let fresh air in. When I was young my family lived all one winter in a tent and my mother always kept one edge of the tent raised so a draft could carry off the smoke.”

  “A darn cold draft, I’ll bet,” Jamie replied. “Why couldn’t we dig a tunnel from outside, with the inside end opening right beside the fire? That way there’d be no hurricane blowing across the floor.”

  All through the meal they discussed the problem. Awasin’s experience and Jamie’s inventiveness at last combined to give them what looked like a good answer. That afternoon they untied the roof rafters, added a ridgepole, and rebuilt the framework of the roof, filling in the gable ends with short pieces of logs.

  The next morning they gathered armfuls of willows and lashed these in place across the rafters. Then they added a foot-thick layer of sphagnum moss. On top of everything they tied caribou hides, overlapping them like huge shingles. To hold the hides down they laid on more poles, and weighted these with rocks. At the front end of their roof they left a hole the size of a water pail to serve as the chimney.

  Since the cabin was almost finished, they now moved in. But the many chinks in the walls still had to be filled with moss, a door had to be made, and the fireplace built. While Awasin did the other jobs, Jamie worked on the fireplace.

  First he built a circle of stones about three feet across and a foot high, in the middle of the floor. He filled this with sand, then on top placed a half-circle of flat rocks set on edge. After a long search on the hill slopes, he found two thin stones about two feet long and six inches wide. These he placed across his half-circle to provide a rest for the frying pan, or to be used as a sort of stove-top for general cooking. Finally he took the hatchet and scratched out a tunnel across the floor, under the logs, and a few feet beyond the cabin wall. This he roofed with stones and covered with sand, leaving both ends open.

  At last he was done. He gathered a pile of firewood and called out to Awasin, “Ready to give her a try!”

  Awasin hurried inside and they both watched tensely as a piece of burning wood from the outside campfire caught the kindling. The smoke began to rise. But instead of heading up and out the chimney hole, it settled happily back into the room about their shoulders. Soon they were coughing, their eyes streaming tears. They stood it as long as they could, but finally had to stumble out into the fresh air.

  Still coughing, Awasin said, “Give it time, Jamie, it may work better when the room heats up.”

  Jamie was depressed. He looked up at the roof, where the merest trickle of smoke was coming through the hole, turned away and began walking toward the old campsite.

  A shout from Awasin stopped him. “Jamie! Look quick!”

  Slowly Jamie turned his head, then he spun about and stared. The smoke was pouring out the chimney hole in a thick rolling cloud that rose above the trees and drifted off down the valley.

  Awasin had pushed aside the deerskin that was doing temporary service as a door. “Come inside!” he called.

  Jamie came running, and there was no smoke pall to greet him. Instead there was a cheerful blaze in the fireplace, and the room was already comfortably warm. The smoke rose straight up to the roof, rolled along under the peak, and vanished out the hole. Fresh air from the tunnel poured in at the fireplace and was heated by the flames.

  “I guess I was too darn impatient,” Jamie said as he squatted by the fire. “This outfit works better than most camp stoves.”

  Awasin grinned. “Let’s put on a brew of tea to celebrate.”

  As Awasin had guessed, the reason for the smoke trouble had been that warm air rises, while cold air normally sinks. When the fire was first lit there was a good deal of smoke but little heat, and so there was no rising draft of warm air to carry the smoke up and out the chimney. Once the room began to heat up, the air rose steadily, lifting the smoke with it.

  That night they slept comfortably on beds of moss in their new home. When they dozed off they were as proud as if they had built a castle.

  They had reason to be proud. Good sense and hard work had conquered the last of their major problems. Now, barring some unforeseen misfortune, they were almost certain to survive the winter in the dreaded Barrenlands.

  During the first week after moving into the cabin there was a lot of carpentry work to finish. Bunks had to be built of saplings set against the north wall, then covered with mattresses of sphagnum moss and caribou hides. Sleeping robes had to be made as well, and these consisted of deer hides placed with the fur side in, and sewed along three edges.

  Jamie built a table of flat rocks raised on stones to about two feet above the floor. Since there were no chairs, this was high enough. The boys crouched on two boulders, each of which had a cushion of caribou hide, and dined in style.

  Three saplings lashed to a framework against the side walls served as shelves. The old canoe rope crisscrossed the ceiling as a clothesline from which wet moccasins and garments could be hung to dry.

  The camp routine was simple. Each was to be cook for a week at a time. The cook—Awasin had the first shift—got up first each morning to renew the fire and start breakfast. This usually consisted of Labrador tea, fried trout (that had been thawed out the night before), and perhaps some stew left over from supper. In the meantime Jamie went to the little lake for w
ater. After chopping through the new ice he would fill a skin bag, made from scraped deer hide, and let it soak for a while until the sinew thread swelled and made the joints watertight. As long as there was water in the bag it remained waterproof, but as soon as it dried out, broad cracks appeared along the seams.

  After breakfast there was the wood supply to see to. They suspected that by midwinter heavy drifts would have piled into the valley and it might be difficult to get wood, and harder still to drag it home. So they spent as much time as possible searching out dead trees, cutting them up, and dragging them to camp. Even though the weather was not yet bitterly cold, it took a lot of wood to keep the cabin warm—particularly at night, when the fire was kept alive with chunks of green spruce that burned slowly.

  Twice in the first week at the cabin they made trips to Stone Igloo Camp for supplies, and each time they felt the cold more intensely and were increasingly aware that something would have to be done about clothing.

  The day that Jamie took over as cook was, according to the notches cut in the lead plate, November 1. He had the fire roaring before Awasin crawled out of his sleeping bag, but the cabin was still uncomfortably cold.

  Awasin shivered as he dressed. Then he stepped outside to go for water. Jamie could hear his moccasins crunching in the snow, testifying to how cold it was. Half an hour later he was back, looking half frozen. “It’s really winter out!” he said through chattering teeth. “We must have some winter clothes or we soon won’t be able to go out at all.”

  Breakfast over, they turned their full attention to the problem. Several prime hides were stored in the cabin, and Awasin had already cleaned these thoroughly on the inside and partially smoke-tanned them.

  Jamie suggested that he use his old and tattered trousers for a pattern. He took them off and carefully cut the threads along the seams. Then he laid the worn pieces of cloth on a caribou hide, and with his pocketknife cut the hide to the same shape.

  The idea worked well enough for trousers, but jackets were a different matter. “Maybe we should make pullover parkas like the Eskimos’,” was Jamie’s suggestion.

  “That’s the best idea,” Awasin replied. “But we’ll have to make them with hoods. Too bad we don’t have wolf fur to trim them with.”

  “Why is wolf fur so special?” Jamie wanted to know.

  “Because it and wolverine fur are the only kinds your breath won’t form ice on,” Awasin answered patiently. “Any other kind of fur ices up and may stick to you and freeze your face.”

  “I’ll shoot the next one I see, then,” Jamie promised as he went back to the problem of laying out a pattern for a parka.

  While Jamie cut and fitted, Awasin sewed. They worked steadily all day and by nightfall had one complete pair of trousers to show for the effort, plus a big pile of scraps of hide and spoiled or discarded pieces.

  The fur on the trousers was turned in and the hair was against the wearer’s bare skin. Tying the moccasin tops around the ankles of the trousers made a good tight join. Though they looked bulky and awkward, the trousers were warm and comfortable. But they had to be kept dry. Once wet, they hardened and became like sheet metal.

  During the next day Jamie worked doggedly to cut out a parka. Half a dozen times he cut the pieces the way he thought they should be, and then “tacked” them together with a few stitches, only to find that the garment was hopelessly ill-fitting.

  The cold outside was worse that day, and Jamie knew he could not give in. Cut—sew—rip apart—and try again. It was growing dusk before he had a model that looked as if it might possibly do.

  He left it till next morning. But Awasin had been more successful that day and now there were three pairs of fur trousers hanging on the clothesline near the ceiling. Awasin’s job had not been easy. Sewing with the limber bone needles took hours of slow labor. Both the seams and the sinew had to be kept moist all the time, and the needle holes had to be made in advance with the fishhook.

  In two more days the parkas were finished. They hung to the knees and looked like outsize turtle-neck sweaters. Attached to the back of each was a hood that could be pulled well forward over the face. The boys dressed themselves in their new outfits with their old cotton shirts on underneath. Then they looked at each other and laughed.

  “Well, never mind the looks,” said Awasin. “I think these outfits will be warm. We’ll try a trip sometime soon and see.”

  As it happened they needed to make a trip even sooner than Awasin guessed, for that night they had a most unwelcome visitor.

  CHAPTER 18

  Of Wolverines and Sleds

  THE NEXT MORNING AWASIN WENT for water shortly after dawn, but he was back in a few moments without the water. Just outside he had found the tracks of a wolverine, and when he investigated he discovered that the robber had destroyed the twenty pounds of deermeat stored on top of the cabin roof.

  It was obvious that, having once found the meat, the wolverine would remain as a permanent, though uninvited, guest for the rest of the winter. So they had to spend that day making a tree-cache where their supplies would be safe.

  They chose four small trees growing close together, and lashed crosspieces to them about ten feet from the ground. Then they made a platform of saplings on the crosspieces to carry the weight of the food which was to be stored there. Finally they trimmed the bark off the tree trunks for several feet above ground level, and tied a collar of pointed sticks, facing downward, around each of the four trunks about six feet from the ground. Awasin completed the job by building a little ladder which could be moved away from the tree-cache after being used.

  The next night Jamie was awakened by suspicious sounds outside. He called Awasin, then slid into his clothes and grabbed the rifle. Awasin stood at the open door holding a flaming piece of spruce while Jamie rushed out to the cache. By the faint, flickering light, Jamie could see a large shadow scuttling away toward the bush and he tried a quick shot at it, but apparently without results. The wolverine had made a mess of the cache. Bundles of frozen fish and meat lay scattered in the snow, and some of these had been broken open.

  Not until morning did the boys discover how the wily wolverine had managed to raid the cache. Unable to climb the main supporting trunks, the animal had shinnied up a thin tamarack about a dozen feet to one side of the platform. Claw marks on the tamarack bark showed that the beast had kept his weight towards the cache, and as he climbed, the slender little tree had bent over like a bow. When it was bent far enough the wolverine had only to let go and drop to the platform.

  Somewhat awed by such a demonstration of cleverness, the boys spent several hours clearing away all the trees in the immediate vicinity of the cache.

  “The Chipeweyans say wolverines aren’t animals at all, but devils,” Awasin commented feelingly as they restored the damage.

  “That’s putting it mildly,” Jamie replied. “If that thing had been an animal I’d have killed it last night. I’m sure the bullet hit it, but there wasn’t any blood, and no dead wolverine.”

  “Maybe you did hit it, Jamie,” his friend said. “But they’re about the hardest animal in the world to kill. I’ve seen them run away with a thirty-thirty slug right through them!”

  An unpleasant thought occurred to Jamie. “Say!” he said. “If we’ve got wolverines around here, what about the stuff down at Stone Igloo Camp?”

  “We’d better go and see,” Awasin replied. “If the wolverines have been there we may have to cart all the stuff back here.”

  “Not on our backs, I hope,” said Jamie anxiously. “We’d better build some kind of sled.”

  They needed a sled badly in any case. It could be used to haul supplies from Stone Igloo Camp, and also for bringing in loads of firewood. After breakfast they put their heads together over this new problem.

  In the forest country sleds are seldom used, since the snow among the trees is usually soft and deep, and sled runners sink in too far. Toboggans are used instead, but making these requires sp
ecial tools and woods. However, the snow on the plains is of a different sort, for it is packed almost stone-hard by the winds and is ideal for sled runners.

  “I once saw a Chipeweyan sled for use on the edge of the Barrens,” Awasin said. “I think I can remember how it was made. But it was a big thing, almost fifteen feet long, and it needed ten dogs to pull it.”

  “Well,” Jamie replied, “we’d better make ours a lot smaller. How about six feet long? If it’s still too big we can chop a foot off it.”

  “We’ll need two squared timbers for runners then,” said Awasin. “And half a dozen crosspieces about two inches square and two feet long. Let’s get the ax and go see what we can find.”

  It took the rest of the morning to locate, and fell, two trees suitable for runners. These were cut into six-foot logs and dragged into the cabin together with a number of small spruce saplings for crosspieces.

  Awasin trimmed the logs with the ax while Jamie squared the crosspieces with the big hunting knife. When the runners were finished they were about four inches high, two inches thick, and their front ends were curved up a little so they would slide easily over humps and crevices. Awasin laid them side by side on the floor, about eighteen inches apart. Then he placed the crosspieces on top of them, at intervals of a foot.

  “It looks good,” Jamie said. “But how do we fasten all the pieces together?”

  “Babiche,” Awasin answered. “But somehow we have to drill holes through the runners, and we haven’t any drill.”

  All afternoon the boys struggled to find a way to make the holes, but they had no luck. They tried using the blades of the small pocketknives, but these made hardly any impression on the hard green wood. At last Jamie put his knife away. “See if you can dream up another idea,” he said, “while I get supper.”

  The fire was roaring on the hearth as Jamie leaned down to pick up the old frying pan. It had been sitting close to the flames and the handle—made of a piece of wire—was hot. Still thinking about the sled, Jamie thoughtlessly grasped the handle. The next minute he was bounding around the cabin, howling with pain.