14 - Womans Way Through Unknown Labrador by Mina Benson Hubbard

In 1905, Mina Benson Hubbard embarked on a remarkable 576-mile canoe expedition through the uncharted wilderness of Labrador, guided by four skilled companions. This journey was not only a personal quest but also a tribute to her late husband, Leonidas Hubbard, who tragically lost his life while attempting the same route in 1903 as a writer for an outdoor magazine. Mrs. Hubbard became the first to accurately document the river paths of her expedition, and her story is complemented by her husbands diary detailing his ill-fated adventure, along with George Elsons gripping account of survival and the recovery of Mr. Hubbards remains. A map created by Mrs. Hubbard during her travels is also featured on this page—narrated by Zach Hoyt.

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter fourteen of A Woman's Way through Unknown Labrador by
Minha Benson Hubbard, Chapter fourteen, Through the Lakes of the
Upper George. How little I had dreamed when setting out
on my journey that it would prove beautiful and of
such compelling interest as I had found it. I had
not thought of interest except that of getting the work done,
nor of beauty. How could Labrador be beautiful? Weariness and

(00:22):
hardship I had looked for, and weariness I had found
often an anxiety which was not yet passed in spite
of what had been achieved. But of hardship there had
been none. Flies and mosquitoes made it uncomfortable sometimes, but
not to the extent of hardship. And how beautiful it
had been, with a strange, wild beauty, the remembrance of
which buries itself silently in the deep parts of one's being.

(00:42):
In the beginning there had been no response to it
in my heart. But gradually, in its silent way, it
had won, and now was like the strength giving presence
of an understanding friend. The long miles which separated me
from the world did not make me feel far away,
just far enough to be nice, And many times I
found myself, wishing I need never have to go back again.
But the work could not all be done here. Half
the distance across the peninsula had been passed, and now,

(01:04):
on August eleventh, we were beginning the descent of the
George River. Would Labrador skys continue to smile kindly upon me?
It would be almost, if not quite, a three hundred
mile journey to Angova, and it might be more. Could
we make the post by the last week in August?
The men appeared confident, but for me the days which
followed held anxious hours and the night's sleepless ones, as

(01:25):
I tried to make my decision whether, in case it
should become evident that we could not reach Angava in time,
I should turn back, leaving the work uncompleted, or push on,
accepting the consequent long winter journey back across Labrador or
round the coast, and the responsibility of providing for my
four guides for perhaps a full year at least. The
sun shone on the beginning of the journey, and about
nine o'clock, the last pack having gone forward, I set

(01:46):
off down the portage below lay cupboard, a prayer in
my heart that the journey might be swift the prayer
seemed doomed to remain unanswered. At first. Before noon of
that day, the sun was hidden, and for nearly a
week we did not again see his face. Violent storms
of wind and rain and snow made progress difficult or impossible,
and on August sixteenth we were camped only thirty miles
from the height of land. The upper River proved a

(02:07):
succession of lake expansions of varying sizes, their waters dropping
from one to the other down shallow rapids. At the
height of land, and for some miles beyond, the country
is flat and boggy and sparsely wooded with timerrak and spruce,
many of the tall, slender tops of the former being
bent completely over by the storms. The spruce was small
and scant, increasing in size and quantity as we descended

(02:28):
from the highest levels, but nowhere on the northern slope
attaining the size reached in the valley of the Noscopy. Gradually,
low barren ridges began to appear, their white, mossy sides
marked by cariboo trails, which formed a network over the
country we were passing through, and all were freshly cut
with hoof marks. Every day there were herds or single
dear to be seen along the way, and at a
number of points we passed along piles of whitened antlers.

(02:49):
Other game two ducks, geese and charmagant had become plntiful
since we entered the Cariboo country, and now and then
a few were taken to vary the monotony of the
diet of dried Caribou meat. Loons were about us at
all hours, and I grew to love their weird call
as much, almost as the Indians do. We traveled too
fast to fish, and it was stormy, but the indications
were that in places at least fish were abundant. When
we ran down to the little lake on which our

(03:11):
camp of August twelfth was pitched, hundreds of fish plaited
its surface, keeping the water in constant commotion. They were
in no wise disturbed by our presence and would turn
leisurely over within two feet of the canoe. I ran
out to my trolls. We paddled down the lake, but
not nimble did I get the men said they were
white fish. Every day we expected to see or hear
something of the wolves which are said to attend the

(03:31):
movements of the Cariboo, but no sign of them appeared,
save the one track found at the point on Lake Michikamats.
Signs of the Indians became more numerous, and on a
point near the head of Cabot Lake we found a camp,
but lately deserted and left, evidently with the idea of
return in the near future. The Indians had been there
all through the spring, and we found a strongly built
cash which the men thought probably contained furs, but which

(03:53):
we did not, of course disturb. It was about ten
feet long and six feet wide at the base, and
built in the form of an a, with the trunks
of trees from five to six inches in diameter, set
up close together and chinked with moss and boughs. There
were many of the uncovered wigwams, standing about one a
large oblong with three fireplaces in it. Lying near the
wigwams were old clothes of a quite civilized fashion, pots, kettles,

(04:14):
a wooden tub, paint cans and brushes, paddles, a wooden shovel,
broken bones, piles of hair from the deer skins they
had dressed, and a skin stretcher. Some steel traps hung
in a tree near, and several iron pounders for breaking bones.
On stage under two deer skins were a little rifle,
a shotgun, and a piece of dragged deer's meet. A
long string of the bills of birds taken during the

(04:35):
spring hung in a tree near the water, and beside
each of the various wigwams, in the line of them
which stretched along the south shore of the point, a
whitened bone was set up on a long pole for luck.
The river gradually increased in volume, and all previous excitement
of work in the swift water seemed to grow insignificant
when my long course and running rapids began. Perhaps it
was because the experience was new and I did not

(04:56):
know what to expect. But as the little canoe careered
wildly down the slope from one lay to the next,
with in the beginning many a scrape on the rocks
of the river bed, my nervous system contracted steadily till
at the foot, where we slipped out into smooth water again,
it fall as if dipped into an astringent. A few
miles below Cabot Lake, the river is joined by what
we judged to be its southeast branch, almost equal to
the middle river in size. This branch, together with a

(05:18):
chain of smaller lakes east of Lake Michigamao once formed
the Indian inland route from the Nescapi River to the George,
used at times of the year when Lake Michigamma was
likely to be impassable on account of the storms. It
had been regularly traveled in the old days when the
Indians of the interior traded at Northwest River Post, but
since the diversion of their trade to the Saint Lawrence,
it had fallen into disuse. There was much talk of

(05:39):
our perspective meeting within escapies, which I did not understand.
And it was not until the evening of August fourteenth,
as I sat after supper at the camp fire, that
I became conscious of the real concern with which the
men were looking forward to the event. For two precious
days we had been unable to move on account of
the storms. The rain had fallen steadily all day, changing
to snow towards evening, and now though the downpour had ceased,

(06:00):
the black clouds still fled, rolling and tossing overhead before
the gale which rolled through the spruce forest and set
the smoke of the big camp fire rolling now this way,
now that as it found its way into our sheltered nook.
George and Joe were telling amusing stories of their boyhood
experiences at Rupert's house, the pranks they played on their teacher,
their fights, football and other games. And while they talked,
I bestowed some special care upon my revolver. Job sat

(06:23):
smoking his pipe, listening with a merry light in his
gleaming black eyes, and Gilbert lounged on the opposite side
of the fire with open mouthed, boyish attention. The talk
drifted to stories of the Indians tributary to Rupert's house
and the practical jokes perpetrated on them, while kept about
the post to which they brought each spring from the
far interior their winter's catch of furs. There were stories
of Hennah Bay massacre and the retribution which followed, swift

(06:45):
and certain, and of their own trips inland, and of
the hospitality of the Indians. The talk ended with an
anxious if it were only the Hudson Bay Indians we
were coming to, there would be no doubt about the
welcome we should get. Turning to me, George remarked, you
were giving that real were a fine rubbing up to night, yes,
I replied, laughing a little. I am getting ready for
the esscopies. They would not shoot you, he said, gravely.

(07:07):
It would be us they would kill if they took
the notion. Whatever their conjurer tells them to do, they
will do. No, asserted Gilbert, who boasted some traditional knowledge
of the uscopies. They would not kill you, missus Hubbard.
If it would be to keep you at their camp,
that they would kill us. I had been laughing at
Georgia little, but gilbert struggling announcement induced to sudden sobriety.
As I glanced from one to the other, the faces

(07:27):
of the men were all unwontedly serious. There was a
world of thoughts for a moment. Then I asked, what
do you think I shall be doing while they are
killing you. You do not need to suppose that because
I will not kill rabbits or ptarmagun or curboo, I
should have any objection to killing a muscopy Indian if
it were necessary. Nevertheless, the meeting with the Indians had
for me assumed a new and more serious aspect, and,
remembering their agony of fearless some harm before me every

(07:50):
reached civilization again, I realized how the situation seemed to
the men. When I went to my tent, it was
to lie very wide awake, turning over in my mind
plans of battle in case the red men proved. The
following morning, the weather was still bad, but we attempted
to go forward. Soon a snow squall drove us to
the shelter of the woods. When it had passed, we
were again on the river. The rain came on, and

(08:10):
a gale of wind drove it into our faces till
they burned, as if hot water instead of cold, were
pelting them. We could make no headway, and still put
ashore on the right bank of the river to wait
for calm or weather. Camp was made on a tiny
moss covered ridge of rock back of the stretch of
swamp along the shore, and soon a roaring fire sent
out its welcome warmth to the wet and shivering waferers
couching near it in the shelter of the spruce. How

(08:31):
cold it was, and how slowly we were getting on.
The river widened here, and on the left bank at
short intervals, broad trails with fresh cut tracks led down
to its edge, and along the shore a wide band
of white kerbou hair clung to the bank four feet
above the river, where it had been left by the
receding water. We had been sitting by the fire only
a little while when Job, who after his usual manner,

(08:51):
had disappeared, called to us in a low, eager voice
from one hundred feet away. He said only one word, joe,
but we all knew what it meant, and there was
a rush in the direction which yet again disappeared. A
herd of fifteen caribou were swimming across from the opposite shore,
straight to the little bay above our Landing under cover
of the woods and willows, we stole down quite close
to the water and waited until they came almost to shore. Then,

(09:12):
springing from our hiding places, we shouted at them. The beautiful,
frightened creatures turned and went bounding back through the shallow water,
splashing it into clouds of spray, till they sank into
the deeper tide, and only heads and stubs of tails
could be seen as they swam back to the other shore.
They were nearly all young ones, some of them little fawns.
All day long, at short intervals, companies of them were

(09:33):
seen crossing, some one way, some another. Towards evening, two
herds passed the camp at the same time, one to
the east of us but a short distance away, and
the other along the foot of the ridge on the west,
not fifty feet from our camp. On Wednesday, against the
strong northwest wind, we succeeded in making six and a
half miles passing the mouth of the southwest branch of
the Upper George River. And when at three p m.
We reached the head of Long Lake, it was too

(09:54):
rough to venture on and we had to go into camp.
I felt rather desperate that night, and sick with disappointment.
One week of precious time was gone. It was the
sixteenth of the month and we were only thirty miles
perhaps a little more from the height of land. How
is it possible to reach the post? And time for
the ship? Now we will get you there about two
days before the ship arrives. George insisted, would we get
down below the lakes. We could make forty miles a

(10:16):
day if the weather is good, said Joe, But I
was not reassured. When we should get down below the lakes,
we could travel fast, perhaps, but the last one Indian
House Lake with the old Hudson's Bay Company post had
been was still far north of us, and no one
knew what lay between. Perhaps there was a bare possibility
that we might make the journey in ten days, but
I knew I could not count on it. Had I
a right to undertake the return journey with its perils?

(10:38):
I was not sure. My tent was sweet that night,
with the fragrance of its carpet of balsam boughs and
a big bunch of twin flowers which grew in profusion there.
But it was late before I slept, perhaps two hours
after I awoke to find a big moon peering into
my face through the open front of my tent. I
was struggled at first, and instinctively reached for my revolver,
not knowing what it was. But when full consciousness had returned,

(10:59):
whether it was the effect of the moon or not,
the question had somehow been settled. I knew I should
go on to Ungava, whatever the consequences might be. End
of Chapter fourteen.