Abstract
July 30, Fart Chipewyan, on Lake Athabasca AFTER practically incessant travel since leaving England, at last I find myself condemned to a week's rest, as there are no boats going to Port Rae until the Mackenzie River boats return. But here we are in the lap of luxury; we get bread, butter, and milk, which we have not tasted for ages, to say nothing of the novel experience of sleeping under a roof and on a bed. I have had a most delightful journey, but it all seems like a dream to look back to: my memory is a kaleidoscope of pine trees, rapids, lakes, and golden sunrises and sunsets. Down stream we travel day and night. At sunset the boats are lashed together, and then the crew go to sleep. It is very nice drifting down in the silence amongst the pines, but bed-time comes at last. I then roll myself in a blanket, lie down, and look at the stars till I fall asleep. At sunrise I wake to find the crew on the shore, boiling their kettle, and a cup of tea is very refreshing. My blanket and my hair, too, I find dripping wet with dew when I wake.
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Notes from the Letters of Captian Dawson, R.A., in Command of the British Circumpolar Expedition 1 . Nature 27, 242–243 (1883). https://doi.org/10.1038/027242a0
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DOI: https://doi.org/10.1038/027242a0