Sport in Vancouver and Newfoundland

In Short

This book serves as a detailed field diary of two hunting and fishing expeditions undertaken in the early twentieth century. The author records his travels across Vancouver Island’s dense forests and Newfoundland’s vast, rain-swept barrens. It is a work of observation and endurance, capturing the logistical realities of remote travel, the specific challenges of period equipment, and the quiet satisfaction of wilderness solitude. It has lasted as a testament to the Edwardian-era sportsman’s pursuit of "the call of the wild" before the rapid modernization of these Canadian frontiers.

The Story

The narrative begins with an impulse: after reading reports of massive salmon in the Campbell River, the author leaves his home in Egypt to test those waters for himself. The first portion of the book centers on his time at the Willows Hotel in Vancouver Island. He describes a world caught between Victorian sensibilities and the raw reality of a logging frontier. He spends his days battling powerful salmon in the river and his nights navigating the peculiar social and culinary restrictions of the local hotel. The sport is magnificent, but the author soon grows restless and decides to penetrate the island’s interior in search of wapiti.

The middle section chronicles a grueling transition from luxury fishing to the hardships of the forest. Accompanied by local guides, the author discovers that the lush, green maps of the interior mask a landscape of dense, impenetrable undergrowth and frequent, punishing rain. The journey turns into a test of physical survival as guides suffer injuries, supplies run low, and the weather refuses to break. The trek toward Mount Kingcome is a slog through "devil-club" and mud, yet it yields glimpses of black bear, wolverine, and mountain goats. The author eventually retreats to civilization, physically battered but enriched by the experience.

After a brief respite, the call of the wild draws him toward Newfoundland for a second, distinct journey. This time, he is better prepared, bringing a meticulously curated list of supplies and a specific mission to hunt caribou. He travels by steamer and rail to the remote reaches of Long Harbour, where he joins his guides to penetrate the island’s interior via a series of interconnected ponds and ridges. The arc of this journey is defined by the rhythm of camp life: the building of makeshift furniture, the daily scouting of ridges, and the observation of caribou migrations.

The ending is bittersweet and grounded in the realities of the season. Despite his efforts and the expertise of his guides, the author finds the caribou heads disappointing and the weather once again turns hostile. As the rain transforms the marshes into impassable torrents, he recognizes that his time is up. He must choose between extending his stay for the chance of a better trophy or returning to catch his scheduled steamer. He chooses the latter, packing his gear in a final thunderstorm. He closes his diary with a reflection on the value of these memories, acknowledging that while the hunt did not end in grand victory, the communion with the untamed landscape remains a permanent, cherished prize.

How It Unfolds

The quest begins The author sets his sights on British Columbia after reading glowing reports of the Campbell River's salmon, transitioning from the heat of Egypt to the cool, temperate forests of the Pacific coast. He establishes a base at a local hotel, finding that the promise of sport is balanced by the humorous, daily friction of frontier hotel management.

Into the thicket Leaving the river behind, the author mounts an expedition into the deep woods to hunt wapiti, only to find the terrain unexpectedly violent and difficult to traverse. He details the physical decline of his party as they battle through dense undergrowth, suffering injuries and the constant, relentless soaking of a British Columbian autumn.

Reaching the heights The narrative shifts from the suffocating forest to the open, mountainous slopes near Mount Kingcome, where the author finally encounters the wildlife he sought. Though his attempts to secure a trophy are hampered by the terrain and the fading daylight, the landscape offers a brief, stunning reward of bear and mountain goat sightings.

The Newfoundland frontier The second voyage takes the author to the rugged, boggy expanses of Newfoundland, where he prepares with greater care and a more refined sense of logistical planning. He spends weeks navigating the pond-rich interior, documenting the daily rituals of the hunting camp and the elusive, seasonal movements of the caribou herds.

The final retreat Facing an encroaching, storm-driven autumn that turns the wilderness into a swamp, the author decides to cut his trip short. He concludes his account with an appendix of his gear, marking the end of his expedition with a quiet acceptance of the wilderness's terms.

The People

The author, known only as J.G.R., is a man of precise habits and relentless ambition. Driven by a desire for trophy sport, he reveals himself through his reactions to failure, showing both his frustration with unreliable guides and his deep, genuine appreciation for the natural world. He is a pragmatic observer who values the "joys of solitude" above the sport itself.

His guides, including men like Smith and Steve Bernard, serve as the essential bridge between the author and the landscape. These men are characterized by their specialized skills—poling canoes through rapids and reading the terrain—and their differing temperaments under pressure. They are the ones who bear the physical brunt of the author’s ambitions, navigating the "devil-club" and the flooded marshes. While the author occasionally finds their judgment lacking or their spirit flagging, he treats their company as a necessary, and often commendable, part of the expedition.

Mr. Ryan, the Irish telegraph operator met in Newfoundland, stands out as a brief but vivid figure. Despite a painful, festering ulcer on his leg, he refuses to remain stationary, embodying the rugged, restless spirit of the islanders. He provides the author with both local intelligence and a glimpse into the resilient character of the settlers, serving as a reminder that the wild is not just a place for visitors to hunt, but a home for those who have adapted to its unforgiving nature.

In Its Own Voice

"I think J. G. Millais' charming book Newfoundland and its Untrodden Ways, as well as the description he personally gave me of the country, were largely responsible for my decision."

The author credits existing literature and personal accounts for the inspiration behind his second major expedition.

"Had I known what I was really 'up against,' I think I would have turned back, for never have I endured greater discomfort."

This candid admission highlights the gap between the romanticized notion of wilderness hunting and the harsh physical reality of the Vancouver forest.

"No more letters would be received, no news from the outside world for at least a month, only the joy of solitude in communion with nature, a joy which once experienced can never be forgotten."

The author reflects on the profound, temporary detachment from society that defines his wilderness experience.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an exploration of the gap between the romantic ideal of the hunt and the gritty, logistical reality of wilderness travel. The author is less interested in the blood sport itself than in the process of testing himself against an indifferent landscape. The recurring theme is the struggle to maintain order—through schedules, gear, and camp discipline—in places where nature is entirely ungoverned. It touches on the tension between the "civilized" world, represented by the author's need for tea and steamers, and the "untrodden ways" that demand a total, sometimes agonizing, surrender of comfort. The book asks: what does it take to sustain the spirit of an explorer when the physical world is actively working to prevent your progress?

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the slow, methodical pace of period travelogues will find this book deeply rewarding. It offers a transparent look at the Edwardian mindset—the meticulousness of the preparation, the reliance on local indigenous and settler expertise, and the unquestioned attitude toward hunting that defined the era. You will feel the dampness of the Newfoundland bogs and hear the frustration of a man trying to boil a kettle in a rainstorm.

The book is not without its difficulties. The prose is functional rather than poetic, and the author’s matter-of-fact dismissal of "shooting for meat" without regard for season or sex may strike a modern reader as jarring. However, the value lies in its authenticity. It is not a polished adventure novel, but a raw, honest diary. You are reading the actual notes of a man who traveled to the edge of the map, and the frustration he feels when his plans unravel is as palpable as his wonder at the sight of a mountain ridge. It remains a fascinating historical window into a time when large portions of the Canadian wilderness were still considered "untrodden," and the only way to see them was to pack your own gear, trust your guides, and hope the weather held.