Through trackless Labrador

In Short

This narrative chronicles a challenging expedition into the remote, trackless wilderness of Labrador in the early 20th century. Driven by a desire for exploration and sport, the author and his companions navigate treacherous rivers and rugged plateaus, contending with punishing weather, swarms of insects, and dwindling supplies. Beyond the travelogue, it offers a detailed ethnographic portrait of the region’s Moravian missionaries, the indigenous Eskimo and Indian populations, and the resilient settlers known as "Liveyeres." It remains a vivid, firsthand testament to a disappearing frontier, valued for its observational clarity and historical record of a vanishing way of life.

The Story

The journey begins with an initial, aborted attempt to penetrate the Labrador interior, which leaves the author determined to return. He eventually launches a more organized expedition, starting from the coastal settlement of Nain. Alongside his companions, including the skilled woodsman Robert Porter and the experienced Hardy, the party aims to navigate the Fraser River and traverse the barrens to reach the George River. The early stages are marked by the grueling physical labor of "tracking"—hauling and shoving canoes up shallow, rapid-filled waters—and the constant, maddening presence of mosquitoes and black flies that turn even the most scenic vistas into tests of endurance.

As they move inland, the landscape shifts from dense, wooded river valleys to a stark, rock-strewn plateau. The narrative follows their slow, painful progress as they portage heavy gear through "Bear Ravine" and across high, wind-swept ridges. Their survival hinges on careful resource management; they rely on cached supplies and the hope of hunting caribou, though the elusive herds often prove smarter than the hunters. The physical toll is significant, with the author suffering a swollen, painful ankle that threatens to hinder their pace. Despite these hardships, the team pushes onward, fueled by the camaraderie of shared struggle and the occasional, fleeting satisfaction of a successful day’s travel.

The expedition reaches its climax on the high tableland, where the group faces severe gales that force them to constantly shift their camps and risk losing their equipment. Exhaustion and hunger set in, yet they manage to find their caches and eventually emerge, having successfully navigated the difficult terrain. The story concludes not with a triumphant conquest of the wilderness, but with a reflective descent back toward civilization. The final sections pivot from the immediate struggle of the march to a broader survey of the region. The author details the lives of the Moravian missionaries, the daily routines and hardships of the settlers, the migration patterns of the caribou, and the realities of life for the Eskimo, who adapt to a land that demands immense physical and mental fortitude. By the end, the reader is left with a deep appreciation for the fragility of human existence in the face of such a vast, indifferent landscape.

How It Unfolds

The initial disappointment The author recounts a failed first attempt to enter the interior, thwarted by the lack of suitable river craft and the seasonal arrival of the last mail steamer. This setback only sharpens his resolve to return better prepared for the challenges of the Labrador coast.

The departure from Nain The expedition officially begins at the Moravian mission station at Nain, where the arrival of white strangers serves as a rare event for the local inhabitants. The party finalizes their plans to tackle the Fraser River, buoyed by the local knowledge provided by the mission staff.

Navigating the Fraser The group struggles against shallow water and dense thickets, learning to maneuver canoes through rapids with the help of a local Eskimo guide named Boaz. This stage defines the expedition’s rhythm, blending heavy physical exertion with the necessity of hunting small game to supplement their limited rations.

The struggle on the plateau Upon reaching the high, rocky interior, the team battles not only the terrain but also relentless mosquitoes and hurricane-force winds. They transition to a grueling schedule of marching and portaging, forced to prioritize survival as the season turns and the first snows of autumn begin to fall.

The return and observations After successfully navigating the wilderness, the author provides an extensive analysis of the people and creatures of Labrador. He concludes by documenting the social structures of the mission stations, the economics of the "Liveyere" settlers, and the environmental factors shaping the migration of the caribou.

The People

The author acts as both the driving force and the narrator, a man who frames his discomfort not as a grievance but as a necessary price for discovery. He is balanced by Robert Porter, an expert woodsman whose capability in the field provides the expedition with its best hope of success. Porter’s ability to carry heavy loads and navigate difficult ground serves as the group’s anchor, and his quiet endurance contrasts with the author’s more reflective, observant nature. Hardy, a companion with an interest in fishing, provides both practical help and a source of companionship, often maintaining a sense of humor or focus even when the rations are low or the weather is at its worst. Boaz Obed, the Eskimo guide, brings vital, localized expertise to the party; though he is unfamiliar with the specific mechanics of the canoe, his experience with kayaks and his intimate knowledge of the coast become crucial when the rivers become treacherous. Each man undergoes a process of attrition, moving from high initial expectations to a stripped-down reality where only the most essential skills and traits—patience, physical stamina, and mutual reliance—remain.

In Its Own Voice

“Here were we, on the margin of a beautiful, rock-bound lake in a virgin land, the Northern Lights dancing and waving in the heavens, the few voices of the wilderness around us; in a land where there were caribou; in such an environment, in fact, as Hardy and I had discussed, dreamed of and looked forward to for many a day, and yet these loathsome insects left us no feeling but irritation and the dread of a sleepless night.”

(The author captures the stark contrast between the majesty of the Labrador landscape and the sheer physical misery inflicted by its insect population.)

“The Labrador day commences early, and soon we were summoned into the mission house for breakfast, after which Mr. Schmitt very kindly placed himself at our disposal.”

(This brief observation highlights the vital, welcoming role the Moravian mission stations played as hubs of hospitality and information for travelers in a remote territory.)

What It's Really About

At its core, the book explores the tension between human ambition and the absolute authority of the natural world. It poses questions about the nature of "wilderness"—not as a romantic ideal, but as an active, often hostile participant that dictates the terms of life for those within it. The author examines how different groups, from the Moravian missionaries to the indigenous Eskimo and the European settlers, carve out an existence in a landscape that offers little by way of compromise. The text functions as an argument for resilience, suggesting that in such an environment, success is not measured by the conquest of land, but by the ability to adapt to its cycles of scarcity, cold, and isolation.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate classic travel writing and the meticulous recording of vanishing ways of life will find much to admire here. The book is written with a sturdy, unadorned honesty that avoids the melodrama often found in modern adventure narratives. You will encounter a world where the primary currency is seal-skin boots and where the arrival of a mail steamer is a momentous, life-altering event.

However, potential readers should be prepared for the realities of early 20th-century travel writing. The narrative is long and at times digressive, moving from intense descriptions of physical struggle to dry, detailed ethnographic lists. The author’s period-typical attitudes toward the indigenous peoples and the "civilizing" influence of missionaries are reflective of his time and will strike the modern reader as paternalistic. Despite these limitations, the book’s strength lies in its descriptive power—the way it captures the biting chill of the Labrador autumn or the quiet, haunting beauty of a cemetery overlooking a northern bay. It is a work of deep observation, perfect for those who enjoy being transported to a rugged, harsh, and utterly distinct part of the world, and who value a narrator who is as honest about his failures as he is about his triumphs.