The fur-bearing animals of this territory are without a doubt but a remnant of the numbers which at one time inhabited these districts. There is scarcely a spot where the Indian or half-breed trapper has not found these fur-coated animals, studied their habits, and, by his native cunning killed the greater number of them and secured their valuable skins. The most numerous of the fur-bearing animals are, the bear, marten, mink, fox and muskrat. The beaver, otter, fisher and wolf are very scarce. Especial mention may be made of the beaver which are fast becoming extinct. They were never seen in large families, and as evinced by their work, have been driven from their homes and are now scattered broadcast.

George R. Gray to the HON. E. J. DAVIS, Commissioner of Crown Lands. LAND AND TIMBER ESTIMATOR'S REPORT OF EXPLORATION SURVEY PARTY NO. 3. TORONTO, Ontario. Jan. 7, 1901.

***

Due to Gray's proficiency as leader and our efficiency of work, by late July we were well ahead of schedule. The area we were to assigned to survey had been sufficiently explored and with the time remaining in our contract, Gray decided we should venture to the area west of Wahnapitae Lake and into the Spanish River Valley. Hence, we made our course to Wahnapitae with the aim to visit Sudbury for a brief resupply, after which we were to board the train to the Spanish River.

On our return journey down the Lower Sturgeon River, we encountered a family of Indians living in rough tent and timber dwellings on a sand beach. Here, the river spilled over a series of shallow rapids into a small lake. It was a beautiful location. The Indians were in the process of constructing a diversion channel in the river to create a pool where they would trap and spear migrating fish in the fall. It looked to be difficult work, involving moving many large stones. The Natives were standing knee and chest deep in the flowing water, wearing full leggings, using long logs as levers, prying and rolling the great stones, working together without hardly speaking a word. On the shore, women tended fires and naked children played and ran between the dwellings. Upon the approach of our party down the portage trail, the children rushed to greet us as though we were lost relatives. The adults-there were likely a dozen-were more cautious and said nothing as we portaged through their clearing. Here, the blueberries were thicker than we had seen anywhere thus far on our voyage.

When Jimmy lowered the canoe he was carrying, the Indians approached him and they spoke. In muffled grunts they greeted each other. There was hardly a smile exchanged yet Jimmy told us these people were his cousins. When I asked him later to explain the family connection, he only said, "He is the brother of my brother and sister." I questioned whether he meant to say the son of his father's brother, but Jimmy just laughed. Since it was nearing the end of the travel day, Jimmy spoke with the Indians, and they permitted us to share their campsite that night.

Among the natives here was an elderly woman, one who the family seemed to hold in high regard. She was provided with her own skin tent next to the river and had a very pleasing view of the rapids and the lake, and was exposed to a bug-free breeze. Jimmy was brought to her camp. From a distance, I observed the old woman sitting next to her tent. She had her head down and appeared to be deep in thought, or perhaps asleep. She was a tiny woman whose hair was both black and white, yet not grey. She seemed to be permanently crumpled and moved as though the weight of the ages was on her back. When Jimmy appeared, they mumbled a few words to each other and another Indian brought her some dry grass, which they lit from the fire and, in turn, fanned the smoke over themselves. The old woman entered her tent and Jimmy followed. The Indian extinguished the smouldering grass and stood outside the tent.

The first Indian, the man who greeted Jimmy when we arrived, invited our party to join them for their dinner. We were reluctant to contribute much to the meal since, from the moment it was decided we would be returning to Sudbury to resupply, we had increased our daily rations, and as a result, our provisions were nearing their end. It didn't matter, for that night we feasted on fresh caught pickerel, ruffed grouse, hare, berries, and bread made from the flour of cattail. These Indians had no provisions whatsoever from the trading posts, and if not for their guns, fabric and cookware, it would appear they were primitive savages. Other than the elderly woman, who we were told would only speak in the Algonkin language, these Indians did know some English, so there was at least one aspect of civilization about them.

During our meal, I asked the first Indian about the old woman. He explained that she is a Great Aunt who remembers the old ways. "She tells stories and warns us about getting too many things from your people. She teaches us so we don't forget how to live with the land." He swung his hand in a slow circle around the campsite. "She tells us one day, all of this will be lost." The Indian told of how the Great Aunt was from the Nipissing Lake Band, born on Great Manitou Island, long ago.

The next morning I questioned Jimmy about his visit with the old woman and he laughed. He said they had tea and talked of the old days and things yet to come. The Lake Nipissing Indians, he told me, were once a great Band, feared by the French who had to pass the Manitou Islands with their canoe brigades. They were considered sorcerers by the French, able to summon the spirit of Mishibizhiw and turn a calm lake into a sudden, violent storm. Then Jimmy laughed and spoke no more of his visit with the elder.

George Gray also shared with us his vision of how things would be. After we departed the Indian encampment, we paddled down the lake. The day was glorious, without a breeze, and the lake was a mirror reflecting the pine shoreline, the billows of white clouds overhead and five red canoes, disrupting the stillness as we plodded across the glassy surface.

Gray, while certainly not a shy man, was never one to be overly talkative. When he spoke, it was with a purpose and, because of that, the men learned to respect the truth of his words. This day, as we paddled across the lake, he shared with us his belief in progress and the power of the human spirit. We had been treated to a few of his motivational discourses in the past and could tell by the passion with which he spoke, we were in for another brilliant lecture.

"Look around you," Gray said as he paddled. Our canoes were close together, our paddles dipping and pulling in time. "Look at this land and you can see its potential. See that shore? Those trees were passed by, overlooked by the lumbermen who came here before us. Why? Not because the trees were too small, but because the mens' minds were too small. To J.R. Booth, or any of the other lumber barons, these spruce and jackpine were simply not worth the work involved to cut and float down streams and across lakes to their mill. But they didn't see what I see. They were thinking of each of these trees as a singular tree. The future, lads, belongs to those who don't see these as trees, but as forests. 'You can't see the forest for the trees,' they say, and that saying is right. What you need to realize is that we are looking at a commodity-a product measured in board feet of lumber, in tons of pulp-then we can understand the real unit of measure is the dollar. We are not looking at harvesting trees any longer, we are harvesting money!"

"So, let's say you are standing before a field of wheat that stretches as far as the eye can see, and in your hand is a sickle. Your vision is only that which your sickle can cut in each swath. But if you have the imagination to look at the potential you hold within your mind, then you see the limitations of the sickle. You begin to imagine a new machine, or a new approach, or a new system, a new way of doing that which was previously unimaginable. That is where we are lads, we are on the cusp of a new era of machines and imagination. A new century is upon us, and this century will belong to the men who see beyond the limitations imposed by nature."

"Just look, in your own lifetime lads, the difference the steam engine has made. We were transported to the beginning of this trip thanks to a steam locomotive, and we can thank the men who had the drive to secure the funding and risked their fortunes and took their chances to build that railway." Gray stopped paddling and pointed to the shore. "Imagine if you can, this lake, one day, with every bay and inlet choked with logs, and a steam mill firing - there, at the end of the lake. This timber could not be touched before because there was no rushing water to power a sawmill. But soon, these stands will fall to the axe and saw like grass under a mower, and a steam boiler, powered by burning the endless supply of wood here, will churn out milled lumber or wood chips that can be loaded onto a rail line that will connect to the mainline, and this forest, my friends, will be transformed from the green of leaves and pine needles into a different kind of green-the green of money."

He paused and let us think about the significance of his words. I surveyed the shoreline and surrounding hills and tried to imagine Gray's vision coming to pass. There was something exciting about the potential of which he spoke, yet, I was at the same time, saddened to think of the destruction of this wonderful lake. In our months on the trail, we had seen so many incredible sights, experienced the beauty of nature in the rushing of a waterfall or a falcon soaring above a rock cliff or the endless forest. We saw the woods as home to creatures and birds of every size and description, the lakes alive with fish and frog and fowl.

Yet still, the image of machine and progress had its appeal and I knew, firsthand, of the benefits of employment in the forests; my own livelihood in the Ottawa Valley was the result of the timber trade. There would remain many places beyond the reach of man, too remote and far removed to make resource extraction feasible and too distant from the new roads and railways to be accessible to the average sportsman. Gray and other men of action and adventure, the class of man of which I believed I was now part, would always be able to reach these secluded locations, the places Gray would later so eloquently describe in his report to the Commissioner, "far from the haunts of the pleasure-seeking Nimrod."

Gray continued. "And that is why you lads are pioneers. You, gentlemen, are carving the way for progress. Your findings, your data, and your maps will usher in a new era of prosperity to this land. Do not think for a moment your effort will be wasted, for even the smallest recorded detail may one day hold true significance in ways that we cannot possibly foresee. A tiny rock might contain a mineral element which means nothing to the geologist of today, but in the future, might be the key to unlock new materials, and how can we say where these new materials may take us? Just as ages ago, one could not imagine the significance of mixing sulphur with charcoal. We have no way of knowing what future glories this land might hold. Our work here contains the seeds of future prosperity."

Gray was good. He spoke like a preacher smitten with rapture and his congregation, the men paddling our floating caravan, were the believers. Dissertations such as this sermon on the lake revealed Gray to be a true man of vision and his enthusiasm, infectious.

The flotilla of canoes paused as we approached the shore and some of the men lit their pipes. We waited for Jimmy's canoe to catch up. Our Indian guide was still in the middle of the lake, burdened with the heaviest load, propelled by a solitary paddler.