Steep,
forest-clad hillsides run down to the lake on both sides, and there
are not half a dozen farms in sight of it, so we felt that we were
getting into wilder parts as soon as we had started on our voyage.
The boats here are only made for one pair of sculls to be used at a
time, so it came heavy on each of us in turn to have to row our
well-loaded ship with its cargo of two men, two dogs (Bruce and
Gordon), and all our luggage, guns, and ammunition.
[Illustration: "I Rigged up my oilskin coat as a sail, with George to
act as mast and rigging."]
Luckily for me, before it came to my turn to row, a good breeze sprang
up from behind us, so in a very short time I had rigged up my oilskin
coat as a sail, with George to act as mast and rigging, and I took an
oar to steer with.
In a very short time we found ourselves running along at double the
pace that we could have got by rowing.
On these lakes, though there are plenty of boats, you never see one
fitted with mast and sails for sailing. It is too dangerous; sudden
squalls come down from the hills and catch the sails the wrong way or
too violently, and so capsize the boat before the crew can do anything
to save her.
Pages:
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169