They manouvered the canoe to photograph the shore.
One hundred years ago it would have been very difficult to paint the cliff faces of the shoreline with accuracy. The canoe rocked with parallax wavelets and tiny shifts in weight. The relentless wind became calmer yet still blew the canoe along the shore.
All the stories told over all the ages and by all the races of humanity are located in the dying embers of a campfire.
The new day dawned while they ate their meagre rations.
Upward they crashed and snapped through the underbrush of the gentle moist hardwood forests.
Above the leafy lower lake lands they emerged from the rough pine woods into wind whipped evapoarated vistas.