SIR, I have the honor to transmit herewith my report upon the exploration work performed by Exploration Survey Party No. 3 under my control during last season.

In accordance with the instructions received I have endeavored to acquire as much general knowledge as possible regarding the districts allotted me for exploration. These districts comprise the territory lying east, west and north of Lake Temagami and on either side of the Montreal river and its tributaries east and west of the district line between Nipissing and Algoma, and I am pleased to state that we have been successful in covering this entire country in as thorough a manner as time would allow.

The districts explored by us proved to be, in all respects, much more valuable than we had expected to find. On this side, or south of the Hudson's Bay watershed, the timber and minerals are the most valuable assets of the province, although we find localities containing large areas of good agricultural lands.

The territory on the Hudson's Bay slope, or north of the height of land, which is well adapted for agriculture, is now principally covered with large quantities of pulp-woods of the most valuable kinds, spruce and balm of Gilead predominating.

A very noticeable feature of all the territory outlined for us to explore was the complete network of water-ways,rivers, lakes and creeks that drained the entire country. The even distribution of these water-ways has obvious advantages, inasmuch as the country is thus perfectly drained, and the timber will be cheap to operate. The rivers are also well-supplied with water powers that can be utilized for all kinds of manufacturing enterprises.

The healthy condition of the flora specimens that we gathered, as well as of those that were observed at different points during the season, proved conclusively the absence of early frosts. In fact, at no time or place did we notice the slightest indication that even the most delicate flowers or plants had been blighted before their maturity.

The scarcity of fur-bearing animals was very noticeable throughout the entire district traversed by us, and is due, no doubt, to the immense quantity of fur exported yearly by the Hudson's Bay Company.

Not alone will this vast territory with its many resources furnish employment for the lumber and paperwood man, work for the prospector and miner and homes for those who wish to make their livelihood by farming, but it will prove a paradise for the followers of the rod and gun and a resort for all lovers of the picturesque in natural scenery.

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.

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Picturesque in natural scenery. That was a certainty, some days. Had we ever stopped our labour to rest, perhaps we would have had a moment to appreciate the beauty of the land. Sadly, when one is up to one's thigh in mud and muskeg, dragging sodden packs across portages whilst mosquitoes and black-flies chew at one's flesh, one does not ponder the beauty of the landscape. However, there were, admittedly, moments when a dram of Gray's whisky warmed the belly and the calm of an evening lake or the lone cry of a loon filled one with wonder and the realization of one's good fortune to be at such a placid place at such a serene moment. Then a fly would buzz, and the swatting would resume.

Those men in the party who were most accustomed to the wilds suffered from the relentless mosquitoes and black-flies too. Mac, the Ornkeyman, said very little, save a mumbled curse now and then; the Frenchman Rudy was a man of grunts and groans, expressing his truest feelings in language that only I and the Métis canoeman Wally could understand; DeMorest and Silvester hunkered down best they could, but the welts and blood marks seemed most severe on the surveyors. Parsons, the Geologist had more experience in the field and took the insects as an unwelcome yet necessary part of the package.

But Gray and Jimmy, they seemed immune. Gray knew the cursed flies were there alright—how could he not? I remember seeing him descending a hill at the end of the particularly long and difficult portage into a yet unnamed lake, a pack worn on his chest as well as on his back and a third pack tumped atop the backpack, his hands fully occupied by holding the straps, rendering him unable to swat or wave off the hoards of flies that surrounded his sweaty neck. His flesh was red, dripping with blood. He had suffered bite upon bite yet he was determined to carry his load to the very end, to place each pack in its respective place on the shoreline before dropping to his knees and with a water-soaked cloth, wipe the blood and flies and grime from his chewed neck. The man then stood, looked out to the lake lying ahead of us, and said, "Well boys, shall we load then?"

The Indian Jimmy handled it differently. In fact, to Jimmy, all misery or hardship became something of a joke. One night in late June, we were camped on a tiny marsh island in the middle of a small lake that seemed little more than a swampy puddle. It had rained hard for two days prior and the heat and humidity were stifling. The air hung thick, without a breeze and dusk was upon us. The mosquitoes were thicker than I had seen thus far on the expedition and some of the men had taken to standing in the cool water, both as protection from the flying swarms and to escape the heat. Then suddenly, we all heard a roar in the distance coming from the woods beyond the swamp. It was a rush of sound that increased in volume. We looked to the shore to see the orange of the dusk sky blackening by a shifting cloud, like a black flag or sail slowly fluttering and growing in size until it consumed the sky.  We were briefly confused until we realized that a darkness was approaching, a flying darkness—a swarm of insects so thick the light of the setting sun could not penetrate the cloud. Mosquitoes. Light eating, ear burning mosquitoes. There was nowhere to run. Our tents were little more than tarps with laces strung over poles. In the stifling heat,we could not close the flaps and still hope to breathe; we could not cover ourselves in blankets lest we overheat. The men in the water would have to, at some point, come ashore before hypothermia set in. But old Jimmy stood there, laughing. He grinned and roared a laugh that came straight from whatever strange sense of humour possessed him to find the situation comical. He, after all, was subject to the same torture that was now descending upon us. Yet he laughed while we scurried and scuffled, to no avail. And later, after the mosquitoes either had drawn from us every drop of blood, or our skin was so chewed that we no longer felt the sting and bite, Jimmy, who was bedded outside the tents, was still chuckling. And each time I was just about to drift into my itchy sleep, there would be another snicker from the elder native.

We didn't know a lot about Jimmy Noland. He told us he was half Cree, his father of the Swampy Cree near Moose Factory, his mother an Ojibway who came from Dog Lake, up by Missanabie. But the Temagami and Sudbury District, where our party had been assigned to explore, was not his land at all. He had, in fact, never been in this area previously and only had real knowledge of the waterways and lands north of the watershed, where he lived and trapped. I asked him numerous times how he came to be employed guiding an expedition into a territory where he had never before set foot, and I received just as many different and contradictory answers, leading me to conclude he must have been in desperate need for a salary and somehow tricked the hiring agent into believing his stories of past accomplishments with the Hudson Bay Company. 

And I could surely see how Jimmy could have passed himself off as qualified for guide for there was a sacred or solemn nature to the man which led the listener to assume everything the old Indian said carried in it a truth or a wisdom. Often, I noticed, he would look down to the earth before speaking, then raise his head slowly to the sky, then, finally in a soft voice that one would have to study his lips to help discern his words, Jimmy would make his solemn proclamation. He would often start with the phrase, "To my people," before answering the simplest question. Once, I believe it was during our exploration of Smoothwater Lake, we were forced to dispose of unneeded equipment prior to a long portage. (We had brought along a large step ladder that was intended to allow a surveyor to position himself above the low bushes. We had not yet employed the device so it was decided that we would leave it behind, to be retrieved on our return journey.) Jimmy paddled the ladder to the far shore and dragged it deep into the woods, out of sight—for safekeeping, he said. Gray asked him how he would ever be able to find it again in the vast forest of the shoreline. Jimmy did his usual look to the earth, look to the sky, look around, then mumbled, "See these trees? To my people, every tree has a name." There was a silence whilst we contemplated the magnitude of his statement. Then Jimmy pointed to the trees on the shore and said: "Birch—Pine—Cedar."  The fact was, most everything Jimmy spoke was said in jest. There were only a few occasions throughout our five-month journey when he may have spoken the truth; the problem being, I cannot ascertain on which occasions.

As was typical of the Indian people, he did not speak unless spoken to by one of the men, and even then, he held the choice of whether he would reply or not. Regardless, Jimmy was a strong paddler and solid on the portage, an experienced woodsman, and on many occasions, was solely responsible for leading the party to safety on a tricky set of rapids, finding a lost trail, or starting a fire during a torrential rain. And it seemed that among the Natives we encountered, be it at Bear Island or Mattachewan, Jimmy was always discovered to be a relative or cousin of one of them, even though neither he or his kin had ever traveled in these parts before. As the expedition progressed, we all grew very fond of the old man and he earned our respect and our trust. All except for George Gray.

Gray was undoubtedly the leader, director and prime mover of the expedition. There was little discussion among the men as to the route or schedule of the team. Jimmy, Wally or Rudy might be consulted regarding their opinion of where a particular trail could be found at the end of a lake or which side of the river we should portage, but the larger direction was solely set by Gray. Jimmy would just laugh to himself, then pick up his paddle and do what he was told.