In 1931 Clare had the opportunity to spend some time in a lumber camp on the Quebec-Ontario border.  She had read Louis Hémon's French Canadian classic “Maria

Chapdelaine”as an introduction to life in rural Quebec. The contrast between sparkling white snow and the darkness of the dense Canadian woods seemed especially suited to her favourite medium, and people at work had always been a favoured subject. At first the men of the camp were suspicious of this lone woman.  However, when she hid any fear at the howling of wolves and shared the men's food and some of their hardships she won their respect. They told hertheir fantastic tales of Paul Bunyan, “the god of the lumberjacks”, and she was able to make numerous pencil sketches and notes. Clare's diary, written at the time and copied word-forword below, shows her first impressions in a peculiarly immediate form. These notes and the sketches were the basis for her subsequent engravings on the boxwood blocks. The prints depict the lumberjacks' life at a time when the only power in the remote forest lay in the muscles of men and horses.

February 16th, 1931:

Took the train to Gracefield. Men in thick fur

coats. Everybody knew each other - snow

everywhere - queer patches of yellow ochre

on the lakes where the snow was melting and

marking a thaw. The hills' curves showing

simply, the sky dead blue-grey. Stopped at

every station. When we reached Gracefield,

passing dumps of logs etc., Mr Gray the

overseer was on the same train and met me.

A snowmobile met us and we drove through

this sunless white to a hotel a mile off where

we had a substantial meal - soup, masses of

meat, potatoes, turnips and pie.

There were wonderful characters there -

“jobbers” - in torn wool and thick boots.

They came up to Mr Gray and wanted jobs.

One old French Canadian of 83 wanted to

sell us axe handles. They all talked a strange

French. After our hefty meal we started - this

time in a “team” - two horses harnessed to a

belled sleigh - covered ourselves with

bearskins and set off for a 26-mile run to take

4 hours. Past rolling hills and fields of snow,

the road very rough and each time we passed

a pit in the road we were severely shaken.

Had wonderful feeling of ecstasy, the two

horses' rumps and tails flailing in front of us.

Passed several broken-down settlements and

saw large hills covered with trees in the

distance. Through the “bush” of fir trees and

birch. Saw marks of deer and fox and rabbits.

Saw a deer. The trees were weighed down

with snow - the snow would be about three

feet in height - and some of the stumps were

looking like big night-caps. It would be in

occasional lumps on the fir trees and

weighing down the branches. Up and down

hills, past many little snow-covered lakes.

At last, at 5, we reached the depot. My room

was small and bare and clean. I tidied and

had a talk in the kitchen with the cook and

his wife and the maid in French. Supper of

meat and beans and potatoes and pie galore.

Mr Mansell the clerk and a Norwegian youth

were also at supper. I felt very solitary; talked

about nothing. It appears there are wolves'

howls to be heard at night. Got very sleepy

from the marvellous air.

February 17th:

Slept soundly; wakened by people in house at

5. Dead, heavy, leaden sky and snow falling.

Left at 8.15 for “Hatey's Camp”. Drove

through the bush with all the fir trees

outlined in white and heavy. Abundant

shapes on the stumps.

Passed some finished log cabins and crossed

over an ice lake; to my horror it was all

slushy and the horses' feet sank in. However,

Mr Gray said it was all right and we survived,

but it was an experience. At 10.15 we arrived

at Hatey's camp - a clump of log cabins with

heavy snow on top and icicles dripping down