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 her their 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-for word 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 about six feet. We sat inside the office and I talked to fat, pleasant Mr Hatey and a strange, handsome clerk called Pat. All the men’s hair needed cutting and in some cases it fell down to their necks – nearly all French and wearing check windbreakers. I drew the bunks and the stove and the figures – everyone was so amazingly good-natured. We ate with the men in another hut, with tin mugs and tin plates and a longer tin jug of tea. One plate served for soup, pork, tomato sauce and prunes and cake. There was heaps to eat and wonderful roses on the oilcloth tablecloth. Hatey and Mr Gray and Pat were there, and the fat maiden who cooked. Always quantities of strong tea. After dinner we inspected the dump – thousands of logs on the lake. I drew them until the snow got too bad.