Two days later we're barely 10 miles downstream. Calden described Labrador as "more remote than most of Alaska," and its famously raw terrain has no respect for our planned itinerary. For our first few days we paddled through a flat plain, the scenery an unbroken curtain of spruce and tamarack, blueberries, and Labrador tea. Now the horizon is mounded with high, rocky barrens. We cross lakes in beastly winds, whitecaps slopping over the sides of the canoes, then grind out in bony streambeds where the water dribbles through hundreds of yards of boulder and cobble. We are pulling the boats as much as paddling, but there isn't much point to fretting over what might be around the next bend. Nobody knows, and whatever it is, we'll have to make it through as best we can.