Entry Point No. 16 Moose River North — A windfall balsam may block the progress of a vehicle, but it cannot impede a spirit called into the wilderness. A raven croaks. A robin sings. A time-worn portage trail is covered by snow, ice, water, leaves, mud, tracks. Whitetail. Wolf. Moose River North droning in the distance … always, hypnotic in its invitation. That is until the thunder of ruffed grouse wings momentarily breaks the reverie. A new song. A new season. Nothing will hinder the desire of the water to rush on toward Hudson Bay. Nothing can halt the march of spring into the North Country.