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A 66-Day Journey
Down the Mackenzie River,
Along the Arctic Coast,
and Down the Thelon River
Copyright © 1997 - 2024 Ray Jardine
Map (Open with google Earth or CalTopo)
Part 2: Kayaking the Mackenzie River
Fort Providence to Inuvik
975 miles in 19 days
See our route along the Mackenzie River. (click this link and open with Google Earth or Caltopo)
To reach Nunaluk spit and lagoon, we needed to charter a small floatplane. And the closest seaplane base to Nunaluk was in Inuvik.
And to reach Inuvik we had two options:
- Fly to Inuvik from Yellowknife
- or ride a bus from Yellowknife to Fort Providence, and float the Mackenzie River 975 miles to Inuvik.
The float trip promised to be more fun, and it would save on expensive airline fees, so we decided to do that.
Departure
Thursday, June 12, 1997
We departed our home in LaPine, Oregon at 6:00 am, with a shuttle to PDX. From there we flew to Vancouver, then Edmonton, and then on to Yellowknife. We had forgot to bring proof of citizenship and were questioned twice: in Portland when checking in, and upon arrival at Vancouver.
About to land in Yellowknife, we see that the Great Slave Lake is still covered in ice. The paddling season is still early.
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At the Yellowknife airport we were met by Mary (and Wayne) Bryant of the Bayside B&B. Their place was close to the shore of Great Slave Lake, and we rented one of their rooms. The day was late by the time we got settled in; but the sun had not yet set, so we climbed Pilot's Rock to watch the sun set. There we met Marcia and Mark Wilson, wildlife photographers planning to spend a month in Cambridge Bay.
Yellowknife
June 13, 1997
We spent the day walking around town and along the footpath that encircles Frame Lake. We met a number of friendly people, and also saw more single-looking women in one day than we had in the last 15 years. It seems to be a different social culture here: the men hang out together and go bar hopping at night.
We met Dana at the Arctic Art Gallery which is where Maurice Cloughley's prints had been displayed for many months. Dana knew Maurice, and she took us downstairs to show us what they had remaining of Maurice's prints.
Jenny made some phone calls to make sure the yak was on its way to Fort Providence by truck.
At 12:30 in the morning we caught the bus to Fort Providence. Jenny slept fitfully but I remained awake, talking with the bus driver.
Day 1
June 14, 1997
The bus ride was four hours long, and we arrived in Fort Providence just after a heavy rain. Along the way we had seen four or five bison. The hamlet was neat and tidy, very green, but quite buggy - as was Yellowknife. The yak was scheduled to arrive that afternoon, after clearing customs in Yellowknife, so we pitched the tent across from the Northern Store, on a picnic park overlooking the Mackenzie River.
Settled in, we walked half a block to a café for breakfast, then another half a block to the RCMP to submit our trip plan. The truck carrying our kayak arrived at 2:00 pm, and we were sure glad to see it. We removed the protective wooden frame, and offered the pieces to a man passing by, and he was glad to have it. Any kind of milled lumber is scarce here, and these 2x2 could always be used for something.
The kayak arrives at Fort Providence.
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We carried the boat to a nice ad lib tent site, then napped during another long rainstorm. The sky cleared, and at 6:30 pm we carried the kayak to water's edge, loaded it, and shoved off. Goodbye Fort Providence, hello Mackenzie River.
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The river was about a half a mile wide, and ran at four knots. The water was fairly clear; you could see the bottom down to three feet. We stayed left of half a dozen islands, and enjoyed a leisurely cruise downriver. At first we had a fairly decent current - the river had large boils. But after passing the last of the islands, the river widened and the current slowed to nothing as we entered Mills Lake. We kept left and paddled for many hours. The surface on Mills Lake was covered in willow cotton, pollen and insects. We marveled at the variety of insects; several types of mosquitoes and also spiders hopping across the surface preying on them.
Eventually we gained the far end of Mills Lake. The river was one meter higher than normal for this time of year, as judged by the marks on the shoreline, and it had flooded the willows along the shore. As such, we could not find a dry place to land. We spotted a gravel bar, and as we approached we chased away a flock of a dozen Sabine's gulls. Someone had made a campfire on the gravel bar. However, we didn't stay because high ground was only one foot above the water.
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Late in the evening the sun glared into eyes, then it veered and dipped below the horizon around midnight. We paddled on, looking for a landing, and finally found a rough place in the willows. A pair of beavers patrolled the water here. It was 2:30 in the morning when we stopped, after eight hours of paddling. When we landed, the night was a dark dusk - nowhere near pitch black. In fact, it was dawn. We had seen a bald eagle perched high on a tree top, and it's nest was a few feet below it. There were tons of mosquitoes, and our arms had become sore from paddling.
Day's mileage:
Day 2
June 15, 1997
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We looked out the tent door and saw the nearest rock covered in dozens of dragonflies. We hoped they were eating some of the mosquitoes.
My right arm had become very sore, so I paddled with my left arm, only, canoe style, using one of the halves of our spare paddle. Jenny paddled her two-bladed paddle as usual. The current helped also, although it was weak - two knots at the most, often less.
The river was wide, the water still clear to a depth of two or three feet. The shore was low-lying, the banks were lined in flooded willows and essentially inaccessible. The wind was still, so the mosquitoes were numerous and ever-present, even out in the middle of the river.
The water was numbingly cold.
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11 am Jenny went overboard for a very brisk swim and bath. The water was numbingly cold, but quite refreshing, she said. Climbing back aboard, she suntanned for awhile, with the aid of extra bug repellent. Early afternoon I dozed while kneeling in the cockpit, facing backwards, and leaning over the stern. Then Jenny dozed by slouching into her cockpit with her feet resting on the foredeck.
Cooking dinner.
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We pulled ashore at a wonderful gravel bar, one of the few, at 3:30 pm to cook a dinner of ground beef and eggs followed by cuppas. It would have made a lovely campsite but we wanted to push on. Then at 5 pm we stopped to make camp on a shelf on the 5-foot cut bank, in a grove of spruce and aspen. We preened the site of sticks and then covered it lavishly in dry reeds that had apparently washed down from the lakes. We were tucked in the trees just a few feet and we found the mosquitoes less numerous; yet when we stepped into the clearing of the shore, they did not follow us. I went in for a bit of a bath and washed my hair. Rain fell sporadically throughout the night, but we slept soundly for 15 hours.
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A bed of dry reeds.
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Day's mileage:
Day 3
June 16, 1997
We had made a special vent in the tent ceiling and we are finding that it works extremely well. The wet hand-towel hung near the vent was nearly dry by morning. We mopped the rain from the tent fly, packed up and set off at 10 am. Soon it began raining again, sometimes with intensity. Even so, the day's temperature was in the high 60's and the rain was frequently hyphenated by brief bursts of heartening sunshine. We saw nearly two dozen bald eagles and just as many nests clinging ponderously, mostly in the high aspen. One of the eagles was ripping apart some morsel of food at the shoreline and allowed us to come quite close, and in fact rather than fly away it just hopped up the bank a ways and watched us glide past.
Paddling in the rain.
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The current was extremely slow and we misjudged our position. We thought we had gone past Trout River in the early am, but couldn't identify the features we were seeing with those on the map beyond Trout River. Finally we hauled out Geepus and discovered we had not yet reached Trout River. The wind required us to hold close to the right bank, and perhaps because of the rain we did not see the river nor any sign of habitation at Browning's Landing.
I was able to paddle canoe style about 90% of the time today, pulling the half-paddle with my left arm.
Just past Trout River the Mackenzie narrowed and accelerated, much to our delight. In mid-afternoon we stopped on a gravel bank and cooked egg, salami, and cheese sandwiches with cuppas. The sun came out and we were tempted to dawdle, but approaching black clouds hurried us on our way.
Lunch stop.
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Wearing rain jackets over the spray skirts.
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We wore our rain jackets over our spray skirts which kept the rain from running down into the cockpits. This worked very well, except for the small amount of water running down our sleeves, entering from the wrists. In the late afternoon we searched the shoreline for a couple of hours looking for a campsite. We stopped at a few places, but they were either all big rocks, bushy, or too sloped. The interior was choked with underbrush. We crossed the river once, but found that bank was no better, so we crossed back again. Finally at 8 pm we found a not-too-sloped, not-too-rocky, clear-of-bushes spot where the dead reeds had collected. This was only just a few feet from the water and 1-1/2 feet above it. We piled on more reeds to level the site and fill in the holes.
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The black flies besieged us in hordes, but our repellent rebuffed them. I laid in the tent pining over my painful arm while Jenny cooked corn on the cob, a cup of bouillon, and the morrow's breakfast. She suggested that I put the hot corn on my arm and this felt great. I put it inside my shirt sleeve and insulated it with a couple of jackets.
Day 4
June 17, 1997
No rain to speak of during the night but the sky was covered in clouds. We packed up and set off at 8:15 am and soon the drizzles were upon us. As we paddled in and out of rain laced with wind we thought that the day would have been better spent in the tent reading books. By the end of the day, however, we found out how wrong that would have been. It was mainly the reaction of body and minds unaccustomed to the out-of-doors.
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We slipped quietly by the hamlet of Jean Marie and saw no activity. The current carried us swiftly although when the wind gusted forward of the beam or on the bow, we felt we were making slow progress. Mid morning we saw an outboard motorboat speeding up the river and two men in blaze orange zoot-suits stopped to say hello, presumably Coast Guard. They were quite friendly and soon sped on their way. These were the first people in the first boat we'd seen on the trip. The RCMP at Ft. Providence told us there were only two canoe parties ahead of us.
Jenny spotted a fox-sized animal, gray in color on the rocky, shrubby shore. We looked through the monocular, but couldn't get a good view of it because of the heavy brush. It didn't have much of a brushy tail and it didn't act like a fox; we thought it might have been a lynx. The day's temperature was lower than previous days and the wind made it seem even more chilly. The sky was dark and rather gloomy. But when we suddenly realized Green Island was in front of us we were amazed at our progress. From Green Island upriver several miles the shoreline and banks were covered in mud-covered ice. It looked like the river ice had ripped away, leaving its margins bound to the shore. These margins were phenomenally thick, around 15 feet thick.
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The river was so high that the Green Island Rapids were nothing more than a bit of fast water and a few small, standing, non-breaking waves. These rapids lie just downstream of the tail-end of Green Island. We landed on the south shore of Martin Island for a quick pit stop, and then headed directly across the expansive confluence with the Liard River on a beeline for Fort Simpson. We paddled full tilt, crossing the current of the Liard which was trying to sweep us past town. We landed on a mud and rock bank. We drug the yak onto an elevated mad bank, tied the bow to a huge snag, and changed from our mukluks into our running shoes, then climbed the 30-foot bank and found ourselves in town.
Within a couple of blocks we found the Northern Store and did a round of grocery shopping. Jenny filled our 2-1/2 gallon water jug at the store's snack bar, then we walked a few blocks north to the RCMP office. We were greeted by a couple of friendly officers who recognized our name and when they pulled out their agenda sheet, we saw why. There were only 3 parties registered on the river. We had passed one of them, somewhere along the way, and later Jenny remembered a comment I had made that morning: that I had smelled pipe smoke. The person in front of us had left Ft. Providence nearly 2 weeks ahead of us. We asked about getting a shotgun permit and the officer said it wasn't necessary, but she did ask us to check in at the next RCMP at Fort Norman. While returning to the yak via the river front road, an RCMP patrol car rolled past. Both officers waved heartily. Needless to say, this is something that would not normally happen in the states. Everyone had treated us so nicely, including the grocery clerk, that we felt like we were on a different planet. A planet called "Real." The town was nicely laid out, quite tidy and most of the houses we saw were modern and equivalent to any suburban neighborhood, including backyard BBQs, occasional vegetable gardens, decks, lawns freshly mowed. The main street was hard-packed dirt.
Float plane
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We arrived back at the boat an hour after we had left it, loaded our booty and shoved off. Within minutes a float plane took off in our direction, and we passed by a second one moored to a floating dock. We passed by another dock loaded with building materials and living supplies. It looked like they might be headed for a fish camp. The Liard had almost doubled the size of the Mackenzie and introduced a lot of flotsam - driftwood large and small - and silt. Up to this point we had seen very little driftwood on the water and on the banks. For 15 miles downriver of the confluence, the two rivers did not mix.
We had promised ourselves an early stop after leaving Ft. Simpson, but as has been the case so far, finding a good campsite was difficult, due to the early season and high water. However, we were making the miles. Miles are smiles! Miles of smiles. Searching endlessly for a campsite, we found several places where we could have climbed up a steep bank and into the thick forest, but experience had taught us that it was better to put the same energy into moving ahead to a better spot. Jenny called it, "more smiles, less trials." We call searching for a campsite "The Quest for the Best Rest in the Northwest."
About twelve miles beyond town we found a half-way suitable gravel bay and landed at 5:45 pm. Jenny started excavating a tent site, scraping with her shoes like a dog after urinating. Despite black skies, the rain held off while we set up camp. Actually, Jenny's platform proved to be one of the most comfortable of the trip. Then came the dinner feast we had been anticipating: hot bouillon followed by steak and frites, highlighted with a SaraLee cake for dessert.
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Nearly every day so far we have seen eagles, kingfishers, loons, Sabine's gulls and kittiwakes, ducks and sandpipers.
I had canoe-paddled on the left side all day only about 40% of the time, trying to expedite the healing. I had yet to figure out a way to guard the stress-injury while setting up camp. My right hand is used for almost every chore.
Day's mileage: almost 60 nautical = 66 statute
Day 5
June 18, 1997
Jenny's scooped-out tent platform
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The light rain kept us in the tent for a little longer this morning. We got out and sponged an incredible amount of water off the fly. We set off at 10 am under gloomy skies, still tired from the previous day. The scenery was a little monotonous, beautiful in its own right, but the mind likes to have a little variety.
Using one of the spare half-paddles as a canoe paddle.
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The afternoon brought some variety. We saw the ferry cross the river in the distance ahead. We hoped to see it up close during its next crossing. But it didn't have enough passengers. We didn't picture Wrigley as a popular destination. Anyway, the roads to the river on both sides must be muddy with all the recent rain.
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The clouds started lifting and revealed the Nahanni Range standing to the west. By early evening we were paddling in our t-shirts, par-broiling, and gawking at the mountains which were now just a few miles away. We took two brief shore breaks. At the second one we washed our hair and Jenny bathed. At this stop, out on the gravel bar the bugs were almost entirely absent. The rest of the day we spent on the water. At one point we were a little uncertain of our position so we fired up Geepus and were surprised to see how fast we were traveling. In a burst of speed, Jenny got us up to 7 knots, but of course much of that was current.
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We decided to look for camp across the river from the mouth of the North Nahanni River because the scenery was so spectacular. But as had been the case every day, between the time we decided to make camp and the time we actually found one, we made another two hours progress, about 12-15 miles. This is the positive way of saying it took us forever to find a camp. The problem of course is that the river is high and the brush between the river and the forest is impenetrable. The mosquitoes and black flies are very numerous in the brush. On the water we get horse flies. I paddled again with the half-paddle and found that it worked great to bat the horse flies out of the air. I got dozens of them.
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Finally, on a small island, at 10:30 pm, Jenny found a place to camp up in the forest, so we carried all our things up the hard mud slope and set up the tent on a remarkable soft duff and forest litter. Jenny cooked hamburgers for dinner, and it is now midnight as we write this.
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Camping on the forest duff.
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Day's mileage 65 Nm = 71 St
Day 6
June 19, 1997
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We awoke to mostly blue sky and set off at 9:45 am. The air seemed a bit chilly but we reveled in the warmth from the sun. As with the previous afternoon, the scenery continued to be spectacular. The high mountains allowed us to assess our progress in the long term, and we were surprised at how quickly we could approach distant mountain ranges, and just as quickly leave them far behind. The confluence of the Root River looked like the gateway to abundant adventure, like most rivers emptying into the Mackenzie. Like a journey through a box, where every door opened leads to a dozen more. What impresses us the most is the scale and scope of the land and the paucity of civilization. And this part of the journey is particularly scenic and appealing.
We stopped once for a refreshing bath in the hot sun, and then later in the evening for a fried egg, bacon and cheese sandwich. The small, puffy cumulus clouds od'd (over developed) throughout the afternoon and were soon shedding light curtains of rain over the landscape. Curiously, they were also sending down extremely warm drafts of dry air which smelled of a desert. Jenny thought they smelled like pine forests. This air was maybe 30° warmer than the ambient air temperature. We couldn't imagine what phenomenon was responsible.
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We passed by the town of Wrigley, keeping on the opposite, west bank, and just there was a Coast Guard vessel, responsible for placing and maintaining the navigation buoys. A ways past Wrigley a massive cloud dump suddenly fanned a tempest upriver and we quickly paddled for the east shore, and then began The Quest for the Best Rest. Rocky Island looked appealing so we paddled a quarter mile out to it in a bouncy chop. As we neared the island the chop increased and so did the current, and we paddled full tilt between two sets of particularly rough areas and pulled to a nice landing on a sand bank. The time was 9 pm.
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Ice
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Wild rose
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Much of this island is indeed rock, the first major piece of rock we've seen on the trip. We pitched the tent then went for a revitalizing walk admiring the interesting plants and flowers. I jogged back to camp for some much needed leg exercise. Later in the evening a massive barge steamed by, going downriver. Actually a tug pushing 4 barges. Someone waved at us from the pilot house window.
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Day's mileage: 66 mi
Day 7
June 20, 1997
I had to evacuate the tent quickly, at 8:45 am, because the sun was shining in the doorway and I couldn't stand the heat any longer. We set off at 9:45 am and paddled into fluky headwinds, sometimes 5 knots, sometimes 15 knots with higher gusts. These plagued us throughout the day. In reality, however, the wind was a blessing because otherwise the sun would have baked us. The sky was dotted in small cumulus which curiously did not od. And today was our first day with no rain. The mud banks are drying and the mud bank creeklets are disappearing. Previously we could walk 100 feet and find running water, now we might have to go a quarter mile. However, the run off is still muddy and or strongly root beer colored.
Roche Qui Trempe a L'eau
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We rounded the imposing Rock Mountain, which on our map is labeled Roche Qui Trempe a L'eau, and soon after came to a burned area on the west bank. This left bank was burned for mile after endless mile, and at day's end, 70 miles downriver we could still see vast areas of burned interior. I had not heard of a forest fire this large, let alone seen one in the aftermath. It looked to be 2 or 3 years old. The river flowed through a 15-mile long sluice, which offered fair but not spectacular current. We were having trouble sitting in the yak for hour after hour. The seats (mainly the back rest and my heel pads) are not working quite right. We stopped at the mouth of the Johnson River and cooked pancakes and eggs. We saw our first moose tracks here.
Later we stopped to collect water from a somewhat muddy creek, having depleted our 2-1/2 gallons obtained at Ft. Simpson. Later in the evening we found a much better creek and refilled the jug with that. The Quest for the Rest usually takes somewhere around 2 hours. Today was no different. At 9:30 pm we finally found a suitable spot at the tail end of Birch Island. The nearest shore was probably a mile away, yet here there were moose track, both adults and young. To swim to here they would have to judge their drift, starting just the right distance upstream. But indeed the shores of Birch Island are covered in succulent young shoots of alder, willow, rose and other plants. I climbed the ridge and found a decades-old camp in the woods; tin cans and a cracked lantern globe. The ice had bulldozed the shore and annihilated the brush up to about 35 feet above the river, taking with it one of the river navigation range markers.
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Moose track
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Jenny cooked hamburgers on onion buns and a delicious pan of fresh backed scones. A lone goose circled and landed nearby, squawking. Today I paddled about an hour with the double-bladed paddle, and am able to use my hand quite a lot better. The problem seems to have been tinosinovitus - inflamed tendon at the sheath, lateral abductor wrist - pulling thumb laterally toward elbow. My guess is that I was grasping the paddle too tightly causing too much lateral rotation.
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Day's mileage: 76 in 12 hours paddling
Day 8
June 21, 1997 - Summer Solstice
Jenny had placed a stick to mark the water level the previous evening, as usual. This morning she saw that the water had risen about five inches. We normally don't cook breakfast at camp in the morning. Sometimes Jenny will cook breakfast grains the night before. But more often we each have a granola bar and then bowls of dry cereal with powdered milk and water, or crackers and cheese, or sandwiches.
The sun drove us out of the tent again. We set off at 9:15 am. The current was unusually strong and it swept us down the channels at a brisk rate. Mid-morning we sped past a tug pushing 3 barges laboriously upriver. The current was so strong that the barge was making very little headway, and when we entered its wake we had a wild ride for a few minutes because of the interference of the river boils and the tug wake. In some places the gravel grating over the bottom made an unusually loud hissing noise.
The sky was mostly clear and the wind calm. We were quite hot most of the day. Jenny went overboard for a quick swim then in the early evening we hauled ashore and I had a nice bath. The horse flies were numerous and annoying. Again I batted dozens into the water, but I had to be careful because of the dragonflies. Several times a dragonfly would pursue a horse fly, using Jenny or me as a distraction. They were nearly as quick as the horse flies and they seemed to plan ahead by taking short cuts. After our day's experience with the dragonflies we have learned to appreciate them as allies.
Ten miles upriver of Ft. Norman a couple of motor boats landed on the far shore. Very soon they discharged a couple of large rifles. This had our nerves on edge until we had left them far behind.
Landing on the shore of Fort Norman
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We reached the hamlet of Fort Norman (Now called Tulita) at 6:30 pm. We wandered up the hill, but found the store had closed at 6:00. The town lacked a laundromat. We checked in at the RCMP. The Mountie knew who we were, and said that we were making quite a quick trip down the river. He was exceptionally friendly and we enjoyed a nice half hour chat. He said that the burn we had been seeing was caused by a wildfire last year. It had burned 80 miles of shore, and no one knows how far into the interior. He said the region had not burned for 150 years. Ft. Norman experienced a major forest fire in '95. Fortunately the town survived. The last year's fire had started from the perpetually smoldering seam of coal along the river bank 2 miles upstream of town.
Tulita
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Paddling past Great Bear River
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An hour after landing we set off and paddled past Great Bear River. Its water was clear and flat. In a rising headwind we paddled another few miles around the bend and then stopped at 8:30 pm to make camp on a rare, almost flat, sand and gravel beach at the base of Great Bear Mountain. Jenny cooked corn spaghetti.
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Day's mileage: 73 nm = 80 st
Day 9
June 22, 1997
Our gear, after breaking camp and before loading the yak.
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We set off at 8:30 am into light headwinds that gradually built throughout the day. Unlike the previous days of flat water paddling, today we paddled chop. Yet the yak proved to be so sea-kindly that the boisterous water didn't bother us. The new design was really proving its worth. The paddling was slow and arduous, but rather than fight it, we paddled slow but steadily, letting the current do most of the work. As with the previous few days, the river was full of driftwood, large and small. Today, whenever we stopped paddling, the driftwood would pass us by. Actually, the wind was blowing us back through it. We thought of anchoring to a drifting log or tree, but the sometimes wild chop made such a thing a bit risky.
Headwinds
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Shore break
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We stopped for a long shore break. We were in no hurry today as we wanted to buy groceries in Norman Wells and the Ft. Norman Mountie had told us that the stores in Norman Wells were closed on Sundays. Here on the shore I found some fossilized sea shells. Jenny cooked a lunch of frites, eggs, and bacon. The hot sun precluded pitching the tent so we shoved off into the chop once again.
About 10 miles from Norman Wells we stopped again at 5 pm, pitched the tent on a wide sand and gravel bar, and napped for most of the afternoon. In the mud near the water were crane tracks and very fresh moose tracks, and a strong barnyard odor. Jenny saw a squirrel scurrying along the high log jams near the forest. In the evening the wind stopped and sky clouded over. I paddled all day with my double blade; my wrist is on the mend. Yesterday I had paddled with the double blade for three hours.
Day 10
June 23, 1997
We set off at 7:45 am into uncertain weather, with rain squalls passing through at regular intervals. We paddled 10 nm to town, unsure of where to land. We paddled past a fox scampering along the shoreline, dark color with silver tip on tail. A mile past the Coast Guard wharf we landed on the Northern Transportation wharf, which was partially flooded.
The Northern Transportation wharf
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We secured the kayak and walked up the bank and inquired at the first building, the Northern Transportation office. We learned the whereabouts of the store, RCMP, etc. We first called in at the RCMP. The officer had not heard of us - a first - but was very friendly. We asked where we might find a laundromat, and the fellow, Alan Spink, said the town had no such facilities, but offered the use of his. We objected, saying that we didn't want to impose, but he brushed that off, and we soon found ourselves in his police vehicle en route to his home. The house was a modern, 2 story, 2 bedroom affair, nicely carpeted and furnished, an amenity of the RCMP for its Mounties. Al was single and lived here alone. He showed us the washer and dryer, set out a couple of fresh towels and told us we were more than welcome to use the shower, and then rushed out to return to work. Of course the hot showers felt divine. While the laundry was drying, Jenny washed Al's sink-full of dishes and I scrubbed the tub and shower stall, tidied the lavatory and floor, and emptied the trash.
Officer Alan Spink
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Al even said we could watch his VCR but of course we were in a hurry to get back to the yak to make sure it was alright and also to resume our journey. Feeling city-clean we walked in a healthy rainstorm back to the center of "town" and made a trip through the grocery store. The Northern Store was small but well-stocked. The prices were understandably high. Our five sacks of groceries came to $150 Canadian. Among our treasures was a kilo of ground musk ox meat at $14.37 Canadian per kilo. Plus the musk ox was supposed to be 10% off. They also sold caribou steaks and sausage. The gas station was out by the airport, quite a ways to walk considering our limited time for the visit and the weather conditions. At the tail end of a pouring rainstorm we left the grocery store. Jenny took a taxi to get the stove fuel and I walked back to the yak. Everyone we've met says this amount of rain is unusual. They are quite fed up with it on one hand, but on the other they are glad the forests are wet for the reduced fire hazard. Fires out here are much more serious because there are no roads. The forest is a real tinder box when dry, despite the bogs, which probably dry up toward the end of the summer. The taxi was $5 out and $5 back, and $1 for the stove gas. So, eleven dollars for a gallon of gas compared to sixteen for a gallon of stove fuel at the grocery store.
Loading our purchases
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We set off at 1 pm, 2-1/2 hours after arriving, and paddled past a number of artificial islands, each fitted with an oil well pump and few tanks. We paddled through the occasional showers, interspersed with patches of glaring sun that quickly dried everything. With each passing rain cloud we quickly withdrew our laundry and spread it here and there on the boat and in the cockpits. We admired the beautiful scenery gliding by: unending forests of birch and spruce mainly, mountain ranges standing above treeline, and rivers emptying into the Mackenzie at various intervals. All this while beating off the horseflies.
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Late in the day, about 6 pm, we paddled past a kayak and a tent pitched on the far shore. The river was a mile or 2 wide here; we could see the guy standing by his tent through our small monocular, but would not have been able to reach him, even had we tried, due to the current. At least not in a reasonable amount of time. We had heard about this fellow from Alan, who said that he was the only one ahead of us, and that he had started at Ft. Providence 12 days ahead of us, on June 2. Here, the no-see-ums were really small; smaller than a fine grain of sand, just a tiny black speck with white wings.
We rounded the bend and crossed the river and paddled along the Carcajou Hills. The aroma of spruce was almost intoxicating, it was so pungent. The rocks towered overhead and it was one of the more scenic stretches of paddling. We enjoyed it immensely. Now late in the evening, 9 pm, the sun glared into our eyes. Unable to find a camping place, we crossed the river again and went for a long ways before we finally found a sloped place on a hard mud bank. Stopped at 11 pm.
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Day's mileage 60 nm
Day 11
June 24, 1997
Gord Howe
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We were just breaking camp at 9 pm when the lone kayaker pulled up. We were surprised to see him because we had paddled about 30 miles beyond his camp last night. He said he got up at 3 am. His name was Gord Howe from Regina, Saskatchewan. Gord said he didn't know where on the map we were, but he did know that those were the Carcajou Hills. He pulled out his map, neatly trimmed of its borders, and cut to about 11x7 and laminated. Very nice, but he had also trimmed the Lat and Long grid data. He said he carried a GPS, but had only used it a couple of times, and called it a "toy." Despite that, we felt like kindred river paddling spirits, and we talked with Gord for a good hour and a half.
We set off not until 10:30 am, and soon passed Gord, who seemed to be looking for a campsite. We were far out when we went by him.
The day started with light headwinds which increased as time went on. As we approached the Mountain River we could hear the roar of the San Sault Rapids. We had read to negotiate them on the left (north, or west) bank of the river. The river was so high that in fact there were no rapids on the left side. The current pulled us swiftly between a steep cliff and a submerged gravel bar. Part way through this channel we stopped on a rocky platform under the cliffs and cooked a steak breakfast. Here we found some interesting fossils.
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Channel marker showing the river's current.
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The channel opened out into a wide river with various islands and the current slowed accordingly. The headwinds of course slowed us even further. Still we kept at it hour after hour. The afternoon sky harbored the weirdest looking cirrus I'd ever seen: linear streaks running the full length across the sky. The winds became so vicious that even though they were not continuous, we decided we had better find a camp, prior to negotiating The Ramparts. So we landed on the leading edge of Hume Island and found fresh moose tracks: cow and calf, and as usual, all along the way, lots of mud and car-size chunks of fast-melting, muddy ice. Jenny cooked musk-ox burgers. They were delicious; the meat tasted like wild-fed beef, a nice flavor. After cooking she discovered the stove had splits in the flame cup. Not good. Stress cracks that have widened. You could put your fingernail through some of them. Jenny grabbed a couple chunks of ice from the nearby melting floes, smashed it into ice-cube size pieces, and packed our remaining musk-ox and ground beef in it in the bailer and pot.
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ice
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We stopped at 6:50 pm.
Day's mileage: 40 nm
Day 12
June 25, 1997
The Ramparts
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We rose at the tail end of a period of light rain, quickly packed and set off at 9:15 am into headwinds. Fortunately not as strong as the day before - yet. We angled across the river to the north bank and paralleled that for a few miles in ever-growing chop. Here the river widens into a giant basin and empties through a narrow, rock-walled gorge, known as The Ramparts. Once we started along these cliffs, there was no place to land; and mostly because of the wind, but also the current and backwash from the cliffs, the chop was extreme. We were glad of the seaworthy design and construction of the River Queen. As we approached The Ramparts we spotted what might have been a bear.
Waterfall
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Once we entered the gorge proper, the water flattened and contrary to expectations it did not surge through, but just ambled along at a moderate clip. We passed by a spectacular waterfall plunging over the rock precipice and into the air.
Approaching Fort Good Hope
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Rounding the bend we caught sight of the hamlet of Fort Good Hope. Once there, we landed among a flotilla of outboard skiffs, and lugged the boat to higher ground. A couple of fellows drove up in a pickup, asked us the typical, "where you coming from - where you going - how long will it take" questions, and offered us a ride into town, a mere 200 yards up the slope. We thanked them but said we needed to stretch our legs. We checked in at the RCMP. The Mountie was very friendly, but a little preoccupied. He said it was one of the busiest days of the season, they were holding court. We wandered to the Northern Store and while Jenny used the phone, I shopped. Jenny called MSR and told them the problem with our stove. They said they would send a replacement to Tuk. She called home base who said that ALP was running smoothly. Outside I talked with a few locals, mostly natives. They were all very friendly. They recognized us as river floaters, and they said we were the first this year.
Vicious chop
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We returned to the yak, loaded it, and set off into uncertain seas and mild headwinds and more rain. The further we went the stronger the headwinds and the more vicious the chop. The result was very little progress despite great effort. We carried on for three hours, making only seven or eight miles from town. Fortunately the Quest did not take more than half an hour. In some places the chop was downright dangerous but we were able to skirt it to the sides in the regions of lesser current. We found a couple of possible camping places but could not reach them because of the rows of driftwood logs lining the shore, and being tossed and pitched by the chop and surf. Finally we found a place to slide in behind a massive log acting as a breakwater. We stopped at 3 pm, located the best spot 50 yards downriver, carried everything to it and worked for half an hour to level the site, scraping away the nearly dried mud/sand combined with rocks, using sticks.
Leveling a tent site
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We spent the rest of the day napping and reading, explored a little and cooked a late dinner of frites and musk-ox. Topped it off with Spice Scones. No animal tracks here at camp.
Day's mileage: 23nm
Day 13
June 26, 1997
The headwinds and chop remained daunting so we holed up in the tent for the day, mainly sleeping and some reading. We spent half an hour clearing logs from our beach so we could launch from there. Jenny is reading a book about Ishi, I finished Mutant Message Down Under for the second time. Sky is totally cloudy and dark all day, some rain. The local squirrel finally got up enough nerve to chew us out, chattering.
Day 14
June 27, 1997
The wind finally calmed, or nearly enough so, around 3:00 am. We packed and set off at 4:00 am, sky cloud covered and rather dismal. I felt rather ill, not sure why. My arm was still painful. The temperature was around 47° F, but despite the fact that I wore nearly all my clothes, I was cold, especially my feet, even with 3 pair of wool socks and my mukluks. We stopped at a creek to collect water and found bear tracks. Jenny thought they could be grizzly. At one point we passed a large sign up on the slope. It was large letters, actually, which read ARCTIC CIRCLE. Red letters cut out of some materials and laying loose on the ground. Most likely they were secured to the brush somehow, though, otherwise the letters would have been scattered far and wide by the wind.
ARCTIC CIRCLE
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After six hours of paddling we pulled ashore for a hot lunch. Jenny heated hot chocolate and cooked hamburgers. I built a campfire and sat close to it, warming my feet. By then the sickness had passed, thanks in part to my having drank lots of water. Suitably warmed by the fire I felt like a new man. We shoved off, and Jenny started feeling poorly. She took it easy, napped for awhile, as I had, and we stopped to make camp at 4:30 pm after twelve hours of paddling. I took some aspirin for headache, and found that it also eased the pain in my wrist.
Here at camp we found huge wolf tracks clearly set in the mud. We pitched the tent and Jenny dove in, like I usually do, and I worked at sanding the afterdeck stowage compartment - some rough edge had slit open our sleeping bag stuff sack. I had sanded it previously, of course, but obviously not well enough. I also replaced the jet on the stove and cleaned the old jet. We stopped today just as a moderate headwind started. There are a few patches of blue sky showing away to the north.
Wolf tracks
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Day's mileage:
Day 15
June 28, 1997
After a good night's rest we set off at 8 am. Again the sky was totally cloudy and again the wind was on the bow at 10 knots. The thermometer read 47°F. With the gray sky, the day seemed to be nondescript. The wind would freshen and slacken, the sky lighten and darken, with sprinkles or full-on downpours. We watched for blue patches and sunlight on the far slopes and we drifted with the current when we tired. We tried using the sea anchor and it worked well except it needs a float to keep it closer to the surface. A helicopter flew over and tilted as it passed over; this occurred as we were passing through a narrow channel between 2 large, unnamed islands.
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At 4 pm we landed to make camp; ahead we could see a long line of cliffs with probably no camping possibilities, and with the wind picking up again, we decided to call it quits. We wandered up the slope to the plateau above shore and found many spruce saplings and sik-siks. Their loud chirps, burrows and scat, tell us they are numerous here. We found old moose and wolf tracks in the mud. Jenny heated some river water for hair washing.
Day's mileage:
Day 16
June 29, 1997
Rain fell during the night and the morning was cold. We could see our breaths a little bit. The sky was mostly clear, but soon clouded over with alto stratus. A mild to light headwind plagued us all morning. The current was weak. Early afternoon the stratus gave way to cumulus which built rapidly and sent some rain and wind our way. We wore most of our clothing most of the day, but then as the cumulus started breaking up the sun beat on us intently and eventually we were sitting in cockpits full of shed clothing. We paddled along the right bank, as we had the past several days for that bank's shelter from the wind. We figured the water was much rougher on the other side. But by early evening we decided to cross over and made camp on the shadier side.
The wind became light and variable and the horseflies became numerous. We landed on the left (south) bank at 7 pm after twelve and a half hours on the water with no shore breaks. Jenny cooked a full pot of corn spaghetti, while I pitched the tent on the sandy bank. The tent was in the sun and it was hot inside for awhile, but by 9 pm it had cooled. Judging by the storm cuts on the sand/mud banks, this campsite was underwater three days ago.
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Day's mileage: 63 nm
Day 17
June 30, 1997
We started out at 8:30 am with a tailwind but that quickly backed onto the starboard beam. We soon found ourselves in a bit of a gnarly chop. We paddled out toward the right bank and found easier water. Before long we were making way through Lower Ramparts with high walls on both sides. We stopped for a quick shore break, then paddled the rest of the way to the hamlet of Arctic Red River. As we approached we saw a pair of swans. We landed near the ferry dock, drug and lifted the yak to higher ground and walked a quarter mile in to the village. The Dempster Highway meets the Mackenzie River on the west bank of the Arctic Red River. The village is on the east bank, which means the ferry has two rivers to cross and three stops. We visited the local store, bought a few snacks and two cans of beef stew and one can of applesauce for lunch. Jenny made a couple of phone calls, then we walked up to the promontory overlooking the confluence and sat at a picnic table enjoying the bug-discouraging breeze while watching the ferry loading vehicles.
Watching the ferry
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We ambled back to the yak and set off at 1 pm, after a one hour stop. From there we paddled the eighteen miles to Separation Point, along the way stopping to collect water from a brook.
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Collecting water from a side stream.
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The horseflies were numerous all day. For awhile I enjoyed batting them out of the air like playing badminton. I put about 100 of them out of action, but probably at least half of them recovered. It was more an exercise of eye-hand coordination. Eventually I decided to leave them alone. Jenny protested mildly, saying she appreciated the swatting despite my mediocre paddling. I was using the single blade spare and a few times managed to wallop a fly without missing a stroke. They were easy to ignore because they rarely landed.
The previous day Jenny found a sizable red welt on her leg. She treated it with antiseptic. We have no idea what caused it - some kind of bite, possibly spider. Past Point Separation we followed the right shoreline into a vast area of openness and lesser currents. The heat had grown intense so we pulled into a gravel bar and enjoyed a refreshing bath - sans bugs. In another ten miles we entered the east channel which was about as wide as the Yellowstone River but the current was only 1 or 2 knots. The banks were low lying but the right hand bank had many stands of spruce. Immediately we started seeing waterfowl. The swans were well represented and nowhere near as timid as those we had seen on the Yukon River. We had fun taking photos of them. There are also terns by the scores, seagulls, one eagle, several ravens, swallows and loons and ducks and geese galore.
Swans
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At the Kalinek Channel junction we pulled around the corner and stopped to make camp at 9 pm on the willow covered sand bars. The mosquitoes were numerous but easily rebuffed with clothing and a bit of repellent. The dragonflies were hard at work plucking the mosquitoes from the air. We watched one dragonfly resting on the yak, chewing a mosquito. The dragonflies are very numerous and we were pleased to have them as allies. Of course the waterfowl eat mosquitoes also, but a dragonfly will patrol the immediate area, such as presently right outside the tent door. There are wolf tracks crossing the sand bank in front of the tent. The river has dropped about three feet in the last four days.
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Day's mileage: 60 nm
Day 18
July 1, 1997 - Canada Day
Light splatters of rain during the night. A few swans landed just upriver of us. From the way it sounded, they would drift down near our camp, and at the sight of our camp they would squawk a bit, fly upriver, then drift down again. This went on about 4 times. Jenny rose at 7:30 am wanting to cook breakfast. She discovered the stove wasn't working right again. I removed the shaker needled and the stove worked fine after that.
After a fine breakfast of French toast we set off at 9 am with a retinue of mosquitoes which gradually left us one by one in the next couple of hours. The sky was heavily overcast and the breezes variable. The river's current remained at about two knots. We paddled steadily, following every bend in the river on the map, making sure we knew where we were. Mid morning, a spider crawled out of my cockpit. I put him on the deck and he promptly fell overboard. I rescued him and he kept my company the rest of the day. It was a fascinating little critter and I enjoyed watching him build a web on the deck compass. Jenny named him Spindy. I tried to feed it a couple of smashed mosquitoes, but it ignored them. I also tried feeding it a horse fly, but the horse fly, being half dazed from being knocked out of the air, stepped on the spider. Spindy moved aside, uninterested. The horse fly was about 5 times as big as the spider. Later in the afternoon, Spindy curled up underneath the compass and slept the rest of the way to Inuvik.
Again we saw swans, eagles, and a couple of big hawks and all the rest - terns, ducks, geese, loons. Big hawks can be very territorial and when they hear another one encroaching they can become quite enraged. This one hawk today saw 2 people gliding by in a kayak but heard another hawk; it was still screeching at us as we paddled out of sight. The wind piped up to 10-12 knots and we had headwinds on most of the sections, with occasionally tail winds as the channel made oxbow bends. We passed by dozens of fish camp cabins, and more so the closer we got to town. We watched a fellow in an outboard skiff checking his net. He pulled in half a dozen 2 to 2-1/2 foot long fish. He said they were whitefish and crooked fish, or "koni."
Outskirts of Inuvik
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Rounding the last bend we paddled into stiff headwinds and landed near the town wharf at 6 pm. My first job was to remove Spindy. It much preferred my hand to the log I was trying to place it on. Even after I had placed it gently on the log, it tried to jump back onto my hand. While I sat watching the yak, Jenny walked up the hill to the gas Esso Station to use the phone. She called her list of B&Bs and hotels (all 5 of them) without success and returned with a cold soda. We paddled back upriver a ways, looking for camping and were amazed at how easily we made progress upstream. The wind was at our backs and we were staying close to shore. We found a place in the shade of the tall willows. Shade was the primary requirement as the day was hot and the clouds absent.
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After setting camp, I stayed in the tent while Jenny walked into town. She talked to Willard who said that the ice is out at Herschell Island. They made arrangements for a flight the following evening. She returned to the tent with a pizza, following a long-standing tradition.
Day's mileage: 38
Day 19
July 2, 1997
We walked into town at 8 am, swarmed with mosquitoes, most of which abandoned the pursuit once we reached the main street. Not sure I'd agree with Victoria's assessment of Inuvik as a "modern town." Spread out, lots of large, multi-story buildings, one stoplight, dirt street. We went to the RV Park and enjoyed long, hot showers for $2.00 each. Breakfast at the Mackenzie Hotel café, something of a local hangout, a table of taxi drivers behind us talking about engine problems. We checked in with the RCMP, very friendly folks once again. The lady who helped us file our trip plan was native, and had picnicked on the coast just west of the delta, with her family just a few days earlier - a nice trip with a fast boat. Seems to be plenty of those here.
Dingy but with shade, road access, and privacy
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We collected our two resupply boxes at the post office and lugged them back to camp. We sorted things a while inside but the sun's heat soon drove us out. We moved camp and the yak to a dingy road access with shade, and resumed sorting. A truck from the flight service arrived, and we met Olav, a Norwegian living here for seventeen years. Very interesting fellow. Said he has his own lake and his own mountain range for hiking, and has never seen anyone else at either place. Olav helped us load the yak onto the roof of his pickup shell, and drove us to the BeauDel Air office where we met with the owner, Willard. He said the winds at Herschell were quite high, but that we would hang on until evening for a possible flight out then. We loaded our things into a shed fronting the float plane docks and caught a ride to town with a gal named Winnet Smith, who was about to fly out on a canoe trip with a friend.
In town we sent a box home - it had cost us $35 to send it to Inuvik from home, but only $12 Canadian to send it back. We did laundry at the Mackenzie Hotel, and had lunch. Then we went grocery shopping at the large Northern Store. Everything is quite expensive - about one and one-half times US prices. Although Winnett said that rent was not as bad as in Yellowknife, she was paying $650 a month for her apartment, including all utilities. We caught a taxi back to the float plane base, our driver was a bit of a wild driver, from Cairo, Egypt. We had an interesting chat. As we were sorting our things at the dock, Jenny discovered we were missing a bag of groceries. A phone call to the taxi company determined that the bag might be still in the trunk of the cab, but the driver had gone home for lunch. We set up the tent right there next to the dock on the crushed gravel; we wanted to be ready to leave at a moment's notice. BeauDel's float plane base was on Shell Lake. Nearby we saw 3 or 4 snowshoe hares, a muskrat in Shell lake, and a resident loon who came pretty close.
Ready to leave as soon as the weather clears.
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We had our gear and the yak ready to go, but the flight out that evening was postponed until the following morning. We met a fellow working on one of the planes, repairing a faulty GPS antenna connection. Gutti was from Iceland and was extremely interesting to talk with, being interested in all sorts of technical things. Then another Norwegian fellow showed up - Jon - who had just sled-dogged four months from Rankin Inlet or some such place. In 1990 he had also kayaked around Spitzbergen, or nearly so, for a polar bear destroyed his partner's kayak and the two had waited to be rescued for two weeks. On that trip they had seen some fifty polar bears, but no grizzlies. They used ptarmigan shot as a bear stinger, and said it worked really well. A steel slug, apparently just one, they didn't say what gauge.
Gutti drove us to the Peppermill Restaurant. We were rather shocked at the prices, but Gutti thought nothing of them, even ordering an expensive appetizer. His tab came to $44; ours to $50 for the both of us. But the food was exceptional. We talked until 11 pm, then Jenny and I went to meet our arriving cab - our Egyptian driver. He returned us to the dock where he had delivered our groceries earlier.
