A 66-Day Journey

Down the Mackenzie River,
Along the Arctic Coast,
and Down the Thelon River

Copyright © 1997 - 2024 Ray Jardine

Map

Map (Open with google Earth or CalTopo)

Part 3: Kayaking the Arctic Coast

Nunaluk lagoon to Tuktoyaktuk

230 miles in 12 days

Day 21|1

July 3, 1997

Helping Olav strap the yak to the floatplane.

We rose at 6:30 am, broke camp, and removed the rudder from the kayak and covered the cockpits with plastic to prevent them from filling with water during takeoff. Our floatplane was a Pilatus PC6 Turbo Porter with a 2,000 pound payload capacity. Olav arrived and we strapped the yak to the pontoon struts, then loaded our baggage. I helped Olav fuel up, and asked if I could sit co-pilot. Olav said yes. Three other passengers arrived, Scottish ornithologists bound for a week's camping on Herschell Island. Very friendly like just about everyone up here, except for a couple of guests at the RV park. We took our seats and Olav handed me a set of headphones. The plane leaped into the air after an amazingly short run, then circled around past Willard who held a thumb held high. We climbed to 1500 feet and set a course for Herschell.

Fueling

Interesting fact: The Kayak was invented by the Inuit (and other arctic peoples).

Landing at Pauline Cove on Herschell Island.

The delta was especially beautiful from the air with lakes and channels everywhere and a surprising number of conifers. It was also marred by straight lines which the seismic crews had made with their heavy equipment. Olav and I chatted back and forth the entire 1-1/2 hour flight. We dropped down to about 50 feet AGL for a closer look at the bird and wildlife. We saw a number of tundra swans, as our Scottish friends called them, one or two on their nests. They build large volcano-shaped affairs and Olav had a funny story about that. On a photo assignment, they found a muskox covered in feathers. Then they found the swan nest that the muskox had decided to roll around on. They dug down into the ruins and found the eggs. We also saw a couple of eagles in nests, built on wooden pole tripods. Olav explained the tripods were built by natives as navigation markers. We saw one moose, one grizzly, and the fellows saw 10 beluga. The sea was white capped with a northeast blow as we settled for a landing in the protected waters of Pauline Cove on Herschell Is. Three park rangers helped us tie to the wharf, and we stepped ashore. The air was piercingly cold. The fellows headed for the campsites, protected by standing driftwood. Jenny and I talked with one of the rangers, who described some of the buildings and their history. The older ranger scoffed at our wool socks and sandals; he was wearing gum boots.

We took off again and made the short flight to the Nunaluk (Noon-a-Luck) spit and lagoon. The sea held a fair amount of brash, and one huge piece of pack ice, which we would have to find our way around. Beyond Nunaluk, the sea was completely ice packed. The ranger said that the ice had cleared from Herschell only 5 days previously, blown away in a strong southerly.

Flying to Nunaluk lagoon, heading West; and aprising the massive sheet of pack ice we will have to portage.

Heading East, coming in for a landing on Nunaluk Lagoon. Herschell Island in the background, and our turnaround point of the previous year.

I showed Olav where we wanted to land, he overflew that part of the lagoon and decided it was ok. We landed and taxied upwind to a spit extending south from the main breakwater spit. Then he powered the pontoons close to the shore and cut the engines. We had arrived at our turnaround point on Nunaluk Spit.

Arriving at Nunaluk Spit

Penciled on our 1996 chart: 69 36.8 N, 139 52.2 W. (The GPS units were not very accurate back then.)

Chart: Nunaluk spit and lagoon

Looking SW.

The Pilatus Porter about to take off. The Dew line station in the distance to the West.

Nunaluk, Map

We unloaded the kayak and gear, then waved goodbye to Olav who had soon disappeared over the eastern horizon. We were so excited to be here, and Jenny was dancing a jig. I walked over the spit and immediately recognized the place where we had turned back, 10 months earlier. And there was the Komakuk DEW line station standing in the distance to the west. How desperate this place had seemed last year, and how fabulous this year! I reinstalled the rudder while Jenny loaded the food compartment (the compartment between she and I). We donned our drysuits and shared a prayer for the coastal journey, that it would be safe and enjoyable. Godspeed to us all.

Loading the yak.

Happy to be back here in the new yak, after turning back ten months ago.

Shoving off at noon into bracing headwinds, we began arduously grinding away. The temperature was 48°F, the wind 10-15 East. We wore pogies for the first time and liked them. Soon we reached the spit opening, 69.6060 N, 139.8238 W outside of which the was packed with ice. Nor could we continue paddling ahead because the lagoon ended.

Paddling out the pass, headed for the thin lead, left of center.

Following the thin lead 100 yards to its end.

The lead has ended.

Time for the portage

We climbed out and surveyed the situation, and decided to portage to the next lagoon, a quarter mile distant. We paddled out of the spit opening and followed a shore lead 100 yards to where it ended. Then as an experiment, we started dragging the yak over the ice. The boat did not slide easily, due to the grit on the ice. But the soles of our wetsuit booties slid very easily and we could hardly stand upright. So we unloaded the yak of gear and began the arduous portage. The gear required one carry each, and one more carry for one person. We did not unload the food, so the yak was still heavy to carry. At our first rest stop we discovered that the hundreds of dots out on the ice were not rocks but seals. We estimated we could see 500 of them from where we stood.

First rest stop, after carrying everything to here.

Seals

More seals

Ruins of an Inuit sod hut. This hut likely predates the advent of the Europeans. We have found them only occasionally, mainly on the west coast.

After a long grind we arrived at the western shore of the next lagoon, 69°35'57.9"N 139°47'13.5"W, and here was an old sod hut and camping place.

Old European type cabin, and camping place likely Inuit.

We set off paddling again and made slow but steady progress. We saw a moose or caribou. The lagoon was mostly deep but we had to drag a couple of times. Ultimately the stiffening headwinds won out and we landed at an old camp just short of the first entrance, on the spit, at 6:30 pm.

Moss Campion

Contemporary Inuit land marker

We set up camp on clean gravel which was a real treat after camping on the muddy banks of the Mackenzie. We felt vulnerable to grizzlies and storms, of course, but mostly we felt glad to be back in this spectacular country. Ahead of us we could see Herschell Island. The sea was dotted with widely scattered floes and white caps. Across the lagoon and the expansive tundra to the south rose the British Mountains, thrusting up into the clouds. We fell into an exhausted sleep, happy to have managed nine miles against strong headwinds.

Camp 1, July 3: Map

Day's mileage: 9 statute

Chart: Camps 1, 2, 3

Day 22|2

July 4, 1997

We rose and quickly set off at 7:30 am into light headwinds. Herschell was smothered in stratus but otherwise the sky showed a lot of blue. We paddled out the entrance to avoid the shoals of the lagoon. We saw one seal in the water near the entrance. We followed a line of grounded floes, first on the inside, then on the outside. The setting was so pristine and beautiful that it was hard to believe we were really here. Jenny declared that they can have the Mackenzie River; she would take the Arctic coastline anytime.

The headwinds increased to 10 and we plugged along and soon reached the Western entrance to Workboat Passage 69°32'42.8"N 139°19'46.9"W which was littered in floating driftwood. As we steered a zig zag course through it all, the wind switched to west. The tailwind helped us greatly and we easily negotiated the passage, favoring the Herschell Island side to avoid various shallows. We had not yet fitted the compass to the kayak and here we became somewhat confused by a spit extending south from Herschell Island, not shown on the chart. We steered for a break in it and in 15 knot tailwinds paddled over a shoal and through a couple of waves that washed over the deck. Their cause was a heavy swell rolling in from the east.

We headed south along the spit and soon came to its terminus and the real eastern entrance to Workboat passage. 69.5099 N, 139.1102 W The mile-wide entrance was somewhat rough going, as it was here that the eastern swell hit the western chop and the consternation was exacerbated by the tidal current. We made it safely across and began the wild mouse ride and followed the southern spit southeastward. We passed a cabin at the base of a hill and on along the mostly low-lying beach and tundra. The wind piped up from the north and we scurried along, driven by strong tailwinds and following seas. The yak performed extremely well and showed no tendency to broach. The quartering seas would occasionally slew the stern around a little, but the boat remained stable with no tendency to nose dive.

Lunch stop in lee of a gravel bank

We came to the mouth of a large lagoon and saw that this would make a great place to land for lunch because everywhere else the beach was being hammered by surf. We shot into the lagoon on an incoming tide and stepped easily ashore, at noon. The wind was strong and cold, but we found a nice spot in the lee of a gravel bank. In the warm sun Jenny fixed steak, frites and cuppas, while I wrote in the journal. Lunch stop: 69°27'01.2"N 139°02'18.9"W

Abandoned drilling platform

We set off again at 1 pm, easily made our way back out in the gnarly seas and made our way along the coast for several more miles. The seas were heavily white capped and Herschell was enshrouded in a dark bank of fog. And at the time, so was a large oil drilling platform standing a few miles offshore. We came to another large lake or lagoon. The entrance was not open but we decided to call it quits for the day. We wanted to continue, taking our chances with the mud cliffs ahead which we could not see around, when a couple of waves broke over us. It was time to get off of the sea. We found a place where the sea was not breaking as hard, and landed at 3:45 pm. Looking back out, we were amazed we had been paddling in such rough conditions, with the wind blowing about 20 mph. We selected a spot on the tundra near a dilapidated and mostly collapsed log frame. The tundra was embellished in a variety of wildflowers and many green, low-lying plants. It was soft to walk on and made a great bed.

We had been paddling in rough conditions.

Log frame

Camp 2, July 4: Map

Day's mileage: 23 statute

Day 23|3

July 5, 1997

Paddling across open water.

We awoke to mostly clear skies, the temperature at 34°F. A lot of dew had collected on the tent fly as usual. We set off at 6:10 am into mirrored, undulating sea in calm winds. Paddled past high mud banks, mostly mud, some clear ice permafrost. In the direct sunlight and no wind, we soon became too hot in our drysuits so we shed them to our waists. In five miles we reached Stokes Point and set a direct course for Kay Point eight miles across open water. We re-donned our drysuits for safety's sake. Rounding Kay Point we came across a caribou with a large rack, standing in a small mud bank cave to elude the mosquitoes. Further along we saw a calf ambling along the beach. It eyed us curiously for awhile then resumed its ambling. Later we saw a third caribou up on the tundra hillside.

A caribou trying to avoid the mosquitoes.

Caribou calf

The day was especially fine and the scenery was awesome. This is sea kayaking at its finest. A light tail wind picked up to 10 knots northeast and we jounced along toward King Point. At one point, some creature - loon or seal maybe - was startled by the yak. Jenny heard a noise like a small motor. I thought it sounded like someone had thrown a large rock in the water. This was right at the edge of my port beam. It left a good-sized (pizza pan size) boil.

Thankfully the wind did not increase and we were able to continue through the early afternoon. As we reached King Point, however, the wind started piping up. We made it to the far end of the driftwood-covered gravel bar before the conditions prompted us ashore. As we were landing through the surf, Jenny lost her footing and was momentarily unable to pull the boat free of the water. That was just long enough for a wave to climb into her cockpit and flood it. As I was jumping out I caught a bit of a wave too. I had not secured my paddle in the chocks and a third wave snatched the paddle and tried to run off with it. Jenny quickly grabbed it back. We drug the yak to higher ground, bailed and sponged it out, carried everything over piles of driftwood to a nice flat spot of sand and gravel. With the strong wind and the occasional sunshine things dried quickly. Landed at 2:45 pm.

Piles of driftwood.

As always in strong wind we tied the windward side of the tent to an immovable object - logs in this case, sometimes stakes, sometimes the kayak - prior to pitching it, to make sure it doesn't blow away and break a pole. We had tried to drive stakes in here, but they hit permafrost 4 inches down.

Cotton grass and lupine.

I wandered up into the tundra to take a few pictures of the cotton grass, which was so profuse that the entire region was carpeted in white. Along the way we'd seen 2 willow bushes maybe 2 feet high. There is lots of willow in the tundra, but nothing over 4 inches tall. There was also a lot of snow along the banks all along the way but it was melting fast. The British Mountains away to the southwest are mostly snow free.

With camp secured we walked half a mile back to the lake behind King Point. The chart showed it as a lagoon and it may well have been years ago, but we saw no entrance. The water was only about 5% or 10% saline. Jenny washed some of her salt water soaked clothes that had been loose in her cockpit, and we braved the frigid wind for a hasty bath from the waists down. Across the lake, right in the back, on the opposite side from the ocean stood a pair of old cabins. We knew that Amundsun had over-wintered here at King Point in 1906 and we wondered if his crew might have built these cabins. Their location and construction was unlike the native structures.

A pair of old cabins.

On our side of the lagoon, at the back of the sand spit near the tundra, were several old native campsites, sheltered in the driftwood. A lot of the driftwood was charred. Someone had obviously started a fire - a forest fire in the Arctic. This site had been used a lot in past times; paths had been cleared through the driftwood, leading from one camp to the next. There were many caribou tracks around camp, and one set of large grizzly tracks.

Camp 3, July 5: Map

Day's mileage: 34

Chart: Camps 3, 4, 5, 6

Day 24|4

July 6, 1997

The strong wind continued, so we slept 18 hours.

Jenny cooked steak and eggs, and we shoved off at 2 pm into a moderate surf and chop. Quartering headwinds, 8 knots, slowed progress, and it took us four and a half hours to go the twelve miles to Shingle Point. Along the way we saw dozens of beluga 30 yards off the port beam. They are brilliant white.

Cloud cover, temperature 43°F. Shingle Point has two fishing camps, Camp 1, and Camp 2. We waved to a fellow driving his 4-wheeler, but the shore was so packed with driftwood that a landing would have been risky. At the far end we pulled around the spit, onto its lee for a moment's rest. Then we shoved off again, paddling toward land, then along it and past the camp, where we waved to two fellows unloading their skiff.

We rounded that point, and stopped ashore for a few minute's break, then set off across Trent Bay and around the Blow River delta. The shallows extended a mile out. Grounded driftwood helped identify them. We sounded a paddle every few strokes and turned out whenever it klunked bottom. At the last large island of the delta we found our way to shore after a bit of searching. It was not a good place to camp because it lacked high ground. But the wind was blowing from where we wanted to go next, so we decided to stop for at least a few hours. We found several bear tracks. The camp here was on a flat, grassy, delta flat. Stopped at 10:30 pm.

Camp 4, July 6: Map

Day's mileage:

Day 25|5

July 7, 1997

"Golf Island" as we came to call it, turned out to be an excellent place to camp. We called it that because it was covered in short green grass that looked like it had just been mowed. It was a couple of square miles, flat as a pancake and had just the right amount of ponds as golf course hazards. The problem was that it was very low lying, not more than 1-1/2 feet above high water and this had us concerned at first. High tide at 5:30 am, though, still left us with plenty of height, despite the 15-20 knot wind blowing directly onshore. The entire region was shoal, so the waves never built. This served to protect the island, but of course a storm surge could inundate it readily.

The wind remained strong throughout the day, with rain in the morning. We slept and read. Jenny went for a long walk, hoping to find potable water. The sea had no hint of salinity. It was the outflow of the Mackenzie, but not only was it muddy and silty but heavily laden in debris stirred by the chop. It was unsuitable even for bathing. Jenny returned with a jug of only semi-silted water. The day previously we had paddled past two outlets of the Blow River, and noted that its water was clear. We should have tanked up there, but our jugs were packed away in the stern. We dumped out the semi-silted water, grabbed the shotgun, and went for a hike.

Going on a hike.

Along the way we found a life jacket from one of the native skiffs, no doubt. It's pockets were full of empty candy wrappers and a $2 bill. We placed the candy wrappers in our trash bag, and set the jacket on a high piece of driftwood to improve the chances of someone finding it. It was in pretty good shape and still serviceable. But because of the extensive shoals surrounding this island, we imagined that the natives rarely come here. The $2 bill was possibly someone's Good Luck charm. We needed all the Good Luck we could get, but to us, a two-dollar bill was only money, and it would do no one any good rotting away here. So we kept it, with the intent of feeding it back into the system. The candy bar wrappers were a strong testament to the respect these people had for the earth. We have found very little trash at any of our stops along the way. Once in awhile, something that was lost overboard, and very occasionally an empty quart oil can or the rusting 55-gallon drums. Back home its litter, litter everywhere.

We removed our mukluks, sandals, socks and pants and waded belly deep across the channel between Golf Island the next island to the west, both of them being part of the Blow River delta. On the far side of this next island we came to a channel of clear river water. There we filled our jug and bailer. Returning to camp we filtered the water with the hand pump.

Day's mileage: 0, Windbound
Camp 5, July 7

Chart: Camp 4, 5, 6, 7a

Day 26|6

July 8, 1997

The weather seemed to be on the mend although the sky was very dark everywhere with low hanging cumulo-stratus. We packed up and set off at 9 am with a light tailwind. The conditions looked so encouraging that we wore our drysuits from the waists down only. Within fifteen minutes we had our suits fully zipped, with spray skirts, and the spray was fresh in our faces. The same old east wind was back in business.

Jenny wearing her drysuit open, with a head-net to protect against the mosquitoes which are filling the air.

We've left the mosquitoes behind. We're making an 18 mile crossing across the mouth of Shoalwater Bay, and there's no land visible anywhere.

This next part of the journey was an open water crossing of eighteen miles across the mouth of Shoalwater Bay. The far shore, Tent Island, was so low lying that we could see nothing of it for most of the way. Fortunately it did have a beacon and we caught sight of that about half way across. One third of the way across we fired up geepus to verify our heading and to make sure we were not fighting impossible counter currents of the Mackenzie River. The wind increased to 15-20 knots on the nose and we paddled at a high rate of exertion for hour after hour. At least the water was not very cold, nor was it salty.

It was with tremendous relief that we pulled into the lee of Tent Island 68°54'57.0"N 136°36'24.4"W at noon and climbed the 2-foot high bank of peat moss, 100 yards northeast of the beacon. Just before landing we flushed a tundra swan and just after landing we spooked a pair of hawks that were homesteading on the beacon tower. They flew high overhead, squawking their distress. We felt sorry for bothering them. Eventually they quieted down and returned to the nest. We struck the stove in the lee of a driftwood log and Jenny cooked a fine breakfast of eggs and potatoes and cuppas. We peeled our drysuits, donned our parkas, and Jenny changed out of her sweat-soaked shirt.

Cooking breakfast behind a driftwood log.

Forty-five minutes later we took off again and paddled stiff headwinds and chop for 2 more hours until our strength was about gone. At 3 pm we landed on a coastal projection just a few hundred yards east of the Yukon/NWT border. The land was three feet above the current sea level; it was flat, damp mud with stout, tall grass and cotton grass. We covered our tent site with dried peat washed up on the grass, then pitched the tent on that. It made wonderful insulation. Not too far away are some large patches of willow, 2-3 feet high. The temperature is 50°F. A few hours after landing, the sea was raked by a tremendous wind storm from the northeast. The tent site suddenly felt extremely exposed. Leaving Jenny inside to weigh the tent down, I went outside and explored the area, looking for better possibilities. After a long while, watching the surf batter the peat banks, I decided we were ok where we were. We did turn the tent into the wind and secured it with long driftwood stakes.

Camp 6, July 8: Map

Day's mileage: 15

Chart: Camp 6, 7a, 7b

Day 27|7

July 9, 1997

The wind was 15 knots out of the east, our intended direction of travel. We wanted mileage more than we wanted the comfort of camp; so after a breakfast of French toast and cuppas we set off at 10 am. The morning was laborious, grinding into the headwinds and waves, making progress slow but sure, aesthetics mostly lost to the toil. All we could think of was to reach the next point. We reached the mouth of the West Channel of the Mackenzie and paddled across it in a flurry. It was a mile wide and much rougher out in the middle where the water was deeper and swifter. For awhile we were in incipient, burgeoning haystacks which are among our least favorite kind of waves. They can be dangerous. We rounded the corner and soon landed to make camp, but swarms of mosquitoes prompted us to move on, and find a place with more breeze.

We stopped at 3 pm just short of a large lagoon not shown on our charts. 68°51'48.3"N 136°03'51.2"W. It was a nice promontory with breeze plying over it, so the mosquitoes weren't too bad. We slept for about an hour, until the sound of a boat engine woke us. Three people headed west swung by for a closer look. We exchanged waves. The wind was calming for the first time in several days and we certainly didn't want to miss an opportunity to cross Shallow Bay. So we packed up and set off again at 7:15 pm in very light headwinds and a large cloud of mosquitoes. We swatted them for two hours, hoping to bring their numbers down, and although we killed scores of them, their replacements just kept coming. We wore headnets most of the way. It felt odd wearing a headnet out of sight of land. Also, we had our drysuits on to the waist only. The temperature rose to 60°F and the wind died altogether, leaving a beautiful glassy millpond. The channel markers were not in place. We followed geepus to almost where one of the markers should have been, then I decided that Shallow Bay is surely deep enough for a kayak anywhere, so I took a bee-line for Reindeer Channel and promptly ran into water so shallow that we could barely paddle through it. This went on for fifteen minutes until we found the main channel to the south.

Chart: Camp 7a to 7b

We paddled into Reindeer Channel, favoring the left (north) bank while trying to follow almost imperceptible boils, which showed us where the current was. At one point we ran into another extensive shoal. As we progressed deeper into the channel we picked up a light tailwind that quickly built a steep chop, working against the out flowing current. The chop showed where the deeper and swifter water was and we paddled the border between the chop and the calm water. Whenever we ventured into calm water, our paddles hit the bottom. We saw a few swans and we had altogether about a dozen terns fly us closely, seemingly out of curiosity. One came very close as though thinking of landing on the yak. It was fun to see them so close.

Progress was a bit slow, paddling against the current, but eventually we rounded the first bend to the north and for the first time found some higher ground on the left bank. We dragged the boat through ten feet of muck to reach the hard sand and mud shore. We landed at midnight and were soon engulfed in an outrageous horde of mosquitoes. We had been taking B-vitamins almost every day and we wore mosquito-proof clothing and put a bit of repellent on our hands. The hardest part is getting into the tent without dragging half of them in with us. I found some old bear tracks and some very recent moose tracks; the moose went into the water, as though crossing the channel.

Drysuite peeled down

Camp 7, July 9: Map

Day's mileage: 28

Chart: Camp 7b, 8

Day 28|8

July 10, 1997

Some rain in the night. I woke up, started stirring about, and disturbed a sandhill crane. It started cackling - very loud and closer than we've been to one been to one before, by far. I looked out the tent and it took off. Should note also that the smaller birds have beautiful songs, and grow accustomed to us quickly and go about their business.

While Jenny broke camp I hiked inland, through alder thickets growing higher than head tall, shotgun in one hand, empty water bottles in the other. I saw a profusion of tracks in the mud: moose, fox, and geese mostly. I found a large, deep pond with clean water and carried the full jugs back to camp where we filtered.

We set off at 10 am into a beautiful, calm day. The temperature was so high that the mozzies didn't follow us for long, at least most of them gave up the chase. We paddled against the current all day, and had to stay well out or get besieged with bugs - meaning we couldn't use the eddies and slack water near shore. We paddled past a few islands not shown on the latest chart: where the river was wide and the chart showed shoal, we found high willows. We did not wear our drysuits because of the intense heat. In fact we bathed and went swimming to cool off. We paddled past scores and scores of swans, a few gaggles of geese with chicks which were ceremoniously hustled into the protective underbrush. One gaggle of sea gulls with their brood. These birds, like the geese, are very protective; the whole community of dozens will rally to defend three or four chicks.

Swimming

Finally we paddled across the expansive middle channel and rounding an island at the head of Neklik Channel we reached the parting of the waters - the divide - and with that we found ourselves in favorable current. We were amazed to watch the scenery glide by as quickly when not paddling, as it had when paddling strenuously. We glided down river for only twenty minutes, then pulled close to shore to make camp at 9:30 pm. Thwarted by deep ooze, we finally managed to work around it and haul the boat up a bit of a bank. Shade was our first priority for a campsite. We found many interesting tracks in the clay-like mud, including lynx (five toes, no claws, very round, much larger than cat but smaller than wold which has claws and oval shape). Moose also, and no bear.

Camp 8, July 10: Map

Day's mileage: 25

Chart: Camp 8-11

Day 29|9

July 11, 1997

We loaded the yak, slid it down the mud bank into the water, and set off at 9:45 am. Already the day had grown hot. We breakfasted on eggs and potatoes that Jenny had cooked at camp, and reveled in the favorable current that carried us so easily on our way. It was only a couple of knots, but it made all the difference in the world. Clouds came and went, and when they went, we baked. The mosquitoes mostly came.

Nearly to the East Channel we passed by an area of much higher ground, maybe 100 feet on top of which sat a couple of crude oil tanks. The higher topography was a delight to the eyes, as was the gravel beaches. We entered the East Channel, vastly wider than what it was the last we saw it at Inuvik. Also, there were channel buoys, which had been such a familiar sight all the way down the river from Fort Providence. The green channel buoys were flat-topped and on most of them sat two or tree terns. We also saw flocks of terns sitting on the water, the first we had seen these birds afloat. We also saw them whirling and diving in the air over what must have been schools of minnow.

We kept to the middle of the channel to avoid the worst of the mosquitoes and later in the afternoon, broiling in the sun, we went for a swim. We are so wired in to the boat that it is like a miniature space vehicle for us, providing our living environment. We can do everything aboard except cook (for safety's sake) and sleep comfortably. Once, Jenny turned around and found me standing in my cockpit, something we had not practiced back at home. All along the way was higher terrain, mostly made of sand, and covered with what was looking more like tundra all the time.

Terns on a channel marker.

We passed by a large pingo a ways inland. It was a very striking monolith. Finally the land ahead lay low as we neared the channel's end at Kittigazuit Bay. Yet even then there was higher ground along the coastal shoreline. The basin was expansive and predictably shallow, and we followed channel markers that wove this way and that among various low lying islands.

Nice family of three.

A motorboat going the other way stopped and a nice family of three asked where we were going. The standard question among the natives. They were from Tuk, on their way to Inuvik for the weekend. They told us the post office at Tuk would be closed tomorrow (Saturday). The man also said the ice was quite visible from Tuk. They were quite interested in our journey and our yak and that we wanted to go to Paulatuk. The fellow said he had not boated to there, but he had ridden his snow mobile there in two days. The wife was startled by something that kept moving at the stern of the kayak and we all had a good laugh when I explained that my feet were connected to the rudder. We were not moving but I was still steering unconsciously responding to maneuvering with their boat. Jenny said I probably steer in my sleep.

As we reached the open water of the bay an East wind piped up, forcing us to labor into headwinds for the next couple of hours. The well marked channel stayed a mile away from shore. We were still tired from the previous day of bucking the current. Finally we reached the shore and found it consisted of small to medium size rocks backed by a 50-dirt bank. We followed the shore a ways further and landed on a gravel beach at 7:30 pm. The wind diminished and the bugs attacked us with a vengeance. We reacted by ignoring them behind our protective clothing. Jenny cooked a delicious pot of corn spaghetti with dehydrated ground beef and she baked scones for dessert. This was our first hot meal in quite a few days. I wandered around and found a superb campsite on a gravel spit fronting a lagoon. So after dinner we relocated - I paddled the yak 100 yards further while Jenny followed on shore. The spit was open to the cooling breezes. The ground was clean gravel - our favorite kind of camping, reminiscent of Baja, and everywhere were bouquets of purple flowers which looked like dwarf fireweed. Sun bleached and weathered driftwood lay about.

Relocating to a better camp.

Beautiful Moss Campion

An hour after setting up camp the wind struck in earnest.

Camp 9, July 11: Map

Day's mileage: 42

Chart: Camp 9, 10, 11, 12

Day 30|10

July 12, 1997

Strong wind.

A night of strong wind and heavy rain. Strong northeast wind all day. Tent-bound, we read and slept, watched outside for signs of life. We saw maybe 30 or 40 beluga feeding 75 yards offshore. Jenny saw an otter in the lagoon behind camp; it came within 30 feet of the tent.

Day's mileage: 0, Windbound
Camp 10, July 12

Day 31|11

July 13, 1997

More northeast wind. We read and slept. We also worked on a bow drill. We produced lots of smoke but no coal. We set off to find a pond for drinking water, and found a small one just near camp. We filled our jug and filtered it, then went for a walk up the hill. There were scores of sik-sik holes, lots of beautiful wild flowers, and we watched a large school of what looked like dorsal fin-less porpoise feeding just offshore. Their puffs of exhale sent heavy spray hard down wind, very visible in the strong wind. They appeared to have black bodies, but they did not surface, just touched blowhole to surface and dove again. A local skiff came along and the porpoise left. They could have been a type of small whale.

We cooked corn spaghetti down the beach a ways, then still hungry we cooked pancakes. We had a very enjoyable dinner in the evening sun. The wind kept the mozzies at bay. The storm surge receded, leaving 10 feet more shore. The moon is half full and the tides minimal.

Day's mileage: 0, Windbound
Camp 11, July 13

Day 32|12

July 14, 1997

We set off in light headwinds at 8 am. We had to stay offshore because the bottom was rocks. We became chilled and stopped to put on more clothes. I climbed a small pingo of mud and saw that the tower in the distance was at Tuk. I donned my drysuit and pogies. Jenny wore only 2 shirts; I was much colder back in the shower zone, beset with spay flinging off Jenny's paddle. We labored into increasing headwinds.

Reaching Tuktoyuktuk, we landed at 1:30 pm, a hundred yards north of the airport, and milled around looking for a good place to camp. The area was rather dingy with lots of junk and stagnant ponds. We selected a secluded place on the outskirts.

We secured the yak and walked into town. The place seemed a bit dismal, oiled dirt roads, plenty of trucks went by but no one waved. A small girl came out of her house and asked us for a dollar. The town was much larger than we expected, the Northern Store and post office was at the far end. The store was not well stocked, but we were glad to buy what we could. Steak and eggs for dinner, hamburgers, yogurt, and cookies. The post office was inside the store and while Jenny paid for the groceries I collected our two resupply boxes, and a box from MSR with the replacement stove. From the store we called the RCMP to let them know we had arrived, then we called for a taxi. The driver was a young native fellow, quite friendly. He said he was up in a plane two days ago and saw lots of ice along the coast to the north.

Back at the yak we rested, then Jenny set off to do laundry at one of the two hotels and to make a few phone calls. I sorted our supplies, repaired a stow bag, etc. Jenny returned without success. The hotels wanted to charge $125 for a room before they would let her use their washing machines. She said the Tuk Hotel smelled musty and ghastly of cigarette smoke and the proprietor seemed unfriendly. The afternoon wind was brisk, but beautiful little birds chirped and flitted around camp, mostly plovers.

Camp 12, July 14: Map

Day's mileage:

Day 33|13

July 15, 1997

Since starting at Nunaluk, the headwinds had been almost incessant, save for the two days within the delta - free of the maritime influence. This did not bode well for the remainder of the summer's coastal journey, not because the wind would increase the paddling labors and decrease the daily mileages, but more significantly because it would pin the pack ice hard against the shore and close the shore leads. We decided to contact the Canadian Coast Guard for a report on the ice conditions ahead.

Tuk was spread out, and the Coast Guard office was five miles from the main part of town. Jenny hitched a ride, then walked back with a fax of the latest ice conditions. The diagram was not encouraging, and suggested that our coastal trip might be finished for this year. The Tuk Peninsula was encased in ice, as was everything to the east. A long and strong southerly might have cleared a way for us, but the chances of that happening were extremely slim. I spoke with the chief of operations at the barge company, and he said that his company had two tugs and five loaded barges stuck fast in the ice, and that an ice breaker was en route from Barrow to try to free them later in the summer, and to make a way to the villages. He said they typically got a summer like this once every seven years, but this was the second year in a row.

We learned that there was a barge leaving for Inuvik that night. We had come to the Arctic this year with the understanding that if Plan-A didn't pan out, then we would try Plan-B, which was to float one of the inland rivers. The one that came to mind was the trip over the divide to Summit Lake and down the Porcupine River, but we had yet to explore the possibilities.

We loaded the yak onto a NTCL truck (Northern Transportation Company Limited - the barge company) and sat in the back steadying it as we drove from our camp the few miles to the docks. It felt like a funeral procession. A tearful ride, realizing that we were foregoing the rest of our coastal journey, for which we had planned and prepared for so much. A part of us said we were blowing it, that we should hang around waiting for improved conditions. For after all, we still had six more weeks of good paddling season. But we had learned some very hard lessons during the previous summer, being trapped in the ice, far from any help. We loaded the yak onto the tug itself and the truck driver returned us back to camp.

Day 34|14, 35|15

July 16-17, 1997

Departing Tuktoyuktuk

The next morning we packed the tent, walked to the airport, boarded a plane, and flew to Inuvik. Once there, we headed for the RV Park for showers and laundry. We had bathed occasionally the last couple of weeks despite the cold wind, but our soaps didn't work well in the cold water, especially Dr. Bronner's which left a greasy film. There were no showers or laundry facilities in Inuvik, unless you wanted to pay $100 per night at a hotel. So instead we paid for a spot at the RV Park. Our main requirement was shade. The air temperature was 30° warmer than Tuk, and in the glaring sun the tent would have been untenable.

Inuvik

Inuvik's igloo church

We spent the next two days in Inuvik - July 16 and 17. Our favorite haunt was the library. They had a 10,000 book collection of Arctic titles and free internet connectivity. While perusing the books on the various rivers, Jenny was reading the book "Canoeing Canada's Northwest Territories" (McCreadie 1995) detailing the major rivers of the Northwest Territory. When she read to me the description of the Thelon River, it sounded ideal. The Thelon takes a grand sweep generally eastward across the infamous Barrenlands. It was reputed to be very wild, remote and pristine.

We arranged to air freight the kayak to Yellowknife with NWT Air Cargo. They had a flat "canoe" rate of $400 and we were told it would probably go out on today's flight. They picked up the yak from the barge terminal, so we never saw it. (Little did we suspect we would not see the boat again this summer, or the gear and food we had packed in it.) With the understanding that the yak was going to Yellowknife, we boarded the airliner for the one and a half hour flight. The cost of airfare for this short jaunt was far higher than it would have cost for a round trip ticket to Europe! Part of the problem was that we had not purchased 21 days in advance. The more needy you are, the more you will pay.