Canoeing the Back River

Sussex Lake to Baker Lake

40 days, 736 miles, Jul-Aug 1999

Copyright © 1989 - 2024 Ray Jardine

Map

Map (Open with google Earth or CalTopo)

Flying into Yellowknife at the completion of our canoe journey, Jenny and I were greeted at the airport by our friend Eric Henderson. "Thank God for your phone call yesterday," he said, "I've been worried about you for the last month. I had horrible visions of Ray on one side of the river and Jenny on the other side, and the canoe floating down the river upside down." "Actually Eric," I admitted sheepishly, "that happened."

Map of the Back River, taken from the book Canoeing Canada's Northwest Territories (McCreadie 1995). We used pages of this "bare-bones" guide during our trip.

Synopsis:

• 536 miles down the Back River
• 137 miles up the Meadowbank River
• Over the Continental Divide (portage)
• 23 miles down to the Thelon River
• and 40 miles to the hamlet of Baker Lake

736 miles in 40 days

The Back River

The river was named for George Back, who commanded the first European expedition to explore it, in 1834. wiki Back River

July 13, 1999

We landed at the Yellowknife Airport at 9:30 pm, minus our luggage. We took a cab to Eva & Eric's B&B. They made us feel most welcome.

July 14

Spent a great deal of time on the phone trying to locate our luggage, without success. Went for a nice walk along the foot path around Frame Lake and into town. Bought the one last map we needed from Tgit Geomatics. Had lunch, then walked back to the B&B along the footpath. Our luggage arrived on the 9:30 pm flight and was delivered to us by taxi.

July 15

Started making air charter arrangements in earnest. Bought a canoe at Walmart, portaged it across town half a mile to the B&B - in two carries: first the shell, then all the parts. Jenny walked back into town to fill out our trip form with RCMP, while I put the canoe together. Fortunately, Eric had a lot of tools to loan me. We took a long nap, resting from the long flight the previous day. We enjoy Yellowknife and have spent a lot of time here. (The main dissuading factor, for many, might be the arsenic dust blowing in from the nearby gold mine, and the melting permafrost containing 237K tonnes of buried arsenic.)

The canoe we bought for the journey was a Coleman 17 footer. Most experienced canoeists would scorn such a choice, but for us it was a matter of convenience and economics. Buying the boat in Yellowknife saved us the shipping costs from home to Yellowknife. And selling it at the completion of the journey would save us the costs of freighting it back home. And too, we used this type of canoe during our Thelon River Trip two years previously; bought at the same Yellowknife Walmart, used for 26 days, and sold at Baker Lake. So we knew this canoe was strong, tough, and reliable. It was also heavy and lacked a spray deck, but you can't win them all. For most serious paddlers the equipment is almost more important than the journey. For us the gear only assists.

Day 1

July 16

En route to the Back River

Arctic Sunwest air charter company picked us up at 8:30 am, after we had enjoyed another of Eva's hearty breakfasts. The ground crew tied the canoe to the floats of the turbo Beaver, and loaded all of our gear. Our goal was Sussex Lake, the headwaters of the Back River, 250 miles northeast of Yellowknife.

We enjoyed a one hour and forty minute flight. Minutes before landing we flew over a large herd of caribou.

Flying over the Barrens

About to land on Sussex Lake.

Start: Map-76C 64°25'31.8"N 108°25'55.3"W

Unloading the canoe from the floatplane on Sussex Lake, headwaters of the Back River.

The floatplane pilot landed in the western arm of Sussex Lake and taxied to a small cove replete with a sand beach. Stepping ashore, the first thing we noticed were wolf tracks in the sand. The temperature was brisk, and there was just enough wind to keep the mosquitoes down. We unloaded the canoe from the aircraft and dragged it onto the beach, and then unloaded our gear.

The pilot was about to depart, and made one last check of the baggage compartment. Lo and behold - what did he find under his seat but our ziplock bag of maps! That sent shivers down my spine (and still does today). If he had flown away with them, I don't know what we would have done.

In waving goodbye to the pilot, we were committing ourselves to the wilderness. We had no radio to call him back, or to call for help in the coming weeks if needed. On a trip like this, the word commitment takes on a whole new meaning.

The pilot took off with an exaggerated wing wag, and we set about loading the canoe. He was to be the last person we would see all summer, until we reached the Inuit village of Baker Lake at journey's end. Such is the utter remoteness of the region.

We said a prayer for a safe journey, and also a fun one.

With that, we set off. We had an easy paddle to the lake's outlet, but the water level was low and we barely made it through the outlet, bumping and scraping our way, while trying different passages.

Sussex Lake is the headwaters of the Back River, so of course the river was low. But also we were starting the trip late in the season, due to delays with the printing company handling our latest book. So the water much lower that it would have been earlier in the summer.

We reached a small lake and paddled to the far side. The creek continued beyond, but it didn't have enough depth to even wade the boat. And anyway, wading was out of the question because the rocks were large and the spaces between them comprised deep holes. The rocks were also slippery with algae.

And so began our first portage, about three-quarters of a mile in length.

The beginning of such a trip is not the most favorable time to portage, because of the load of food - six weeks worth in our case. This was mostly corn pasta, with grains, beans, bags of dried fruit, jerky, nuts and seeds. The food bags were even heaver because of our initial supplies of fresh goods: potatoes, carrots, cabbage, apples and cheese. And in addition to our camping gear, we had four liters of fuel for cooking.

We carried that much fuel because - as we had learned last summer on the Thelon river - firewood is scarce in the sub arctic, being above tree line. And the strong winds would make cooking on open fire difficult most days, if not impossible. And a person doesn't want to be out in the open, sitting still and swatting a cloud of bugs. But there is an ever greater reason to carry a stove. Wood grows slowly up here, due to the cold and shortness of the seasons. And dead wood doesn't readily decompose, again because of the cold. So in most cases any wood found here is ancient, and is a largely irreplaceable part of the landscape. And if one stops to think about it, every piece of wood up here tells a story. What forces have shaped it; what water currents or wind have brought it to here; what peoples have seen it, and what were they like? The wood is a link, a connection to the past. It's not a commodity, and not to be burned.

We also have empty pack frames for carrying the gear during the portages, and foam-padding for caring the canoe. We portaged everything in two loads.

Two legged canoe

Portage

The Back River in its infancy (and late season). photo taken on our way back to pick up the second load.

At one stop my attention was drawn to a strange "rock" about thirty yards up the slope. I stared for a long while, until finally it moved, and then I could see it was a wolverine. Jenny saw it also. It turned sideways to us, showing its beautiful cinnamon and dark brown fur. Jenny saw small movements alongside it, possibly a youngster.

Portaging the 90 pound canoe and bags of food and gear was a huge undertaking. Lots of work - but it was a good kind of work; and the feeling of being out here in the middle of nowhere eclipsed the discomfort. We were glad to have begun our trip, and glad to have left the city life behind, with its telephones, emails, glum nightly news and other stress inducers. The small lakes along the way offered respite from the load hauling. However, at the end of each lake was another portage.

The next paddle-able water: a small lake

It took us a couple of hours to reach the next paddle-able water: a small lake. We reloaded the canoe and were amazed how easy paddling our outfit was, compared to carrying it. But all too soon we reached the lake's end, and here the river all but disappeared under the boulders ahead, leaving only a small stream. In several places we could have rock-hopped across the stream without getting our shoes wet. We had wanted to start at the river's headwaters, and this is how most rivers start out - small.

The next portage was even more difficult, due to fatigue and the more rocky nature of the terrain. The rocks were large and we had to be very careful where we stepped. The canoe was heavy; I could go no more than five minutes between rests, if that. After a few long rests, I discovered that if I lowered the forward end to the ground, and Jenny took the weight of the other end, just for a few moments, then my shoulders could recuperate just enough for another stint of portaging.

Patchy clouds but hot sun when it was on us. We sweated a great deal. And with no wind, the mosquitoes were fierce. But the aromas of the tundra were fantastic: Labrador tea, mosses, etc. The ground was covered in lush vegetation and quite a bit of low willow bushes. Caribou tracks and trails were everywhere, as were the occasional birds.

We paddled another short lake, and at its far end hauled off and made camp on the left bank. Just as I was about to pitch the tent I noticed a ring of rocks nearby. Someone had camped here before. But the rocks were partially sunken in to the tundra - apparently by the weight of several winter's ice. So it would have been a long time ago.

before I could the stove to work I had to tear it apart. I had broken my own rule of not bringing used gear to the Arctic. At least I had brought a repair kit and a few spare parts.

Jenny cooked a wonderful stew of fresh vegetables.

Camp 1:: Map

Day 2

July 17

The day began with another portage. I was not sure I would be able to carry the canoe after yesterday. But in fact I did much better than yesterday. I carried it in one go, two hundred yards to the water. We paddled a small, narrow lake and tried to get through the shallows. I decided we needed to portage, but Jenny said no, she wanted to try to wade the boat. So I left her to it.

She did extremely well, wading the canoe and paddling along the rocky creek, traveling almost as fast as I could walk along the bank. And it's a good thing we didn't portage here because the ground was extremely rough with large rocks and bogs and dense bushes. I was glad I did not have the canoe on my shoulders.

Jenny paddling solo.

Jenny wrote: "I was surprised how easily the canoe maneuvered around the rocks, and it was exhilarating to scoot on down through the riffles when the water picked up speed. At times I had to climb out and wade; the rocks were slippery with algae and made for difficult footing with some deep holes, but I was able to use the canoe for balance."

Jenny wading the canoe through the shallows

We paddled another short lake, then did another short portage, negotiating more rocks. Jenny waded the canoe through more shallows, then picked me up and we paddled into an unnamed but absolutely gigantic lake. We paddled stiff headwinds along the right bank, short-cutting one large bay. On the shore we saw what looked like a bald eagle.

At the outlet of the lake we encountered more rocky creek. In these rocky sections we are finding green and white scrape marks from a previous canoe party, when the water was a little higher. Now the water was too shallow to wade the boat, although we tried. Jenny worked at it for awhile, while I scouted the shore. We swapped positions, but soon I had to land for more portaging. This was a long portage, and we stopped twice to rest.

We saw several ptarmigan along the portage; throughout the day we saw perhaps a dozen altogether. They cackle and flutter a short distance away before stopping and watching us distrustfully. Also we've seen and heard many plovers. The pack frames are proving invaluable. They allow us to carry everything in two loads. I have a pad that I made out of EVA foam to carry the canoe on my shoulders, as mentioned, and it's working good.

We put back in for another short stretch of lake, then pulled out on the right bank and had a heck of a time getting the canoe and gear to shore through the shallows. The rocks and boulders, the deep holes between them, and the slippery algae. Not easy or safe. With the last of the day's energy we reached dry ground, and carried our bags and canoe up to a level and boulder-free spot where we could camp.

We had worn our netting all day, and used no repellent. Interesting that our faces were sun and wind burned, even though we had covered our heads with netting almost all day.

Camp 2 (soon to be)

Camp 2: Map

Day 3

July 18

Still tired from the previous day's work, we started the day with a portage of canoe and Jenny's pack load - 100 yards over rough terrain. But as I bantered: "well, our loads are two carrots and two potatoes lighter."

Jenny hiked behind me, hanging on to the stern of the canoe, to keep it from weather-vaning in the strong wind. We went back for our second load, then enjoyed a nice tailwind paddle across a lake that was all-too-short. The lake's outlet actually had some real flow to it, and we navigated it a ways - but had a great difficulty, so we hauled off on the left bank. Here again the bottom rocks were huge and extremely slippery. We would be surprised to see a caribou cross one of these creeks; it doesn't seem quite possible.

And so began our longest portage so far- probably about one and a quarter miles. The ground was rugged, mostly comprising large rocks interspersed with hummocks, willow bogs, and ankle-twisting ruts worn by the caribou. We stopped to rest six or eight times and were so tired. It just didn't seem possible to carry that far. But eventually we reached the shore of Muskox Lake. The return walk with no load took half an hour, and we were both amazed that I was able to carry the canoe over ground that rough. Someone had run a widely spaced line of cairns, quite recently it looked like, and these helped keep us on course. At times we were fairly far from the river.

Despite our fatigue, we agreed that this was real living. Not too many people would care to do something like this, but we think they are missing out. These Barrenlands are extraordinary beautiful, but about to be overwhelmed and exploited by mining operations and hunting and fishing outfitters, and who knows what else. And so we're not taking anything for granted. We count it a real privilege to experience such a vast tract of untouched wilderness.

Carrying our second load of packs was a struggle. We had to stop every three or four minutes to bend over and take the weight off our shoulders. Sometimes we removed our packs altogether. Three-quarters of the way there, Jenny removed a small burlap bag containing potatoes and carrots from my pack. For some reason, my load seem fifty pounds lighter, and from that point on, the walking was no longer torture and I needed no more rests. Granted, it added to Jenny's load, but Surprisingly it didn't slow her down. Sometimes it is just a matter of finding the right combination.

The land here is like the backbone of the earth. The rocks are reputed to be among the oldest on earth, and they look like it; and so does the lichen growing on them.

On the water again, we enjoyed a wonderful tailwind that whisked us across Muskox Lake so easily. And far from shore, we could remove some of our mosquito clothing.

A ways further we came to some small islands not shown on our maps, immediately across from a large river tributary flowing into the lake. Behind one of these small islands were a number of fuel drums and an old, decrepit helicopter landing pad. We did not stop there. A couple miles further a float plane flew around and presumably landed. Curiously, it flew over us twice with no indication of the pilot having seen us.

We paddled between a pair of islands, then crossed the lake to a bulbous peninsula and followed the west bank to where it curved around left into a huge basin. Rounding the point put the wind on the bow. The afternoon was getting late, so we decided to make camp. Climbing a bit of rise we were surprised how hard the wind was blowing. The ground was covered in berries, which stained the bottoms of the tent floor, our pant cuffs, and Jenny's bare feet.

Camp 3

Camp 3, Muskox Lake: Map

Day 4

July 19

The wind calmed during the night and switched direction 180 degrees. It started building again gradually, so we decided we'd better go while the going was good. We left at 7:30 am and paddled with tailwinds into the back of a large, square-cut bay, and then quartering winds from there. Nearly to the lake's outlet, we started seeing caribou by the hundreds. They were running gracefully, moving over the landscape like a mist. Beautiful to watch. They had many calves.

Line of caribou.

We were hurrying along, hoping to reach the outlet of Muskox Lake before the waters became too boisterous to paddle. We made it, but only just. Several small rivers empty into Muskox Lake, so the outlet was voluminous. We paddled a ways, negotiating rocks galore and then landed on the left side and started lining and wading. It was hard work, but we made steady progress. We found that when wading we could hang on to the canoe for balance, and "moon walk" over the slippery rocks. We lined and waded hour after hour, our feet and legs continuously wet. We wear lightweight, high-top shoes and they are working great.

Wading a set of rapids

Taking a break.

Eventually we stopped for a quick lunch.

Moving on, we tried paddling a couple times in the flat water sections. But the wind was blowing so hard that we had great difficulty. It was also risky. So instead we lined and waded, and managed the whole stretch, including a couple sluices.

Along the final stretch before the inlet to Jim Magrum Lake we saw a number of inukshuks on the ridgeline above the river. From a distance they looked like they had been there a long time. White man makes a pile of rocks to tell the world "We were here." The Inuit build the inukshuks to say "We ARE here (in spirit)." At least that is what they spoke to me, as I looked up at them.

We made the mistake of not crossing the river far upstream. As Jim Magrum lake came into view, even from a distance we could see that we would not be able to cross. The river was seventy-five yards wide, somewhat shallow with rocks everywhere, and running pell-mell. So we continued lining and wading the left bank. We reached a few small islands and tried a couple different ways to paddle around them, but the southwest wind was so strong we had no control over the canoe. Also, we could see that the lake was whipped into white caps with flung spray.

Our clothing was flapping and clapping loudly. We wanted to camp on the large island at the mouth of the river. We dared not paddle onto the lake itself, at the risk of being blown out into the expanse.

Eventually we found a way to wade. We were getting quite tired by now, so we took it slowly albeit laboriously in the strong current, wading mid-thigh deep. Eventually we reached the island, just as the clouds began to spit a bit of rain. It came in short spits, driven sideways. Between the burst of rain, the strong wind dried our clothing immediately. We landed, then portaged over the island to the leeward side, looking everywhere for a campsite sheltered from the wind but finding very little. And we inadvertently spooked a bevy of ptarmigan.

We pitched the tent on the lumpy tundra, thankful to have brought a sturdy tent. A lightweight backpacking one wouldn't have lasted two minutes. The wind was blowing too hard to light the stove, so we had a cold dinner, very thankful for our warm and dry shelter. Inside the tent it was quite noisy, especially with the zipper pulls rattling. Rain fell harder for a short while. A small plane flew past. A dozen terns flying and fishing nearby, unaffected by the storm.

We had to administer a bit of first aid to Jenny's arm and hand. She had taken a hard fall into the rocks. Sprained a thumb, bent back a thumbnail, and had a few cuts and bruises on her wrist and hand. Jenny is so tough and never complains. Such injuries rarely affect her.

Camp 4, Jim Magrum Lake

Camp 4, Jim Magrum Lake: Map

Day 5

July 20

The storm had largely blown itself out by early morning, and the wind had veered to the west. The lake was white-capped but not prohibitively, so we set off and paddled lumpy seas along the south shore of Jim Magrum Lake. But the further we went, the more the wind piped up. We took a few dollops over the gunwales and decided to get off the water.

We pulled into a bay where the water was perfectly calm and landed near some vertical chunks of rocks. We set up camp, slept for an hour, then cooked a meal. The wind had lessened but the sky was darkening.

The vegetation around this camp was lush, but the area was rocky and the ground was full of gaping crevasses, holes between the rocks. We had to be careful where we walked. The rocks looked ancient, and they were thickly covered with lichen that looked almost as old as the rocks.

Camp 5a. Old backpacking habits die hard. We subsequently gave up filtering water in the barrens, realizing that it is reasonably pure.

Link

Camp 5a, Jim Magrum Lake: Map

We broke camp and set off paddling again, and reached the point of a long spit at the head of a deep bay. There, the water was just too rough to make the crossing safely. So we pulled out behind the shelter of some rocks and waited, bidding our time while a bit of rain spat. Eventually, though, we decided to pitch the tent (camp 5b).

Camp 5b, Jim Magrum Lake: Map

Here the rocks were covered in peat and capped with beautiful green tundra. The air carried the heady aromas of Labrador tea, heather - and a faint stench of muskoxen. We slept for a couple of hours, through a bit of rain. And then the sun came out and awakened us with the sensation that we were baking inside the tent. The wind had died and the bugs were out in full force.

We paddled across the flat bay in a cloud of black flies. As we entered the outlet we could hear rapids ahead. They sounded like a distant jet aircraft.

We reached the formidable set of rapids and portaged on the right side of the river, on a portage trail - up and over the rocky cliffs. (Unnamed rapids). We startled yet another ptarmigan with chicks.

Hiking a portage trail.

putting back in, we lined the boat past the last of the rocks then set off down the river. A small island had a chute on its left side that made for an exhilarating ride. The river carried us along and then opened up into a narrow lake. It was very pleasant paddling, especially in the late 9 pm hour with nice light.

Nearly to Gold Lake we stopped at 10 pm to make camp (number 5c). Jenny had just finished cooking when the sky let loose with rain. We crawled into the tent and spent a long time eradicating the black flies, and shoveling out the corpses.

All in all, it was a beautiful day with a little bit of everything a river trip such as this has to offer.

Camp 5c, nearly to Gold Lake

Camp 5c

Camp 5c: Map

Day 6

July 21

Head net

After a fair amount of rain during the night, the morning was much improved. Before breaking camp we heated water and each had a sponge bath with hot water and soap. We even washed our hair. We had crawled partway out the open doorway, but were still underneath the vestibule to keep the bugs away. It worked really well.

We set off at 8 am and paddled the length of Gold Lake and then the next long unnamed lake. Altogether about twenty miles of lake travel with a good 10-knot tailwind. Far from land we enjoyed a bug-free hour with a good breeze, and it was a pleasure to take off our bugwear. Jenny washed my bug jacket and shell jacket which I had been wearing almost continuously since day number one.

It was hard to imagine paddling such a huge lake that had no name. We talked about what this lake would be like if it were located in our home state of Oregon; how despoiled with motor boats, campgrounds or worse, houses shoulder-to-shoulder, and all fished-out. But here, there is none of that. We constantly reveled in the huge scope of this land. Long may it remain pristine.

With a storm licking at our stern, we hurried to reach lake's end before the weather forced us ashore. We barely made it. And - surprise - as we entered the river and rounded the first corner, the wind died. The river was wide, fast, and rocky. No place for the timid, and we certainly felt humbled. We paddled a lot of fast water, dodging this way and that to avoid rocks, and waded most of the rapids along the shore. I could not use my head-net because I needed the absolute best vision to pick out the rocks. The mosquitoes and black flies were swarming around us, but for some reason they did not bother my face, at least not too much.

Jenny wrote: "It has taken me several days to re-learn my confidence in this kind of a river trip. I have no white water experience; these rapids are to me daunting and frightening. And so I am always awed and amazed at Ray's skill at navigating through the rapids. And I'm also re-learning my job as bow person, to be always watchful or rocks ahead, and to let Ray know, since I often block his view."

It's amazing how in one day we have watched the land flatten out, and toward the end of the day we even saw sandy banks and a sandy river bottom in places. The terrain this morning was raw and rugged, but in the afternoon it was mellow, reminding us of the Thelon River.

It seemed to take us forever to reach Malley Rapids, as we paddled on into the evening. A big rainstorm approached and we debated going ashore and setting up camp; but decided to just keep paddling and get wet. Besides, we really wanted to reach Malley Rapids before day's end.

We reached the rapids and landed on the right bank. I scouted the rapids and found a camping place while Jenny watched the boat. Both of us had grown quite chilled, but the rain finally stopped, and our clothes dried quickly. We paddled a short ways farther, pulled out just before the falls, climbed a short rise. and made a beautiful camp overlooking the rapids.

The wind picked up and dried all of our gear bags and clothes. Paddled about 30 miles today.

Camp 6

Camp 6, Malley Rapids: Map

Day 7

July 22

I scouted Malley Rapids and determined that we could safely line and wade them along the right shore, on which we had camped. We put the canoe and gear back in the water, and lined the rapids without difficulty. Subsequently we enjoyed the river's current for only about 100 yards, until the river emptied into a lake. The morning was quiet, the lake was calm and beautiful, and the water was crystal clear. Paddling along, we watched the bottom glide silently past.

Where the river made a hard right turn into a basin, we encountered an unmarked set of rapids that we could not safely line. We pulled out on the left, unloaded, and carried the boat and gear twenty feet down and across smooth granite rocks, thus circumventing a four-foot drop in the river. Rounding the next bend to the left we encountered another unmarked set of rapids. From there we paddled quietly along a long lake.

A four-foot drop in the river.

Heading for the lake's outlet.

Jenny spotted what she thought was lone wolf, trotting along the sandy shoreline. We steered toward it, but found that it was, instead, a young caribou. We wondered how it had become separated from its herd, and if it would survive among the wolfs.

We came to the first of six rapids, marked on our map. These we waded and lined along river right for a long ways. We paddled some sections, but mostly waded and lined.

Then we paddled the length of another long lake in five to ten knot headwinds, past an island on the lake's right side. On the windward tip of the island stood another lone caribou browsing the willows. From there our map showed a narrow, long stretch of river with sandy banks - with a promise of a speedy run for many miles. What we found instead was a long and windy lake, about the width of the sand as indicated on the map. This was confusing for us, because what we were seeing did not match what was depicted on the map.

Eventually we came to a huge basin where the river looked like it went left. We started to paddle into what looked like a shallow outlet, but soon realized that could not be the river. Still, it looked like the river went that way. We turned and paddled northeast in ever-stronger headwinds, and finally found the river turning right around a bluff. Here we picked up some favorable current, but the wind was now so strong we could barely control the boat. So we held on for a couple more miles before pulling out on the right bank to make camp - at 4:30 pm. We had paddled about 27 miles today.

The bank was gradually sloped and soggy, but we managed to find a slightly elevated tent site. The bugs had been out in force throughout the day, so now the wind was a blessing. Despite the wind, Jenny managed to cook a fine dinner. We had hot sponge baths, hot cuppas, raw vegetables, and Basmati rice. During the night the storm intensified, with heavy, interminable rain and strong, gusty wind. By morning our slightly elevated campsite in the tundra was surrounded by puddles.

We are camped a hundred feet from the river but downwind from it, and the wind is so strong it is driving spray from the river onto the tent. Time and again we are glad to have brought this seven-and-half pound, heavy duty tent. A lightweight backpacking model up here would have not held up.

Camp 7

Camp 7, 8: Map