Ray and Jenny's Back River Odyssey

Day 29

August 13

Strong north wind during the night, reduced to 12-15 knots as we set off at 8 am. We battled headwinds for about half-a-mile, fighting steep chop. The river made a number of bends and few times we had the wind abaft the beam. It was quite a job in the strong winds, to keep to the windward shore. The river's current was swift, though, so even with the headwinds we were progressing well.

Paddling headwinds. The waves don't look so bad, but we are working hard and making slow progress.

There were no sand hills at Sandhill Rapids, so we surmised the rapids were named after the crane. Anyway, these rapids were nothing serious, and we easily lined them. Easily because the rocks were dry and we could romp all over the place without slipping and sliding. Wolf Rapids were also very straightforward, no problem lining. This is in contrast to the guide, which says these rapids "must be portaged, all or in part." Maybe in high water.

By far our biggest challenge today was the north wind. Never could we relax while in the boat - or else we would be blown straightway to shore. The wind was so strong that I could not steer, despite my best efforts. Jenny had to assist with drawing strokes, pulling the bow sideways against the quartering headwinds. Sometimes she was drawing as much as she was paddling forward. In strong wind the canoe wants to lie beam-on, because of its high windage at the bow and stern. One advantage of a kayak is its low bow and stern; so it is not so difficult to orient obliquely to the wind. And the kayak's rudder makes it a no-brainer.

The scenery along Wolf Rapids comprised interesting cliffs. Behind the cliffs stands a huge rock dome. We lined on the right bank, and saw a couple of ravens, several sandhill cranes, lots of Canadian geese and Snow geese, a few caribou, and lots of siksiks. We ran the next rapid shown on the map. And then the final one we ran on the left, where part of the river sluices through a gap in the rock.

We were going through a group of islands about five miles upstream of Meadowbank River, when the river took an unlikely path to the right between two islands. We mistakenly kept going straight. Our water then rounded the next island, then stopped. We found ourselves scraping bottom, getting over to the main branch.

We paddled strong headwinds the remaining few miles to the Meadowbank tributary, and once there we left the Back River, companion for nearly a month. The McCreadie guide says: "There is little whitewater now ... to the Arctic coast." So began our trip up the Meadowbank River. We knew nothing about this river, and imagined that very few had traveled it. We "discovered" the route while studying the topo maps; and it seemed like a good way to reach an airport, in this case the one at the Inuit hamlet of Baker Lake.

Map

So the first task was to negotiate the large Lake-45. We paddled two miles with strong wind and chop on the beam, and another few miles with strong wind dead astern and some big rollers sweeping us along. This was virgin territory, so to speak. From here we would be traveling through a land which few if any white men have paddled, lined, warped, waded and portaged: one-hundred-thirty miles of Meadowbank River to its source.

With the day's energy depleted, we pulled ashore at 6 pm, landing on the second promontory, spooking two caribou, and making camp on a gravel bar. The sky had been gray and somewhat threatening most of the afternoon, but now the clouds were starting to break up. The wind was so strong that I had to place three large rocks in the canoe to hold it down, and another ten around the tent.

The day had felt a bit warmer than the day previous, perhaps because of lack of rain, and the fact that we did not have to wade.

Our first camp on the Meadowbank, and the only photo in our trip collection that shows the strong wind. The tent being blown like a flag. Note the large rocks on the canoe seat to hold the boat down.

We have the tent tied to large rocks, to keep it from being blown away. When breaking camp the following morning, we always replace the rocks in their original locations, same side up.

Camp 29: Map

Day 30

August 14

The wind dropped and the night was quiet, but early morning the wind picked up again. We shoved off at 7 am, and paddled stiff tailwinds with rolling combers, going five miles to the south end of the lake. Along the way we noticed that the water-lines in the sand and gravel slopes were twenty feet above us. So the water had dropped that much during the summer.

Reaching the end of the lake, we were aghast to see that the river, feeding into the lake, had dried up. The river bed had no water. This was bad news.

And then I realized we were in the wrong place.

By way of explanation, when paddling strong tailwinds I could not take even a moment to study the map. If I quit paddling, the boat would slew around. It could even broach.

Hence the confusion of what I thought was the back-end of lake-45. We had inadvertently paddled into a large bay. Map

(in retrospect, it was almost as though my worries had somehow made this dry river bed act like a magnet, and my mind actually guided me to it. i.e: "What you fear, you attract".)

We paddled left around the corner, and found that, indeed, lake-45 continued southwards for another two-and-half miles.

As lake narrowed we encountered small whirls on the surface, indicating current. By this we knew that there was indeed a river up ahead.

Two miles later, where the lake bottle-necked, we found a seizable river. Its size surprised us. It was about a hundred times larger than what I had expected. We tried to paddle into swift water, but soon experienced difficulties; so we began wading and lining the boat up the shallows - on slippery rocks, but we were used to that.

Altogether the Meadowbank descends about 300 feet in elevation, which meant lots of rapids like this one.

Soon we reached the next lake (Lake-47) and paddled it on the north shoreline for seven miles. The hills were generally steep-to and tall, up to 300 feet high. These helped block the strong north wind, but sometimes we had to paddle into bays and this required dealing with headwinds.

Paddling near the left bank of Lake-47.

Shore break

Nearing the end of the second lake (Lake-47) we encountered three caribou on the rocky spit. One swam across the river to elude us, and the other two stood there, watching. they allowed us to approach fairly closely.

At the lake's inlet, where the river entered the lake, we attained a section of swift water with many rapids. This section proved nearly ten miles in length. We warped most of it, Jenny waded some, and we paddled a few calm sections, numerous large eddies, and about two miles across one small lake.

Ten miles of lining (warping). While warping (lining is technically called warping when going up river) I hold two separate ropes in my hand. One tied to the bow of the canoe, and the other tied to the stern. If I pull the bow line, the canoe heads toward shore. If I pull the stern line, the canoe turns away from shore. So the idea is to strike a balance, by pulling both lines equally. And so the canoe rides a short distance out from shore, and doesn't get stuck on shore rocks.

The river suits us very well. The water is crystal clear, the setting is beautiful, and the area has a nice ambiance to it. The banks are practically all rocks; sometimes slick rock, or beautiful granite slabs. At one point we passed under a cliff with a narrow ceiling, and startled a hawk from its nest. We could have easily climbed to the nest. And what made the day all the more enjoyable was the sunny sky. The day was perfect day, even though quite strenuous: warping the boat up the fast water. Our feet were constantly wet, but the warm sun, combined with our exertions, kept us warm. The more lining I did with double ropes, the better I became at aiming the canoe around and between rocks; and this reduced the amount of wading Jenny had to do, to some degree.

The Meadowbank was much larger that we expected.

On the Back River we had seen a good deal of evidence of past Inuit presence. But here on the Meadowbank we saw very little - only three or four small cairns the entire day.

Late in the afternoon we stopped to fish in one of the rapids, and caught what we later learned was a lake whitefish, about fourteen inches long. It had a large dorsal fin, large scales, and white flesh. Try as I did, I could not catch another. However, in the next set of rapids I tried again, and landed a beautiful twenty inch lake trout.

During one of our stops we noticed a solidary patch of willow bushes growing on the bank. This place must be somewhat warmer, allowing them to grow. There were no other willows around.

We warped one more long, steep section of rapids, and then decided to call it quits at 7 pm - making camp on the left bank on the tundra above the river. The day had been a long one; twelve hours, 22 miles.

It was a tremendous feeling, journeying up this river; a river which no modern-day canoeist has traveled, at least that we knew of. It felt invigorating and exciting - although there are yet many unknowns. It is also amazing to think that we are close to the Arctic Ocean; only 100 miles or so.

Camp 30

Camp 30: Map

Day 31

August 15

The next morning was fantastically beautiful. Very few clouds. We carried our outfit upriver forty yards to save us wading a couple of larger rapids, then set off at 7 am, and resumed lining with the occasional wading. We reached the end of this ten-mile section at lake-79 at 9:30 am.

Jenny wading the canoe up the shallows.

Due to the diminished wind, we had to wear headnets much of the day. Paddled along the lake with a 5-knot quartering tailwind. This end of the lake was very beautiful. The weather was so good it was hard to get motivated to paddle very hard. Jenny washed a couple of shirts and my sleeping hat.

Caribou

In the distance I thought I could see a caribou running across the top of the water. I couldn't figure out what I was seeing. About half way along the lake-79 (79 feet deep, as written on the chart) we a got closer look: indeed, caribou standing and sometimes running on the lake, well offshore. The water was obviously shallow. There were a dozen or more animals, one group and various scattered individuals. They were trying to escape the bugs, the lack of wind being what it was. They would mostly stand still, with their heads down, sometimes keeping their noses in the water to keep the bugs out of their nostrils.

Where the map shows a bay on the northeast bank, the channel favored that side, and once past the bay the channel headed over to the other side. The lower southeast portion of the lake was again deep in most places. Reaching river again, we followed the channel as it wandered around in a broad, open valley. The river was wide and we paddled much of it, stopping here and there to pull through some stiff current.

Another small lake led to a couple miles of river that was about 50-percent lining and wading; and 50-percent paddling. That brought us to another lake, fairly narrow but silted in, with the channel going back and forth from one side to the other. And finally on the south bank we stopped at 6 pm and made camp.

The wind dropped to almost zero, and the bugs came out in force. The sun had been out for much of the day, and we got broiled. We saw caribou here and there all day long, as well as many sandhill cranes.

I found a pair of caribou jawbones near our campsite, so we have called this the Jawbone Camp.

Camp 31

Camp 31: Map

Day 32

August 16

Jenny awakened at 5 am and ventured outside to wash the cookpot, heat water for hair washing, and cook breakfast, all amid a hoard of black flies and mosquitoes. I did my "homework" studying the map and ticking off the remaining mileage.

We set off at 6:30 am under an overcast sky, with light winds out of the north. The channel was indicated by a deep blue color, and we followed it to lake's end.

The morning was still, and a sandhill crane started cackling - repeatedly. Jenny thought it sounded like a chainsaw or lawn mower that wouldn't start - like someone pulling the cord over and over again. I added that the flywheel bearings were shot, and squeaky.

The river's next segment was a narrow sluice, one mile long with several rapids. We warped it on the left and also managed to paddle some of it. Eventually we worked our way up to lower Nanau Lake. Reaching the far end, were surprised to find a serious section of rapids climbing to Upper Nanau Lake. We followed the right bank, warping some but mostly wading. The rocks along this bank were covered in gray and black lichens growing on them, and they looked like they had been there since the dawn of time.

Fishing

At the top of these rapids we hauled the boat out of the water and broke out the fishing gear. Jenny knows I like to fish when the fishing looks this good; so she always offers the pole to me. But this time I wanted to see her try. She snagged a large one on her second cast, but soon it got away. She got another bite, and then nothing for the next several casts. I tried, with much the same results. The problem, possibly, was that the hooks on our lures were not big enough. I handed the pole back to Jenny and her second cast produced a strike; and this time the fish remained hooked. The fish was large, and she wrestled with it for a couple of minutes - and then managed to drag it up onto the rocks. Another very fine trout - the biggest one kept: thirty inches.

We surmounted the top two rapids, then started out across the upper lake in a healthy drizzle driven by winds from every which direction, but mostly northwesterly. In fact the drizzle was so thick that we could not see more than a quarter-mile. So we did not see too much of the initial part of this lake. As the hours of paddling wore on, the rain became heavier and the wind colder. We longed to be in the tent, warm and dry. But in reality we were doing really well, paddling and progressing along our route. And so we continued throughout the afternoon. This was just as well because the camping did not look too amenable. The terrain was exceptionally rocky. The mountains on both sides of the lake are strewn with rocks uncountable - like something you might see on the moon, except grown over with lichens and lumpy patches of tundra.

Finally the rain eased, the clouds lifted, and our clothing began to dry. Just prior to reaching the end of the upper lake, a few bursts of sunshine came our way. And so we decided we did not need to make camp, quite yet, but would ascend the next mile of rapids.

Every few miles along the upper lake we had seen evidence of modern floatplane man: plastic fuel containers, pieces of lumber, maybe a fuel depot comprising barrels or boxes too distant to discern.

Muskox

The river's size surprised us yet again. It was still quite large, and was charging out of the gully and plunging into the lake. We started the ascent by dragging the canoe over some low lying rocks. I found this difficult because I was shivering and stiff from the several hours of cold. Our rain jackets are old, and are leaking; so we had become soaked through.

We warped about half a mile, on the left bank. Probably we should have gone up the right bank, but the rapids at the mouth looked imposing. The left bank fanned out over a large expanse of boulders, and the river itself was charging pell mell, going down quite a drop in elevation. I scouted the whole area and determined that our best course of action was to make a short portage left, up and over; basically short-cutting the river's sharp "L" bend. With the portage then behind us, we made camp at 6 pm on a patch of thick tundra lichen, twenty feet above the river.

Mountain sorrel and old lichen.

Throughout the afternoon we had been browsing our favorite wild edible: Mountain sorrel. It is reminiscent of miner's lettuce, but its flavor is outstanding; tasting like a combination of miner's lettuce and lemon.

The tundra at our camp is covered in berries, and Jenny picked a small handful. They were ripe, juicy, a little sweet, and delicious.

The next burst of rain sent us scurrying into the tent, along with our unwanted retinue of several hundred black flies. We spent half-an-hour cleaning-up the carnage. Jenny cooked about two-thirds of the fish while leaning out doorway, trying to keep the bugs out. We enjoyed a wonderful dinner.

Camp 32, soon to be.

Camp 32: Map

Day 33

August 17

No rain fell during the night; we woke up to a mostly clear sky. Our clothing hung from the tent's overhead lines, and our home had the feel of a cave full of stalactites. Fortunately, everything had dried. We lingered in bed, reveling in the warmth and dryness. Then finally we packed up, carried everything down to river's edge, and set off at 8 am.

We worked our way up the left bank, lining. The going was somewhat strenuous because the current was swift. In half-a-mile we reached an area of flowing, but non-turbulent water, so we paddled across to the other side where the warping looked better. The shoreline there was mostly solid rock.

Warping the canoe with fifty-foot bow and stern lines.

In about two-hundred yards we came to a set of short but particularly swift rapids pressing flush against the shore-rocks. We had negotiated these types of rapids many times, and our usual procedure went something like this:

We position the canoe in the eddy, close to shore - it's bow a few feet downstream of the rapids. Jenny stands at the river's edge holding the canoe's stern. I stand on the bank, fifty feet up river, holding the fifty-foot-long bow-line.

At my "ok", Jenny pushes the boat at a 45 degree angle, away from shore, while I pull the bow-line. The boat is pushed and pulled out of the eddy, and around the rapids. Thus the canoe moves into the fast moving water. The moving water catches the boat somewhat obliquely, and places a large strain on my bow-line. But if I hold boat fast for a few moments, the canoe normally straightens out; and I could then pull it through. However, using this method in very swift current, we had to be careful.

This time I was standing on large rocks near the water's edge, fifty feet upstream of the boat, with my bow line stretched out completely - as usual. Jenny shoved the canoe out of the eddy and into the fast flowing water - with too much force.

The results were disastrous.

With a shove that hard, the bow sliced into the swift current too deeply. The fast flowing water caught the boat obliquely, and the force on my line was unimaginable. It pulled me off my feet, dragged me across the rocks, swamped the boat and rolled it upside down, and ripped the lines from my grasp.

The next long moments found us both running along the shoreline as fast as we could, trying to catch up with canoe - drifting upside down in the middle of the river. Eventually the current slowed, and we were able keep pace with the boat while trotting, and then walking. This gave us the time we needed to do something.

Right away Jenny started asking me to let her swim out to the boat, and swim it ashore. "I'll go get it. I can do it!" I was extremely reluctant, but figured her chances were better than mine, since she was wearing her life jacket - much too small to fit me. I had left mine in the boat, since it made me sweat too much wearing it while warping upstream, as I had been doing. She was a pretty good swimmer, so I allowed: "Ok, give it a try."

Jenny flung herself into the water, wearing her bomber hat and shoes, and swam out to the middle. But she found herself downstream of the boat. (Lesson learned: when swimming into a river intent on catching a boat, start parallel to the boat, not downstream thinking it will catch up with you.) Realizing her error, she changed her mind and started swimming back to shore. But soon exhaustion overcame her - then a feeling of panic. Fifteen feet from shore she started hollering, "help! .. I need help!"

I knew that if I jumped in to save her, then I would not have the strength to swim back out and save the canoe also. I called to her to keep swimming for shore; that she was doing fine - which indeed she was. Within minutes she crawled onto dry land.

Every second counted. Not far downstream was a large set of rapids spanning the width of the river, and below that was half-a-mile of even more serious rapids. This was my one and only chance to reclaim the canoe. If it went over the rapids, it might get jammed in the rocks mid-river, and mangled. And no doubt we would lose our gear. Our very lives hung on the moment. Without maps and camping gear, our chances of getting out to civilization would be questionable.

The instant I saw that she was safe I leapt into the water myself, fully clothed, shoes and all. (The shoes were light weight, chosen for such an emergency). I swam out to the middle of the river. However, I made the same mistake, finding myself ten yards downriver of the upturned canoe. I swam upriver to the boat; and by then I was completely out of breath. But one look downstream at the rapids quickly revitalized me. They were getting closer. I had no time to loose. Holding onto the bow, I started swimming for the opposite shore, which was closer. And also the wind was blowing the boat in that direction.

Every now and then I reached down with my foot to see whether I could touch bottom yet. Then before long I was standing safely waist deep. It really could have been a Hollywood movie, the rapids were that close.

Rolling the boat back upright required a great deal of force. The canoe was surprising stable upside down, and the heavy gear bags were holding it down. I started bailing, and again I was surprised at how long this took.

Jenny hollered over asking if she should swim across. This was of course ridiculous. She felt panicky, being over there by herself. I told her no, I would paddle over to her side.

Eventually I bailed enough water so that I could drag the canoe part-way out of the water. Then I rolled it 90-degrees and dumped out most of the remaining water.

I grabbed the camera bag to get a picture of the canoe with all the gear bags hanging out from their cords. I pulled the camera from its "waterproof" bag sopping wet. The stowbag was old and no longer waterproof.

One by one I lifted the gear bags hastily back into the boat, put the boat back in the water, and easily paddled it across the river to Jenny. Along the way, I could now see that the current had slowed markedly just before the rapids because the rapids were holding the river back, somewhat.

Once on Jenny's side we pulled the canoe out of the water and spent an hour-and-half drying everything in the glorious sunshine - including the open camera (I had poured water out of the film canister). Most of our home-made stowbags had leaked. They were old, and I had broken my own rule not to bring used gear on a long trip. The sleeping quilt stowbag, the sleeping pads stowbag, Jenny's clothing bag - they all had leaked. The shotgun in its home-made neoprene stowbag was fine.

Missing were one sponge and two pairs of socks that we had been drying. I debated hiking down river looking for them, but Jenny said they weren't worth it; and I agreed. Little did I realize, quite yet, that my rain parka was also missing. I would have definitely gone downstream looking for that. But I did not realize it was missing until we were much further along. I had been wearing the parka that morning, and while lining I had overheated, so had simply stowed it in the boat, "securely" tucked under one of the stowbags, without actually attaching it to the canoe, or putting it away properly inside a dry bag.

We learned many lessons that day:

• While warping, keep the boat out of very fast moving water - period.
• When warping or lining, wear or carry the life jacket.
• Carry an emergency signaling device in a zippered pocket of the life jacket.
• Hold the warping lines several yards from their ends, to allow for some give, if needed.
• If the bow-line starts to capsize the boat, let go of it, and hang on to the stern line. Perhaps the boat will then simply swing around.
• Attach all gear to the boat. When the sponges are not in use, cram them under the seats.
• Use new stowbags made of quality waterproof materials.

We needed a better way to secure the gear in the boat, so it could survive swamping without everything coming apart. Both the bow and stern need an attachment point down near the waterline, for use when warping. Except the bow is always smashing into rocks. Our current attachment points for warping - the actual bow and stern - are much too high, which causes the boat to tip. We cannot attach the lines like Mason shows, underneath, because we're constantly dragging the boat over rocks. Dragging a canoe over rocks is much faster and less strenuous than portaging. Let the boat do the work, but the boat has to be tough.

We set off again at 10:30 am, and worked our way back upriver, paddling to the other side just below the troublesome rapids. After warping along that side, we eventually reached the next lake (Lake-117). The wind was strong from the north, requiring us to stick to the west bank. And we crossed many bays in sometimes gnarly seas. But the sun was out in full force, and this certainly brightened our day; that, and the reassurance that we had the canoe in our possession, along with the bulk of our gear. The strong tailwind helped us along considerably. These winds reminded me of my many years of paddling Baja, with its equally strong tailwinds.

Where the lake narrows, we noted a small building of some kind on the opposite bank - like a hut but more sterile - probably government, or perhaps a winter trapping hut. Rounding the corner to the right we stopped for a hot cuppa and a pot of instant refried beans. Some old cans lay scattered about, suggesting that some slob had camped here long ago (likely out of Baker Lake hamlet on snowmobile). A couple miles further we came to a mountain-sized pile of rocks, standing as a sentinel at the lake's inlet.

Rounding the sentinel we paddled up the next segment of the Meadowbank. The channel was wide and sometimes rocky. Again the wind was strong, but now we were paddling west-northwest, meaning a strong headwind component. We negotiated a number of rocky rapids and finally reached the next lake (Lake-119). There we paddled across to the left bank and made camp at 7 pm. The sky had been mostly clear all day, but toward the end of the day we could see a system moving in.

Throughout the day, as we paddled along, I had left the camera sitting on the bags of gear. Every part of the camera that would open, I had opened to the sun and air, for drying. Every few hours I installed the batteries and tested the camera's electronic functions. The camera worked a little better each time. By evening it was almost back to normal, thanks to the purity of the Meadowbank's water and its apparent lack of conductivity.

Camp 33

Camp 33, 34: Map

Day 34

August 18

We awoke early to heavy rain and wind from the south. Rain all morning and into the afternoon. Tent-bound for the day. Since Jenny and I make most of our expedition clothing, it was an easy matter to make a make-shift rain parka for me, from the tent's groundsheet. We used needle and thread; and we seam sealed it with duct tape. I called it my "Capote."

More rain and strong wind all afternoon and though the night.

Day 35

August 19

Awoke to strong wind from the west. The clouds were starting to break up, but lake was white-capped and we were afraid it looked like another weather-bound day. But later in the morning the wind began to diminish.

I put a roll of film in the camera this morning and it's taking pictures again.

We packed up and set off at 10:30 am into a headwind and considerable chop. The boat vaulted up into the air and slammed down into each trough. Three miles of this and we rounded the corner to the left and got the headseas off the bow. That, and the wind was diminishing further. The day was definitely improving.

We crossed an eighth mile wide gap and rounded a whale-shaped island. In the lake's southernmost portion we had to stop and climb a hill for a look around, to verify our location. The light was very flat, due to a low and dark cloud cover. This made it difficult to judge distances to various shorelines and islands. Normally I judge distance by definition - how well a shoreline renders. The more detail I can see, I know the shore is closer.

We made our way southwest to the end of the lake and there I waded the canoe 50 yards up a set of rapids and into the next lake (Lake-122). I was trying to do Jenny a favor, keeping her feet dry today for once, but somewhere along the way she stumbled and went into the water with both feet, mid-calf. Still, she did not have to wade the boat today, and this was a bit of relief for her.

At the south end of this smallish lake are three small islands shown on the map. In reality these are a bit of a maze to get through. Another bit of wading and then midway along the next small lake is a line of rocks stretching all the way across, with lots of open spaces, and one of these we managed to paddle through. This too us to the final set of rapids comprising the outlet of Lake 127. These rapids we warped on the right bank, with some wading. Here we saw seven muskoxen on the shoreline hill. Surprisingly, the Meadowbank River is still fairly sizable; nothing like its former self, of course, but still flowing voluminously. Lake-127 is very large and surprisingly deep all along its length, at least where we paddled today. We had a very light south wind. We held to the west side, making long crossings point to point. The wind had calmed to almost nothing and the lake was flat - quite unusual for this trip, and a very nice change for us.

On this large lake we saw several loons, and we enjoyed watching their antics and listening to there calls. About half way along the main body of the lake we started trolling a lure; and went two or three miles until we caught a fish - a sixteen inch trout. The sky was black and was starting to let loose rain, so while Jenny donned her rain parka, I put on my new capote. It rained heavily for half an hour, and although my capote was noisy, it didn't leak a drop and was surprisingly warm.

We paddled a three-quarter-mile gap south-southeast to the east bank, and then continued to where the lake narrows. And there we made camp at 6:30 pm in a light rain and a heavy swarm of black flies.

Once again we have a large selection of camp clothing hanging from the tent ceiling clothesline. I cleaned the fish and cut it into three pieces. Jenny steamed it, then we pulled the bones out, practically in one piece. The meat and skin we added to a pot of rice with salt and red pepper flakes. It made a wonderful meal. The rain stopped and the world went calm and silent, which for us is a real novelty. The sky is still overcast.

Camp 35

Camp 35: Map

Day 36

August 20

Tremendous rain during the night. It filled the canoe with three or four inches of water. We remained snug and dry in the tent. Woke up to a partly clearing sky, with 15 knots of north-northwest wind. Set off at 8 am and paddled choppy seas with a quartering tailwind. The map shows an island in the middle. We went around the east side only to discover that the island is a peninsula. Paddling back around the island to the other side would have been a serious undertaking in the strong winds, so we landed ashore and dragged the canoe over the boggy tundra thirty yards. Launched again in the shallows.

In another mile we needed to cross the channel and so we did, but the seas were rough and conditions quite marginal. We were glad to reach the other side. The wind was so strong we could only paddle beam-on, so we had to take quite a diagonal track.

Now on the windward shore the seas were generally lower. We followed the western bank all the way south to the end of the lake. The map shows a hard right and a pinched-off section leading to another lake. But at the south end of the present lake there was no hard right turn to be make. The lake just ended. It seemed that I had made a navigational error. We landed ashore, climbed the rise, and saw the next lake where it should be - no navigational error after all.

The winds had built to incredible intensities, and the gusts were blowing the tops off of the waves. Looking back we could hardly believe we had been paddling out there. The sea-state was too rough to continue, so at 10:30 am we made camp on the lichen tundra. There were three caribou right across from camp. Before setting up camp we needed to dry all our gear bags. The strong wind and several minutes of warm sun dried everything quickly.

We spent most of the rest of the day tent bound, listening to the rain hammering the tent and the rain blasting it. Late in the afternoon I did a quick round of fishing and we both picked some berries, but within ten minutes our hands had become too cold, and the next cloud burst drove us back into the tent.

Camp 36: Map

Day 37

August 21

The wind blew hard all night, laced with occasional rain. It was the kind of morning when we were not quite sure if we should attempt a bit of mileage or stay in bed. the air was cold (we could see our breath) and windy with occasional rain. But we decided to give it a go. We carried the canoe, one of us at each end, to the next paddleable water and this turned out to be much further than it had appeared. Carrying a canoe, one person at each end, is the most awkward method. That, and we mistakenly left our pack frames in the canoe when we went back for the gear. So we had to carry all that in our arms as well; one-quarter mile. Once at the lake we set off, and paddled with the wind almost vicious in its strength. We soon found ourselves crabbing along a lee shore, trying to gain some offing. Along here were some beautiful little hills that looked like they would make exemplary camping.

Rounding the headland, we enjoyed a bit of tailwind to the far end of the lake. The map showed this connected to a larger lake via a channel, but the channel was dry rocks. We portaged the left side. I carried the canoe and Jenny carried a packload while steadying the back of the canoe against the strong wind. Then I returned for our second pack, loaded with the remainder of our gear. A short lake and a short portage took us to the large Lake-129. We paddled westward along the north shore a couple of miles, admiring a long line of pretty pink granite rocks piled up along the shore by the ice.

We had to paddle nearly to the back of the bay because of the strong north-northwest wind. Then we paddled to the point and made a beeline for the right side of an island - almost a mile of open water in rough seas. As we approached the shore we could see antlers sticking up behind the rocks. Then the caribou stood up and looked at us for a short while, before trotted off. He was a magnificent animal, very healthy looking. Rounding into the lee we stepped ashore; I needed a better look at the mainland shore ahead to double check my navigation. We paddled across to the mainland, landed ashore, climbed a very short rise, and saw that we had landed in right place to begin our route over the hight of land (continental divide). 64°57'14.2"N 96°35'39.0"W.

And with that, we were finished with the Meadowbank River - 137 miles of it, in 8 days. It had proven to be a magnificent waterway.

Back Map-66A

A short portage took us to a small lake which we paddled to its west end. A quarter mile portage west took us to a second lake. Here again I carried the canoe, Jenny a large pack, and I then returned for the second pack. We paddled the length of the second lake southwesterly.

At the far shore we shouldered our packs with all our gear and hiked a quarter mile to the height of land (continental divide), gaining very little elevation. At this point we were about 100 meters (328 feet) above the mouth of the Meadowbank River, where we had left the Back River. And where the water had been flowing toward the Arctic Ocean, here it flowed toward Hudson Bay.

Reaching the Continental Divide, the Meadowbank River is behind us, and the pressure is off. We're enjoying the trip to the max!

We hiked down to the lake another quarter mile, left our packs and returned for the canoe. I carried the canoe while Jenny steadied the stern in the strong wind. We paddled the length of the small lake, made a short portage and then paddled due south on a slightly larger lake.

The wind was strong now, and very cold; but from this point the rain held off. As we Landed ashore, a seagull started pestering us with strafing runs. This normal behavior for these birds - they are extremely territorial - but this bird's behavior was a bit obnoxious and my thoughts turned to the shotgun - however momentarily.

A short portage and a short lake brought us to the crux of this section: a two-mile portage, slightly downhill. We carried our packloads the first mile and cached them prominently on a rock, then returned for the canoe. We tried both of us carrying the canoe overhead, with Jenny at the stern using my foam portaging yoke, and me at the bow. It worked great for Jenny, but poorly for me. When I lowered the canoe to a comfortable position, I could see only two feet in front of me. So I shifted back to my solo carry position and carried the boat for a third of a mile to a place in the creek we were following, where the boat would float a ways. Jenny waded it a couple hundred yards and then I had the great idea of simply dragging the canoe over the tundra.

like a sled dog in its traces we hiked across the landscape. This enabled us to portage almost as fast as we could paddle, which was a favorable situation because the final section of our route entailed several miles of portaging altogether.

This approach was out of necessity. I was pretty tired of carrying it; not only because of its 80 pounds, but because of the strong wind and the rough terrain. The ground wasn't rocky rough, but hummocky, boggy, and generally uneven ground. Not all the way, but certainly a fair percentage. I set up the bow line for a two-person tow-line and we easily dragged the boat down to our packs. We decided we could wear our packs while dragging the canoe, and this was a major breakthrough because it meant we could do the portage in one go. Still carrying my pack, I shortened the traces and dragged the canoe solo for the second mile while Jenny carried her packload.

Soon we reached the next lake. The wind blew us across easily, but before reaching the outlet we paddled to the right bank and made camp on the rise at 6 pm. The reason we stopped half-way along the lake was because Jenny was beginning to flag, with numbingly cold, wet feet all day. Had I known, I would have stopped and made camp long ago, but she said nothing.

Camp 37

Inside the tent I put her numb feet on my stomach, and we lay beneath the quilt in all our warm clothes - after removing all our wet ones. In about twenty minutes we had her back up to operating temperature. She made wonderfully warming hot cuppas and a pot of corn pasta, culminating a strenuous but very interesting and rewarding day. Despite the foul weather we had come quite a ways today, and are pleased with our progress. We are learning to live with the conditions up here, just as the caribou do.

Camp 37: Map

Day 38

August 22

The wind died during the night and the sky cleared. I looked out at midnight to see the full sweep of stars overhead, the first I had seen on the trip, other than the planet Venus. The sky was a deep twilight - not completely dark but a bit of luminosity on the horizon. And quite chilly.

Instead of loading the canoe, we loaded the pack frames, and at 8 am started our day by dragging the canoe over the tundra an eighth of a mile southwest to a lake. At the lower end of the lake we dragged, waded, paddled and scraped our way two miles into a large Lake Lake-94. Throughout the day we saw numerous caribou on the surrounding hillsides.

Sled-dogging across the tundra

We paddled the right bank of Lake-94 southeast to the narrows, and then in a moderate north wind we followed the left bank to a large island, then south to a peninsula. By now the northwest wind was strong; the fetch was considerable and so were the waves. We struggled along the south shore, paddling for all we were worth to get into the narrows ahead before the seas forced us ashore. A few times I thought we were going to have to land and make camp. We reached the narrows and found a line of rocks across the gap blocking further progress. So we dragged the boat over the tundra, along the left bank, around the corner a quarter mile, and put in at the next lake. From here, rocks blocked the way in many places, and we had to get out and portage - usually it was dragging but later on we switched to wading. The excitement was starting to build because we were getting close to the Thelon River, something we had been looking forward to for many weeks, and especially so in the last several days.

In one of the larger lakes I decided to try some fishing. I threw out the lure and it snagged the bottom. We backed up and retrieved the lure, but the line was pretty shot. A six foot piece broke off in my hands. I had more line, but it was buried in the gear somewhere. As a last resort, I tied the rest of the remaining line directly to the lure, Ol' Joe, and five minutes later I was reeling in a fish. When I got it to the boat I saw it was a beautiful trout, fairly large - perhaps twenty-five inches - and he had swallowed Ol' Joe. I couldn't lift the fish into the boat by the line because I didn't trust the line. I didn't want to break it and loose my best lure and a beautiful fish. After a minute or two of struggling with the fish I managed to slip my finger behind a gill-plate, and lift the fish quickly into the stern of the canoe, where I gave it a few quick bashes with my paddle.

We did another portage, and then at the next open water I cleaned the fish and cut it into three pieces for steaming. The lake was open for one-and-half miles, and where it bent around to the right, Jenny started wading in earnest and got us through several rocky sections. This lake has twin outlets, and we took the first one. Some wading, some paddling, more wading, and finally dragging. From here the river dropped into a deep ravine on its way to the Thelon River, now less than a mile away. To facilitate dragging the boat we stayed high on the tundra and paralleled the river.

First view of the Thelon River

Before long we got our first view of the Thelon. This was a momentous occasion, indeed. We dragged all the way down the hill to the left of a rocky butte, and arrived at the Thelon River at 4:30 pm.

We reach the Thelon River.

By coincidence, this place was where we had made our final camp on the Thelon two years ago. The ground was extremely wet from the recent rain, and water was trickling and pooling everywhere. And the area had been trashed with litter - most likely from locals picnicking, fishing and hunting. We cannot imagine people littering like that. It seemed a lack of respect for the land. We are very careful not to leave litter behind.

Several Inuit boats raced past, the first people we had seen in almost six weeks. Some waved. We put the canoe in the mighty Thelon - here a rushing torrent, wide and deep - and paddled nearly five miles to a tall island in the middle of the river. And there on its downriver gravel bar we made camp at 5 pm. We were very glad to have the fish for dinner; it was flavorful and satisfying.

Camp 38, Thelon River

Camp 38: Map

Day 39

August 23

We didn't sleep well because of the excitement of reaching the Thelon River and the prospects of getting into the hamlet of Baker lake the next day. Also, the temperature was quite low, the type that beckons the canoeist with the reminder of season's end. We got up at 4 am and found frost on the outside of the tent. Made cuppas and a large pot of corn meal mush, and promptly ate it all. Packed up, then hiked up to the top of the island 100 feet high or so, where we had a "Sunrise Service."

This prominent hill in the middle of the Thelon River is a focal point of the landscape for hundreds of miles in all directions. It was a ancient sacred site, embellished with a few old inukshuks.

Here we gave thanks for this incredible adventure. For the tens of thousands of caribou we had seen, the dozens of musk ox - including the one standing outside our tent's doorway one morning when we awoke. For the many beautiful wolf, especially the one that we nearly ran over as it was swimming across the river. It returned to shore then followed us downstream for 15 minutes, in a friendly sort of way like an enormous white dog.

We gave thanks for our wonderful time in the Barrenlands. In their harshness they have so far managed to rebuff civilization's intrusion, along with its associated development and ecological mayhem. Why we love the Barrenlands so, because of the profound solitude and purity of nature. A small place on this big planet that mankind has not yet despoiled. And we were thankful for the connection with this land engendered on this trip, through toil, danger, and privation. And for the utter joy of being alive in what seemed like the highest possible sense.

We gave thanks for all the lessons that we were taught throughout our journey. Lessons of patience, persistence, and perseverance; of tolerance and acceptance; the calling forth of personal strength; and just the sheer joy of being alive on a higher level, for living simply yet fully. The ancient inukshuks spoke to us strongly of all these gifts, as though a symbol of all these qualities. Hearty souls who have been here before us, playing out their lives on a higher level, and fading to obscurity. It was a profound and tearful moment.

"At the top of the island we had a "Sunrise Service." We gave thanks to the Creator for such a wonderful trip, for the chance to experience the Barrenlands still in a pristine condition, and for all the lessons throughout our journey. Lessons of patience, persistence, and perseverance; of tolerance and acceptance; the calling forth of personal strength; and just the sheer joy of being alive on a higher level, for living simply yet fully. It was a profound and tearful moment."

Sunrise over the Thelon river.

On the way back down the hill, Jenny picked a selection of tundra herbs for her potpourri bag to take home as a sacred smudge.

We set off at 5:30 am. The river was covered with "smoke," or fog. The sky was mostly clear except for the storm front moving in from the south. The front quickly moved overhead and brought strong south wind. Soon we found ourselves battling fierce headwinds. And as the morning wore on, even fiercer headwinds.

An Inuit motorboat came speeding upriver, as though the river's powerful current did not exist. At the sight of us, the helmsman steered straight for us. Reaching us, he cut his big outboard engine, and we found ourselves gunwale to gunwale with three native fellows who had nothing to say. "Where'er you going?" I asked. "Up the river, hunting caribou. We need meat." I thought of the three caribou we had seen not far back, browsing the tundra nearly at the water's edge and watching as we paddled past. Easy targets for these hunters. I hoped the animals moved away before they were shot. Nevertheless I wished these friendly hunters good luck, and we parted company. Why is it that whenever one wins, the other must lose? A precious life becomes a precious supply of meat or fish. One life lost is another life gained. There is no life without death. A law of nature, not to be taken lightly. Respect the death and cherish the life.

We passed by a few fish camps along the river, less than half a dozen altogether. White wall tents, a few possessions outside, usually an outboard tied to shore - but in one instance a 4-wheeler parked outside, and no boat. Those vehicles can go most anywhere over the tundra, giving the Inuit quite a range from home base. Driving would be freedom for them. Freedom from the cramped confines of home in Baker Lake during the long, frozen winter. What a joy it must be.

The wind was trying to rip us from our grasp on the water. We paddled at the utmost of our strength, not for forward progress so much, but just to remain on the river. Thankfully, we found very little chop, such was the strength of the current. The river was high, due to the recent torrents of rain no doubt, and this made it easier for us because it reduced the number of exposed rocks and gravel bars that we had to struggle around.

The river made a hard left turn, and I remembered here, two years ago, when we had followed the left bank into a section of rapids and had to make a long section of lining, traipsing over the steep rock escarpment. I remembered that the right bank had looked much easier, so today I steered for that.

As we paddled right bank, strong wind was doing its best to force us away, out into the river. The bank was festooned with rapids, but by staying out just enough, we avoided them. And soon we were into placid water once again, downstream of the bend.

Then a large gravel bar and a line of rapids between it and the left bank. I decided to run the rapids, even though I could not see a way through them. The noise they were making was ominous, but I decided to chance it. I held the boat diagonal to the current so I could shift quickly left or right as needed. Then just before going over the rapids I experienced a moment of vertigo, caused by the water swirling everywhere, and no doubt by the strong wind. I closed my eyes and relaxed, in five seconds the vertigo cleared, I opened my eyes and suddenly we were upon the rapids. I steered for a slot between large rocks, paddling hard to maneuver the boat into position, and we sluiced safely through.

Reaching the estuary flats we seemed to struggle on forever, holding close to the left bank, watching for the final bend and a glimpse of town. Actually there are two bends. We rounded the first one and pointed the canoe straight into the wind, which here was whipping a severe chop, with Jenny launching into the air with each crest, then slapping down into the succeeding trough. The canoe shudders, its speed drops, and we power ahead into the next wave. Glancing ashore I see that our speed is minimal. Half an hour of travel for a pitiful distance. Basically we're going nowhere. And the cold is beginning to penetrate deeply. Jenny is on the verge of hypothermia and needs to be inside the tent. At 12 noon we land ashore and search the soggy tundra for a suitable campsite. We pitch the tent and she crawls inside. I secure the fly against the powerful wind with a number of large rocks, collect water for cuppas and cooking, organize the canoe, then crawl into the tent myself. Soon we are warm and comfortable, though disappointed at not reaching town. At least, we reason, we are within dragging distance, if it comes to that. This was yet another lesson in patience. We were not all that hungry, thanks to the wonderfully satisfying fish. Mainly we looked forward to showers - our last had been in Yellowknife, 40 days ago.

All afternoon and most of the night we watch the weather, waiting for a lull.

Camp 39, Baker Lake

Camp 39: Map

Day 40

August 24

My capote, made just a few days ago, after losing my rain parka.

We reach the hamlet of Backer Lake.

The next morning the lull comes. We eagerly set off at 5 am and paddle through the weakening shreds of the storm. An hour later we reach the airport and land ashore at a small park-like area equipped with a large stone inukshuck. We lift and drag the boat to higher ground and unload it for the last time. We have reached journey's end.

We photograph our pile of gear. It is small for such an undertaking. Part of the reason for our success: no over-burdening. We photograph our pile of trash just to show that, indeed, we had carried it out. Four one-liter fuel cans, and plastic food packaging mostly, along with what trash we have not been able to burn. (we burn paper only.) All this we then deposited in the park's liter can. I removed all the rigging from the canoe, the lines used to secure the gear, water bottles, map case, and bailer. Then we loaded the two frame packs; they easily held all our gear. Leaving the canoe and three paddles, we hiked to the airport.

At the terminal we arranged a flight out, and checked-in our luggage. Jenny asked the flight reservation clerk if she knew anyone who wanted to buy a canoe and paddles for $100. The woman said Yes, she did. She paid Jenny and said her husband will pick it up.

We walk into town.

Soapstone carvings made by local Inuit.

With several hours to spare, we walked into town and bought some snacks from the Northern Store, and visited the Jessie Oonark Centre where we bought a trip souvenir: a five-inch tall soapstone sculpture made by Barnabus Arnasungaaq, a local Inuit, who named it "Dancing Man".

The flight home? It was a good opportunity to plan our next paddling trip to the Barrenlands.

(Flew Kivalliq Air standby ($178 Can each) Baker Lake to Rankin Inlet; departed Baker Lake at 4:05 pm, arrive Rankin 4:55 pm. Flew First Air ($815 Can each) depart Rankin 7:20 pm arrive Yellowknife 8:16 pm.)

1:250K Maps We Used: Camps 1-5b: 76C. Camp 5c: 76B. Camps 6-10: 76G. Camps 11-13b: 76H. Camps 14a-16: 66E. Camps 17-22b: 66F. Camps 23, 24, 26, 27: 66G. Camp 25: 66J. Camp 28: 66I. Camps 29-31, 33-35: 66H. Camp 32: 56E. Camps 36-39 66A.

Topographic Canada Don't click on anything, just scroll-in and drag. Excellent resource.

Back_River_(Nunavut) wikipedia

Travelers Take Adventure to the Limit