Kasba Lake to Baker Lake Hamlet
Copyright © 2001 - 2024 Ray Jardine
Map (Open with google Earth or CalTopo)
Preamble
If my web site has a singular purpose, it is not to say "Look what I've done." Rather, it is more like: look at some of the many possibilities life has to offer! Look at some of the options I have chosen, see how they have blessed my life, and then consider using my basic philosophy of choosing possibilities for yourself. Make choices outside the box of so-called "normal" thinking - choices that will elevate you in certain beneficial ways.
For after all, life is for living! And my basic philosophy of living is unrestrained by the words "I can't." And by the belief "I can't."
The only limitations are those we place on ourselves. So let's dispense with them! This is a web site without limits, and I hope that some of my "no-limits" lifestyle will inspire a few readers. That's the main purpose of my web presence here: to encourage people to do more of what they really can, and to be more like who they really are.
This story is about our recent canoe trip on the Kazan River. But of course, most people are not interested in canoeing the Barrens of Sub-Arctic Canada. However, I wrote the story mainly for the energy it entails. I wanted to show how Jenny and I took a month off to discover more of the best life has to offer. I tried to convey the idea of dragging ourselves from our "comfortable" and "secure" little gold fish bowls of existence and setting out into the natural world on some real, physical adventure. For we have found that we cannot live life to its fullest in a house or office, or while driving a car, watching TV, participating in newsgroups or perusing the Internet, nor flipping through the pages of various trendy outdoor magazines. We have stopped searching for fulfillment in those places - long ago. Instead, we look for fulfillment in nature, and invariably we find it there.
Day 1
2001-07-10 - Kazan River trip
This is the story of our canoe trip down the Kazan River, summer 2001, paddling 560 miles in 25 days Across the Barrenlands of sub-arctic Canada. A key feature of these trips is the urge to explore and discover, traveling day after day without seeing another person. The beauty of the Barrenlands, its lakes and rivers are incomparable. We love the feeling of openness that goes on and on for hundreds of miles. The feeling that we have practically the whole river - all 560-miles of it - to ourselves. Every stopping place is new, different and fresh. What a privilege to have so much land to explore and enjoy.
Our Kazan River trip began with a three hour flight from Winnipeg, northwards over flat, tree and lake-studded land and an almost complete absence of civilization. Finally arriving at the Kasba Lake Lodge at 10 am, we stepped off the plane and reveled in the phenomenally fresh and crisp air.
The remote fishing resort Kasba Lake Lodge features little more than a main dining house surrounded by a modest retinue of rustic cabins. The friendly staff recognized us right away and greeted us cheerfully. For in fact we had spent a week here the previous year, waiting in vain for favorable weather for a trip down the Kazan River. But for various reasons, we had arrived much too late that year, and the weather had already switched into early-winter mode with the prospects of stormy and frigid conditions. Realizing the futility, and in fact the danger of beginning an extended trip so late in the season, we had returned to Arizona with plans to try again the following year - which this now was.
Outside the boat shed we found our familiar Old Town canoe waiting for us, so we carried it to the water's edge and loaded our supply of food and gear, which we had brought with us. The staff generously offered us a free lunch, but having endured a week of storms here the previous year we were not about to waste one minute of this gloriously warm weather. So with due thanks we purchased four liters of stove fuel, along with a pair of Nunavut fishing licenses at $42.50 Canadian each, and at 11:30 am set off into the great unknown.
Kasba Lake is one of many hundreds of extra-large lakes dotting the far north. And like its cousins, it is so large that standing on one side, you cannot see the other. The sky meets the horizon as though you were looking out across an ocean void. Our first task was to paddle some 25 miles of this lake to its outlet, and the beginning of the mighty Kazan River.
The Old Town canoe was somewhat smaller than the Colemans we had paddled on our two previous trips. It wasn't as roomy and did not afford as much freeboard. A 10 knot breeze was throwing up a bit of chop out of the Southeast, and the canoe did not afford quite the security we were used to. Strange though the canoe felt, we still found the paddling natural and instinctual. Pulling out of the small, protected cove, I surprised myself by making a couple of corrective J strokes without thinking. What a contrast with our first couple of paddling trips - in Upper state New York and on the Thelon River, when we experienced grave difficulties trying to make the canoe go even reasonably straight. And how humorous to think that we had paddled the entire Thelon river stern-first, because we had been unable to determine which end of the Coleman was meant to be the bow.
About a mile into our journey we filled our water bottles directly from the lake, since we had decided against bringing a water filter on this trip.
Keeping generally to the west bank, we spent most of the afternoon paddling point-to-point off shore. And thankfully by the time we reached the island crossing, where we needed to cross the lake, we had gained more confidence in the canoe.
Two miles out onto the lake we reached a large, low lying island (seen in the photo above), and this we rounded to its southeast. Then another half mile of open water led to another island, where we stopped in its lee for a shore break.
We finished the lake crossing with another mile's paddling due north to the "East Side Esker," and just around the corner we found some very pretty campsites. But wanting to get closer to the lake's outlet, we paddled on, now fairly dragging ourselves along. About half a mile from the outlet, fatigue suggested we pull into a small, sandy bay, and at 8:30 pm we made camp on its south side. Unfortunately the campsite was very well protected from the wind - meaning that the buzzing hoards of black flies and mosquitoes descended on us in their tens of thousands. For a while I tried eradicating them with an electric Mosquito swatter that I had brought as a test. With it I worked for 15 minutes and even though I was killing bugs by their hundreds, I might as well have been sticking my hand into the lake with the intent of making a hole in the water. The bugs were incredibly numerous. Whimsically, Jenny suggested that this was part of our initiation ritual - if we could survive this, we would be fine. I crawled into the tent with several hundred black flies in pursuit, and spent the next half hour eradicating and removing my assailants from our living quarters. Jenny cooked corn pasta outside, protected in her bug clothing, and of course when she finally came into the tent we had to begin another major bug clean-up.
Since we could not dispose of the electric mosquito swatter, it served as useless baggage for the remainder of the trip, such is the price of experimentation.
We had drank quite a lot of water while paddling, but still were fairly dehydrated. And despite the day's excellent progress, the exertion had us feeling rather like neophytes. Our arms, shoulders, necks and hands were quite tired from the unaccustomed paddling. We had brought only two water bottles, one quart and one half gallon, but now realized that we could have used an additional 2-1/2 gallon collapsible water jug (or even a 2 gallon water bottle) for camp use. When captive inside the tent by the bugs, we were loathe to go outside to fetch more water, and this meant more dehydration.
We were not accustomed to paddling below tree line, and the thick stands of black spruce, white spruce, alder and willow thickets seemed almost claustrophobic. They are very pretty and scenic, but to our minds, which were more accustomed to the Arctic where there are no trees, they were not ideal for exploring inland, nor for camping. Also the tree's diminutive height of only 10 to 15 feet often confused the mind when trying to judge distance. Nevertheless, we were in awe of the beauty of the land, the clean, crisp, fragrant and pungent air. In fact the fragrance was almost overpowering; so strong it almost gave us headaches. The lake water tasted a bit like lake water, but was clear, clean and cold.
Talk about a sudden transition in lifestyle! The moment we had sauntered down from the Kasba Lake Lodge to the canoe and began loading it, we had switched into trip mode. After a couple miles of paddling we joked that this is what life in the wilds is all about - a complete focus on the goal. Yes, paddling 'til your arms feel like they are noodling. But the sense of freedom was something phenomenal. Nothing but us and the pristine wilderness. Living on the ragged edge. Jenny commented that when taking a deep breath of this clean and crisp air you could almost feel the life force surging back into your lungs, unlike in the stuffy airports, motel rooms, and cities.
Day's mileage:
Day 2
2001-07-11
During the night a light rain fell for a short while; otherwise the ambience always sounded like rain due to the bugs hammering incessantly against the tent, like miniature vampires crazed to get at us. The trees "protecting" our campsite were waving in the wind, and beyond them the lake was rough.
The morning's weather did not seem altogether favorable. That, and my stiff muscles had me feeling less than enthusiastic for departure. Jenny wanted to move on, and the constant drone of bugs had me at least wanting to find a camp with more wind. So I donned my bugwear and walked down to the lake's edge, where I found fresh caribou tracks. Scouting the shoreline a quarter mile ahead, I studied the sea state and determined that we could safely, if cautiously, paddle on.
We loaded the boat and shoved off at 10 am, and as we turned in to the river's entrance, we said farewell to Kasba Lake and hello to the Kazan River. This seemed like a major accomplishment in the wake of the previous summer's rebuff. The wind was blowing strongly again, and now wrestled the boat in every direction but straight ahead, requiring us to take a very conservative approach. Accordingly, we soon found ourselves wading the shoreline, pleased that our new home-made waders were working very well. The canoe had come equipped with a spray cover, and we tried to secure it; But it was old and stiff, and did not fit. Obviously it had shrunk, not having been used in a long while.
The river was voluminous and swift, and we could not line boat because the water averaged knee deep at the bank and the shoreline was thick with alder. These thickets made it impossible to walk along shore, especially now at high water. The river was high on it banks and positively gushing. This is usually considered to be the headwaters of the Kazan, although other smaller lakes drain into Kasba, meaning that here the river is already quite large, comparable to something like the Meadowbank.
For an hour and a half we mostly waded, sometimes paddling a short stretch, until coming to a long, curving left turn. Here the strong current jammed against us at the right bank. Very slowly and carefully we waded the deep shoreline. Jenny clung to the bow for safety to keep her from being swept away, while I clung to the canoe with one hand and the brush with the other. The prospects of portaging were anything but appealing due to the unrelenting thickets covering the steep hillside above; however ultimately we concluded that this was exactly what we must do.
The intimidating whitewater notwithstanding, we could have sluiced the next 1/8 mile in a scant couple of minutes. Tempting though that option was, it seemed risky for the likes of us, due to the river's high volume and rapid flow. No doubt more experienced canoeists would tackle such a challenge in a minute, but we were being extra cautious. And so with a great deal of effort we unloaded the boat by heaving our gear bags one at a time up the bank and onto the spongy, moss-covered slope. After no little effort we managed to wrestle the canoe out of the water, heaving it against the current which was trying its best to sweep it away. The hillside above was maybe 150 feet high and to our good fortune in this one place it had recently burned in a wildfire. Immediately to one side were the unburned alders and they looked impenetrable.
I scouted the hill by climbing to its top, where I arrived out of breath and now knowing the portage would be an undertaking. But at least I had found a line where we could drag the canoe between burnt trees. Returning to Jenny at water's edge I helped her finish unloading the boat, then we began dragging the canoe laboriously up the slope. I pulled the bow while Jenny shoved the stern. We pushed and shoved, heaved and grunted, sweated, switched positions and pushed and shoved some more, resting numerous times in between. Eventually persistence won over, and we gained the top. That done, we returned to our gear, loaded the frame packs, and lugged them and armloads of gear back to the top of the hill.
"The white man and the savage are but three short days apart, three days of cursing, crawling, doubt and woe."
-Robert Service
From the hilltop we continued with our gear along a lengthy, forested slope that paralleled the river and bypassed the rapids. Our head nets and bug clothing felt as hot and sweaty as a sauna, and seemed as claustrophobic as straight-jackets. Our heavy loads soon became excruciating to carry - both on the shoulders and in the arms. We were sweating profusely, the bugs were swarming, we were completely out of breath, and our hearts were pounding. I thought of a quote from a Robert Service poem: "The white man and the savage are but three short days apart, three days of cursing, crawling, doubt and woe." And here we were, only one day out and already feeling like savages.
Then we drug the canoe and backpacked our gear along the river and down to safe water. The time lost on the portage was easily recouped by paddling an extra hour before making our evening camp.
Reaching water's edge near the bottom of the rapids, we dropped our loads and returned with empty frame packs to collect the remainder of our gear. Now knowing the portage was do-able, on this second carry we determined to place our feet more carefully to avoid the continual stumbling on moss-hidden sticks and rocks, to walk more gracefully. That, and to take frequent rest stops. This soon had us feeling more in control. The second carry done, we returned for the canoe and dragged it over the moss and grass, down the slope to our pile of gear at river's edge.
Here it was on on only Day 2 of the trip, and we were already able to effect a portage with only two gear carries. So we enjoyed a nice rest and picnic on the rocks, feeling the pride of accomplishment for a job well and safely done. We were very glad we had not chanced the river, tempting though it had been, for the mere sake of expediency at the expense of safety.
During the lunch break we soaked the recalcitrant spray cover in the river for 20 minutes, hoping the water would soften and expand it. Indeed we were then able to stretch the cover over the canoe and snap it into place.
Below the final unwadable rapid we put the boat into the water, then waded it 100 yards to calm water at the edge of a small lake. A fishing skiff from Kasba Lake Lodge darted impatiently from one fishing hole to another, its occupants ignoring us. But as we passed them by, the guide waved hearty although his three clients never looked up. Cowering in the cold wind they were evidently not enjoying their taste of the wilderness.
We paddled into another lake running southeast and met headwinds so stiff that we could hardly paddle into them. So we waded the boat along shore, and this proved to be the quickest method under the circumstances.
Here we saw something that startled us to the core. It looked like a capsized fishing boat far out on the storm-tossed lake. Immediately we stopped wading and jumped into the canoe and started paddling furiously. Two thoughts came to our minds: Was it safe for us to venture out into the lake in such boisterous conditions? And should we unload our gear first to make room for the hapless fishermen? After a quick few words we decided to give it a try, but knew that we did not have time to unload the gear because the people in the cold water would need our help fast. So we wielded the paddles full tilt, amazed at how fast we were able to go, directly into the strong wind. Such is the power of adrenaline.
These huge lakes and vast distances can play tricks on the eyes. Much to our relief, as we drew somewhat nearer we saw that it was not a capsized boat after all, but two fishing skiffs moored incongruously out on the lake. On the opposite shore we could now see a small camp with a few tents.
We returned to our original side of the lake, and before long reached its outlet. Here we resumed following the river as it meandered hither and yon. At times we labored against stiff headwinds, at times were shoved along almost effortlessly by stiff tailwinds, and at times there was no wind at all.
Reaching the next lake we studied the map long and hard, but could not determine our location. We took bearings to the edges of islands. We climbed a couple of hills for a better view. Still nothing made sense. This was not good because we needed to find the lake's outlet. Fortunately we were able to read the terrain far ahead and the water all around us. That, and a bit of searching afloat kept us on track. When I say reading the terrain, I mean searching for a low notch in a distant tree line or a sloping hill that looked like it might lead to a notch. And by reading the water I mean looking for odd waves in the wave-strewn seas that indicated, however faintly, the river's channel and flow.
At one point we discovered a creature of some sort out in the middle of a lake, but for a long while we could not tell what it was. Repeatedly it went from nothing, to something quite large and dark. Distances playing tricks on the eyes again, and finally we realized it was a moose - swimming, then standing on a shoal. It remained in the water about half an hour, then swam ashore and disappeared into the brush.
This part of the river was most enjoyable; a nice current with a few fast portions, interspersed with small lakes in a strikingly beautiful setting. Truly we were starting to enjoy ourselves. The sky was still smudged over and we received a few dollops of rain. The wind calmed a bit and the bugs came out.
The camping hereabouts was very scarce, as willows, rocks, brush, swamps, and stunted tree thickets covered the banks. Several small hills set back in the forest would have made fair - if buggy - camping, but reaching them would have required considerable effort, carrying gear and boat. We would rather put that same effort into forward progress, so we pressed ahead into the late afternoon.
At 5:30 pm we found a decent spot for camping, 30 feet from water's edge and three feet up a rise on the hummocky tundra - in an area not protected by trees meaning that it was pleasantly open to the wind. Once we had settled into the tent, I pulled out both map and GPS, and plotted a position that indicated we had not come nearly as far as I had thought. This is why the map had made no sense; I had been looking in the wrong area. I was reminded of the need to study the map regularly throughout the day, to prevent losing our way.
Day's mileage:
Day 3
2001-07-12
Rain pummeled the tent fairly hard in the night, and we awoke to a gray morning. But the air was not so cold, and the wind was less than 5 knots. So we set off and followed the river as it meandered around a few large zigzags, and eventually in to another large lake. Here the wind picked up a bit. We paddled the right shore then hopped across to the outlet. Notable birds sighted today included a bald eagle and a swan.
Tabane Lake is festooned with islands of all shapes and sizes, and these require careful navigation with map and compass. Losing oneself in this giant maze would surely result in a great deal of searching and needless paddling, possibly several day's worth while trying to locate the outlet. The problem is that the landforms are fairly low-lying, they all look much the same, and from the vantage of a canoe they all tend to blend together. We threaded among the islands strictly by compass, taking bearings off the map, and were quite pleased when, without any mix-ups, we arrived at the lake's outlet.
A ways further we came to a set of rapids, and here we landed ashore. Jenny watched the canoe while I scouted along the left bank, through a tangled burn area. Now knowing that we could safely proceed, I returned to the canoe and we waded the shallow rapids along the left bank. In a short while we came to a second section of rapids and waded it along the left bank also.
At the next small lake the clouds let loose with rain for about an hour. Wearing our waders and rain jackets, we stayed toasty warm, thanks also to the paddling exertions.
At the base of the lower rapids we came to a place where the fishing guides had obviously made a "shore lunch." We were sorry to see that they had left some trash, fish remains and a charred campfire. One day the entire Kazan system may be thronging with commercial guides and fishing parties, and their litter may be ubiquitous. But thankfully for now the river is almost wholly pristine, which is the big, big draw for us.
Ennadai Lake was windswept, but the wind was blowing in our favor. We followed the right bank a couple of miles, then where the lake narrowed we crossed to the left bank and followed that three miles. Then at the final narrowing we crossed back to the right bank. At times we rested, drifting in the boat and still making pretty good time with the wind bulldozing us along. Crossing a bay on the southeast side of the lake, the waves began to grow in size and the paddling became unsafe. So we pulled around a small headland and landed ashore.
Whenever we landed ashore, one of us remained with the boat while the other scouted a place to camp. Here, I climbed the six foot bluff and found one of the most beautiful campsites imaginable. Flat and free of bushes and large rocks, the area was carpeted in tiny tundra plants such as blackberries and reindeer moss. One small patch of low, compact willow provided a wind screen for cooking. The small bluff overlooked the scenic lake and was open to the breeze - perfect for keeping the bugs at bay.
After making camp we spent a couple hours working on gear and canoe, bathing and washing clothes, and generally admiring the panoramic view that also featured a few spruce off to one side. Once inside the tent we listened to the small surf below us on the rocks, and the wind buffeting the tent - a sure sign to us that we are in the far north and are headed for the northern lands. The temperature most of the day was very comfortable, but now at 7 pm the air was cooling off.
The only blight here, and it is a serious one for those adventurers to follow us, at least those who appreciate the pristine beauty of a natural, untouched land, is the appearance of a fishing lodge under construction far across the lake on the north shore. And by the way, it seems to have been the guides from this lodge that had left the trash we had seen earlier. Evening camp 60° 43.109', 101° 40.014' (This was an early GPS receiver - used only a few times this trip -and not as accurate as the more modern ones we have today.)
The wind shut off about 11 pm, and we awakened to the buzzing of a couple of mosquitoes that had found their way into the tent. We had zipped the netting doors closed, of course, but had neglected to seal the gaps between the doorway zipper pulls. These gaps were tiny - hardly noticeable - but were just large enough to admit the occasional determined mosquito. We normally sealed the gaps by stuffing a bit of TP into them.
Day's mileage:
Day 4
2001-07-13
The night had been perfectly calm, so hoards of bugs greeted us as we stepped out of the tent. Under clear skies we shoved off at 8 am into a pleasant morning, except that the bugs kept us in our bug clothing.
"the word "bravery" denotes flinging oneself into danger and hoping for the best. No, this journey wasn't like that. We were here, not out of bravery but skill borne of experience fueled with determination."
About four miles from camp we left the shoreline and started following a series of widely-spaced islands, paddling outside them. A couple of fishing skiffs were madly scurrying about, as though the fish were about to evacuate the entire area, and one of the guides pulled up for a chat. He related the news of two guys two days ahead of us, and a group of five girls three days ahead of them. When hearing that we, too, were paddling the entire length of the river, one of the greenhorn fishing clients, obviously fresh from the city, said: "You're brave." To me, the word "bravery" denotes flinging oneself into danger and hoping for the best. No, this journey wasn't like that. We were here, not out of bravery but skill borne of experience fueled with determination. We were here for love of the land and of life itself.
The wind freshened out of the northwest, then calmed again, and we spent the entire day paddling between islands spaced a mile or so apart. Most of the time we paddled in cruising mode - making an unhurried, rhythmic progression of strokes, lost in our own thoughts. One or two stretches proved a bit harrowing with rapidly increasing wind, but then the wind would die, leaving us slipping back in to cruising mode.
The map indicated a cabin situated near Caribou Point, and while passing by we could see that it was being used by a fishing guide outfit. Near the cabin the shore was littered with three boats, a banged-up aluminum canoe, and a number of empty fuel drums. I say "littered" because otherwise the island was very beautiful. But thankfully this was it; the landscape would remain entirely unsullied the rest of the way to river's end, still several hundred miles distant.
Past Caribou Point we continued following the widely-spaced line of islands which cut across the middle of Ennadai Lake. This lake is vast, and we were always amazed by how big these lakes are. From the vantage of a canoe, the sky often meets the water with no land in sight.
At the western tip of the largest (by far) island in the middle of the lake, we stopped for the day's only shore break. The next hop would be a longish one, and we wanted to check it out from a higher vantage, which in this case was a pile of rocks standing only eight feet over the water. Even from that height we could barely see the far shoreline 2½ miles away. I took a compass reading from the map, then pointed that reading to the distant land for visual verification.
With encouraging weather we started across, and to our good fortune the further we went the flatter the water became. By the time we arrived at the far land the lake was as quiet as the proverbial mill pond.
The scope and magnitude of the landscape here is categorically mind boggling. The Inuit who lived here had something that modern white man does not: land - unlimited land - and empty space. And this land is good. It is a tremendous resource, full of beauty, richly varied, clean and always fresh. The land is empty today mainly because of the mosquitoes and black flies, which, on a calm day such as today, are a constant, ever-present drone.
"Are you listening?" I wrote to myself. "Do not take used gear to the Arctic!"
Here we find a note in our trip journal, reading: "Are you listening? Do not take used gear to the Arctic!" It was something I had written to myself in the tent that night, with the intent of improving our circumstances on subsequent trips. The note goes on to say: "Our mosquito netting clothing, the mosquito Jackets in particular, which we had used on the Back River, are shot. Also my nylon shell jacket arms have shrunk 3 inches and the elastic has relaxed, so my wrists are spotted with black fly bite welts. I count 14 bites on the right wrist alone." These Arctic and sub-Arctic trips are very hard on clothing and gear, and we find it best to begin each trip with new. But how tempting, when preparing for a trip, to throw in several items that had worked well for us on the previous outing. Not a good idea!
Late afternoon while paddling along the lake's arm we decided to try our luck at fishing. Trolling a lure we soon caught a magnificent lake trout about 20 inches long. This was too large for our dinner, and we knew the leftovers would not keep well in the heat, should tomorrow be as warm as today - in the mid 70's. Anyway, as Jenny lifted the fish out of the water it broke free of the hook and regained its freedom back into the lake. The time was nearly 7 pm and we were quite tired, so rather than resume trolling we headed for land and made camp.
Unfortunately, the early evening was still hot. The lake was glassy like a mirror, and conditions inside the tent resembled those of a sauna. The intense heat, deep fatigue and irritating bug bites made relaxing difficult. Due to the heat we ate a cold supper of instant beans and potatoes, with a fresh tomato and a grapefruit.
Despite any discomfort we reveled in the surpassing beauty of the scenery all around. We were camped on a tundra bluff about 20 feet above the lake. The ground was covered in small berries of several different types. Nearby was a point of land that jutted into the lake a hundred yards. A shallow, "sub-lake" sat incongruously close to the main lake and reflected a small stand of stunted spruce. Overall, the colors were sublime, with the blue lake, the green spruce, the white sand beach, and the verdancy of tiny tundra plants all around. Also near the tent was an ancient Inuit tent ring of the type found at just about any place along the Kazan suitable for camping.
About 8:30 pm a bank of clouds rolled overhead, providing wonderful shade and pleasantly declining temperatures. Jenny sewed a couple of patches on my mosquito netting shirt. Again today we had watched a seagull chase a bald eagle. Also we had seen jaegers. And today we had paddled past tree line, which here was surprisingly abrupt. Within a mere five or ten miles, we went from solid forest to open tundra. Personally, we much prefer the treeless tundra to the forested taiga. Maybe the Inuit did too. On the tundra the views are unlimited, the camping possibilities abound and are more open to the wind and breeze which greatly reduces the bugs. The caribou hunters on the open tundra can find the game without trees concealing the animals. And for the caribou it is probably safer having long-range views of their predators.
From the evening's journal: "What kind of difference can a person make in walking his or her path? And how can we relate our enthusiasm to those with no idea of what lies beyond? All our trips and experiences have changed us profoundly - but only on the inside. So the thought occurs: what is the point of a life of adventure, and more so, of seeking an enlightened consciousness? And then: People, such as the fishing client in the skiff today, cannot see the radiance in us because they are blind to that particular wavelength of energy in the overall spectrum of life. Those who are ready and searching for what to them might be a higher meaning will surely find it, and those who are not will not. Everyone has a journey through life, and whether it be the route of the Kazan or simply that between cradle and grave seems to make little difference outside the individual. But oh, how the radiance of certain journeys can positively incandesce."
Day's mileage: 30
Day 5
2001-07-14
The morning air smelled strongly of smoke, probably from a wildfire somewhere in the vicinity. The watery world before us was an eerie haze that cut the world short. With the wind southeast at 5-10 knots and the sky cloudy, we set off at 7:30 am and began following the western shoreline generally north, weaving around islands and around points and cutting bays. However for the initial 20 minutes we swatted about as much as we padded. That is, until we had reduced the maddening swarm to rubble at our feet. Then with a bit of house cleaning using a boat sponge we were in ship shape. Throughout the day a lack of strong wind encouraged the bugs, and these confined us to our netting. Also the bugs obliged us to avoid land by a minimum of a hundred yards - be it the mainland or any island large or small. Any closer and the bugs would discover us and fly out to devour us. The mosquitoes were reasonably easy to eliminate with a few choice swats, but the blackflies were nearly impossible. They tended to keep their distance without landing very often, and they were less noticeable when they did land. And of course the blackflies are by far the more vicious of the two.
The maps we used are the 1:250,000 Canadian topos. How accurately they depict the river often depends on what time of year the map makers over-flew the area, in relation to our present time of the year here. For example, where the maps show a narrow channel and we find a very wide but shallow one, we know the map makers over-flew later in the Fall, when the water level had dropped. Sometimes the differences can be striking, making the map seem completely wrong. So we take these differences into consideration in our navigating.
As we turned east to follow a long peninsula jutting out into the lake, the wind piped up and the seas rose. With the wind on the beam the canoe rocked and rolled, and required that we fairly battle our way along. And yet never was there a thought in either of our minds about stopping. The going was difficult, but not particularly dangerous.
At one point we were crossing a large bay, and the waves were tossing the boat around a fair bit. Normally when making open crossings we steam ahead full tilt until we reach the safety of the far shore. But as we gain more experience, we seem to be less high strung. Two-thirds of the way across this bay Jenny suggested a short rest stop. "Not yet," I replied, "let's wait until we get across." The comment made me realize how we are reacting to open water and rougher conditions, treating them more as normal.
Gradually the wind diminished until down again to 5-10 knots, where it stayed for the remainder of the day. Coincidentally I was working on my wind control, envisioning a 5 knot wind (tongue in cheek).
About five miles from the end of the lake we lost our way and made a wrong turn. Yes, the navigating here was complicated by the highly variegated nature of the shoreline, which is riddled in points, bays, islands of every size, shape and description. But more so, the problem was mainly that of fatigue. We had not fully recovered from the effects of yesterday's 30 miler. And today we had taken no shore breaks. That, and the smoke-diffused light made things seem much farther away than they actually were. So it was not until we had paddled a hundred yards up this side channel that I realized my error. We turned around and headed back out on a compass reading, but still for the life of me I could not locate our position on the map. Again this was mainly fatigue-induced disorientation. It seems that when the mind is tired it becomes more obstinate. It believes we are at such and such a place, and no amount of topographical evidence can convince it otherwise.
As a last resort we withdrew the GPS from its waterproof bag, and plotted our satellite position on the chart. Even then, I soon found that I had mis-plotted us by a mile. Still, the position fix was enough to snap my mind back to reality, and I immediately found us on both the map and the earth.
Found again, we resumed our course northward and soon located the lake's outlet. Because of our fatigue we had decided to camp near the lake's outlet. So thinking of a sumptuous dinner I rigged the fishing gear and soon caught a lake trout. Unfortunately it was too small to satiate the two of us. But neither could I remove the hooks without major damage, so I kept the fish. This meant that we needed to catch another small one. This was the smallest lake trout I had ever seen up here: 14 inches, and the chances of catching another small one were slim.
Reaching the outlet of magnificent Ennadai lake was indeed a major milestone on our journey. And yet the outlet did not seem like one at all. The map showed it to be quite narrow - only 40 yards wide - which meant that it should have been positively gushing with current. Our channel was about the right width, but it lacked any current whatsoever, at least that we could discern. Still, a cable tram spanning the channel (presumably for Inuit trappers) surely meant this was the Kazan. Everywhere on this trip the water has been crystal clear, and looking down into it we can see whether it is shallow or deep. And here it was very deep indeed - hence the paucity of current. But eventually we began to feel the pull, and knew we were on track.
For just under a mile we floated the river, nearly to the first set of rapids. There we pulled off on the west bank and made camp - this at 3:45 pm. At the base of the rapids in the middle of the river was a fishing skiff. Civilization is slowly encroaching into the Barrenlands. We pitched the tent, I donned my waders and with fishing pole in hand waded out into the shallows about 30 feet. Clipping a red and white spinner to my line, I let fly. This part of the river was only a few feet deep and strewn with rocks, so I had to reel in right away to prevent a bottom snag. The very instant I started reeling, I caught a fish! Whether it had actually been waiting for the cast I'm not sure, but it did strike amazingly quickly. And so to complement the small lake trout caught earlier, we now had a beautiful Arctic Grayling of about 14 inches in length, a real nice one for that species. I returned to shore and cleaned the fish, then Jenny concocted a delicious chowder, adding fresh onion, dry potatoes and salt. Thus, we enjoyed our first catch on the Kazan.
But oh my, the late afternoon sun. The clouds we had enjoyed all day had dispersed, and the inside of the tent was hot as a sauna.
Day's mileage:
Day 6
2001-07-15
We set off at 8 am, wading the canoe around the corner, expecting much larger rapids than proved the case. The next two rapids shown on the map were also minor and we paddled through them. The morning's air was calm and smoke-laden. The flat light and sun reflecting off the water did little to aid us in navigating this intricate section of river. And of course the bugs were outrageously numerous and kept us in our bugwear throughout the day.
After a few smallish lakes we paddled a couple more sets of mild rapids. One rapid proved a little larger than what we would have tackled, had we scouted it first. But it was great fun! It was a sluice with a sizeable hole at the bottom followed by a series of haystacks. The canoe went into the hole and dug a bit of water coming out the back side, giving Jenny a mild drenching. In the calmer sections the fish were moiling on the surface, feeding on bugs. And in a couple places the water was just teeming with fish all around the boat.
The Kazan is growing in size, and already has become quite a respectable river. In some places the shoreline is beautiful tundra banks with small stands of isolated spruce. In others the banks are grassy, soft and lush, or sometimes a jumble of rocks covered in bright orange, green, grayish and red lichens, and at times exposed bedrock of the great Canadian shield, purportedly some of the oldest exposed rock on earth. Today's paddling was quite interesting, especially with the ambrosial fragrances coming off the sun-warmed tundra. At one point we saw another moose with a calf. We heard them first, on a small island, splashing their way noisily away from us. We caught sight of them swimming hastily from the island toward the far shore. We kept a very close eye on the map, again because the navigating was tricky. The river's current also helped show the way among the many islands.
The breeze was freshening, so at the tip of an esker we stopped on a gravel bar for bathing and laundry. This was long overdue and it felt wonderful to be clean again. Jenny washed our netting and shell clothing, and by the time I had worked out our position and figured our next heading, the clothing had dried in the breeze and was ready to put back on.
In the long strait south of Dimma Lake the water empties through a rip-roaring rapid, which we waded on the right. And here we stopped to fish. The powerful hydraulics shot out into the next lake several hundred yards. And into it we tossed the lure, letting the current sweep it far out into the lake before reeling back in. After half a dozen tries Jenny landed a whopper of a pike. The fish was much too large for supper, so after taking its picture we released it back into the water. Another half dozen tries and she landed an absolutely gorgeous lake trout about 18 inches - just what she was hoping for, and this one we kept for dinner. I cleaned it and chopped it into quarters, properly sized for the cookpot once we reached camp.
We paddled 3 or 4 more miles to Dimma Lake and made camp on the left bank. The shoreline was sandy, rock-studded, and very pretty. On this beach we found fresh boot tracks, probably those of a canoe party ahead of us. Also we found magnum sized wolf tracks - presumably no connection. The fish Jenny boiled in four batches. When the first piece was cooked, she pulled it out of the pot, set it aside in a bowl to cool, put the second piece in to cook, then pulled the meat from the bones of the first piece. And so the procedure went until all four sections were cooked and de-boned. When the flesh falls easily from the bones, then the fish is cooked properly. The broth was rich in golden fish oil, and with it Jenny made a luxurious fish chowder, with fresh onion - cooked with the fish, instant potatoes, and some instant beans. Jenny finds the beans difficult to digest, so she had stopped eating them.
Every day we've seen and heard loons. Today we saw two swans. They let us approach quite close. According to the guide book, our run today was 31 miles. We stopped at 7:30 pm, having put in a long but very enjoyable and rewarding day.
Day's mileage:
Day 7
2001-07-16
Clouds built during the night and we awoke to complete overcast and a few sprinkles. The wind was southeast at 10 knots. We set off at 7:30 am and followed the left (west) shoreline of Dimma Lake. These shores were lined with rocks and willow, with the occasional sandy cove or rocky cut bank. Along the way we saw eight swans, including one pair with two or three cygnets. The male stayed somewhat with us, baiting us with a cackling meant to say: "chase me" while the female of course ushered her cygnets away at top speed. Twice, a young loon landed near, as though bring a heartening message. So far on the trip we have seen no caribou, although we've seen their tracks on just about every piece of available land.
At the outlet of Dimma Lake we passed to river right of a large island, then kept to the right shore for protection from an increasing wind. From there we wound our way through the channel to the next lake 279 (depth shown on the map), which we called Middle Upper Dimma, jokingly, because to us the whole Dimma system seemed like one big, long lake. The sky blackened and twice we were chased into our rain jackets with passing rain showers. But for the most part the day was pleasant - cool, and sometimes windy enough to keep the bugs away, but usually not quite. Such a wind speed we estimate at about 15 knots. Anything less and the bugs will attempt it; anything higher is an obvious bane to them and they will not budge from their tundra shelters.
Throughout the afternoon we kept to the right shore, paddling the length of Middle Upper and on into the next one which we called Upper Upper Dimma Lake. The northeast side of this lake was festooned with islands. The lake was generally deep, but shallow in places with isolated patches of rocks. Navigation was a little tricky because both the islands and the shoreline were generally very low lying, and the diffused light from a gray sky tended to meld everything together as one. We find this light condition quite straining to the eyes and fatiguing to the mind, hour after hour.
The lakes were all very high on their waterlines, as indicated by the shoreline willow standing in water. The Kazan river feeding these lakes is high. We reached this lake's outlet and easily paddled the first two sets of rapids shown on the map. Then we plied a mile or so of river, looking for a campsite. Finally we found one on the left bank, where the spongy tundra made for a very comfortable bed. Overall it was a great day of lake paddling, and we were very pleased with our progress.
Typically when reaching camp we unload the canoe and carry our bags of gear up to camp, arm-full at a time, followed by the canoe itself. The canoe is not just our means of travel, it is our very means of survival. We keep it close to us at all times, never leaving it down by the water for mere expediency's sake. At camp we weight it down with heavy gear bags and if needed a few ponderous rocks. Where possible we also secure its painter to immoveable rocks. That done, right away Jenny starts cooking while I pitch the tent and secure it against any tempest or impending one. Then I pile the tent-specific gear bags close to the tent door. These contain items needed in the tent - things like the sleeping pads and quilt, clothing bags, and so forth.
Typically, I would enter the tent and right away Jenny would hand me the bags. Then I would spend the next 15 or 20 minutes annihilating the bugs that had followed both me and the bugs inside the tent, and cleaning up the carnage. Getting the gear into the tent took two people to minimize the number bugs admitted. When Jenny was finished cooking she organized the food bags, put the stove away, put the food bags back into the canoe, then piled into the tent. Meaning another 15 minute round of bug clean-up. Finally we could relax, pull off our sweaty clothes, and eat dinner in peace. Later when the evening cooled off, usually around 9 pm, we change into sleeping clothes, wrote in the journal, and then the next thing we knew is was time to get up and do it all again.
We tended to enter the tent only once a day, and exited only once a day. Stepping out for a midnight pee was flatly out of the question, with the blood-thirsty bugs hovering about in uncountable numbers. Instead we used the boat bailer, kept within easy reach just outside the tent. At our first camp of the trip we had unthinkingly left the bailer on its side, and when later we brought it into the tent we were aghast to find thousands of black flies sheltered within. After that we were careful to keep the bailer inverted and pressed to the ground. During the day we also used the bailer afloat so that we did not have to expose ourselves to the bugs ashore. As mentioned, we tried to stay as far from land as was safe and practical, minimizing our bug exposure. And we took as few shore breaks as possible, for the same reason. Today we took no shore breaks, paddling 35 miles in 11 hours.
Day's mileage:
Day 8
2001-07-17
We slept in late and set off at 9 am. We felt a little chilly while packing our gear in the tent, so we left our thermax shirts on over our bug wear. The sky was overcast and it looked like rain was imminent. The two sets of rapids just down river of camp were easily paddled. We made our way across Lake 271 and on down the river. The sky began clearing, the temperature rose, and it turned out to be a beautiful day. We saw several pairs of swans.
Down river of Lake 267 the first of the three marked rapids proved easy going, but the fourth one was more than we cared to deal with. As we approached this rapid we saw a canoe just coming out the bottom. And as luck and providence would have it, just as we were pulling hard to shore a gust of wind tore the sun hats from our heads. Both hats went simultaneously into the drink. What a place for this to happen - just upriver of the rapids where we could not possibly retrieve them.
We lined the rapids on the right, and paddled the last section on the left. Then we spent the next few miles looking for submerged hats - without success. But we did find the two canoeists who had pulled out on a flat rock for a late, 5 pm lunch - salami and flour tortillas as it turned out. So of course we pulled in for a chat. Doug and Howard from Milwaukee, Wisconsin had been on the river 10 days, starting at the outlet of Kasba lake. We were impressed that they had run all the river's rapids thus far, and in so doing they certainly motivated us to start pushing our whitewater skills. For twenty minutes the four of us talked about gear, canoes, Baker Lake, and the only other party on the river this year, that we knew of. Then we all bid "see you later," and Jenny and I shoved off.
Tired from the day's paddling, we still hoped to reach Angikuni Lake by day's end. The river was wide, deep, and moving very slowly. The wind was out of the east at 10 knots, ranging from beam to nose. And in a few places the water was fraught with some fairly serious wind against current chop. Meaning that we were obliged to use a lot of arm power, as though lake paddling. Finally as we neared the lake's inlet we felt a large ground swell working its way upriver, telling of rougher conditions out on the lake. Cautiously we paddled a short ways onto the lake proper and fond it positively churning. Without further adieu we made a hasty beeline for shore.
Campsites were conspicuously absent hereabouts, at least for someone not willing to lug canoe and dunnage a hundred yards through the ever-present willow thickets. So we proceeded along the shoreline northward half a mile, at times bouncing wildly in the chop. Finally at 9 pm we found a suitable spot, and stopped to make camp. Here the bugs were some of the worst we had seen, never mind the wind! How thankful we were for our mostly bug-proof clothing and tent. Day's mileage: 42!
Day's mileage:
Day 9
2001-07-18
The east wind blew steadily throughout the night, and at seven the next morning we rose to find the mighty Angikuni Lake solidly white-capped. However, I had figured a route to avoid the worst of the open water. So we soaked the spray cover while breaking camp and loading the canoe, then fitted the cover to the boat. In theory, if we put the canoe in these wave-thrashed waters and and managed to survive the first few moments, then we should do just fine the rest of the morning.
Jouncing along the western shore and taking the full brunt of the easterly wind and seas, we passed behind the lee of a pair of islands lying half a mile offshore, and soon turned seaward and paddled three quarters of a mile directly into the wind to a third island. This we passed to its northwest, and then with great difficulty punched into the headwinds along the south shore of a large bulbous peninsula. The paddling was strenuous and the ride was wild, but actually we enjoyed the challenge and the excitement, the wind in our faces and the complete lack of bugs. Once in a while I would ask Jenny if she wanted to stop and make camp, or stop for a shore break, but each time she replied that she wanted to keep going. That suited me perfectly. All this fun was thanks to the Back River for honing our open water canoeing skills.
Two years ago on the Back River we had paddled numerous days like this, except that today was warm, probably in the mid 60's or so. And motivated by a month of cold feet during that trip, I had returned home and designed a set of waders that actually worked. They were working fantastically well, and with them we were no longer concerned when cold water splashed into the boat, nor did we have to stop paddling and sponge the bilge. On the Back we had to sponge incessantly so that our boots and socks would not soak up even more cold water and make our feet even colder than they already were.
This was the first time we had used a spray cover, even though we were finding it more psychologically comforting than anything. As rough as the water was today, the spray cover was not taking very much. My rule of thumb is to keep the hull pointed toward the water. Flippant though that may seem. When the water is flat calm, that means we keep the hull pointed straight down, of course. But when the seas are coming at us hard abeam, we tilt the hull into each oncoming wave by flexing our hips. Done correctly, this goes a long ways in keeping the water out.
Finally we rounded the peninsula, and after passing through a narrow gap to the east of a large island and into the island's lee, we paused for a rest. But the wind was increasing and very rapidly blowing us away from land, so we pulled in again and positioned the boat beam-to a rock, such that the wind was now pinning the canoe to rock. While I studied the map we drank some water, ate a few snacks, then pressed on around the corner. Here the wind was east-northeast at a solid 25 knots, though the land was protecting us from it somewhat. For some reason the seas did not rise. Whereas earlier in the morning we wallowed in 3 foot waves, here they were only about one foot. Apparently the current was flattening the sea state. But what wind! We literally inched our way along the three mile shoreline, paddling with great vigor. At one point we lost control and landed on the rocks near shore. This was no problem even though we had been paddling full tilt, since our actual boat speed was minimal. I simply got out and shoved the canoe back out into deeper water.
Reaching the island's lee, we pulled onto a beautiful gravel beach for a shore break. Dragging the canoe completely out of the water, we indulged in a 20 minute walk up the hillside for a revitalizing round of leg exercise - to say nothing of enjoying the view du jour. The tundra was spongy, lush and beautiful, and walking on it felt almost like walking in soft snow. Our feet sank in a good six or eight inches with each step. After a short while, however, walking on sponges eight inches thick tends to be a bit strenuous to legs unaccustomed to such work. But the beauty of the tundra was unsurpassed, with color, vibrancy, intermingling fragrances, textures and countless small plants and berries to admire. Mortal man or woman could not create a more beautiful garden.
Back at the canoe we shoved off and paddled across a bay 1/3 mile wide with the wind doing its utmost to pile-drive us out to sea. Rounding the far point we left the protection of land, and in so doing barely managed another 15 minutes in winds so strong that we could make no further measurable progress. From here my route led across a mile wide gap directly into the wind, but nature seemed to be suggesting that we call it a day.
Our next objective was the land directly behind Jenny. But the wind had increased to more than what we could paddle into. So we landed ashore and made camp, and here we would remain - stormbound for the next couple of days.
Nature had also provided us with a beautiful place to camp. The shoreline here comprised ice-smashed rocks, topped with a beautiful tundra plateau eight feet over the water. So here we landed, or should I say were driven ashore, at 12:30 pm. Right away we pitched the tent, then feeling entirely at home we sat on a lichen covered boulder reveling in the near lack of bugs, and eating a picnic lunch. Picture us there, enjoying the hard-won view, breathing the brisk air, and watching the wind whipping across the straight. Jenny commented, "Now this is the Arctic I know and love."
Then we seized the moment by braving the cold water for a well-needed bath and a laundering of clothes.
Day's mileage: 8 - not much, but it sure was a lot of fun.
About 5 pm we heard thunder booming away to the west. It grew louder and closer, and we closed the doors just as the torrent began pelting the tent. The strange part is that as the front approached, the 25 knot east wind stopped dead. Moments later came a blast so strong that we actually had to support the tent's walls from within to prevent a total collapse. Rain cascaded from the sky and we were only hoping the canoe would stay put. Again, we always weight it down with food bags etc, but this wind was so strong that it might have sent both boat and the bags cart wheeling.
After 20 minutes the rain gradually subsided, ending the most phenomenal storm I had ever witnessed. Curiously, all morning the wind had been blowing a steady 25 knots from the east, and this storm had moved in from the west. Go figure. Then once the westerly tempest had passed, the wind resumed howling from the east. Meteorologically, I cannot imagine how something like that could occur. At least the hammering rain had annihilated the hoards of ground hugging insects, or so we imagined. But the minute the wind let up, (two days later) the mosquitoes and blackflies were swarming at our netting door as usual.
Day's mileage:
Day 10
2001-07-19
We awoke to the new day with the realization that the strong northeast winds with spattering rain had us stormbound. And also that we needed to relocate. Initially we had pitched the tent on the brink of the plateau overlooking the water - on theory that maximum wind equals minimum bugs. Also we were thinking of maximizing the scenic view of the bay out our doorway; and of apprising the conditions directly. Unfortunately, we had also pitched the tent sideways to the wind. This model of tent was significantly longer than it was wide, and as the tempest had since intensified we now needed to reorient the tent into the wind to lessen its stress. Also we needed to withdraw it from the edge where it was taking the full brunt of the blow.
Unloading the tent of everything heavy, we figured we could simply pick it up and move it without the usual dismantling. This proved in error, for in an instant the extra strain of moving the tent broke a pole. Hurriedly we finished moving our precious shambles to a new site 100 feet away, and then belatedly we took it down and removed the broken pole. About which time the skies began to drizzle. The cause of the broken pole became apparent on disassembly. The pole had split lengthwise on both sides like a green stick, caused by its joint ferrule having slipped out of position. The mis-alignment had created an unfavorable stress riser. Using epoxy to keep the ferrule from shifting again, I then press-fit a larger repair sleeve over the entire broken section.
We are well experienced with broken tent poles in the Arctic, and carry a selection of repair materials accordingly. Even so, we now wish we would have brought a few more sleeves and a spare pole segment or two on this trip to the sub-arctic. And as yesterday's astounding storm burst had suggested, we really should have brought a stronger tent, for example of the type we use in the Arctic. Anywhere north of tree line the tent is vital to one's survival. And these high-latitude storms will test the mettle of anything standing in their way.
With our domicile safely restored, we spent the day napping and reading, lulled by the rain pattering the tent overhead. For the record, Jenny had selected Atlas Shrugged. I had chosen Unveiled Mysteries and for contrast Lord of the Rings.
In the tent with us was a satellite telephone, which we carried purely for emergency. Once we discussed taking the phone from its waterproof bag and actually using it to connect with someone on the outside. But the thought of dragging our perfect adventure out of context lacked appeal. How could we convey even the most rudimentary aspects of our journey? Mere words would never do.
Day 11
2001-07-20
Another storm-bound day, same place, same strong wind, same light rain. We read and napped most of the day, but at one point we braved the outside world and enjoyed an hour's stroll (leaning into the wind) across the tundra.
That evening at 11:00 pm we watched a beautiful sunset peering through a heartening gap in the clouds on the western horizon. At the same time the sky was lit magnificently with a full 180 degree rainbow. The mere glimpse of the sun filled our hearts with high hopes for a good day tomorrow - especially since the wind seemed to be diminishing somewhat.
Day 12
2001-07-21
The sky was still 100 percent greased over, but the wind was down to 8 or 10 knots northeast. We packed up and set off at 6:45 am. The morning was quite chilly, a drastic change from three days ago. Such a drop in temperature we usually attribute to the northerly winds bringing cold air from the polar ice pack.
Headwinds slowed progress as we paddled across the strait, but the seas were not large enough to make the going boisterous. Reaching a gap between islands we paddled around a large island/peninsula to its northwest, then through the wide and deep channel taken by the river itself. From there we island-hopped southeast along the deeply crenulated northeast shore of Angikuni Lake. This, again, with the wind on the nose, as the apparent wind had veered unfavorably southeast.
The day remained chilly, and since I had dressed lightly I spent the first three hours trying to warm up, to little avail. Finally I dug into my clothes bag for a hat, shirt, pants, and pile booties. As we rounded the corner and headed northeast the wind slowly dropped, nearly to nothing in fact, so of course the bugs came out in great numbers. Sweatting under my bulk of clothing, I steered us across a wide stretch to an island, through a strait to its northeast, northeast past a large island, and then along the eastern shore of the mainland to the lake's outlet. Again our eyes were very strained from the day's paddling. The problem is that the sky is bright and the low lying land is dark. To see features on land in the distance one must keep the pupils open, meaning that the eyes receive too much light from the sky, hence the fatigue.
Navigating throughout the day was tricky but we had no real problems. As the afternoon wore on we gradually gained Angikuni Lake's outlet. A light southwest tailwind wafted us along for the last couple of lake miles. Half an hour from stopping for the day we trolled the lure, but to no avail. As we padded toward shore at 5 pm intent on making camp, Jenny said she saw a fish feeding at the surface. We were both famished for fish, so while she unloaded the canoe I grabbed the pole and cast a spinner from shore. In a few minutes I landed a nice 16 inch grayling. After helping Jenny unload the boat and carry it up to camp, I then cleaned and scaled the fish and chopped it into three pieces suitable for the cookpot. Jenny was just lighting the stove as I handed her the fish.
The black flies at this camp were unbelievably numerous, collecting on our head nets and clothing in what seemed like solid patches, at times. They gathered under the tent fly in layers that repeatedly grew so thick they broke away under their own weight, only to start growing again straightaway. For an hour we labored to clear them from inside the tent. Three times we opened the door and chased a wave of them out. But the others we had to dispatch. We are loathe to kill blackflies inside the tent, mainly because they leave the tent smelling fishy. The fishy smell of fish is actually that of the bugs they eat. Curiously, there were no mosquitoes involved in this frenzy. With the last of the black flies removed from our living quarters, we removed our bug clothing and relaxed with a pot of savory fish chowder made with instant potatoes. Around 8 pm Doug and Howard paddled by, calling out a greeting and we hallooing back. Typically, I think we paddle more miles than they, but they had chosen a shorter route around Angikuni, one that entailed a lengthy portage. In retrospect their route must have been quicker.
We had yet to see any animals on this trip, aside from the moose 10 days ago and the birds, what few birds there have been. The usual geese, ducks and loons have not yet started gathering for their approaching migrations; they are still raising their young out on the tundra. The lack of wildlife notwithstanding, we had enjoyed the day and had come 30 miles in the process.
Day's mileage:
Day 13
2001-07-22
We set off at 7:45 am in a cloud of black flies. The wind was 5 to 8 knots northwest. The sky was clear. A few miles down river of camp we passed Doug and Howard's camp - two tents, but no one in sight. At the lake's outlet the map indicates two rapids but the first one was absolutely nothing and the second one was almost nothing and we easily paddled around it. This stretch of river was mostly wide, i.e. small lakes interspersed with some sections of favorable current.
The sky cleared and our main problem throughout the early afternoon was glare and sunburn. And to think of those submerged sun hats drifting uselessly somewhere or lying at the bottom of some fathomless lake. The north wind slowly rose to 15 knots, and thankfully we experienced no problems with rapids all the way to Lake 234. We did, however, see lots of birds today: seagulls, jaegers, one bald eagle, many geese, terns, ducks, loons and little shore song birds. Oh yes, and we had seen a few curlew a few days back.
For a couple hours we had to work hard in the wind and chop. And we had to be careful not to get ourselves into a jam with any rapids: in 10 or 15 knots of wind the boat was difficult to maneuver.
At Lake 234 we saw, lo and behold, a herd of musk ox. It was a large herd of 20 or more, grazing on a slope in the company of another 10 or 12 on the beach. We were not able to get close for a good view, only a rather distant one.
Then came the famous Cascades. From a distance we could hear the roar and see the water flinging into the air by Cascade number one. And then in a most unsettling way the river simply disappeared from view over the brink. We hugged the right shore and pulled out just before the falls. The river had practically doubled in size since its inlet to Angikuni, so it was quite an awesome sight spilling over this drop. Of course we portaged around it, making an easy carry some 200 yards over a fairly well-worn path, more just another caribou rut than an official portage route.
Loading the boat and securing everything in place we paddled a third of a mile to the Second Cascade. This one was even more impressive, and such hydraulics were positively dumfounding. This drop featured multiple rocky cliff-sided islands and canyons into which the water boiled and churned. From there the river was strewn in rapids for almost a mile to the Third Cascade, so we elected to portage the entire stretch. Where the ground was rocky we carried the canoe, otherwise we dragged it most of the way and this worked quite well. The portage was a large effort, but also a very welcome break from the paddling.
The wildflowers en route were in full display, especially the dwarf fireweed. And speaking of coloring, at the takeout we had seen red and green canoe marks on a few of the rocks. And the marks left on the portage itself indicated that the green canoe had been carried while the red one was dragged. At any rate, by 7 pm we had delivered the boat and all our gear to a pleasant campsite just downriver of the third and final cascade. That done we tossed out the fishing line and soon hauled in a nice lake trout for dinner.
Near camp a siksik scolded us, the first we had seen on this trip. Curiously, it allowed us to approach closely, and we saw that it had thick, soft looking fur; it was a beautiful animal. Not too far away we also saw and heard a pair of sandhill cranes. Also of note, on the river bank just up from camp was a remnant of winter - a patch of ice. And finally, a few days later we would meet a local-type fellow by the name of Keith, and would learn that this large, swirling pool below the Third Cascade is full of caribou bones piled some two feet thick. According to him the animals are swept down the cascades to their death, only to descend into the pool where they swirl round and round and eventually sink to the bottom.
Day's mileage: 34
Day 14
2001-07-23
Rain fell most of the night and heavily at times, and we awoke to a dark, leaden sky. Typically on such a morning one might prefer to remain in the tent. But not Jenny. She was anxious to go, and that suited me very fine also. At the moment the rain was holding off, so we packed up and set off at the leisurely hour of 9:30 am. Little did we expect what rowdiness the day held in store for us, nor that the excitement would begin so abruptly. Easing the boat into an eddy behind a rock outcrop, we climbed aboard and at my call went charging out into the river. This is when the powerful current grabbed the bow and nearly pulled it under. What a sudden trouncing! I had underestimated that one.
With arteries suitably charged with adrenaline we proceeded out into the river - charging pell-mell and fraught with two-foot leapers. Then the river settled down and afforded us a nice, swift ride for quite a few miles. The next four rapids shown on the map were not much. The clouds were dark and hanging low, with the wind blowing in earnest and the skies letting loose with rain. At least such weather had suppressed the bugs so we enjoyed bug-free paddling with our hands and heads "out." And we especially enjoyed the swift current which sometimes swept us along at perhaps 8 or 9 knots.
Some five miles upriver of a huge island is where we started encountering rough water. Perhaps some of this was due to the strong wind, but here the river was festooned in rapids and we ran just about all of it, jouncing along in two to three foot leapers while winding our way through gnarly rocks set up like a ski slalom. Here we could not ease our guard for even a moment, although we did stop four or five times to climb a high bank and scout the river ahead. Jenny commented that "this is sort of like skydiving!" The big water gets your adrenaline pumping. And in the process we surprised ourselves at how agilely we could maneuver the canoe. And in so doing we complimented ourselves on a great job of missing all the rocks.
However, there was one moment of concern. Far out in the middle of the huge, charging river, we were weaving adroitly around rock patches and shelves. We both saw one particular patch ahead, but came upon it unexpectedly fast. Nevertheless we quickly found a gap and shot through it. But it proved to be no minor gap. As we shot through we were aghast to see the size of the spill, with big sections of rock on either side. We managed it safely but it was much bigger than it had appeared from upriver. From that moment we started scouting more seriously. Much more seriously. On a big section of river like this, one does not paddle directly downstream, but constantly to the left or right, lining up to miss oncoming rapids and rocks. Today's paddling was something we could not have dreamed of accomplishing on our first couple of canoe trips.
Most of the day we were on the verge of being cold, but the exertions of paddling kept us from chilling too deeply. A couple miles upstream from the huge island at the last of the four marked rapids, we lined a bit on river left. At one spot we sent the boat down a three-foot sluice where the red boat ahead of us had made a short portage. From there downstream the river was easily paddled. Around the huge island in the left channel (at "Big Bend") the two marked rapids were nothing serious. This channel was very wide and shallow. We had to watch for rocks most of the way, but there were no major rapids. Then we reached Big Bend, where the river swings from east to north. Since the outlet of Angikuni Lake we had been paddling east. The next section was swift with rocky shoreline, as has been the case since the Three Cascades.
The day was quite windy, blowing southeast at 15 knots. At one point the rain was slanting so hard up ahead that we could scarcely see where we were going. But that rain veered away and we caught just the edge of it. We wore our trusty waders, as we have since the start of the trip. And during the rainy periods we wore our rain jackets, which are large enough to fit over our life jackets.
At one point we paddled past two musk ox quite close. As we went by, one stood up and the other lay down. A strong wind was blowing us broadside right at them, so both of them stood up and watched us more out of interest than fear it seemed. They watched and one took several steps in our direction as we talked to them.
About seven miles north of Big Bend we passed between a number of islands, whisking along in the strong south wind. The next three marked rapids were easily paddled with careful maneuvering. And then 1.5 miles past the final one, at the entrance to a mostly sand filled lake, we stopped on the left bank and searched for a place to camp - without much luck since it was all willow. The wind was now so strong that we debated the safety of crossing the river, but the current was flattening the waves to two feet, so with no little effort we paddled across the river to a rocky promontory. We rounded into its lee and followed a very pretty cliff face to the back of the bay. There we pulled out on a beautiful sand beach, at 4 pm. Thanks to the wind, the area was essentially bug-free and so we spread our gear to dry. The sky was still gray but the rain was holding off.
After a chilling day on the water, what did we do but strip and wade calf deep for a bath. For a long while we scrubbed our bodies each with a small hand towel, washing our hair with Joy soap, and also laundering most of our clothes, including netting and shell garments. All our clothing is fast-drying, and indeed it wind-dried nicely while hanging in willows. The beach showed numerous caribou tracks along with a disturbingly-fresh set of grizzly tracks. The bear had doubtless been hunting siksiks. Exposed to the warming sun, the sandy bluffs here were a prime area for siksik dens. A wolf howled in the distance, and I was thinking maybe such bluffs are not the best place to camp. But the Inuit had obviously camped here, as evidenced by an area of knapped quartz chips and a rectangular tent "ring" with a hearth at one end. Typical Inuit rings are made with rocks so large that most modern people would require a tractor to move them into position. Also the genuine articles (rocks) are cloaked in lichen. Paddled 34 miles today.
Day's mileage:
Day 15
2001-07-24
At 3 am we were awakened by something stirring on the beach. At first we could not decide whether it was a seagull, a duck, or what. Before long we had a mated pair of ptarmigan cooing, clucking and cackling ten feet from us in the tent. Everything is bigger by half in the far north, and these ptarmigan were no exception. They were about the size of small ducks. Of course we started answering them in their language, imitating the female with the higher pitched, softer intoning, and the male with his raspy sounds. All was deemed safe, so the brood was called over whereupon six mid-size chicks wandered over and joined mom. We spoke quietly to them in English and they decided this was the place to be. Hours later they were still there, pecking at who knows what, down by the water's edge. Also at this early hour of 3 am the sun was rising and spreading a beautiful gold-red streak across the horizon beneath a heavy blanket of dark clouds. After taking it all in, we returned to sleep.
Rising at 7 am, we gathered handfuls of willow driftwood and burned our trash accumulated in the last 15 days. The wood was plentiful here, so we incinerated the paper and plastic, picked out the remaining bits of foil, then eradicated the site by scraping the ashes a few feet into the water. Anything that would not burn we carried with us, for example empty fuel bottles and the battery-powered mosquito swatter used the first few days and consigned into a gear bag as essentially useless.
We set off at 8:15 am into one of the most gorgeous days imaginable. The rains of yesterday had cleansed the world and left it sparkling. With 10 knots of wind astern and a slight current we sped along the length of the lake. This lake was the first in a series of lakes laden with sand bars, as indicated on the map, however no sand bars were in evidence presently, due to the early season high water. At the end of the lake the map indicated a short pair of rapids and we found them split into two channels by an island. We stopped at the head of the island and I scouted both sides. The river right channel was an impressive cascade of gushing spume, and the portage on its river right looked to be a long struggle through the willow. We selected the left branch on its right, and so lined the boat through the first couple of small rapids, paddled across the head of a big sluice exiting to the right, landed on a big, flat rock, lined the boat through a smaller sluice on the left and then paddled a big section of fast moving water to the left bank. This we paddled nearly to its end, then we lined the boat around the corner and then to avoid an angling sluice that probably would have engulfed the boat, we dragged it out of the water some 10 feet over the smooth rock and down into a pool. From there we dragged it carefully down more zigzagging pools finally arriving at the next lake.
Our predecessors in the red and green canoes had taken much the same route, as indicated by the colorings left on the rocks. We had added more red to theirs. The next section was lake and some river to another set of marked rapids. The first marked rapid was split by an island - we selected the left branch - and paddled the entire section which wound beautifully among big, polished rocks and cliffs. And that was the end of the marked rapids on the river en route to Yathkyed Lake.
The weather was ideal, the bugs were mostly absent, and we can't remember a day we had enjoyed more. We kept repeating over and over, "This is so beautiful!" A trip like this is balm for the soul. It purifies you of the superficial and packs the life back into you. Yes, the first week or so might be tough, but there comes an adapting, a melding of spirit and wilderness. The mind begins to let go of its complaints. Thoughts of home start to lose their pull. Also thoughts of the future subside - anxieties of what to do after journey's end. In essence we are living more in the eternal glory of the moment. We are soaking in the beauty that is everywhere all around us, the river, lakes, and the tundra. It is a land that goes on forever, and the essence of the journey is in its flow.
The map showed the next lake mostly silted in, with a narrow channel running its length. Again we saw no exposed sandbars, though we did follow the submerged channel because we found it flowing. The wind was 10 knots dead astern and the channel showed itself as a slick, shiny highway. Anywhere not in the channel was roughened chop.
Eventually the lake/river made a wide bend to the right and this was where the going got tough. In the course of 15 minutes we went from tailwinds to headwinds, from slick water to an oncoming chop made tumultuous by the effect of wind against current. So began a long and concerted effort to reach Yathkyed Lake, proper. At times we thought the chop was going to stop us for the day. But we kept turning headlands gradually to the left and putting the wind ever more slightly on the quarter. The lake itself was running with non breaking chop up to 3 feet, which could have been dangerous should the wind suddenly increase. But the wind fluctuated repeatedly from 12 knots to less than 5 knots: blow-stop-blow-stop.
So we held on, crossed one large gap of about a mile, and then at 4 pm we threw out the fishing line. In a lake this huge, the fish are not everywhere present. Still, in the next half hour I caught 4 fish. The first was the smallest lake trout I had ever seen up here, a mere 12 inches. I released it to grow up. Fish 2 and 3 were too small also. Finally the fourth fish was a reasonable size so I kept it. At the end of a bulbous peninsula we stopped on a rocky headland looking for a campsite. To our dismay we found a number of old fuel barrels. Also we could see a station of some sort on one of the distant islands.
We fished awhile from shore and Jenny hauled in a medium sized trout to complement the one I had caught. So with the day's catch in hand we re-boarded and paddled the next gap of 1-1/2 miles, steering for an obvious beach. At long last we seem to be leaving the tall, dense stands of willow behind. For the past day or so, the land had been covered practically everywhere in willow, which like a cancer had choked out the tundra. Such a profusion of willow had also reduced the possible camping spots to the bare minimum. But here the tundra was largely willow-free, and the camping abundant. As we approached the beach we frightened away a large gathering of geese: at least 200 adults and mid-size goslings. On behalf of their young ones they all went running across the tundra, away from the water. We were sorry to dislodge them, but knew they would do just as well elsewhere. As for ourselves, we were weary and in need of a place to camp.
At 6 pm we landed on the gravel beach and dragged the canoe out of the water.
The bugs were down to easily manageable proportions, so we sat on the tundra drinking cuppas and enjoying the view out across the resplendent lake. Like many lakes we have paddled, this one is so large that the far shore hides below the horizon. As always, we finished the day with a sponge bath inside the tent. 34 miles today.
Day's mileage:
Day 16
2001-07-25
We set off at 6 am, bundled in extra clothing since the morning seemed quite chilly. The wind was light and directly offshore - exactly the direction we wanted to go. We paddled out to a group of three islands, and passed through the right-most gap. By then the wind was piping up, and the seas were starting to thrash a bit so we resorted to Plan B: paddling northwest to the mainland rather than island hopping and cutting corners. From the mainland we hopped a wide gap to the east, followed the shore around to the jump-off point and paddled east to the next large island. Rounding the north point of this island, we saw a lone caribou. Apparently it had been sleeping or resting, and seeing us at close range it jumped up, had a good long pee, put its nose in the air and trotted off. It was the first, and proved to be the only, caribou we sighted on this trip.
The boisterous winds of the morning were starting to calm, so we made a beeline for the distant point of land and paddled to its eastern side. From there we made a 2.5 mile jump, angling northeast, across a large bay. Then we followed the coast with a few shortcuts across wide bays.
All in all, it was a day of big, open water. Eventually we landed ashore at the base of a huge, narrow peninsula, looking for "Tyrell's Portage." Navigation in this area was confusing at best. What we saw on the land and what we saw on the map failed to match. We had cut the final bay on a compass bearing. All land here is extremely low lying, and because the water is so high on the gently sloped tundra, the shoreline is very difficult to make out from the canoe. We landed where we thought the portage started, according to the compass more or less, but nothing looked right. But just to be sure, we hiked ten minutes inland, in the direction the compass indicated the portage went, and lo and behold we found a very large body of water, meaning that we had indeed found Tyrell's Portage.
Jenny arranged our gear in three loads, one of which she lashed to her pack frame. I readied the canoe for dragging. And so with she carrying her pack and me dragging the canoe, slowly and strenuously we plodded across the swampy muskeg. Because of the hummocks and stunted willow, the canoe was much harder to drag than across tundra. But we took it slow and steady, and made it across to water's edge in about 15 minutes. Returning for the second load, we each shouldered our packs, lugged them drenched in sweat across the portage in a cloud of mosquitoes. And here again the waders saved the day. Portage finished, we loaded the boat, set off, and with a great deal of concerted swatting massacred our bloodthirsty entourage and reduced its numbers nearly to nil.
As we were making way into the next large body of water, there came the sound of a motor boat approaching from the south. Soon a fellow arrived and stopped for a chat. Of European descent, bearded and scruffy, he looked almost like a part of the landscape. I had the feeling the conversation would be most interesting. And indeed, we talked for over an hour, while the wind blew us gently more or less in our intended direction. In a rough Scottish accent he introduced himself as Keith Sharp. A bear of a fellow minus a few front teeth, he had lived in the general area 30 years, and at Yathkyed Lake 15 summers. He said the water was about a foot higher than he had ever seen it, the result, he thought, of persistent east winds holding the water back in the lakes. We asked about the bears. He said they are no problem at all. "Aklak" is the native term for grizzly bear, and it means something like "scares easily." He said the bears take one look at you and run the other way. If one does come around, make a lot of noise and this will frighten the animal off. Keith said Yathkyed Lake is full of whitefish, which he asserted is the only type of fish you could live on exclusively, year round. Try to subsist wholly on Lake Trout, and according to him you would be dead in three months. The difference between the two fish is that the whitefish is a bottom feeder, and takes in certain minerals that trout do not.
Keith knew the entire area like the back of his hand, and he told us many of its wonders. He lives in Rankin during the winter because he likes the sea and enjoys whale hunting. He's shot two polar bears ripping into his tent. His base here on Yathkyed Lake was behind the huge island at the very north end of the north bay, still ahead of us. It is there because the float planes can land on windy days. He invited us for "coffee and a bite to eat," but his place was off our route, so we ultimately bid him a fond farewell.
Jenny and I finished paddling the west shoreline, very tired now from a long day of open-water paddling. At the north side of the island the lake channels and becomes a river once more. The current there caught us off guard and we suddenly found ourselves dodging small rapids, shallows and rocks, zooming past at an alarming rate. Running rapids while fatigued is not the best plan, since the fatigue affects one's judgment and slows reactions. We barely made it past one boat-grabber having misjudged the angle of the current's flow. We paddled hard nearly to the eastern bank, and then ran a bit of a precarious stretch that had our adrenalin pumping. Then we waded and lined the boat along the main stretch of rapids shown on the map, and truly these were substantial, at least in high water. Paddling another 15 minutes, we pulled out at 7:30 pm on the right bank and made camp on a nice patch of tundra. Paddled 39 miles today!
Day's mileage:
Day 17
2001-07-26
As we were loading the canoe, a couple of fishing parties in motor boats descended the rapids and zoomed past. We would be seeing them again several times today. We shoved off at 8 am and the river carried us along at a nice clip until we came to the next set of rapids. These we lined and waded on the left, and because they were quite extensive they required a lot of time. Eventually, as the river kept fanning out, it became a very wide section of shallows strewn with rocks and boulders everywhere.
Finally we took to the boat and started paddling. We started by facing upriver and were quite surprised to discover we could actually paddle upriver against the current. We front ferried across, moving forward or back to avoid rocks and rapids. Then finally in a good position we turned tail and sped with the current, dodging to the left or right to miss the canoe crunchers.
Paddling this rapid was quite fun and we regretted not having started farther upriver. We didn't realize we could do it. This put us in Lake 124 and then came a longer stretch of river which was again fun. In a couple of places, namely around the second island, the river was swift and strewn with various rapids that were easily avoidable but required careful attention. Through this section the water was quite turbulent, making for a rough and wild ride. We found a clear channel leading swiftly into Lake 107. Near the entrance to this lake we saw another group of seven musk ox. Nearing the islands on its far end we started seeing fish in the water. Mostly we saw their fins breaking the surface as they fed on bugs. But looking down into the water we saw about a dozen of them, swimming unperturbed past the boat. They were in the 16 to 20 inch category. And Jenny saw a much larger pike.
Eventually we reached Forde Lake and by then our energies were beginning to flag. Yesterday's exertions were catching up with us. Jenny washed our netting and shell clothes and a pair of socks each, then we spread them to dry all around us in the canoe. The clothes dried quickly beneath the cloudless sky and glaring sun. Late afternoon we trolled the lure and caught nothing but lake bottom three times, which was ironic because of all the fish we had seen earlier, and all the super fishing holes we had passed by today.
Near the far end of Forde Lake the map shows a river coming in on the left shore, and just past this we stopped at 7 pm to make camp on the low lying tundra. I walked about a mile back to the feeder river and up it a ways, looking for a place to fish, but didn't find a decent spot. This feeder river was not nearly as big as that shown on the map, at least not this time of year. 36 miles today!
Day's mileage:
Day 18
2001-07-27
The sky was again cloudless when we set off at 8 am. The wind was south 8 to 12 knots. The morning was warm, sunny and peppery (bugs). Our first objective was to cut a large bay across 3.5 miles of of open water. At that distance, the far shore is barely visible, though no features are evident. Especially as we were looking directly into the eastern sun. So we paddled on a compass bearing. Halfway across the wind increased and started kicking up the seas. But we finished the crossing, and reached Forde Lake's outlet without having to correct heading.
Now on the river again we had to quickly shift mental gears back into river mode - watching ahead for rapids, rocks, gauging our speed, paying more attention to the map, donning life jackets, making sure all loose items are tied to the boat. On lakes we tend to relax more and it is more grunt work, paddling steadily, sometimes hard, depending on the conditions.
At the far end of a small lake is a set of marked rapids, and these we took on the left with some lining, wading and dragging. At the bottom of the rapids was a perfect fishing hole and bath rock. But the day was early so we pressed on.
In the next lake we skirted the group of islands to their right, then rounded the bend to the right, avoiding a few sections of rapids. At the next section of marked rapids where the river bends sharply left, we kept to the left and lined and waded. For the next three sets of marked rapids we stayed on river left and lined the boat just a bit.
The final set of marked rapids, where the river empties into 30 Mile Lake, we stopped on the right bank for fishing. This rapid could have easily been paddled down the middle. At the very bottom of the rapids, on the right bank, is a beautiful fishing spot. Jenny caught a nice Lake Trout and we wanted one more for lunch the next day, but her next fish was a real whopper - we hauled it out, took a few pictures, then released it. It was far too big for the two of us to eat and far too noble to even think of taking from the river, at least in our current state of appetites. This hole produced a fish with every cast, although we did not always land the fish; sometimes they got off the hook, mainly because we were using small lures with small hooks. Then while Jenny took a quick bath I landed another 16 inch Lake Trout.
From here the land seemed more brown than green. We started seeing our first gravel bars and the terrain was rockier. This was a very pleasant change from the low-lying, swampy ground of the past day and a half. The river flows through a cluster of islands and these were very fascinating. It felt like we were in a maze, but the river's constant current showed the way. At the end of the cluster is a hook of a peninsula attached to the right mainland bank, and just around this we saw a couple of large, dark brown objects that looked like they might be musk ox. Musk ox have a color that nothing else here does. The color alone is unmistakable. But these two lay motionless and we could not tell if they were musk ox or rocks. We drew closer and closer, and thought ever more surely that our eyes were playing tricks on us, and we were seeing a couple of rocks. Finally one of them stood up and ran over to what had looked like a rock for sure, but it stood up too and we could see that it was a small calf. The two ran around the corner and joined three more, while the stately bull lay in front of us. Finally, begrudgingly, it stood up, with no little effort, and stood its ground. We did not want to make him nervous so we refrained from approaching too closely. We got to within 40 or 50 feet.
The river here was over half a mile wide, but still had current, although now the southwest wind was starting to blow and we had to work to hold close to the right shoreline. Just before reaching a big crossing on the right, we stopped on the right bank and made camp on a nice patch of grass just up from the low-lying rocky shoreline. Curiously, a seagull stood very nearby - somehow knowing that we had fish. We wondered if it might have followed us from our fishing hole. I cut the tails off the fish and tossed them to the bird which swallowed one tail whole. This was no small feat because the tail was much wider than the bird's mouth. Somehow he got it all in. I think it may have done the same with the second fish tail, but I didn't see it. This is probably the closest we have been to a seagull up here - outside of being dived and swooped at incessantly at every seagull rookery islet we pass by. The bird's size amazed us. I had already cleaned the fish, and this bird had probably eaten the entrails. Here, I cut the fish into pot-sized pieces, rinsed them well, then carried them in a plastic grocery sack up to Jenny's cooking site.
The day had been very warm with the sun beating relentlessly down. We had countered the heat by splashing water onto us every now and then. However, once we were in tent, the heat became a real problem. We thought of a piece of mylar covering to block the sun, though such a thing on the Back River two years ago would have been unheard of, but on this trip it is not the cold we are battling but the heat and glaring sun.
Day's mileage: 32
Day 19
2001-07-28
The morning sky was totally overcast and the wind 8 knots southeast. We set off at 7 am and paddled south across a mile wide bay, and then followed the right hand shore, such as it was, for it soon became festooned with islands, headlands and bays. The day soon proved to be one of arduous paddling in the wind and chop. Because of these we had to hold as close as possible to the southern shore, and even then the shore offered little protection because of its irregularities. The wind was up to 10 to 15 knots and the sky was blackening. But it was a fascinating shoreline, much rockier than upriver, with large monoliths of bedrock exposed.
The weather was calming, so we crossed to some islands on the far side of the narrow 30 Mile Lake as a matter of expediency. Island hopping was the shortest route. But this proved a mistake because with more fetch the waves were much larger and more difficult to handle. We stopped on one of the islands because the wind was so strong we could barely get around the island's rocky point. Rather than stop and make camp, we thought we would see if the wind would diminish. Meanwhile we made cuppas.
Indeed the wind eased within half an hour, so we set off again and re-crossed 30 Mile Lake to the windward side. This side was far more circuitous but also far less wave-tossed. Even so, we still had to cross many bays and straits where the winds and seas made the going strenuous. Also, rain started falling so we donned rain jackets, thankful that on this trip we were finally carrying a good set of foul weather gear.
The conditions were steadily deteriorating and our energies were flagging. Twice we stopped to look for a place to make camp, but the terrain was rough and rocky. Despite the weather we were not unhappy nor gloomy, we were just doing our thing, pleased to be doing so well in such conditions. And actually, the wind and rain were a nice change from the past few days of roasting under the sun and the battling the bugs. Besides, by Back River standards, even this was a warm and pleasant day.
One of the places we stopped at had a foreboding feeling to it. Across the way was an island with three very prominent inuksuks, one of which looked for all the world like a person standing there. We both had the feeling that the island of the inuksuks was for burial purposes.
Finally we reached the strait where both sides of the lake pinch nearly together and a good but smooth current flows through. We pulled around the corner to the right and made camp a short ways up on the goose grass at 5 pm. Our timing was good, for just as we had settled into the tent the sky let loose with a furious downpour. Day's mileage: 28.
Day's mileage:
Day 20
2001-07-29
After a night of hard rain we departed at 7 am and paddled across the strait in light winds. After crossing a large bay in head winds of 5 and sometimes 10 knots, near the outlet of 30 Mile Lake we paddled in to the narrow bight intent on making a portage. The spit was actually an island presently, in the high water. We hiked 1/8 mile inland, looking for an inland lake shown on the map. Thundering in the distance we could hear the rapids that we were trying to avoid with this portage. Standing on a higher rocky promontory we caught sight of the inland lake, quite a ways to the west of us. So we returned to the canoe, Jenny loaded up a pack load for herself and I readied the canoe for dragging. With that, we headed just left of an obvious rocky promontory, due north of the takeout. The inland lake was just west of this promontory.
With the canoe and the first load we reached the inland lake in about 10 minutes. There we left the boat and the first load, and returned to the takeout for the second and final load, lashing the waterproof gear bags to our pack frames. And soon we were back at the lake. The inland lake was surprisingly large, and we were halfway across when we paddled past a mother duck and about a dozen young ones. They hardly minded us and let us get fairly close. It was as though the mother had seen canoeists before and knew not to fear them. From the inland lake's far end came another 10 minute portage down to the river's edge. Looking back up the river, from our vantage, it looked like we could have lined most of the left bank, though the rapids themselves were very formidable. Were we to do this again, we would follow the river rather than make the portage.
Paddling the length of Lake 84 we heard a huge commotion of birds out on the water. They were Sandhill Cranes, ducks, and who knows what else, all squawking together. "Choir practice," Jenny called it. In reality we couldn't imagine what was going on.
In the section beyond Lake 84 were a few small rapids, but nothing we couldn't easily paddle around. A full two miles from Kazan Falls we could hear its roar, and as we neared the takeout point, we could see great columns of mist, like the smoke of bonfires. The falls are proceeded by a long series of formidable rapids, and these we lined on river right. We hauled out just before the actual falls, near a cairn. Jenny noticed a message can at the cairn. I was lining the boat at the time, and would not have seen the can.
The register can was a small, waterproof ammunition box, holding two very impressive river registers. Judging by the register, we were the third party down the Kazan River this year. A solo fellow and the party of five girls were both two days ahead of us.
The rocky terrain eliminated any possibility of dragging the canoe, meaning that I had to carry it on my shoulders. We emptied it completely then I set off with it, while Jenny followed carrying a frame pack laden with gear.
About 1/3 of the way we found enough grassy tundra to allow dragging the boat, and this greatly eased my toil. The portage was about a mile altogether. Eventually we reached the water's edge in the vicinity of an Inuit camp. This point can be reached from Baker Lake by outboard motor boat, and here we found an old campfire pit full of tin cans and aluminum foil, and bits of toilet paper scattered here and there.
We returned for the second load, following the river bank and enjoying the scenery of Kazan Falls immensely. This is an impressive canyon with the river foaming green through it. A scenic wonder for sure.
The unfortunate part is that the falls themselves are not visible from this side of the canyon. Later in the summer when the water level drops a few feet, one could probably hop out to an island for a close view of the misty falls; but all that we could see was the river plunging over the brink and disappearing into its own billowing mist.
With our second load we returned to the canoe and made camp at 6:30 pm. At almost all of our camps, all but the first one, we had heard Sandhill Cranes. At this camp they are just a couple hundred feet away. We had paddled 24 miles today.
Day's mileage:
Day 21
2001-07-30
Initially we had thought to put in here at the first accessible water, but a final rapid extended from this bank a short ways downriver. To avoid this, one would have to paddle out into the river full tilt. And if unsuccessful, it would be a cold swim at best. Instead we decided to carry our outfit to the very point of land downriver of this rapid. Jenny carried one pack load, I shouldered the canoe, and in only four minutes we reached safe water. We returned for the second load and soon, at 9 am, were gliding down the river.
All was bliss until I realized that I had made a major navigational blunder. Before setting out I did not look at the map. I thought I knew which way to go, but that turned out to be wrong. We followed the current north, out into a group of islands. We should have followed the shoreline southeast. I kept saying, "this is not the way shown on the map at all." And finally I got out the map and realized that we were not yet in the area of the map that I had in my mind's eye. And now the wind was blowing against us and in places setting up a nasty chop against the current. We rounded a few islands, clawing our way back to windward and eventually came to a channel that we recognized as the one we had come in. So in about an hour after setting off we reached the right hand shoreline and got ourselves truly underway.
Even though the river's current was fair, if we stopped paddling, the strong wind actually blew us backwards in the river. So we had to paddle hard just to make progress. It was a struggle keeping the canoe under directional control. Jenny had to do much drawing, left, then right, as the boat kept tending to fall off. Nearly to where the river bends sharply north, we found an area of river that was not too terribly choppy. Directly ahead of us the waves were big and treacherous. We crossed here at this calmer area easily. The wind kept us from drifting ahead into the bigger waves. It felt strange, paddling across this great river without front ferrying and without losing ground. The wind was blowing about 20 knots.
We rounded the corner to the north and paddled 2.5 miles, crabbing mightily to stay off the shore. Even a moment's rest would have put us hard ashore. The river then turned sharply southeast and we thought to go through a narrow channel behind a large, huge, square island with the Y-shaped eskers, but this channel looked shallow and rocky. So we followed the main river channel. The wind now blew even harder, 25+ knots and rain started slanting down. Jenny wasn't feeling well, with a dehydration headache. And we were making such little progress with such great effort that we decided to call it a day. So we landed at 1 pm on the island. We pitched the tent in the rain, then gradually the rain let up so our gear bags and rain jackets had a chance to dry. We climbed the slope to the tundra and enjoyed the views. We found some ripe blueberries, numerous siksik holes, a few spent .223 shells, and an old wolf-gnawed caribou antler.
We had paddled only 7 miles today. Inside the tent we rested, ate, read, with rain spatters off and on throughout the afternoon and evening. After our walk on the hill Jenny braved the cold water and wind and went in for a bath and rinsed some clothes.
Day's mileage:
Day 22
2001-07-31
We set of at 6 am, in a mere 5 knots of southeast wind, under low, dark skies. Quite a switch from yesterday, as now we could see the ripples and small rapids on the water's surface. The current now swept us easily around the island we had camped on with the Y-shaped eskers. At the end of the island we passed inside of the next island. The current was very good all the way to the next lake, at the end of which the river makes a hard right. Even in the lake there was some current. At the lake's outlet the marked rapids were quite substantial and we lined them on the right. The next marked rapids, seven miles downriver, we also lined, waded and dragged on the right. And here we also stopped to fish. Jenny threw out her favorite lure, "blue moon" and hauled in a magnificent lake trout of about 22 inches.
The bedrock and loose slabs along this stretch was a beautiful red sandstone, and in places was stacked like slate shingles. From here the river accelerated wildly and featured very little flat water. It was all rushing and turbulent, not for the faint of heart. Sometimes it was almost dizzying, watching the land whizzing past and the different motions out across the river. Also, from shore, watching the river rush by was quite dizzying. At one point we came to a red sandstone cliff averaging maybe 6 feet high and several hundred feet long, and this we lined. The clouds had lowered even more and the wind remained 5 to 10 knots throughout the fairly chilly morning.
Nearing the delta we started working to the left bank, as always carefully skirting various rocks and rapids. Then the river began to spread out and shallow, exposing a great many rocks and rapids to avoid. At last we steered through a narrow slot leading left and this emptied into Baker Lake. And thus, at noon, we went from wild river water to placid lake water. The wind was dropping and the lake was almost flat calm, with one foot, gentle, rolling swells.
We made our way across the first bay. The map showed shallow sand, but we found no difficulties. For the next six hours we paddled along the coast in pea soup fog. Visibility was about half a mile, so we had to be very careful with our navigating. The next eight miles of coastline were like teeth on a saw blade, with point after point jutting out, and these we cut point to point, relying mainly on the compass until the next fog-shrouded point hove into sight.
And so we went, groping our way along. The wind died completely, the bugs came out and the water went completely flat. We had never seen Baker Lake so calm. Surprisingly, in several places fish were feeding and jumping all around the canoe, what kind and size we couldn't tell. Also to our surprise the lake's water all along the way was fresh. But we had collected some extra from the river just in case; we had thought that Baker Lake would be slightly saline from the tide flowing in from Hudson Bay.
Beyond Takijuq Island the fog began to lift and for the first time we could see that the coast was very low lying, meaning that the camping possibilities were minimal. We had been paddling for 12 hours and were seriously looking for a place to stop, when at last we found a small area of somewhat higher ground. So we landed ashore and made a nice camp. We had just pitched the tent and had put the gear bags under the vestibule when the rain started to fall. Jenny cooked the fish cheerfully out in the rain and bugs, wearing her hip waders and rain jacket. Good rain gear is a must on a trip such as this.
28 river miles plus 17 lake miles equals 45 miles. And we estimate we are just 17 miles from trip's end at the village of Baker Lake.
Day's mileage:
Day 23
2001-08-01
The wind had picked up strongly from the northwest, with gusts to 40 knots. We moved the tent a couple hundred feet up from the water and secured it well with big rocks. We spent the day eating, reading, resting, sleeping, exploring the vicinity, and watching the white capped lake.
By evening the sky had cleared, but the wind still blew mightily.
Day 24
2001-08-02
Another day stormbound, the wind still blowing, the sky cloudy again. We went for a long walk paralleling the shoreline to the west. By evening the wind was easing.
Day 25
2001-08-03
We awoke at 4 am, quickly packed up and set off at 4:30 am. The wind was still blowing, but only at 10 to 15 knots, same direction - northwest. The swell and surf had diminished to 1.5 to 2 feet. The air was nippy, but the strenuous paddling warmed us sufficiently. Before pulling into the bight near Qikliqtaujaq Island, we took a chance and paddled out to Saqiliq Island. This 1.5 mile crossing was a bit iffy because the wind was piping up and the water gnarly and festooned with whitecaps. Before starting the crossing we landed ashore and fitted the spray cover. During the crossing the cover caught a bit of water, but certainly nothing that would have swamped the canoe.
We paddled around the west end of the island and then 1-1/4 miles due north to a point of land. Next we needed to cross a wide bay to the northeast but the wind was now blowing too strong and the waves were too large to make this crossing safely. So we went round the long way, one mile back in to the bay. We followed the land east, then north and could now see the buildings of Baker Lake plainly in the distance. While paddling north along the shore we encountered our first sand shoals. We had planned to go out to Nicholl's Island, but that option seemed to be dry. So we followed a bit of a channel hugging the mainland.
At the northernmost point of land the channel ended and before us lay a vast expanse of sand. It looked like much of this would be under water during high tide. But we were not about to wait around for high tide. We tied the bow line into bights and each put one around our waists, and in that way we managed to drag the canoe, fully loaded, across the sand mostly going from large puddle to large puddle. In about half an hour we reached the far end of the sand bar. To our surprise we found red canoe scrape marks along the way. With the wind blowing the same way as the current from the Thelon River, the waves were minimal and we had a very easy paddle across to Hornet Point, and then another mile to the airport.
Landing ashore at 12:12 pm, at the boat ramp and the Inuksuk monument, we completed the journey. And what a fine journey it had been.
Day's mileage:
I stripped the canoe and started organizing our gear, while Jenny went to the terminal to make flight reservations and try to sell the canoe. It was a nostalgic moment for me, removing all the tie lines from the canoe; lines that had served us well all these days and miles. Soon after I had cleaned the canoe a local Inuit drove up on his 4 wheeler to collect the boat. I said to him, "Oh, Jenny must have sold the canoe already!" Which he confirmed. Later Jenny told me that the reservation agent knew someone who wanted a canoe just like this one. The agent paid $200 Canadian.
I went in to the lake for a nice bath, wearing my full body mosquito clothing. Both me and the clothing got washed. But the bath was somewhat in vain because Jenny soon returned with the news that the next flight out would be another two days. So we would have to stay in Baker Lake for those days. After a taxi ride into town, we were soon taking hot showers at the Baker Lake Lodge.
Once again the Barrenlands had rewarded us with a fantastic trip. We had enjoyed every minute of it. One key feature of these trips is the urge to explore and discover, which is the essence of the journey, the quest, the continually ongoing nature, day after day, of travel without seeing another person. The beauty of the land, its lakes, and the rivers are also incomparable. We love the feeling of openness that just goes on and on for hundreds of miles. The feeling that we have practically the whole river - all 560-miles of it - virtually to ourselves - it is invigorating. At every place we stop, we stand there a few long moments just soaking it in. Every place is new, different and fresh. How rare a treat to have so much land to explore and enjoy.
Stan Rogers: Northwest Passage. They were playing this song at the Baker Lake museum.
