Ray and Jenny's Back River Odyssey

Day 22

August 6

When the alarm sounded at 3 am, the wind was still howling and the sky foggy and cloudy. We were definitely feeling the pressure of the passing days, as we have been since day-2 when we realized what a difficult undertaking this trip was going to be. So at 10:30 am we set off in marginal conditions: strong south-westerlies. We crossed the small bay fronting camp, followed the coast a quarter-mile, then set a course for an island three-quarter miles across open water. The waves were extra large and coming at us beam-on, with lots of white caps. Not exactly nice canoeing weather.

The seas were getting too large for safety, so after rounding the island we landed on its leeward end and made camp.

Camp 22a: Garry Lake

Our camp was quite nice. It was on a gravel bar, which we haven't had for awhile. We both enjoy camping on gravel bars, where accommodating; mainly because they are drier. The drainage is usually much better than on the tundra.

On top of a short rise behind camp, just into the tundra, was someone's campfire site, built against a boulder with a few rocks encircling the coals. The coals were still there, the unused firewood was scattered loosely about, and there were holes in the nearby the tundra where the camper had pulled out the fireplace rocks. Judging by the tundra regrowth, I would guess the campfire site was about ten years old. It was a blatant example of a campfire scar lasting a long time. We never build them, and hope that others will never build them also. The sub-arctic environment is incredibly harsh, yet fragile! Any damage lasts a long time.

The few pieces of driftwood we find lying about, at many of our stops, are part of the environment, and I would guess that most of them could have been around for more than seventy five to one hundred years.

At 3:30 pm the wind speed seemed to be mitigating - somewhat, so we set off paddling. But then the wind started building again, so we knew the conditions were going to get rough out there. But not so rough, quite yet, that we couldn't safely handle it. We paddled the one-mile of open water across to the south side of the lake, and then another mile across a bay, and then immediately another mile across another bay - all in very rough conditions with the occasional combers smacking the canoe and soaking us. There was so much water in the bilge that it soaked my shoes and socks.

Whenever we came close to shore we had to stay away from it, because the waves were much rougher up close, with breakers up to three feet and sometimes higher. The paddling was not too difficult as long as we could keep the wind beam-on, as it was. But after the three bays we needed to head upwind, and then the going was tough and slow.

Taking a compass bearing.

Landing ashore was out of the question in such large surf, although there were occasional small bays we could have pulled into.

then we paddled upwind into the lee of a large island, and into a very nice, south-facing bay on the island's west side. And there we landed ashore and made camp. We had bean wearing most of our clothing to stay warm, and now most of that clothing was soaked from the breaking seas. So we went for a walk across the island, to the other side, to dry our clothing in the strong wind. Along the way we found two Inuit tent rings and a dead fox with its beautiful, white, thick, winter pelt. Along the beach we also found the first vestige of modern civilization we've seen on the trip, discounting the occasional fuel drums. It was an orange plastic handle, of the type for pull-starting a small engine. It obviously came from somewhere upstream.

Caribou antler

Camp 22b

Day 23

August 7

Set off at 8 am into medium strong headwinds. We paddled our way past three rock pile islands, rounded the large peninsula, and then worked into the lee of a large island and around its right side. The map showed a small gap between this island and the mainland, and we were not sure it was passable, but paddling around the windward side would have been a huge job.

The channel proved very interesting with a number of island and hills, in quiet, protected water. The vegetation was a bit austere; that, and the cold, gray sky made the land seem very far north. Saw a lone caribou with a large rack. Paddling through the gap in the next island, we found some current, mainly in the form of wind against current equals chop. We worked our way laboriously across a large bay, and then over to and along island marking the boundary between Garry Lake and Lower Garry Lake. We passed that island on the right and saw no rapids or current effects. We landed ashore on the island to stretch our legs and to get a view of the route ahead.

The sky had been dark and misty all morning, spattering a bit of rain, but now the rain became more serious. The oncoming clouds changed the wind speed up and down considerably. At times the wind was light; at other times it was twenty five knots - but mostly it was around fifteen knots. We paddled past one island and then clawed our way past a small rocky island and all the way to the headland. And now the wind was starting to veer northeast. Generally the coast tends eastward here, but is indented with innumerable bays.

The constant paddling stiff headwinds was fatiguing, so at the head of another large bay we landed on a large island at 2:30 pm and made camp on a beautiful high plateau of a small peninsula. Water on both sides and an excellent view out both doors. We crawled into the tent, hung our wet clothes to dry, enjoyed hot cuppas and a pot full of hot corn meal mush. Rain started pouring from the sky; we were glad to be in the tent. The rain lasted four hours.

Day 24

August 8

Set off at 6:30 am into a gray morning with 10-knot headwinds. Spent most of the day cutting across bays, always with wind on the nose. Went through a group of large islands without problems. Passed around the south end of the southernmost island and found a line of current stretching across the lake at the tip of the island, with quite rough water on the other side. By mid-morning the clouds began to break up.

We crossed the bay and landed at the base of a huge esker. Quite shallow getting in to shore. Climbed the esker for a wonderful view. Saw lots of caribou tracks - in fact, a well-trod trail. We had spotted a couple of caribou up here on our way across the bay. Back in the boat we rounded the point, paddled over to an esker island and watched a herd of thirteen caribou standing on the back side of the esker we had climbed.

Esker

Crossing the next bay was a real chore, with strong wind and a chop that threw the bow up into the air then slammed it back down, losing momentum - time after time. Jenny spent a lot of time airborne. This was how much of the afternoon went, always hammering into head seas. We kept going by sheer will. At least the conditions were do-able, which is why we were trying to make the best of what we had to work with.

As we were paddling a rocky shore, just before rounding a point, we found the most amazing boat ramp like pull-out. It looked for all the world like it was man-made. A perfect clearing through the rocks with a sand beach at the back, maybe thirty feet wide. I couldn't imagine how nature could have made something like that. One lone caribou stood on the beach, watching us a while, as did a family of ptarmigan nearby in the rocks. We had a nice rest there, finding comfortable, rounded boulders to lay on, shaking off some of the exhaustion of paddling into headwinds.

Lone caribou

Rock ptarmigan

The blue sky and sunshine helped enliven our spirits. We set off, and soon reached the final peninsula. Rounding the corner, and doing our best to keep off the lee shore, we reached the lake's outlet. We were beyond tired, but the strong wind required us to cross the outlet to the northeast shore. This proved a huge job because the current was sucking us toward the rapids, and the wind and head seas were unrelenting. We finally reached the rocky shoreline, hauled out, and enjoyed a long, reviving rest on the sun-warmed slabs.

We set out again, and lined and waded the canoe through the rapids - a welcome break from the paddling. This stretch took about one-and-half hours. On a clam day we could have probably run the whole stretch of rapids, but in a strong wind: not a chance. It was fast water rapids with lots of rocks and shallows - for about half a mile. Back in the boat we proceeded across the lake, sorry to have missed our chance at fishing those rapids. So we dug out the reel and Ol' Joe, and after about five minutes' of trolling I had a nice strike. I pulled in a beautiful lake trout about eighteen inches. It fit the bill perfectly because we were really hungry for fish.

Lake trout

We rounded the point and paddled into the eastern outlet a short ways, and at 6 pm made camp beside a large boulder. I pitched the tent and set up camp while Jenny cleaned and cut-up the fish. The bugs were fierce, but they didn't bother us. We enjoyed a nice fish bouillabaisse with instant beans and potatoes. Day's mileage: 24

Camp 24

Day 25

August 9

Jenny rose early to cook a grain breakfast, hoping to get an early start. We packed up and were just about to decamp, when I stepped outside, took one look at the conditions - and said no way. The north wind was too strong, and was creating a big chop. Since I was up, I decided to hike half-a-mile to the third outlet. This looked like the way we should have come - a smooth run the entire way, somewhat shallow, forty feet wide and swift. It might have saved us a couple hours of wading and lining.

We slept all morning, still quite tired from the previous day. But we were restless to get going, so when the the wind moderated at 1 pm we set off. The water was still rough but nothing like it had been that morning. We worked our way along the south shoreline of Buliard Lake, passing through an interesting gap in a large esker. This esker actually split the lake in half.

The south shoreline of Buliard Lake. No wind = black flies.

As we paddled the second half of the lake, the wind piped up from the north. And as the shore turned north we found ourselves clawing into headwinds and headseas.

We reached the lake's outlet and entered the right-most channel, and very soon came to the first set of rapids. These were long, shallow, and rocky; and we spent a couple hours wading and lining. Just before entering this stretch of rapids we saw a small rock cairn close to the water, so we knew that someone was ahead of us. (We had not seen the green canoe marks since upriver of Pelly Lake.)

Wading the rock garden.

As we lined and rock-hopped along the shore, the wet rocks were coated with algae, making them extremely slippery. The dry rocks were covered with black flies - untold millions of them. And the water close to shore was home to many lake trout, one-and-half feet long, sometimes bigger. They were feeding in the shallows, and altogether we must have seen maybe three dozen. Just about each little pool seemed to have at least one. They certainly had plenty of black flies to eat.

The two halves of the river came back together and made a spectacular sight. Thank goodness we had not taken the other, left half; it was a seething turmoil that would have entailed a difficult portage over rocks. At the last set of rapids we lowered the boat down a three foot drop. It's always amazing what we can get the boat down and through. And then we hauled ashore, intent on a quick round of fishing. The black flies were swarming everywhere, but oddly they were not biting. I didn't have to wear my headnet.

Fishing

I assembled the pole, handed it to Jenny, and she caught a fish on her first cast. She almost landed it, but it got off the hook. She tried again and caught another one, a regular sized trout, eighteen inches, but this time a much larger fish came chasing it. Eventually the smaller fish got off the hook. This went on for several more casts, catching some, loosing some, landing one then releasing it.

Jenny offered me the pole. The same thing happened to me, but by now the large fish was starting to wise up. He knew another smaller fish would be coming in soon, so he waited by the bank right in front of us. Tt looked older and darker in color, and was absolutely humongous - a real gooberfish. It was not interested in the lure, only the other fish the lure was bring in each time. It appeared to be three-and-half or four feet long, and massive with a huge mouth. It was fascinating, and in fact completely dumbfounding to see a trout that size. Now I know why it takes a larger lure to catch a larger fish. The big fish are not interested in small lures. They want a good-sized fish to eat.

I finally landed one of the regular-sized trout. It was just a bit on the small side, so I decided to catch another one, which I did in short order. We cleaned them, put them in a plastic bag, and shoved off.

The river had a few more sections of rapids not shown on the map. The final set was at the head of an island. We took the left bank of the left side. From there we paddled in easy conditions. The wind dropped and we enjoyed a bit of current. At the end of the north-trending channel we followed the current through a shallow, rocky section, and then toward a large, high island. And there we met the rest of the river on a southward trending channel, paralleling the island. This section had numerous areas of shallow, sand bottom with a few rocks.

My navigating requires careful attention to the map. The compass is not that reliable this far north, though it is certainly a beneficial help. Mainly I navigate by map and land features.

The river turned left at the end of the island. The channel on the far (northeast) end of the island was shallow and festooned with rocks. The hour was late and the sky was clouding over, so the day was fairly dark. The wind piped up in earnest and we had to work hard to get into the next part of the channel.

We landed on the left bank to look for a campsite but didn't find anything suitable, only lumpy sand with large rocks. So we paddled across the river to the right bank and made camp at 9 pm on large cobblestones. These rocks are well set and smoothed into the ground by the pressure of the winter's ice.

Jenny cut up the fish, boiled them, and made wonderful dinner. However, with my last mouthful I got a bone in my throat - which triggered the gag reflex - and I lost part of my dinner. Not to worry; we had plenty of left-overs. Both fish were about one-and-half pot's worth.

The camping has not been nearly as easy or park-like since the second half of Lower Garry Lake. The shores are a more rocky, and the tundra is either quite distant or else lumpy and not as accommodating. We have to search out good tent sites here. (Writing this by flashlight.)

Camp 25

Day 26

August 10

We had made camp just down-stream of a set of rapids shown on the map. We actually managed to paddle this set. The rapids were mild, little more than bouncing around in eighteen-inch high turbulence.

Our cobble camp was quite comfortable, even with rain all night, which finally let up about 6:30 am. The wind was light, 5-knots from the north. The sky was mostly cloudy.

We set off at 8:30 am. Within a few minutes of floating in the river's current, we went over a sluice, like a child's slide. The drop was about one-and-half feet, and had no ripples. It was a strange sensation, not to see any forewarning or hear any sound.

Both the male and female muskox have horns, but the male's horns extend across the forehead.

We came to a lone muskox on the bank, and paddled in close to take a picture. It was old and not real smooth on his feet. His back legs looked stiff and arthritic.

The river continued flowing nicely, and the going was easy for a change, until rounding the south end of a peninsula. There we started across Upper MacDougall Lake in a northeasterly direction. A large gray cloud approached from the north and began dumping wind and stirring the water into whitecaps. We labored mightily with the wind fine on the port bow, crossing four gaps, each about two-thirds mile wide. Along the shores we counted twenty muskoxen, standing twenty yards from shore. When we paddled up close they all sprinted away, but only for a short distance. An hour later we saw another group of twenty-plus. We've also seen several lone caribou and were able to approach a calf.

Caribou calf

Digging into a food bag for something to eat.

At the lake's outlet we picked up the river's current again and turned southeast. A short ways into this stretch we came to a large, flat rock in the middle of the river, with a good pullout behind it. The rock was just large enough for lunch and a bath. The advantage was: the rock was far from shore, so was relatively bug-free. The wind was chilly, the sun was warm, the water was frigid, and our baths were hasty but much needed and oh so refreshing. The water was deep on both sides of the rock and we could look down and occasionally see fish, one of which was in the junior monster category - a three-foot trout.

Nice place for lunch and a bath.

We set off again and followed the shore for several miles due south on Lower Macdougall Lake, in light tailwinds. It was a beautiful day, although hot at times with the western sun glaring down. At times we were fairly baking inside our headnets. At the outlet of Lower Macdougall Lake the water surges through a long serpentine section with big rapids. Before the first one, we landed ashore and went for a long walk high over the river, scouting the difficulties head. Near the top of the hill we found where some muskoxen had bedded down, leaving patches of qiviut (muskox fur).

We lined and waded and actually paddled some of the first set - until one near miss when we almost hit a rock at speed, sending us momentarily out of control. We decided it was much safer to walk rather than float. And at times we could line as fast as we could walk; but generally it was slower going, working the canoe through the shallow sections and around boulders. The river is much larger than it was prior to the big lakes, and in these rapids the power of hydraulics is almost astronomical.

Rock Rapids, which we lined and waded on the right bank, was an incredible maelstrom. One hole near shore was five feet deep. To be sucked into that would be terminal. Nevertheless, there was a narrow bit of calm water right next to shore, just wide enough for the canoe, and we lined past the big rapids with ease. The fishing would have been outrageous all along here. The urge to fish was strong, but we have leftover fish in the pot from yesterday.

Jenny writes: I'm always amazed how Ray can handle the lining of the boat. To me it looks like a very serious and complex three-ring circus. First he has to watch where the canoe is going and maneuver it just so with the stern line, while keeping the line itself free of knots, free of sharp rocks that would foul the line, and out from under his feet. Meanwhile he is trotting along, rock hopping, on oftentimes slippery rocks, trying to keep up with the speed of the boat, and barely able to watch where he's placing his feet because his eyes are busy watching the canoe. Not only are the rocks usually slippery, but they are loose too, making for quite unsure footing. And to make matters even more intricate, as the canoe draws in close to shore he must start coiling the line, and then as the canoe accelerates ahead, he has to let the line out. Every time the boat gets stuck somewhere I must wade out on the slippery rocks to free it, then race ahead to catch up. It's much easier if we can keep the canoe out in the current, away from all the shallow rocks, and this means we have to keep up a lively pace. But lots of time we have to draw the boat in, in order to bring it inside of dangerous rocks and boulders. Often I must take the bow and navigate it through a tricky area, sometimes with one of us at each end of the boat. And every now and then we must lift it over drops. While making our way through these long stretches of rapids, I often think how exciting it would be have a video camera capturing all the action and exertion."

While going through Rock Rapids we were scolded by a beautiful hawk. It had nest in the short granite cliffs that we waked under. The bugs were numerous today, same as yesterday. However, today they were out for blood. So we had to do this whole section of rapids wearing headnets, which means we can't see quite as well.

More lining and some wading brought us to a short, wide section of calm water. We hauled ashore to make camp at 6 pm. It had taken us two hours to get through the Rock Rapids and vicinity. Our camp was on the goose grass - a beautiful spot.

There were six Sandhill cranes near camp when we landed, and a small gaggle of geese nearby. They took off, flying in formation. Some of the dwarf willow is going to seed, and the berries are starting to turn red. The season is waning, but today was surprisingly warm. Jenny heated the leftover fish soup and we ate it slowly this time, making sure to pick out the bones.

Camp 26:

Day 27

August 11

The temperature had dropped during the night, due to a clear sky. No rain but lots of dew. The wind was light. Jenny rose early to make cuppas and cook corn grits. I went for a walk, scouting the rapids downstream.

We set off paddling at 8:30 am, following the right bank. Coming to a medium sized island we lined some moderate rapids. Then we paddled a nice open section of river another mile, with good current. The next two rapids shown on the map were moderate, and we actually paddled them. Passed a creek coming in on the right, made a hard left, and in another half-mile we had to portage a section, directly across from the confluence of the left half of the river.

The river had a long, curving bank that was too steep and loose with rocks to safely walk on. We portaged a quarter-mile of easy going along the flat terrain overlooking the river, thirty feet above it. I carried the canoe the entire way in one go, though not easily. Jenny carried a moderate pack. We returned for another moderate load each. Our food supply is diminishing, so our portages are not as difficult, except for the weight of the canoe.

We put in and floated a three-mile stretch of good current, at one point stopping on the left bank, where I climbed the high bank to scout the river ahead. I found dozens of rock cairns made by the Inuit. They were old, as evidenced by the amount of lichen growing on the cairns. What their purpose was, I couldn't imagine. A curious caribou came fairly close to investigate. I saw boot prints in the dirt, at least two different types. I could not judge their age. It could have been a few days ago, or a week, or possibly two.

Lunch stop, with canoe paddles at hand.

the head of Sinclair Falls

We paddled to within fifty feet of the head of Sinclair Falls, then lined to the very brink. Pulling out, we made a seventy-five yard portage on the right bank, over difficult, rocky terrain - then back down the base of the falls. In retrospect, the portage on river left looked better: smooth rock slabs at the river's edge. The falls dropped probably no more than twenty feet altogether, over a distance of seventy-five yards, and the falls were very wide.

Base of Sinclair Falls

at the end of the portage we rested on large rocks, eating our corn grits breakfast. Here, we discovered that if we removed our shoes and walked around on the dry rocks in our wet socks, we left wet footprints - meaning that we were drying our socks.

We put in at the bottom of the falls, paddled a short ways, then lifted and lined the boat for a short ways. From there the river was wide and swift, and had no appreciable rapids. Where it bends left and heads north, the map shows a set of rapids that we did not encounter.

The sky was looking ominous and we debated landing ashore and making camp. We landed and ate some snacks, (dried fruit, jerky, cheese, and cracker crumbs), then shoved off again and paddled a 15 knot northwest wind. When making the bend to the right, we were surprised to find a large, low lying island. The channel went right along the curving shore of the mainland, as shown on the map. The season was getting late and water was getting quite low, and we are finding lots of low, rocky islands not shown on the maps. At the tip of that curved shoreline came a squall out of the north, of incredible intensity. It blew so hard that I had to get off of my seat and kneel down to keep from getting tipped over. We turned the boat around and paddled a hard ten minutes into the lee of the point, with whitecaps everywhere.

The wind blew us a quarter mile into the back of the bay, and there we landed ashore. The camping here would have been quite good, but we were not ready to make camp yet. The time was only 3:30 pm. So we decided to wait it out. The blow was obviously a cloud dump, judging by the looks of the sky. However, the squall had a punch to it, and lasted much longer than expected. We sheltered behind a large rock, with the tarp wrapped around us in a bit rain, waiting it out.

The rain stopped, the wind eased, and we got back on the water and paddled stiff headwinds back out of the bay. Within half and hour the wind had lessened to ten knots. Throughout most of the afternoon we sighted caribou here and there.

Paddling northeast, nearly to the junction where the river turns southeast, we both had a extremely strange and unsettling sensation of going steeply downhill.

The southeast tending section was quite nice with good current, a bit of sunshine, a some quartering tail winds. As we made the bend to the left, we saw a muskox on the mainland to the south. We paddled across the next gap, turned north, and there the north wind started blowing hard once again. So we stopped on the left bank at 6 pm and made camp.

The cold wind persisted for a couple hours. A huge herd of caribou had been through here not long ago, leaving thousands upon thousands of tracks and ruts. In fact, they inflicted quite a lot of damage to the goose grass, having practically wiped it out in many places. But of course the goose grass will be submerged in the coming spring, and will be exposed again in the summer, and no doubt it will make a full recovery.

Camp 27

Day 28

August 12

Light rain fell during the night, and the wind grew light. Jenny awakened at 5:30 am to make cuppas and cook breakfast grains. The rain started again so we went back to sleep. Woke up a few hours later, looked out the tent door, and witnessed a caribou standing fifty yards away, grazing the tundra grasses. He had a nice rack. By the time we had dressed and were ready to emerge, the caribou was still there. But when we stood up, it wandered off a ways, and for a few long moments just looked at us curiously.

Caribou from the tent's doorway

We set off at 9:15 am. The sky was overcast, with drizzle and stiff headwinds. Paddled three hours and finally rounded the bend and reached the head of Escape Rapids. More rain, lots of cold wind, gray skies - we considered making camp. We knew that our lining would be difficult, due to the rocks being wet and slippery. But we decided to try anyway. We removed our thermal pants and wool socks, and put on our shells and fleece socks - knowing they would soon be wet. And so began the lengthy and arduous job of lining down the right bank. I had scouted this first to insure there were no insurmountable blockages. The river level had dropped a foot or two in the past couple of weeks, so most of the rocks that were now above the water line were covered in moss or algae. The rain made them extremely slippery. And that was all we had to walk on.

The wind was blowing onto our shoreline, so every time we shoved the canoe out, to get around a rock, the wind blew it right back. In retrospect, I think I would try lining Escape Rapids on the left bank because it looked shorter, although there was one stretch of solid rock slabs near the start that might require one or two short portages; I couldn't quite tell. It took us three hours to line the canoe down these rapids, one-and-half miles. And that was three hours of intense exertion. Often we had to wade mid-thigh to get the canoe through or around a rocky section. During this time quite a lot of rain fell, and we had to keep wiping our glasses so we could see where we were going.

Just near the end of rapids, the clouds parted enough for a bit of sunshine. It felt glorious, and warmed our bodies and spirits. Finally we "escaped" from the rapids, paddled headwinds to the left bank, and landed ashore in a place protected from the wind by a high bank. There, we rested and ate both breakfast and lunch, while squeezing the water out of our socks and trying to warm-up in the sporadic sunshine. The time was 3 pm.

From there we paddled into an area of lake, and commenced two more hours of exceptionally strenuous paddling in strong headwinds, at times making scant headway. Galumphing into the head seas, Jenny spent a lot of time airborne, as the canoe continually lifted then slapped back down with each oncoming comber.

Feeling that we'd had enough for the day, we landed on the right bank and found a level patch of sand on the otherwise sloped, rocky shore. The strong wind dried most of our things quickly. It's always such a pleasure to crawl into our warm, cozy home and enjoy a hot meal. At first we thought we could have just as well stayed in bed all day. But we persevered. Our mileage wasn't that great; but still, we feel we accomplished a great deal.