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Chapleau River 2013by Richard Griffith

For lovers of whitewater, Chapleau-Nemegosenda RiverProvincial Park, west of Timmins, ON, presents a unique andinteresting loop. The two rivers flow north on their way toJames Bay, and run parallel to each other for about 90 km,until they meet at Kapuskasing Lake. One can paddle downone river and up the other, finishing close to the start, thusminimizing the car shuttle. Good plan. That’s what wethought, but it didn’t quite work out that way. The trip wascapably led by Gary James. The other participants were GaryAtaman, Mary Perkins, Larry Hicks, Jeff Haymer, MattEberly, Ginger Louws and myself.The Chapleau River originates somewhere in the hills

south of the town of the same name. However, because theriver actually winds its way through lakes for a considerabledistance, we travelled farther north, to Racine Lake, and

spent the first night at Missinaibi Headwaters Outfitters.Racine Lake is huge, and I’m sure that crossing it on a windyday would present a formidable challenge. Fortunately for us,starting out in warm weather on Canada Day 2013, it was asheet of glass. Calm as it was, it still took a long time tocross.When we emerged from the lake, the river narrowed and,

after some miles, practically disappeared into an almost im-penetrable thicket of downed trees. We couldn’t find the cur-rent. We couldn’t find the portage either, though we had atheory that one did exist. So we decided to muddle our wayover, under and around the fallen trees and branches and al-though progress was slow, this worked for a while. When,eventually, the water route closed in almost entirely, weelected to climb the bank, where we finally found a trail.

Summer 2015 Vol. 42 No. 2 Quarterly Journal of the Wilderness Canoe Association

The crew on a beautiful day getting ready to head out on Racine Lake. From L to R: Gary Ataman, Ginger Louws, Larry Hicks,Matt Eberly, Jeff Haymer, Gary James, Mary Perkins, Richard Griffith.

2 NASTAWGAN SUMMER 2015

tainly turned out to be the correct deci-sion. The following morning we trav-elled for hours before finding anythingthat would have been an improvementon the rude location we settled for. Thisriver doesn’t see many visitors! So weerected the tents, someplace, somehow.We also put up the bug tent and boy, didthat ever make a difference. Sanctuary!I still don’t own a bug tent, yet, but fornorthern Ontario in July, it should be thefirst thing you pack.

On the second day, the river gotwider and we began to encounter someserious rapids. The decision to run eachset was up to each pair of canoeists: nopressure. As things turned out, GaryAtaman and I ran more of them thananyone else, but that’s more a tribute tohis skill set than mine. Paddling in thebow, I did manage to avoid seeing a crit-ical rock on a few occasions. Once,early on, we hung up on one of the onesI failed to identify in time. We were nearthe shore, in fairly shallow water, so Idecided to disembark, feeling that thecanoe would float free without myweight. Things being as unstable as theywere, though, the canoe decided to lurchto one side, liberating my personal pack.Gary, ever the practical observer,

commented “There goes your pack.”Yes. One of the other canoes, though,was downriver and close by, so the packwas quickly recaptured. Sleeping bagstayed dry.Later that day, Gary and I ran another

demanding set. We portaged the firsthalf or so and put in again just below aten-foot waterfall. From there it was atight, technical class 2, in a narrowchannel, and what made it all the moreexciting was the chunky-looking over-hanging branch, or maybe there weretwo of them, that we each had to quicklyduck beneath, and just as quickly re-cover, to finish the set.Day Three was the day of the

“Matterhorn Rapid”. We knew therewas something there because that par-ticular portage is at least a kilometrelong, and we were sensible enough toportage all the packs. Our rather incom-plete trip information didn’t say enoughabout the river, though. We would haveliked to have scouted the rapid, but thatCampsites are generally small but we usually found enough space to fit all the tents.

Larry and I managed to find a similarway of celebrating this achievement: weeach tripped and fell, hard, on our faces.That’s never fun when you’re underload.One way or another, we spent a lot of

time on that portage and the day kind ofgot away from us. By the time we even-tually reached another portage, peoplewere tired and, although it was only tendays past the solstice, we were startingto lose daylight. When voyaging down a

river with current, daylight tends to bean essential asset. On the other hand,this particular location was just anotherrough portage. There were no immedi-ately identifiable tent sites, and the bugswere as ferocious as anything I’d en-countered in my 45 years of canoeing. I,for one, wasn’t particularly tired. Iwanted to continue on to a more com-fortable campsite, but I was overruledand we stopped for the night. I remem-ber being annoyed by that, but it cer-

Lining down the log-jammed Racine Creek heading to the Chapleau River.

NASTAWGAN SUMMER 2015 3

isn’t always possible on these expeditions. The portagewas nowhere near the water itself. No one, of course,wants any portage to be any longer than it has to be, andthis one just disappeared, as per usual, into the woodsin a more-or-less straight line. In this case, however, thebends in the river effectively create a peninsula, whichis what the portage goes across. We briefly consideredwalking the shoreline, but it was rugged, thick, unyield-ing, and of course, full of bugs. On a hot day. Scoutingwas laughably impractical. So we turned our attentionto the river, took a deep breath and plunged on.You mayask why we didn’t portage the canoe? Why run whatyou can’t see? Well, in retrospect, this may not havebeen our most brilliant moment, but...because it’s there.I must point out something else about my paddling

partner, Gary Ataman. He is a breezy, laid-back engi-neer and nothing flusters him. I have yet to see himangry or agitated. In regards to this particular rapid, hejust said something like, “Well, I can see the first 100metres and it’s easy, and [having portaged the gear] I’veseen the last 100 metres and it’s easy, so that just leavesthe middle. How bad can it be? Let’s go.” Away wewent.

That first 100 metres was manageable enough andnearly all class 2. We certainly had to be awake but itwas no big deal for experienced paddlers. So we ranthat and came to a pool where we stopped to take abreather. The river took a bend and the rapids resumed.More class 2. Then we went around another bend, andwe suddenly found ourselves at the top of a really com-plicated class 3, which of course we hadn’t scouted!Huge rocks everywhere. Huge waves. No real dis-cernible V anywhere... I couldn’t think ahead fartherthan about ten feet at any moment. Gary was holleringorders in the stern: “Left! Left! Slow it down! Right!Other right! Left! Draw! DRAW! Centre! Left!”The rocks seemed to be almost flying past, right and

left, left and right. Suddenly this HUGE black triangularrock loomed up straight ahead. I’m convinced this par-ticular rock was grinning. No chance to avoid it. Iplaced the paddle flat on the gunwales and braced myknees for the impact.WHAM!!! We hit straight on andI expected the stern would swing around, but Gary wasbracing hard and we just kind of slid over to the leftside. I named that rock the “Matterhorn”. Miraculous!!Breathing really hard!The rapids continued. We were only halfway through

this class 3. We were the second canoe down and out ofthe corner of my eye I could see the first canoe, withGary James and Mary, stuck on something off to theright. No way to help - no way to even tell exactly whatwas happening to them. Couldn’t take my eyes off ourown rocks. “Right! Left! Slow it down! Centre! Left!Cross-bow! LEFT!” At last it flattened out, well, sortof, then took one more bend and finished with a rela-tively benign gravel bar, but still definitely a class 2.

Richard named this rock the Matterhorn. The plan was to move fromriver right to river left above it.

Our route from Racine Lake to Elsas covers around 90 km of class 1, 2and some 3 paddle-friendly rapids.

like it might be my LAST birthday.Swimming that class 3 would have beenan extremely nasty experience. That wasone of the longest, most demandingrapids I have ever run, and we had notscouted it.Gary and I agreed that the two other

canoes shouldn’t try to run it, so as soonas we reached the shore, I scrambled outand up the portage, hoping to warnthem before they left. But a hilly, rockyportage isn’t a sidewalk and one can’tsprint, especially when it’s a kilometrelong. I did meet Matt and Ginger. Theyhad decided, on their own, not to try it.But I did not get back to the beginningin time to speak to Larry and Jeff. All Icould do was turn around and marchback down the portage. I arrived back intime to see Larry and Jeff on their feet,sloshing through the water near the farbank. They were slowly lining the canoedown the last hundred metres. We triedto yell instructions but we couldn’t beheard over the roar. Eventually theyworked their way down to the bottom,but neither one seemed very interested


That final flattish stretch was the “last100 metres” that Gary had actuallyseen.

That was July 3 and that’s how I cel-ebrated my 55th birthday. For that in-stant in front of the Matterhorn, it felt

Lining the boat around a boulder section.

Jeff and Mary are working around the cascading pools and ledges.


in discussing the experience. At the footof these rapids there was a beautifulcampsite, and this time there was noquestion about calling it a day. As I said,it was my birthday, and the chefs hadn’tforgotten. We had wonderful cake!In the following couple of days there

were more sets of rapids, some of themgreat fun, but they paled in comparisonto the Matterhorn Rapid. There weremore portages too. One of them wasmemorable for being short but ridicu-lously difficult. It was almost straightup and straight down. There was no realtakeout but rather just a bunch of hugeboulders to clamber over. We had to usea human chain to get everything out ofthe water and up the hill.By the end of day 4 we had run most

of the Chapleau, but the next issue be-came the health challenge suddenly fac-ing Larry. Larry was 61 and he had hada history of heart trouble. I could tell hewas having some kind of problem. I wasabout to say something to Gary Jamesbut he was already aware of it, and hetook Larry into his canoe. Becausethey’re both big men, this meant thecanoe rode low in the water, but it wasthe responsible thing to do. It was theeasiest way for Gary to keep an eye onLarry and besides, most of the rapidswere by this time behind us. AlthoughLarry had begun to complain aboutpains in his chest, he was still paddlingand still walking around and we thoughtwell, pulled muscle? Cracked rib? Someother minor thing that you really can’tdo anything about in the wilderness? Hehad fallen down hard on that earlyportage, but that in itself didn’t seem tomean much. We progressed down theriver, and he got a bit worse every day.Although he was still paddling, at eachcampsite it was obvious he needed rest.

We reached Kapuskasing Lake, an-other large body of water. There’s a fish-ing lodge near the north end calledGosenda. Gary J. had, by this time, de-cided to evacuate Larry one way or an-other, so we stopped at the lodge. Theyhad a telephone with a poor connection,but Gary managed to get a call throughto ORNGE. Helicopter coming! Thechopper needed an open space of atleast 50 metres by 50 metres. The lodge Fresh fish tonight.

Scouting on the river and around bends sometimes required rock climbing and bush-whacking skills.


didn’t have anything that big, but at thispoint we were only a mile or two fromElsas, which is on the main CNR track.Having actually been to this town ontwo previous trips, I remembered a largefield. So we set it all up with the author-ities and off we went again. By thistime, the wind had built KapuskasingLake into HUGE waves which, thankgoodness, were in our direction. Wesailed, literally, to Elsas.We landed at the dock, scrambled up

to the field with Larry and with Larry’shuge pack, and we waited, but not forvery long. To help them locate us, GaryAtaman used a signal flare thatpromptly started a small grass firewhich we hastened to put out. (Note toself: be careful with signal flares.) Verysoon thereafter, the big old orangeORNGE came roaring out of the sky,

We sailed into Gosenda Lodge on Kapuskasing Lake.

The engineer in Gary Ataman is apparent in this tarp sail.


circled a couple of times to get a goodlook at things, and then landed about200 feet from us. It’s a pretty remark-able thing to have a helicopter land, atyour own behest, in the middle of theOntario wilderness!There were two pilots and two

medics. The medics chatted with Larryand he walked to the helicopter underhis own power. One of the pilotsglanced at Larry’s pack. “I’m not takingthat,” he laughed, and he walked back tohis machine.The big engine cranked up again and

away they went, leaving us with four ca-noes and seven people and the gear foreight people. After much discussionabout what to do next, Mary volun-teered to take the train out. We weresorry to lose her, but it would certainlyease things for the rest of us since one

Larry’s ride has arrived in the open grass clearing at Elsas.

A family of curious foxes made the abandoned town of Elsas their home.


canoe and all of Larry’s gear could go with her straight to Toronto. Sowe found a telephone in Elsas and Gary James made a torrent of phonecalls – his wife, Larry’s wife, Fred Argue, (our primary contact withthe outside world), the outfitter, VIA rail, and the OPP. Permutationsand complications everywhere. The rest of us made camp and I madedinner, in a place that I would ordinarily have stopped for nothingmore than lunch.On Sunday morning we awoke to pouring rain and 7°C. A few

days earlier, it had been at least 30°C. We erected tarps but the rainwas persistent and we got steadily wetter. Elsas, for all its many oldbuildings, doesn’t have many in which seven people can make them-selves comfortable in when it’s wet and cold. We spoke to the localCNR employee and we took a quick look at the forecast on his TVset. Steady rain all day and a high of no more than 14°C. Much bet-ter weather was expected for Monday. At this point I really regrettedthat I had not brought my rain pants. Gary told me to open Larry’spack and take his rain pants. I did. That improved my situation a bit.Nevertheless, I was quite uncomfortable and I told Gary, “I’m sorry,but I’m not going in that canoe today. I will go Monday but if I gotoday, I’ll be hypothermic and you don’t want that.” Gary acknowl-edged this. So did Ginger, because she was also wet and cold, butshe hadn’t said anything because she “didn’t want to let the rest ofus down”. I told her, “well, I’m an experienced canoeist. I under-stand my body’s reaction to this weather and I know I can’t takethis”.

The upshot was that we all decided to cancel the remainder ofthe trip in favour of the train. Gary James agreed with my assess-ment of my own situation, but if we had waited around for aMonday departure on the water, heading up the Nemegosenda, thatwould have put us two days behind schedule, which in turn wouldhave entailed another whole round of phone calls with the outfit-ter, the OPP and everyone else. Although Gary had handled thingsextremely well up to that point, the dreary weather and its compli-cations were weighing on us all. Ginger, Matt and I were all prettyuncomfortable that day. (All three of us have since invested in bet-ter rain gear.)We had arrived in Elsas about 3 pm Saturday and we had to wait

until 7 pm Monday for the train. We did have a nice party on Sundaynight with Nelson and Michelle Brazeau, who actually live there atleast part of the year. Other than that, we couldn’t find a whole lot todo in Elsas. It was a great relief when the train pulled in, 52 hours afterour initial arrival, and we climbed aboard for the 40-minute ride toFoleyet, where vehicles waited to take us back to Racine Lake.So ended, rather anti-climactically, our Chapleau-Nemegosenda

“loop” trip. As the old VIA ad used to say, “Take it easy, take thetrain”. We did.P.S. Larry’s diagnosis was a bout of hypokalemia, which mimics a

heart attack. The hospital in Timmins took good care of him and today,he’s fine.P.P.S. Many thanks to Gary James for guiding us safely through, not

just the rapids, but a complicated, pressure-filled wilderness adven-ture. And thanks to Gary Ataman for helping me survive the Ride ofthe Matterhorn. However, I do not recommend that you ever run big,remote rapids unscouted.If you want an adrenaline rush, Gary Ataman and Matthew Eberly

have both posted videos of the Chapleau River Odyssey onYouTube.

A drizzly rain, mud and cool summer temperatures madeour stay in Elsas a bit of challenge.

When you have to wear your life jacket for extra insula-tion you know it’s cold.

Jeff waiting for the train and dreaming about future ad-ventures.


July was hot. Really hot. It’s taken us twosweaty days to get here. Three of usjammed into Gary’s car with enough gearfor a two-week canoe trip. We ate inrestaurants and diners along the way,knowing our diet for the next while wouldbe “bush” fare. I for one welcomed TimHorton’s. I was facing two weeks ofGary’s coffee!We struck out across Racine Lake in

the early morning, wanting to make timebefore it got really hot. We were doingfine until we got to the other side. Noriver. No portage.Were we lost? The GPSsaid we’re in the right spot. So wehumped, dragged and hacked our waycross-country through a tangle of fallentrees, thick bush and rocks until we foundopen water. We’d just skirted one of thebiggest, overgrown log jams I’d ever seen.And on one of the hottest days I can re-member. A couple of lakes, rapids andportages later we reached our camp-site. We were beat. Darkness wasapproaching and it was still hot. Wetanked up with water, ate supper,and tanked up again. Have to stayhydrated.Three sweaty dudes in their

underwear lying on top of theirsleeping bags in a small steamytent is not conducive to a goodnight’s sleep. Someone was snoring,I blamed Richard. An elbow fromGary suggested that perhaps I wasawakened by my own snoring.I got up the next morning and had a

good pee. Nice colour. Satisfied that Iwas not dehydrated, I had two cups ofGary’s famous coffee with breakfast. Offwe went. Great white water, shortportages and good fellowship, but boywas it hot. I drank about three liters ofwater that day, sweating it out as fast as Icould take it in.What should have been an easy

portage for me became a bit of a slog. Iwas tired and dragging my feet. I stum-bled a couple of times and did a reallygood face plant with a heavy barrel onmy back. I went to bed early that night,after the customary top up of water and alittle merlot.I woke up the next day still feeling

tired and listless. My tripmates seemedconcerned about my failing condition aseach time we stopped for a break, some-one would pass me a water bottle. MaybeI am dehydrated? Drink more water.Then I started to have a stabbing pain

in the left side of my chest. Did I break arib when I fell yesterday? Am I havingthe big one? The team decided to pull meout. We paddled to Nemegosenda, founda phone in a fishing lodge and Garycalled his contact in the OPP. He handedme the phone. On the other end was aguy from ORNGE saying they werecoming to get me, and for me to chewsome aspirin. I packed a change ofclothes into mysmall

packand told theguys to share the rest of my stuff. In ret-rospect, I should have taken the flask ofwhiskey with me.We paddled across the lake to Elsas

where a field provides a landing spot fora helicopter. The wind was howling andthe waves were high, but we beat thehelicopter there. The crew was in a rushbecause of the approaching storm andmade good time getting out of there. Iworried about my tripmates travellingback to Chapleau short a paddler, butafter a shot of Demerol I forgot all aboutthem. But I do remember lying on my

back in the ER in Timmins and the doc-tor telling me “This is a heart attack.”I spent two days in the hospital. The

medication they gave me settled myheart down but I wasn’t improving over-all. They must have eventually figured itout as they started me on potassiumpills. Big ones. I started to get betterquickly. After another day, they decidedto let me go. My wife drove me all theway home to Toronto in one of the worstrain storms in Ontario history. I worriedabout my tripmates in this weather butwas relieved to hear from Gary that theytook the train back from Elsas.It wasn’t until my final interview with

the doctor in Timmins that I understoodfully what happened to me.The Direct Cause. My heart was act-

ing up because my potassium levelswere critically low, a condition known ashypokalemia. Potassium is an elec-trolyte essential to cardiac and otherbodily functions. Although myheart responded well to the initialmedication, they kept me theextra days out of concern for mykidneys.The Immediate Cause. I was

drinking and passing so muchwater that I literally flushed theelectrolytes out of my system.They have to be replaced on a con-stant basis, normally through the

food you eat. Supplements work welltoo, but sugary drinks like Gatoradecome with their own set of problems.The pain in my chest is believed to befrom fluid buildup in my lung.The Early Cause. I take a low dose

diuretic pill daily to help keep my bloodpressure down. Diuretics work by re-moving excess fluid from your system.Together with Gary’s coffee, this mayhave accelerated my fluid loss.The Prevention. I now carry whole

potatoes and canned spinach with me ontrips. I yam what I yam. Your pack willbe noticeably lighter by the end of thetrip too.My thanks to everyone who helped

me through this adventure. Go easy onthe water!

My Trip Down the Chapleauby Larry Hicks


Published by theWilderness CanoeAssociationNastawgan is an Anishinabi word meaning “the way or route”

CPM #40015547ISSN 1828-1327

The WILDERNESS CANOE ASSOCIATION is a non-profit organization made up of individuals interested inwilderness travel, mainly by canoe and kayak, but also in-cluding backpacking and winter trips on both skis andsnowshoes. The club publishes a quarterly journal,

Nastawgan, to facilitate the exchange of information andideas of interest to wilderness travellers, organizes an ex-tensive program of trips for members, runs a few basicworkshops, and is involved in environmental issues rele-vant to wilderness canoeing.

Articles WantedIf you haven’t noticed it, do take notice– the Summer issue of Nastawgan isonly 24 pages long. This is a sure signthat our content well has dried up! Asyou pack your bags for this summer’sdream paddling trip, remember to throwin a pencil and a notebook. You’ll needthem to draft your first (or next) sub-mission to the Editor for the Winterissue of our journal. Please reach out toAleks Gusev, Editor, to consult abouttips & tricks that will help your writingmore fun!

Luste LectureWCA, in partnership with the CanadianCanoe Museum, is pleased to announcethat 3nd annual Luste Lecture will takeplace on Sunday, 27th September 2015.Event will be held at the CCM featuringDavid Olesen as a guest speaker. Dave isknown to many in the wilderness pad-dling community as the pilot, author, sleddog racer and wilderness guide who,with his wife Kristen and two daughters,have lived on the shore of McLeod Baynear Hoarfrost River for 27 years. Daverecently published his new book “Kindsof Winter”, detailing four solo journeysby dog team in Northwest Territories.This is an event you don’t want to miss.Please plan to attend and show your ap-preciation for everything George Lustehas done for the paddling communityover the past 30 years.

SymposiumUpdate

Date and location for the ‘16 WCS havenot been confirmed yet. Our preferenceis to return to Monarch Park Collegiate,if possible, and to keep the same dates– 19th and 20th February 2016. Sadly,Canadian Ski Marathon organizersmoved their event (again) to the sameweekend. We’ll likely collaborate againwith the Ontario Adventure Show,which is also taking place on the sameweekend.Exciting news! Most of the ‘15 pre-

sentations have been digitized and areavailable online for viewing at WCSwebsite www.wcsymposium.com.Work on digitization continues.Your help is required. Please send

your recommendations for presentersto [email protected]. Evenmore importantly, start spreading theword in your circles and communitiesabout this unique event. Digitized on-line content will now make it mucheasier to explain and inspire others whythey don’t want to miss this gathering.If you haven’t done so yet, visit WCSFacebook page for more frequent up-dates.

Events CalendarFall Meeting will be held at the CedarRidge Camp on 18th-20th September2015.Luste Lecture will be held at CCM onSunday, 27th September 2015.Wine & Cheese will take place onSaturday, 14th November 2015 at TSCC.

Contributors’Guidelines

If you are planning to submit any mate-rial for possible publication inNastawgan, you would do the editorsand certainly yourself a great favour byfirst consulting the WCA Guidelines forContributors to Nastawgan. Theseguidelines should be followed as muchas possible by all contributors, so thatthe editorial team can more effectivelyedit your contribution to make it fit theNastawgan style. The latest draft of theguidelines is available on the WCAwebsite.

WCA ActivitiesWant to view all club activities, learnmore about our extensive outings pro-gram for members, or organize and posta trip? It’s easy! Visit the Outings sectionof the WCA website:www.wildernesscanoe.ca

2015 Wine andCheese

Will take place on Saturday Nov. 14 at7:00 p.m. at the Toronto Sailing andCanoe Club, featuring Frank Wolf as theMike Wevrick Memorial speaker.Frank is a Canadian adventurer and

movie-maker. His self-propelled tripsinclude canoeing in every province andterritory of Canada with distances from620 km to 8000 km over the past 20years. He has also biked the YukonRiver from Dawson City to NomeAlaska in winter and rowed 1850 km inthe Arctic Ocean.


reflect that in some ways, Uncle Nick andcrew were travelling through this samelandscape; the two stories could not bemore different.Yet it appeared to me that Berger’s

Uncle Nick held admiration and respectfor the river knowledge and resiliency ofthe First Nations communities along thecanoe route. “For each river, each water-shed, each waterway, there is a people orlayers of people through time who arebound to the land and to the water by acanoe.”2

Back Blaze is a comfortable read foranyone wishing to delve into the internalexplorations of a seasoned paddler’s mind.It will resonate with readers who share apassion for this northern landscape, andfor paddle-educators who advocate for thebenefits of imparting canoe-travel wis-dom to future generations.Berger’s writing often evokes Sigurd

Olson’s lyric prose. I borrow from BackBlaze’s start to encapsulate what he is try-ing to reach:

If my runes have touched somethingof man’s ancient dream, revealed some ofthe common origins of his long past, andrestored some sense of balance, whole-ness and perspectives, then my gather-ings will have been worthwhile.3

1Wagamese, 20122Raffan, 1999, p. 23Olson, 1997

A fictionalized memoir, Back Blaze:Memory of a Canoe Trip by JonathanBerger draws us through the flow-and-ebbexperience of remembering a long life ofpaddling.A current-day dialogue between Uncle

Nick and his daughter, Erika, frames thenarrative arc. Their conversation bookendsthe wisdom and experiences as UncleJack reflects on his 1962 trip as a muchyounger, lither, stronger man, on theChivelson Lake -Attawapiskat Post route.During this 1200-mile trip, he taught histhree young travelling companions, Penny,his niece, his nephew, Mac, and Joe, hisnephew’s friend, a lifetime of collectedcanoe-wisdom.Berger’s passion and care for the land

and a legacy of canoe wisdom appears inhis foreword, like a top-ten packing list,including number one: “The next bestthing from being on a canoe trip is tellingstories about it.” From here, Back Blazelaunches into how each of these ten in-sights took place on this trip.The detailed route account, woven with

a haunting series of intimate river sketchesby Uncle Nick and by Penny, deepenedmy appreciation of this powerful place.During the most evocative chapter, wesee the now-expert crew enter theAttawapiskat-proper. The description ofthe land, the waters, and the spirit of theland is beautiful. And like the limestoneislands that punctuate that part of the river,Berger places his tripping lifestyle reflec-tions as landmarks to contemplate.In deep contrast, I recently read Indian

Horse1. Both stories take place in thissame region and time. However RichardWagamese shares a stark, and importantlycritical perspective on the context of a sur-vivor’s story from Canada’s ResidentialSchool System. It is important, I think, to

The SkillsStory by Greg Went

Sitting around the fire. The buddies haveall turned in for the night. I’m the last togo. Right now I don’t think that it will bemuch longer before I follow them intothe tents.There are four of us on this year’s

wilderness canoe trip. All of us have beenon trips into the deep wilderness before.A couple of us have been on many trips.As I sit here watching the embers of

the fire I’m thinking about the skills thateach of the four of us has that have madeour wilderness canoe trips that much moreenjoyable. Good camping skills arehighly valued on wilderness canoe trips.They can make the difference betweenjust surviving a trip or traveling throughwild country much more easily.One buddy is expert at rigging a tarp.

He can set a tarp up and get it to stay up,even in very windy and pouring rain con-ditions. When the weather does not allowcanoe travel, it is much more pleasant sit-ting outside the tent and enjoying the fireunder a tarp. Without his skills we wouldbe trapped in the tents during bad rain-storms.Another buddy is great camp organ-

izer. When we are on shore for the nighthe secures the canoes, stacks the duffelbags where they are readily available, col-lects firewood, and gets water for dinner.Almost before the rest of us haveprocessed the fact that we are staying herefor the night, he has turned the flat spotwhere we are standing into our overnighthome. He does it automatically, turningcanoes full of gear into a secure refuge forthe night.A third buddy is a great map reader.

He knows every second of the trip exactlywhere we are on the map. A GPS unit isalmost an unnecessary gear item if he’s onthe trip. At every stop during the day hepulls out the maps and updates us--howfar we have come, the location of the nextrapid or falls, where possible campsitesmight be. The last canoe has barelygrounded on the gravel bar for a stop andalready we are crowding around him tolook at the maps. It pleases him greatly tobe of such use.Another buddy can get a fire going de-

spite the severity of a rainstorm or howmany days in a row it has been raining.Anevening of hot food and a warm campfireare always guaranteed thanks to his skills.

Back Blaze: Memory of a Canoe TripReview by Erika Bailey

As I sit here at the fire I’ve come to aconclusion concerning skills that each ofthe buddies has. It will not be enough totell the buddies that their talents are ap-preciated. It will not be enough to tellthem that the use of their talents hasbrought great comfort and safety to ourwilderness canoe trips.Here’s what I am going to tell them.

“Together we were better.”


The PremiseI have a confession: I don’t take toiletpaper on a canoe trip. True, after reading awhole bunch of websites on the topic, I re-alize there are a lot of wilderness die-hards who don’t use TP in the back-coun-try, but my actual confession is this: eventhough most experts insist on using onlywhite, single-ply, unscented toilet tissue,my husband and I use Kleenex. To be spe-cific, we take several pocket-sized pack-ages of facial tissue, because it is conven-ient to carry and pack. We each keep onetissue package in our pocket, and the restare tucked into our other packs, whereverthey fit. Convenient? You bet! But I, likemost of us, always strive to do what is bestfor the environment, and the plain white,1-ply, unscented paper is said to biode-grade faster than anything else.An avid reader of back-country how-to

guides, I have encountered many varyingrecommendations for dealing with thewilderness toilet, and most of them as-sume the use of toilet tissue. Some of themain strategies for dealing with the dis-

posal of the tissue are outlined below.Pack it all out, both human waste and

paper. In fact, there are some areas, suchas in the Grand Canyon, where that is re-quired.1 Probably very few canoeists inCanada are following this protocol.

Bury your waste and pack out thepaper.2 Of course, the conscientiouscamper will pack out most garbage, butlet’s be honest: anything that can be com-pletely and safely burned (i.e. anythingmade of natural fibres, such as paper) isprobably not going to be packed out.

Don’t use any toilet paper.3 Use onlynatural materials to wipe, such as snow,smooth rocks, leaves, sticks, etc. The ideais that you would bury your wasteand also your wiping implement.Alternatively, you could hide yourrocks/leaves/sticks under a bush some-where where nobody is likely to encounterthem. There are many pros and cons tothis. I believe the bottom line is, when weare unable to enjoy the comforts of ourbathroom, most of us are reluctant to alsogive up the comforts of our bath tissue.

Bury your own waste and burn yourpaper. I think that’s a great idea, but ifyou’ve ever actually done this, you knowit’s not as easy as it sounds. To begin with,you are advised to never burn it along thetrail, as that creates a risk of a forest fire.4

It’s actually pretty hard to ignite and com-pletely burn anyways, unless you areadding it to an already-blazing campfire.You will have to keep your soiled tissue,and carry it to a proper fire pit; it’s un-savoury at the least, and certainly unsani-tary, plus who wants your dirty TP ontheir cooking fire?

Bury both waste and paper, in a“cat-hole” away from campsite andtrail.5 This is our usual practice, unlessthere’s already a fire conveniently burningnearby. Most agree that our secretlyburied matter will soon decompose, al-though I’ve never seen a definition of“soon” written in any camping guide.

Bury your waste but leave the paperon the surface. I don’t remember where Iread this, but the idea was that the paperwill not decompose properly unless ex-posed to the elements of sun and air. Thatsounds kind of intelligent, but leaves uswith wads of nastiness adorning an other-wise pristine area.We’ve all seen it.Yuck!During a canoe trip up the East

Montreal River, in July 2014, I thought alot about this topic. We had another less-experienced couple paddling with us, andso I found myself taking on the role of ad-visor in matters pertaining to wildernesscamping and ecological best practices. AsI tried to be a role model in environmentalstewardship, I began to notice all the waysin which I was falling short. I began tofeel guilty about the Kleenex. I decidedthat when we got back home, I would con-duct a mini-study to compare thebiodegradability of toilet paper andKleenex.

The StudyI chose three types of personal cleaningmaterials that I thought were most rele-vant to my situation. My goal was to find

How to Wipe in the Woods:A quasi-scientific study on the biodegradability

of the toilet tissueStory by Angie Williams


out which would biodegrade the mostquickly, and whether it would degrademore quickly above the ground or buried.The three types of materials sampled

were:1. “Selections” (Metro store brand)

Eco 2-ply toilet paper, made of 100% re-cycled fibres;2. “Kleenex” brand tissue; and3. “Cashmere” flushable wipes, which

are supposed to be biodegradable.I used the “Selections Eco” paper be-

cause that is the brand we mostly use athome. If I took a roll of toilet tissue on acanoe trip, that would probably be the one,even though it is 2-ply. I chose “Kleenex”facial tissues because that is what we ac-tually do bring along, in the small pocket-sized packages. The flushable wipes wereincluded because a couple years ago westarted using them for extra cleanliness.As they are labelled “flushable” and“biodegradable,” I believed that they weresafe to burn or bury.I placed a similarly-sized portion of

each above the ground, and 3 more equalportions just below the ground. They wereburied only about 5 cm below the surface,as I needed to be able to dig them up oc-casionally without causing too much arti-ficially-induced breakdown of the sam-ples. I labelled each sample with a popsi-cle stick, and used the sticks to hold theabove-ground samples in place.Periodically, I visited the site and recordedmy observations regarding changes in ap-pearance and apparent degradation.The six samples (three above ground

and three below) were placed in the backcorner of my yard in Hamilton, in an areathat would likely not be disturbed much,by humans, anyways. The nearest vegeta-tion, aside from a few weeds and stragglybits of grass struggling to grow, were alarge Spruce tree overhead and raspberrybushes nearby. Basically, the soil is dryand acidic and quite shaded much of theday, because of the tree.

The ResultsI set up the samples on July 14, 2014. Itrained that night. By the next day, the sur-face of the toilet tissue was already begin-ning to disintegrate. The other two sam-ples looked wet but otherwise undam-aged. I did not attempt to dig up thebelow-ground samples, but planned to dothat when the above-ground samples were

quite well degraded. I spent some of July15 searching the internet, trying to findout more about the wipes. Very little in-formation was disclosed, other than thatthey are “made from renewable re-sources.”On July 19, there were still no visible

changes in the above-ground samples. Theweather had been dry.On July 28, following a night of heavy

rain, the toilet tissue was noticeably break-ing apart. The facial tissue had some dam-age to its top layer. The wipe was dirtyand wrinkled but otherwise appeared un-damaged.On August 1, the toilet tissue was fur-

ther degraded, but the other samples hadnot changed.On August 8, the above-ground sam-

ples still looked the same as they had onAugust 1. Using a small garden spade, Icarefully lifted the soil off the below-ground samples and had a look. Theylooked about the same as the above-ground samples, except for being dirtier.OnAugust 12, the above-ground toilet

tissue was further degraded, quite brokenapart, but still recognizable as a piece ofwhite toilet paper. The facial tissue hadmaintained its basic integrity, although ithad turned from white to a tan colour, as ifit had been dipped in weak tea. The wipehad not degraded in any way visible.Again using a garden spade, I gently liftedthe soil off the below-ground samples andcould barely discern that any toilet tissueor facial tissue had been there. The wipewas still there, quite well intact.I removed what remained of the sam-

ples and the popsicle sticks onAugust 12,partly because the popsicle sticks weregetting broken and moved around (wind,squirrels, raccoons?), and partly becauseI felt that I had accomplished my goalwith this project.

My Interpretation of the ResultsAlthough initially the toilet tissue seemedto be degrading faster above ground thanbelow, and the above-ground facial tissuewas taking much longer than the toilet tis-sue, both degraded in approximately onemonth below ground. That process wouldhave undoubtedly been accelerated by theaddition of human waste in the hole. (No,I did not bury poop in my backyard.) Iwill, therefore, continue to use pocket-sized packages of facial tissue instead of

toilet tissue, and I will continue my usualpractice of burying it, or sometimes burn-ing it.I will have to rethink the use of wipes.

They definitely should not be left behind,either above or below ground. Burningthem may be an acceptable option, but Iwould like to learn what they are made of.Packing them out seems like the bestchoice, or perhaps going back to a goodold-fashioned wet washcloth.In conclusion, I would suggest that it is

quite all right to use either TP or Kleenex,as long as you dispose of it in a responsi-ble manner - bury it, burn it, or pack itout. My conscience is relieved. I guess it’strue that confession is good for the soul.Happy tripping!

References1Mason, Bill. Song of the Paddle: AnIllustrated Guide toWilderness Paddling.Toronto: Key Porter Books, 2004.2Greenstone CFDC. Canoeing thePrecambrian Edge:Wilderness, Adventureand Legend. Flin Flon: GreenstoneCommunity Futures DevelopmentCorporation, 1998.3Clelland,Mike. Liberate Yourself FromToilet Paper. http://ultralightbackpackin-tips.blogspot.ca/2012/09/liberate-yourself-from-toilet-paper.html4Greenstone CFDC.5Wilson, Hap. Missinaibi: Journey to theNorthern Sky. Erin: Boston Mills Press,2004.


It’s a problem we’ve all had; You’veused an online dating site to arrange a26-day canoe trip date with a girl fromMichigan you’ve never met, painstak-ingly spent 4 days in Yellowknifepreparing everything for the date, andthen on the day of her arrival you dis-cover your route is on fire and you’renot sure what to do. It’s awkward andwe’ve all been there.I spent the winter of 2014 struggling

in various ways to find a canoe partner.I had takers for weekend trips, but as Ihad the whole summer off, I wanted totake full advantage of the time. I verymuch wanted to do a long trip in theFar North. My usual paddling friendswere tied down by newborns or jobs. Insome cases they had both of theseproblems!In my panic, I turned to a dating

website, where after months of being a

total creep online I was finally able toconvince a waitress from a small townin Michigan to come canoeing withme. Lucy was 25 years old and lived ina barn. Her employer thought her deci-sion to spend 26 days with a completestranger off the internet was ‘beyondstupid’. However this same boss waskind enough to allow her nearly amonth off work to pursue her stupidchoice. Lucy spent her only $1000 ona round trip plane ticket from Detroitto Yellowknife. To help reduce the costof the trip I offered to cover the gro-ceries, as guys often do on first dates.I arrived in Yellowknife 4 days be-

fore Lucy as I wanted to take care ofall the boring stuff and set things up, sothat when she arrived we could jumpstraight to the fun part, the actual ad-venture. I also didn’t want her first im-

Dating in the Time of Forest FiresArticle and Photos: Jason White

Waiting in Air Tindi.

Lucy’s rubber boots.


pression of me to be one where I wasin an excessively preoccupied mode,which would certainly have been thecase at the start of a trip if the checklist of tasks was too long. I would betoo focused on organizing things andnot focused enough on being charm-ing! Four days gave me enough time togo over all the gear, grocery shop andarrange our flights to Wha Ti. I neededto pick up bear spray and bear bangers.I bought a new pair of rubber boots atCanadian Tire, and collected the pad-dles I left behind the year before in afriend’s shed.During my time in Yellowknife, I

had done my very best to ignore thecontinual news of forest f ires. It washard though. Friends would email mearticles showing large pictures of fires.And Yellowknife was very smoky. Aconstant grey haze over the city attimes blotted out the sun and made ig-noring the situation very difficult. I oc-casionally glanced at newspaper head-lines in town. Two in particular stoodout; “NWT’s One Hundred-Year FireStorm” and another containing the ex-pression “Fire Tornadoes.”I started wondering what the dating

etiquette was for forest f ires. Shouldyou tell your online date beforehandthat everything is on fire? Or just waituntil you are beside a forest fire beforediscussing it? Dating has only gottenmore complicated with the advent oftechnology, so it’s really hard to saywhat the answer is in this day and age.Lucy and I were in daily contact

over email, still messaging about food,preferred spices, and last-minute itemsto bring or not bring. I decided I shouldperhaps mention the fires, albeit in acasual way. I typed a sentence or twoabout the one hundred-year fire stormbut something felt wrong about it. Ideleted it and tried again. But any useof “f ire tornadoes” didn’t look righteither.I don’t really know much about

women. Like all of us, I realize theylike shoes and shampoo. However inmy experience I’ve noted they’re not

particularly keen on forest f ires, orbeing directly in an environment that’son fire. And it just seemed like such anegative thing to interject into our con-versation. I decided to keep it positiveand instead wrote “Can’t wait, see youtomorrow!” and signed off. I’d tell heronce she was off the plane.The next morning I woke up with a

full day of relaxing ahead of me. All ofmy tasks were done and Lucy wasn’tarriving until the evening. I walkedinto town to use the internet at the pub-lic library. One of my daily Yellowknifeactivities had become checking theNWT online fire tracker and confirm-ing there was nothing worrisome onour planned route. Everything had ap-

Snare Lake.

Snare-Winter Lake-Little Marten Route Map.


peared good for the 3 days prior.However on this day, when the siteloaded, I immediately noticed a brandnew cartoony fire icon directly onRivière La Martre, the f irst river we

were set to travel on.I left the library and went to the vis-

itor’s centre to ask if there was any wayto get more details on specif ic f ires.They redirected me to the Environment

and Natural Resources off ice in OldTown. I hoofed it to Old Town and lo-cated the office. Inside and outside thebuilding things were obviously busywith fire-fighters from across Canadawandering about and various roomsfull of people in discussions. I was ableto speak to a woman who showed me amore detailed map and gave me a ver-bal summary of the fire. The RivièreLa Martre f ire was new, having justbroken out the evening before. It wasout-of-control, and directly on theriver, and had hopped sides that morn-ing. Meaning both sides of the riverwould be on fire. The good news ofthis description was there wasn’t muchroom for interpretation - the trip was-n’t going to work. I would have tocome up with a new idea.The next stop was the print shop to

get their business hours. A new tripwould need new maps. Thankfully Ihad a USB key with digital copies ofthe entire collection of topos forWestern Canada. Five o’clock becamemy deadline as that was the latest timethey could receive files and print themoff before closing. I had four hours topick a new route.A paddle around Great Slave Lake

came to mind as an idea, but much ofit was on fire as well and I’d alreadydone such a trip a few years back. Ifired off some emails to friends to getsome additional ideas. I was lookingfor a trip that would be affordable,about 20 days in length, and not onfire.The pakcanoe I brought with me

from Toronto offered a lot of flexibilityfor a last-minute change. We could ba-sically fly into any community that hadan affordable scheduled flight. Costsnarrowed these options down toGameti, Lutsel K’e or Wekweeti. Ofthose three choices, Wekweeti wasnearest to the tundra. I reasoned that inthe tundra there would be no trees toburn. A trip starting in Wekweeti andheading northeast to Winter Lakeseemed interesting. That would onlyoccupy a week of time but there were

Distant fire.

Lucy and cranberries.


lots of options from there, going fur-ther north or looping south. The othergreat thing was that this trip would re-quire me to print just one map, theWinter Lake map.I called Air Tindi and changed our

flights from Wha Ti to Wekweeti. At5:30pm, before closing, I picked up theWinter Lake map from the print shop.The day had not been the relaxing oneI had hoped for, but after all was saidand done I didn’t feel too bad about thenew route. I was kind of excited thatmy summer was now suddenly going toinclude some time in the barrens.That evening, I went to the airport

to greet Lucy. After six weeks of corre-spondence, this was to be our first timemeeting and would also be our f irsttime hearing one another’s voice. Itwould have been easy to have spokenon the phone at some point during ourplanning but Lucy thought it would be“funnier” if we didn’t. The plane ar-rived and passengers entered the termi-nal. Most of them were large males,possibly f ire-f ighters, which madeLucy easy to pick out as she wasclearly the small blonde by herself.She’d had sixteen hours of flight and

airport time to prepare her f irst linewhich was “Oh, are you Justin?” – in-tentionally getting my name wrong. Igot confused and was about to correcther before understanding it as a joke.Since Lucy was broke from spend-

ing all her money on the plane ticket,we decided to walk rather than take acab. In what was to be our f irst ofmany portages, we carried from the air-port parking lot to the Fred Hennecampground. Along the way, Lucyfound a $5 bill in the ditch, turning ourdecision to portage into a handsomeprofit. On the walk I explained that ourroute had to be changed because theold one was full of fire tornadoes. Shedidn’t really care. The impact of thislast-minute change was to be felt moreby her uncle who was now to spend thenext month staring at the wrong loca-tion on his map, falsely imagining herprogress along a path we were no

Winter Lake campsite.

Smokey Dogrib Rock and Winter River.

Hike up Dogrib Rock.


longer traveling. By the end of the walk we wereboth feeling good, and slightly relieved. We weregetting along. All of the imagined worst case sce-narios, self created or from others, faded away inthat first half hour.The next day we packed up all the gear and

headed to the Air Tindi terminal for our flight toWekweeti. This was the part of the date where wewere both asked to announce our body weight.Lucy weighed so little I’m certain they immedi-ately realized they could add a few extra flats ofOrange Crush to the flight.From the air a few distant fires were visible.

On arriving in Wekweeti, most of the other pas-sengers had rides or relatives waiting to pickthem up. The airport was located a fair way outfrom the town proper. Having no family to greetus, we traveled in the van with the Doritos. As thevan rounded corners or hit bumps, the boxeswould shift and bags of Doritos would fall outand spill over us. A wolf skirted across the roadon the edge of town.We were dropped off in town, at the water’s

edge, by the docks. Facing the choppy waters ofSnare Lake, we began to get ourselves organizedand started to set up the canoe.Lucy had taken a much larger risk coming

out here than I had, not just the male/femalevariable but also in trusting that I was capableenough to organize and execute such a trip. Forher, the whole experience was brand new. Sheenjoyed nature too but had always done so inmore of a park-the-car-to-pick-mushrooms kindof way. This was to be her first full-on wilder-ness experience. Besides hoping I wasn’t a se-rial killer, she also had to trust I knew what Iwas doing and had the skills I claimed I had.This is why it was all the more embarrassingwhen the empty canoe began to blow across thelake. I had placed the pakcanoe by the water’sedge and was about to load the first bag but gotdistracted by some duct tape on the paddles.Lucy shouted “the canoe is blowing away!”which drew my attention to the canoe blowingaway. Under normal circumstances the canoewould simply have been gone. It was empty, hadcaught the wind, and was moving off shore tooquickly. However, the dock was the gamechanger. It allowed me to pursue the canoe at arunning speed. At the end of the dock I jumpedinto the lake with my arm outstretched to grabhold of the gunwale. Lucy was delighted. Sheinstantly declared this to be the single best thingshe’d ever been witness to. I modestly accepted

Tundra berries.

Winter Lake.

Us


the accolades and went behind some bushes tochange into new clothes. I was a bit torn.Clearly jumping into the lake had made Lucyexplicitly happy, but I was also disappointed I’dmade such a mistake. Mixed into this was alsoimmense relief at having avoided a trip up thehill into town to explain how we’d managed tolose the canoe 20 minutes after having beendropped off. That embarrassment had thankfullybeen avoided.The next 3 weeks were just as fun. We traveled

the Snare and Roundrock Lakes and portagedthree times on the upper Snare River to get our-selves into Winter Lake. From here we decided toascend the Winter River as far as Little MartenLake. On the way back we included a hike up tothe top of Dogrib Rock, a large plateau rising outfrom the barrens.Lucy much preferred picking berries or find-

ing caribou skulls to portaging or paddling, andit was easy to cater the trip to these activities aswe didn’t really have a lot of distance to cover.It was a particularly good berry season. Therewere tons of half-dried cranberries from the yearprevious, as well as lots of blueberries andcloudberries. We saw a few smaller fires on themore heavily treed lakes, but they felt far off andharmless.We returned to Wekweeti 23 days later, both

of us happy with the trip, or first date, or what-ever we just did. It had gone well. The lastminute stress caused by the fires now seemed adistant memory. Lucy was looking forward toher return to normal life, seeing friends, and eat-ing an ice cream cake. She flew back toYellowknife. I wasn’t as eager to return to civi-lization; I never am. Thankfully there was stilllots of summer left. I stayed behind with plansto begin a solo trip. As I’d lost a rubber boot inthe Winter River, Lucy was to pick me up a newpair in Yellowknife and ship them in toWekweeti on the next flight. When the packagearrived, the boots contained a few chocolate barsand a very thoughtful 3-page letter thanking mefor the wonderful experience. I’d never gottenanything like this on previous dates, particularlythe chocolate bars. Nobody just hands over 4chocolate bars at the end of a date. But maybethey should. Imagine how many chocolate barswe’d all have if that were the case. Anyway, Iguess the point is that we both took some risks,and by doing so we made a fantastic adventurepossible.

Newly Burnt Forest.

The summer of 2014 was a record year for forest fires in the NorthwestTerritories.

Roundrock Lake.


Fort Selkirk on the YukonStory by Bob Henderson

Photos by Bob Henderson and Vivian Wood-Alexander

The expression usually goes, “Don’tmake my mistake”. But, in the case ofmy visit to Fort Selkirk on the YukonRiver in 2014, the more apt commentwould be, “Do make the mistake Imade”. Here is the story.I was part of a canoe tripping/sym-

posium for the outdoor, environmentaland art educators. This was the brain-child of a retired Lakehead Universityprofessor, BobJickling. We wereto spend two nightscamped at FortSelkirk on our routefrom Carmack toDawson City. I hadthought FortSelkirk would belike most other“forts” in theCanadian North. Itwould be a too longweathered, too longignored cabin or, atbest, a complex oftoo long ignoredcabins.Now look, I

think one shouldstill be excited tovisit f irst hand such cultural heritagesites that can help imagine a long by-gone era, too long weathered or not,but Fort Selkirk has no comparisons inCanada. Fort Selkirk is a town, not afort. Simply put and, strangely, I didnot know that. I had seen a brochurebut only its cover. That should havebeen a tip-off. It suggested to me a sin-gle complex of buildings, and I rel-

ished the anticipation of visiting thesite but I was unprepared for what fol-lowed.The brochure describes Fort Selkirk

as a living cultural heritage site, an ar-chaeological site, and most importantly,a place for spiritual and cultural re-newal. Local groups of Selkirk FirstNations peoples inhabit and continuallywork at preserving the site. There’s lots

to see and inhabitants, past and present(thanks to interpretive signage), tomeet.I was leading the first group of

canoe trippers down the fast-flowingYukon River and, comically, was wor-ried I might miss the fort. The Yukonreally pushes along. It is easy enough tomiss an intended stopping spot and onedoesn’t easily backtrack or even ferryacross the kilometer wide, eight kilo-meter per hour current. But as I was tolearn, you don’t miss Fort Selkirk onthe Yukon. That isn’t happening.What I found was a more than one-

kilometer long “town” site high on alevel river bank. Now, this place de-mands some time, and we would havean evening and a full day to explore thesite. How big is the site? Well, it tookthe day to properly explore the area.

This involves carefully poking about atall the ins and outs, reading all the in-terpretive signage, and chatting withfolks who were working on the grounds.The day included two highlights; a visitto the restored First Nations cemeteryand an evening guitar singsong in theSt. Andrew’s Anglican Church withnoted Yukon recording artist and fellowcanoe trip mate, Remy Rodden.

Here are a few de-tails to showcase thewell-preserved (a betterphrase would be “lov-ingly cared for”) FortSelkirk. There are overthirty-five buildingshere; some restored,some rebuilt and someleft as they were. TheTaylor and Drury store,bar and stable complexare standouts. Firstbuilt as the DominionHotel in 1900, in antic-ipation of a continuingswell of populationwith the Gold Rush era,the store has a bar ex-tension along its eastwall and a stable for six

horses. Liquor licenses required a hotelto be able to house six horses. TheSchool House (1892) has functioned asa church, hospital and men’s club. Theschool served the community until1953 when Fort Selkirk was finallyabandoned.There are two churches. My friend

Remy had told me the acoustics in theSt. Andrew’s Anglican Church (1931)were noted throughout the Yukon. Wehad a guitar and planned an impromptusingsong in the evening, which I willnot soon forget. James Taylor soundedgreat within these walls. Remy playedsome original Yukon history balladsand sing-along songs. What could bebetter? The long evening light playedon the distant riverbank. The only thingmissing was a Sourdough Klondikeman straight off a paddle-wheeler blast-


ing into the room proclaiming he’d“struck it rich”. It was a magic musicalnight full of Yukon River romance forus canoe trippers en route to DawsonCity.Other buildings include the RCMP

Detachment headquarters, (the barracksare long gone but the wood was usedelsewhere in construction of personalcabins); a machine shop and garagewith lots of relic parts laying about;caches for storing fish and game; and amix of trapper cabins and governmenthouses. Later-day houses date to the1940’s. Fort Selkirk community lifedwindled with the completion of theMayo Road to the west and the end ofthe steamboat era. The town was aban-doned in 1953, but there was always ac-tivity at Fort Selkirk.One of the markers of thriving times

is the Selkirk First Nations cemetery.Colleague Vivian Wood-Alexander andI must have spent a good hour herewhile Vivian sketched and I pho-tographed. In many ways we both gotlost in our thoughts, both of us in ad-miration and respect for the elaborate,symbolic, and colourfully painted de-signs. Many designs were familytotems dating back hundreds of years.Early 1900’s grave houses have beenrestored as have later period gravefences and elaborate hand-carvedmarkings. It is a maze of variety of de-sign and colour, showing a deep re-spect for past lives and a once-vibrantcommunity so connected ecologicallyto the immediate site and the far-reach-ing Yukon, Peel River and Mackenziewatersheds.The buildings do not tell the whole

story. From them and the well-done his-torical signage we learned about thecommunity and its inhabitants. But,there is much more. The murky waterswe experienced paddling further down-stream on the Yukon are connected to avolcanic eruption dating back 7,000years. This event is recorded in thelocal oral history of Selkirk FirstNation elders. Also, stone tools discov-ered here date back up to 10,000 years.People have been fishing, hunting, andcelebrating life here for a long time.Local oral history dating back 7,000years causes one to stop and ponder.Travel routes arrive here from all direc-

tions.There is the mighty Yukon River of

course, but the Pelly River from the eastbrought Klondike gold seekers fromEdmonton, and the Mountain Dene alsofrom the east via the Macmillan Riverand Keele Rivers arrived for trade fromthe Mackenzie River corridor. Here atFort Selkirk, one is experiencing a truehub of all of the Northwest.This trade from North, South and

East was all about access between FortSelkirk with the Chilkats from thePacific Coast. Furs and hides from theinterior were traded for coastal productssuch as seal fat, shells, and obsidian forsharp stone tools. By the 1790’s theChilkats gained much wealth and pres-tige trading European goods with in-land peoples at Fort Selkirk. In 1848Robert Campbell, an ambitious trader,arrived from the east using the PellyRiver and set up a trading post. Henamed the post Fort Selkirk. This postupset the long established patterns oftrade. It is long-established that thecoastal Chilkats responded violentlywhen he elected to bring his coastaltrade items into the interior via theYukon River and not the coastal walk-ing route direct to Selkirk. The coastalChilkats pillaged Fort Selkirk in 1852forcing Campbell out of business.Amazingly, Campbell fled the sitesafely and later snowshoed much ofCanada north to south before complet-ing the trip from Minnesota toMontreal. Wait again! Such a sentencedemands a moment to pause and con-sider the distances involved. InMontreal, Campbell failed to convincehis superiors that they should mounta raid on the coastal Chilkats.Presumably, they did pause to considerthe distances involved.When you know the history (I

didn’t) and have seen the town site inpictures (I hadn’t), then Fort Selkirkmust be among the most prized destina-tions for the heritage-focused traveler (Iam). I am dumbstruck that I had missedall of the above in years of readingCanadian history and even having hadtwo previous trips on the Yukon River.I may be just dumb on this one. It is agood thing sometimes to be dumb. Theexcitement I experienced from thecanoe that lovely July afternoon when I

first saw the TOWN of Fort Selkirk,rather than my anticipated too long ig-nored “fort” is a special memory. Fortwo days, I was stunned, almost over-whelmed by the history of the place. Itis an uplifting story. TheYukon govern-ment and First Nations Selkirk peoplesin partnership are continually workingto keep this history alive and well pre-served for all Canadians.We paddled on down to Dawson

City in five more days on the water. Weenjoyed two river bar camps. When thewind blew up and sent one of our tentsabout twenty feet in the air in a windtunnel twister, I managed to save thebannock in the reflector oven at thatmoment while others, closer to the up-roar, chased the tumbling dome anddoomed tent down the river bar. We en-joyed a day at a homestead with a river(road) sign – “five kilometers toKirkman River Bakery”, and here wealso enjoyed a collection of pies. I re-member the lemon meringue pie best.Finally, we camped at the AncientVoices Camp about four hours of travelfrom Dawson City. Here we paid for acaribou stew and local vegetables andlearned about the use of the site as ahealing center for troubled youth and anadult retreat center. For a canoe tripper,there is a lot to see and do on theYukonRiver. Fort Selkirk though looms largeas a colourful living heritage site on thevibrant Yukon River.


Death by hypothermia on an Air Tindiflight? A definite possibility, I thought,as we flew to the starting point for ourHood River canoe trip. The previous hot,sunny day and dip in the lake at theYellowknife campground seemed like ablatant lie. Our float plane dumped usonto a soggy cold shore. Half of ourgroup of twelve were already there andhad a tent up. Snowflakes sent me scur-rying into the tent to put on more clothes¬ but unfortunately not rainpants becauseI had wisely left them at home, confidentthat wind pants dry quickly!The next day, July 5, we met our first

rapid followed by a 20 km paddle into aheadwind. Fuchsia blossoms of Laplandrhododendron, a few caribou, and asunny evening were the day’s highlights.Rain and overcast skies kept temper-

atures low the next day. After a 10 kmtrip down the lake, the river made a sharpright hand turn revealing solid i.e. two-feet thick ice, shore to shore, all the wayto a misty end about 10 km away! Wemade slow progress along the shore, pad-dling in a narrow strip of water, choppingat the ice with paddles, lining and portag-

ing in hops. Candle ice tinkled like windchimes in the bobbing water. Eventuallywe were confronted with an eight-foothigh hill of unstable ice, heaped besidethe shore by the wind. Once we were onthe other side, we decided to call it a day.We set out tents over pockets of willowon the cliff front. I slept like a log!Cathy and Sally had a plan the next

morning. They thought they could seewater along the far shore. We just had toget there. Scootering along the ice be-tween leads did the trick. If you’ve neverscootered here’s how you do it (the icemust be strong enough to bear theweight). Canoe is shoved onto the icewhen the lead runs out. Holding the gun-nels firmly with both hands and leavingone foot in the canoe, you propel yourcanoe across the ice with the leg that isoutside the canoe. Fun! Happily, therewas a strip of water on the other side sowe were able to paddle to the frothingoutlet. Five crossings of the half-kilome-ter portage and we were finally in theHood River. An hour or so downstreamwe came to a rapid that Cathy and Sally,our guides in the lead canoe, decided torun. They eddied out on river-right. Theother 5 canoes did the same behind aboulder that really wasn’t big enough forall of us. Annie and Earl swung back outinto the current, and Lianne and I wob-bled out only to dump when we crossedthe eddy line. “Oh my gawd! oh mygawd!” was all I could hear from mydaughter. I didn’t feel cold and even hadthe (dumb) idea that I might be able tostand up (couldn’t). Our guides draggedLianne and me out of the water onto theirdeck while someone else went for ourcanoe. Everyone convened on shore. Westripped off our wet clothes (down tonaked bodies) while our new friends do-nated warm dry ones from theirs. Ourcanoe and contents had eddied out justbeyond the next rapid. Time to call it aday. All evening caribou crossed the rivernear us while our wet things were drapedon guy lines and little shrubs to dry inthe weak evening sunshine. What a day!July 8. The group tackled an early

rapid with a front ferry to river R, a shortportage and some lining, bad headwinds

to buck but NO rain. Further on, wescrambled up a 30-foot high sandy cliffto identify the large furry blob on top...wow! An old, solitary, sleeping muskox.Our first full portage was around a falls.The bypass method was new to me. Aftercarrying the canoe up the hill, we justdragged it over the flat top, and then gaveit a hefty shove down the other side. Itstopped well short of the bottom. Nearthe end of the day there were two chutes.The river funneled forcefully through avery narrow gap followed by huge stand-ing waves driving toward the secondchute. Two canoes chose the shortportage, two canoes ran it fine. The nextcanoe got turned 180° and finished itbackwards. The last canoe flipped. I

watched in horror as one paddler hungonto his canoe and rode the standingwaves/current well down toward the nextchute. But he finally abandoned it for apick up. His canoe flipped end over endas it jostled out of sight through the sec-ond chute. Thank goodness our canoeshad been well trained to eddy out as soonas possible. Another night’s stop hadbeen chosen. A warm night!July 9. The spectacular falls that

started our day with portaging was aboutthe same distance from chute #2 as wasthe distance between yesterday’s twochutes i.e. not far! Thank goodness Donhad let go and that his canoe had eddiedout. The day was warm and sunny, thewind at our backs. Four muskox, morecaribou, 2 tundra swans and an h’ors

Hood River DiaryStory and Phtos by Marilyn Friessen


d’oeuvre of freshly-caught graylingcapped this stellar day. Next day the blus-tery wind was back and succeeded inbreaking two tent poles that evening. Theday had started warm but ended icy cold.July 11 had a lot of swifts and

rapids but only one that nobody ran.Blue lupine and bright yellow arnicalined the river banks sometimes sothick as to create a blue haze. Daytimewarm temperatures encouraged some

bugs. A little ground squirrel stoodpoker straight on the elevated bankwatching the colourful debris (us) slidepast. We saw seventeen muskox thisday, and Lianne and I started gatheringquiviut. I only counted muskox for mydiary account because they were a fi-nite number. There was always a drib-ble of caribou on the shore or fordingthe river but we never saw the massedbrown bobbing countryside of which Ihad dreamt.July 12 was full of rapids and patches

of snow on portages. Lianne and I had anunscheduled, exciting roller coaster ridedown a line of standing waves. Nineteenmore muskox. Later in the day, the flatcountryside of the morning suddenly

changed to towering hills and ridges.Their chipped black stone tops gave wayto lovely, green velvet lower slopes.Quite abruptly the valley widened out al-lowing the river to meander madly. Hadthe Booth River just joined us? Someonespotted one white canoe above the grav-elly shore on river R and another on theskyline of a ridge, river L. We were nearWilberforce Falls. Time to go ashore andcheck this out. The river ran smoothlywith only a little bit of splashing toward aspectacular pink and red sandstonecanyon. Just before the drop, the riversplit into two – a quiet little side streamthat eventually took a two-steppedplunge and a major channel that pushedon to the main falls. Flowers were evenmore lush here – lots of purply lupine.White heather and Labrador tea com-peted with the taller golden arnica. It wasHOT and really buggy. Bugs were so badthat I dove for the tent as soon as it wasup. The screen door was instantly cov-ered. They hummed and bounced excit-edly, anticipating our eventual exit.Someone found a green, plastic octopuswith weighted container inside with twonotes for someone who was getting mar-ried HERE later in the summer.July 13. Hurray! A “down” day for

sleeping in and exploring. One helicop-ter and two planes flew overhead.Unencumbered with packs, and camerasin hand, we walked the canyon. Theturquoise green main falls was enhancedby a shifting rainbow that came and wentas the plummeting water sent up cloudsof mist. It was a buggy, warm day thatended abruptly with the cooler evening.Lianne and I had been carrying a sur-prise in a green garbage bag all trip.After supper we revealed our rainbowkite flying it high above WilberforceFalls. Whereas yesterday felt like 30° C,this morning felt like 30° F. Thank good-ness, because today was a PORTAGEDAY – a three-mile canoe drag wearingour packs. At one point we couldn’t un-derstand why it had suddenly become soarduous, then turned around and saw thecanoe upside down! The food barrels andother gear necessitated another crossing.Lianne and I were ‘all in but our boot-straps’ when the day ended.The plan for July 15 was to paddle

about 30 km to our final campsite wherewe would spend the last two nights but

the wind had other plans. We had to stopearly. Noted in the diary was one 25-footfalls calling for a portage.July 16 – no wind! We had an un-

runnable ten-foot high ledge right acrossthe river to portage around before anearly campsite (where a float plane could

access us the next day), then a paddle tothe sea – Bailie Bay, Arctic Sound,Bathurst Inlet... Arctic Ocean. Westopped as soon as the water tasted salty.Through binoculars we saw the gleam

of brilliant, white sea ice.


1 Chapleau River10 Editorial11 Book Review11 Went: Skills12 How to Wipe14 Dating in the Time of Forrest Fire

20 Fort Selkirk22 Hood River Diary

Editorial Team:Aleks Gusev: Editor-in-ChiefPegi Dover: Text EditorJames Fitton: Text EditorJan Bignell: Text EditorBarb Young: Food EditorBob Henderson: Resource EditorDave Brown: Text EditorAleks Gusev: Photo EditorPeter Jaspert: Layout

…in this issue

Where it is…

Ontario22

WCA gratefully acknowledgesthe financial support of theOntario Trillium Foundation inpublishing this Journal

WCA Contacts http://www.wildernesscanoe.caWCA Postal AddressP.O. Box 910682901 Bayview Ave.Toronto, ON M2K 2Y6

BOARD OF DIRECTORSDave Young(Chair)[email protected]

Gary [email protected] ext.1286

Geri [email protected]

Diane [email protected]

Dave [email protected]

Bernadette [email protected]

SecretaryBill King45 Hi Mount DriveToronto, ON M2K [email protected]

WCA OutingsBill Ness194 Placentia Blvd.Toronto, ON M1S [email protected]

EditorAleksandar Gusev8 Valiant RoadEtobicoke, ON M8X [email protected]

TreasurerBarb [email protected]

WebmasterJeff HaymerToronto, [email protected]

Membership andComputer RecordsEmmy [email protected]

ConservationJeff [email protected]

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