Indian House Lake
8/2/2003 - 8/5/2003
Indian House Lake is a narrow band of flatwater set in the narrow valley
of the George River. It is here that the boreal forests of the south give
way to the barren tundra of the north.
At Indian House Lake we came across signs of past habitation in the
form of stone rings and other crude creations. Traditionally Indian
House Lake was a common ground shared by the Inuit of the north and
the Innu of the south. The lake was a crossroads of the massive
caribou migrations. The successful hunting of caribou each year
literally meant the difference between life or death for the natives.
Apparently, caribou were once so common here that the lake became a
sacred location for the natives.
8/2/2003 - 8/5/2003
Indian House Lake is a narrow band of flatwater set in the narrow valley
of the George River. It is here that the boreal forests of the south give
way to the barren tundra of the north.
At Indian House Lake we came across signs of past habitation in the
form of stone rings and other crude creations. Traditionally Indian
House Lake was a common ground shared by the Inuit of the north and
the Innu of the south. The lake was a crossroads of the massive
caribou migrations. The successful hunting of caribou each year
literally meant the difference between life or death for the natives.
Apparently, caribou were once so common here that the lake became a
sacred location for the natives.
8/2
Everyone was up until twelve fifteen last night and wound up sleeping in
until seven thirty this morning, which felt very good. The expedition had
a quick breakfast of cereal in a slight north breeze and were back on the
water around nine thirty. It was an easy morning paddle for three miles
to the confluence of the De Pas River.
Fresh caribou tracks, the only ones seen since leaving the head of Long
Lake, were found on the first portage, and on the second I gathered my
first moss berries. A heavy shower passed late in the afternoon and the
sky remained overcast; but we were not delayed, and towards evening
arrived at the point, twenty miles below Thousand Island Expansion,
where a large tributary comes in from the west, and the George River
turns abruptly northward among the higher hills.
Several class II rapids were encountered along the way. After the
junction with the De Pas River, the George turns north again and
approaches Indian House Lake. A brief rest is taken at the Two Rivers
caribou hunting lodge, which we explore. The particleboard wall facing
the river has a bear sized hole in one side leading directly to the kitchen.
The inside of the place looked a little dreary, but I could see it being
hospitable when full of hunters in the autumn with the firebox glowing.
From here we paddled into Indian House Lake. The steady headwind
becomes a factor, but we are able to make progress slowly. The lake is
Everyone was up until twelve fifteen last night and wound up sleeping in
until seven thirty this morning, which felt very good. The expedition had
a quick breakfast of cereal in a slight north breeze and were back on the
water around nine thirty. It was an easy morning paddle for three miles
to the confluence of the De Pas River.
Fresh caribou tracks, the only ones seen since leaving the head of Long
Lake, were found on the first portage, and on the second I gathered my
first moss berries. A heavy shower passed late in the afternoon and the
sky remained overcast; but we were not delayed, and towards evening
arrived at the point, twenty miles below Thousand Island Expansion,
where a large tributary comes in from the west, and the George River
turns abruptly northward among the higher hills.
Several class II rapids were encountered along the way. After the
junction with the De Pas River, the George turns north again and
approaches Indian House Lake. A brief rest is taken at the Two Rivers
caribou hunting lodge, which we explore. The particleboard wall facing
the river has a bear sized hole in one side leading directly to the kitchen.
The inside of the place looked a little dreary, but I could see it being
hospitable when full of hunters in the autumn with the firebox glowing.
From here we paddled into Indian House Lake. The steady headwind
becomes a factor, but we are able to make progress slowly. The lake is
lined with treeless hills that look a thousand feet tall from a distance, but
are really quite small. The lack of trees removed all frame of reference for
perspective, which makes judging distances next to impossible for the
untrained eye.
In the distance we could see the mountain tops standing far apart and
knew that there, between them, a lake must lie. Could it be Indian House
Lake, the Mush-au-wau-ni-pi, or "Barren Grounds Water," of the Indians?
We were still farther south than it was placed on the map I carried. Yet we
had passed the full number of lakes given in the map above this water.
Even so I did not believe it could be the big lake I had been looking
forward to reaching so eagerly.
The area now has a very northern feel. The shores of the lake are
absolutely choked with alders and willows. This impenetrable growth is up
to ten feet tall, but in most places does not surpass six feet in height.
Seldom there is an open sandy spot along the shore that allows us to
stop and rest without having to fight the bushes. Several prominent
peaks dominate the view to the east. We make slow progress and take
several long breaks when the wind seems particularly bad. It is here that
Mina, George, and their company met the Nascaupi Indians that Leonidas
Hubbard had been in search of. When they inquired about the river
below here the answer the natives gave was quite accurate, even by
today’s standards as we were to find out.
We enquired about the river. All were eager to tell about it, and many
expressive gestures were added to their words to tell that the river was
rapid all the way. An arm held at an angle showed what we were to expect
in the rapids and a vigorous drop of the hand expressed something about
the falls. There would be a few portages but they were not long, and in
some places it would be just a short lift over; but it was all rapid nearly.
A long afternoon break is taken to avoid the winds and a dinner is
prepared. We eat stove top stuffing with marinade sauce poured on it for
flavor and pistachio pudding for dessert. By six o’clock we are paddling
again in a diminishing wind. In the distance what seems to be a three
hundred foot esker looms up. However, by the time the esker was
reached, it turned out to be not much more than a fifty foot hill decorated
with a few sets of animals tracks. By seven forty five the wind has
stopped and five more miles were made by nine thirty.
are really quite small. The lack of trees removed all frame of reference for
perspective, which makes judging distances next to impossible for the
untrained eye.
In the distance we could see the mountain tops standing far apart and
knew that there, between them, a lake must lie. Could it be Indian House
Lake, the Mush-au-wau-ni-pi, or "Barren Grounds Water," of the Indians?
We were still farther south than it was placed on the map I carried. Yet we
had passed the full number of lakes given in the map above this water.
Even so I did not believe it could be the big lake I had been looking
forward to reaching so eagerly.
The area now has a very northern feel. The shores of the lake are
absolutely choked with alders and willows. This impenetrable growth is up
to ten feet tall, but in most places does not surpass six feet in height.
Seldom there is an open sandy spot along the shore that allows us to
stop and rest without having to fight the bushes. Several prominent
peaks dominate the view to the east. We make slow progress and take
several long breaks when the wind seems particularly bad. It is here that
Mina, George, and their company met the Nascaupi Indians that Leonidas
Hubbard had been in search of. When they inquired about the river
below here the answer the natives gave was quite accurate, even by
today’s standards as we were to find out.
We enquired about the river. All were eager to tell about it, and many
expressive gestures were added to their words to tell that the river was
rapid all the way. An arm held at an angle showed what we were to expect
in the rapids and a vigorous drop of the hand expressed something about
the falls. There would be a few portages but they were not long, and in
some places it would be just a short lift over; but it was all rapid nearly.
A long afternoon break is taken to avoid the winds and a dinner is
prepared. We eat stove top stuffing with marinade sauce poured on it for
flavor and pistachio pudding for dessert. By six o’clock we are paddling
again in a diminishing wind. In the distance what seems to be a three
hundred foot esker looms up. However, by the time the esker was
reached, it turned out to be not much more than a fifty foot hill decorated
with a few sets of animals tracks. By seven forty five the wind has
stopped and five more miles were made by nine thirty.
The only likely camping spot that can be reached without fighting through the alders and willows
is an incredible rock strewn island in the middle of the lake. This appears to have been a
native camp for a long time. It was very likely used by the Mountaineer Indians that Mina
Hubbard encountered during her 1905 expedition through this region. There is a fire ring in the
center of the island, and enough flat spots for all of our tents. At the east end of the island
there is a circular ring of rocks with a low center. Overall the structure was five feet in diameter
by three feet deep. Perhaps this was an old sweat lodge foundation or a tent platform of some
sort. A few animal bone fragments are scattered around. There is also a cave like hole with
rocks propped up as shelter. This is such a great spot.
The weather has calmed and even on this island in the middle of the lake the mosquitoes are
out of control now. It is a clear evening and I decide to wait up and look for the northern lights
again. It may be possible to get off of this lake in two more days, but most likely it will take
three. The lower river is supposedly a super fast paddle. We are still two hundred and fifty
miles from Kangiqsualluajuaq, so the route better speed up once off of the lake. Gently open
rolling hills stretch away to the west. Just before bed I have a small pack of MnM’s. A thin sliver
of a moon is setting by ten forty five. This would be an incredible spot to see the northern lights
from since the ski is enormous and are isolation incredible. A set of footprints was seen at the
Two Rivers Lodge this morning, but we have still not seen any other people since Allen’s camp.
It is hard to believe that there are only nine or ten days left in the bush, then we will be heading
back home. I can’t wait to see everyone again. It seems very normal to wake up in the bush
now. In many ways it doesn’t seem like we have even been out that long, while in other ways it
seems like it has been forever.
I am still amazed about having seen the wolf the other day. Eight to ten Geese were seen
today, but they have their flight wings back now and will be very hard to shoot. Everyone is
hoping for at least a twenty mile day tomorrow, but kind winds will be necessary if this is going
to happen. Lots of good sized fish were spotted swimming over a sandy bottomed part of the
lake today, but they could not be enticed to strike at a lure. It is possible that they were
nesting. Overall a good day with great weather despite the winds. Tomorrow should remain
clear if nothing else, but a south wind would be absolutely amazing even though it could mean
wet weather.
8/3
All members of the expedition slept until eight thirty to discover that a headwind was already
blowing. Although the conditions would allow slow travel, Jim decides that he doesn’t want to
fight the breeze. Troy and I are not upset because it gives us a chance to go for a hike on the
west side of the lake. Everyone decides to go on the walk. This will be the first significant walk
we have gone on without towing canoes in a month.
is an incredible rock strewn island in the middle of the lake. This appears to have been a
native camp for a long time. It was very likely used by the Mountaineer Indians that Mina
Hubbard encountered during her 1905 expedition through this region. There is a fire ring in the
center of the island, and enough flat spots for all of our tents. At the east end of the island
there is a circular ring of rocks with a low center. Overall the structure was five feet in diameter
by three feet deep. Perhaps this was an old sweat lodge foundation or a tent platform of some
sort. A few animal bone fragments are scattered around. There is also a cave like hole with
rocks propped up as shelter. This is such a great spot.
The weather has calmed and even on this island in the middle of the lake the mosquitoes are
out of control now. It is a clear evening and I decide to wait up and look for the northern lights
again. It may be possible to get off of this lake in two more days, but most likely it will take
three. The lower river is supposedly a super fast paddle. We are still two hundred and fifty
miles from Kangiqsualluajuaq, so the route better speed up once off of the lake. Gently open
rolling hills stretch away to the west. Just before bed I have a small pack of MnM’s. A thin sliver
of a moon is setting by ten forty five. This would be an incredible spot to see the northern lights
from since the ski is enormous and are isolation incredible. A set of footprints was seen at the
Two Rivers Lodge this morning, but we have still not seen any other people since Allen’s camp.
It is hard to believe that there are only nine or ten days left in the bush, then we will be heading
back home. I can’t wait to see everyone again. It seems very normal to wake up in the bush
now. In many ways it doesn’t seem like we have even been out that long, while in other ways it
seems like it has been forever.
I am still amazed about having seen the wolf the other day. Eight to ten Geese were seen
today, but they have their flight wings back now and will be very hard to shoot. Everyone is
hoping for at least a twenty mile day tomorrow, but kind winds will be necessary if this is going
to happen. Lots of good sized fish were spotted swimming over a sandy bottomed part of the
lake today, but they could not be enticed to strike at a lure. It is possible that they were
nesting. Overall a good day with great weather despite the winds. Tomorrow should remain
clear if nothing else, but a south wind would be absolutely amazing even though it could mean
wet weather.
8/3
All members of the expedition slept until eight thirty to discover that a headwind was already
blowing. Although the conditions would allow slow travel, Jim decides that he doesn’t want to
fight the breeze. Troy and I are not upset because it gives us a chance to go for a hike on the
west side of the lake. Everyone decides to go on the walk. This will be the first significant walk
we have gone on without towing canoes in a month.
From the island a likely route was located for the hike. Almost directly
across from our location an open ridge appears to extend almost all of
the way to the waters edge. To access the hike we crash through the
wall of ten foot tall alders and willows this is twenty yards deep. The
growth is almost physically impossible to move through and would be
terrible terrain to surprise a bear in. After this struggle the barrens are
reached and the walking is easy along open rocky slopes covered with
ripe blue berries. The route must have been at least a mile long and
followed a rugged creek bed still filled with patches of snow and ice. At
the top of the stream I veered left with Troy and Caroline to head for the
summit of a prominent peak, while Jim headed off towards a different
summit. Shallow alpine ponds are scattered around. Barren land
similar to that found at high altitudes in the White Mountains in New
Hampshire stretches for as far as the eye can see. The crystal clear
waters of the mountain stream gurgle cold and refreshing forcing me to
reach for a drink. I have stopped treating the water and enjoy the sweat
taste offered by this creek.
A steady wind blows across the summit and keeps the bugs
manageable, but when the breeze stops the blackflies become almost
entirely out of control. An amazing view stretches up and down the
lake. I can’t resist rolling a few rocks off of the steep back side of the
isolated peak. The tumbling boulders splinter and break, release an
odd smell, and make an incredible racket. Its always nice to get out of
the canoes for a while. From here I hike to the next peak north that Jim
has headed for. At the top a cairn is found, standing as a reminder that
indigenous people have inhabited this land for a long time. Jim says he
spotted a lone caribou up here when he first arrived. After taking in the
view and looking at Indian House Lake stretching away for miles to the
north all of us headed back down to our canoes collecting bags of
blueberries along the way and stuffing our mouths full of the sweet fruit.
Back at our island camp the wind is much calmer, but we want to nap
and rest some more, since there is still a headwind. I thoroughly enjoy
my bug free nap out on the open ground of the island in a steady
breeze with fleece and jackets piled over me for warmth in the mid day
sun. Waking up on this island in the middle of nowhere feels incredible.
Dinner is prepared and at six thirty the decision is made to paddle even
though it is still windy. This does not make complete sense, but we
decide to go for it anyways. Why would we not have paddled all day if
we were planning on fighting a headwind in the evening? At least we will
move now, which is good.
Slow progress is made and at eight thirty a small bear is spotted on a
hill. The temptation to paddle over to look at the animal cannot be
resisted. The bear is small, with a white patch in its chest, most likely a
second year cub just kicked out to live on its own. The bruin is
scratching around looking for food while periodically running to avoid
the blackflies that are tormenting it in choking swarms. The bear sniffs
at us and walks down to the gravel beach for a look. The wild animal
approached to within fifteen yards of the canoes, a sign that it must
never have seen humans before. After rolling around and swatting flies
for five minutes and sniffing at us some more, the bear heads away and
leaves us alone. What a great encounter! Still, it is surprising that the
bear showed no fear. This is only the second bear I have seen
approach humans in the wild and it is a little disconcerting.
The wind continues to calm down as dusk approaches and the decision
is made to paddle all night to take advantage of the favorable
conditions. This lake is the last major barrier in our way and it needs to
be surmounted at all costs. I’d never paddled through the night before
and was excited for the new experience. The faint glow of dusk and the
green light of the aurora borealis provided enough light to see
adequately most of the time. Shooting stars streak across the cold
night sky. For an hour just after midnight everything was pitch black.
Troy and I couldn’t see the other canoe and everything was very
bizarre. At a narrow spot in the lake we thought that rapids could be
heard, sending us scrambling for shore, only to realize that we were
hearing tiny waves breaking on the gravel beach. Darkness plays tricks
on the mind. It deemed like we were paddling through outer space,
moving unknown distances at unknown speeds. The lake was glassy
and by one thirty the outline of the hills surrounding Indian House Lake
could be discerned once again. A faintly lighter black and blue color
barely poked above the northeastern horizon, indicating that the sun
was somewhere not too far below the horizon. By dawn the temperature
was down to thirty-five
across from our location an open ridge appears to extend almost all of
the way to the waters edge. To access the hike we crash through the
wall of ten foot tall alders and willows this is twenty yards deep. The
growth is almost physically impossible to move through and would be
terrible terrain to surprise a bear in. After this struggle the barrens are
reached and the walking is easy along open rocky slopes covered with
ripe blue berries. The route must have been at least a mile long and
followed a rugged creek bed still filled with patches of snow and ice. At
the top of the stream I veered left with Troy and Caroline to head for the
summit of a prominent peak, while Jim headed off towards a different
summit. Shallow alpine ponds are scattered around. Barren land
similar to that found at high altitudes in the White Mountains in New
Hampshire stretches for as far as the eye can see. The crystal clear
waters of the mountain stream gurgle cold and refreshing forcing me to
reach for a drink. I have stopped treating the water and enjoy the sweat
taste offered by this creek.
A steady wind blows across the summit and keeps the bugs
manageable, but when the breeze stops the blackflies become almost
entirely out of control. An amazing view stretches up and down the
lake. I can’t resist rolling a few rocks off of the steep back side of the
isolated peak. The tumbling boulders splinter and break, release an
odd smell, and make an incredible racket. Its always nice to get out of
the canoes for a while. From here I hike to the next peak north that Jim
has headed for. At the top a cairn is found, standing as a reminder that
indigenous people have inhabited this land for a long time. Jim says he
spotted a lone caribou up here when he first arrived. After taking in the
view and looking at Indian House Lake stretching away for miles to the
north all of us headed back down to our canoes collecting bags of
blueberries along the way and stuffing our mouths full of the sweet fruit.
Back at our island camp the wind is much calmer, but we want to nap
and rest some more, since there is still a headwind. I thoroughly enjoy
my bug free nap out on the open ground of the island in a steady
breeze with fleece and jackets piled over me for warmth in the mid day
sun. Waking up on this island in the middle of nowhere feels incredible.
Dinner is prepared and at six thirty the decision is made to paddle even
though it is still windy. This does not make complete sense, but we
decide to go for it anyways. Why would we not have paddled all day if
we were planning on fighting a headwind in the evening? At least we will
move now, which is good.
Slow progress is made and at eight thirty a small bear is spotted on a
hill. The temptation to paddle over to look at the animal cannot be
resisted. The bear is small, with a white patch in its chest, most likely a
second year cub just kicked out to live on its own. The bruin is
scratching around looking for food while periodically running to avoid
the blackflies that are tormenting it in choking swarms. The bear sniffs
at us and walks down to the gravel beach for a look. The wild animal
approached to within fifteen yards of the canoes, a sign that it must
never have seen humans before. After rolling around and swatting flies
for five minutes and sniffing at us some more, the bear heads away and
leaves us alone. What a great encounter! Still, it is surprising that the
bear showed no fear. This is only the second bear I have seen
approach humans in the wild and it is a little disconcerting.
The wind continues to calm down as dusk approaches and the decision
is made to paddle all night to take advantage of the favorable
conditions. This lake is the last major barrier in our way and it needs to
be surmounted at all costs. I’d never paddled through the night before
and was excited for the new experience. The faint glow of dusk and the
green light of the aurora borealis provided enough light to see
adequately most of the time. Shooting stars streak across the cold
night sky. For an hour just after midnight everything was pitch black.
Troy and I couldn’t see the other canoe and everything was very
bizarre. At a narrow spot in the lake we thought that rapids could be
heard, sending us scrambling for shore, only to realize that we were
hearing tiny waves breaking on the gravel beach. Darkness plays tricks
on the mind. It deemed like we were paddling through outer space,
moving unknown distances at unknown speeds. The lake was glassy
and by one thirty the outline of the hills surrounding Indian House Lake
could be discerned once again. A faintly lighter black and blue color
barely poked above the northeastern horizon, indicating that the sun
was somewhere not too far below the horizon. By dawn the temperature
was down to thirty-five
The hills on the east in places rose abruptly from the water, but on the
west they stood a little back with sand-hills on terraces between and an
occasional high, wedge-shaped point of sand and loose rock reached
almost halfway across the lake. Often as I looked ahead, the lake
seemed to end; but, the distant point passed, it stretched on again into
the north till with repetition of this experience, it began to seem as if the
end would never come. Streams entered through narrow openings
between the hills, or roared down their steep sides. At one point the
lake narrowed to about a quarter of a mile in width where the current
was very swift. Beyond this point we saw the last caribou of the trip.
A peanut butter spill is discovered in one of the food dry bags that will
have to be dealt with at some point. After the snack another hour is
paddled until a rock island is reached, which is the site for a leg
stretch. Fish are rising and jumping everywhere, but none will strike at
our lures. It seems like they are feeding only on the flies of a particular
hatch that has just taken place. The lake has gone to glass now as
there is not a breadth of wind. The dry bag that has been gummed up
with peanut butter is cleaned and the canoes are launched again after
an hour rest.
We paddle until nine at which point the head of a narrow spot on Indian
House Lake is reached. Twelve to fifteen miles of lake paddling remain
before the downhill ride to Ungava Bay. This has been a gorgeous
lake, but everyone is looking forward to leaving it behind. Falling
darkness forces us to camp on a rocky beach that leaves much to be
desired. A rice and bean dinner is prepared with chocolate pudding
and dream whip for dessert. Saw a family of Ptarmigan just as our
canoes landed at the intended camp, but none were shot because
there were babies and the expedition needed no additional food at this
point. It is getting exciting to think about reaching our destination now.
The end is in site although it is still two hundred miles away. A half
moon sets at ten thirty and we hope to wake up by six thirty tomorrow
and be paddling by nine. I want to reach the outlet of the lake by four o’
clock tomorrow afternoon.
west they stood a little back with sand-hills on terraces between and an
occasional high, wedge-shaped point of sand and loose rock reached
almost halfway across the lake. Often as I looked ahead, the lake
seemed to end; but, the distant point passed, it stretched on again into
the north till with repetition of this experience, it began to seem as if the
end would never come. Streams entered through narrow openings
between the hills, or roared down their steep sides. At one point the
lake narrowed to about a quarter of a mile in width where the current
was very swift. Beyond this point we saw the last caribou of the trip.
A peanut butter spill is discovered in one of the food dry bags that will
have to be dealt with at some point. After the snack another hour is
paddled until a rock island is reached, which is the site for a leg
stretch. Fish are rising and jumping everywhere, but none will strike at
our lures. It seems like they are feeding only on the flies of a particular
hatch that has just taken place. The lake has gone to glass now as
there is not a breadth of wind. The dry bag that has been gummed up
with peanut butter is cleaned and the canoes are launched again after
an hour rest.
We paddle until nine at which point the head of a narrow spot on Indian
House Lake is reached. Twelve to fifteen miles of lake paddling remain
before the downhill ride to Ungava Bay. This has been a gorgeous
lake, but everyone is looking forward to leaving it behind. Falling
darkness forces us to camp on a rocky beach that leaves much to be
desired. A rice and bean dinner is prepared with chocolate pudding
and dream whip for dessert. Saw a family of Ptarmigan just as our
canoes landed at the intended camp, but none were shot because
there were babies and the expedition needed no additional food at this
point. It is getting exciting to think about reaching our destination now.
The end is in site although it is still two hundred miles away. A half
moon sets at ten thirty and we hope to wake up by six thirty tomorrow
and be paddling by nine. I want to reach the outlet of the lake by four o’
clock tomorrow afternoon.
degrees. Wedge point is reached in the faint growing light of dawn, which took what seemed
like an unusually long time to occur. The night has been passed with only a few hours of
complete darkness. Tents are spotted on a sandy beach and the first people we have seen
on the route in forty some days are spotted walking around. They do not spot us, and we
head to camp on the same beach up lake of them, hidden by a point. Every one is very
tired, but glad to have seventeen miles of flat water to our credit. The day was saved.
8/4
Woke up at twelve forty five. The day is hot and sunny with a light north breeze. Everyone
hopes to be paddling by four this afternoon at the latest. If we paddle until nine thirty this
evening it should be possible to return to a somewhat normal schedule without taxing
ourselves too much. Ten miles this afternoon would be very good. My current prediction
has us reaching the village by August twelfth. This is my day to wash up. The temperature
is around sixty-five, there is a bluebird sky, and I go for a swim off of a sand and gravel
point. It feels good to wash my body and hair. Forty-five days have passed since I took a
shower, excluding a few swims here and there, and the quick wash at Allan’s camp. The
smell is gone and I feel like a new person, awake and ready to go.
After the shower I break down my tent as the wind dies down and the flies become
horrendous. We are now in a treeless land. The tundra has been reached. Only a few
widely scattered spruce and tamarack nestle near the water. I laze around and make
blueberry bread with berries gathered during yesterday’s hike.
The fuel bottles were replenished with the spare white gas I had been carrying for the entire
trip. After this I made a quick exploration of a dilapidated shack falling apart on the beach.
The wreckage of an old bush plane lay next to it and I had no problem leaving the empty can
of white gas in this broken apart cabin.
By three thirty the expedition is underway. Just below Wedge Point is an extensive open
sandy esker like area on the west side of the lake. Teepee poles and a shack or two
occupy the beach. This could be the spot where Mina Hubbard encountered the Naskaupi
Indians, or it could be an old trading post. A strong current in the lake here leads to a wider
body of water. Larger mountains lay off to the east and a snack break is called.
like an unusually long time to occur. The night has been passed with only a few hours of
complete darkness. Tents are spotted on a sandy beach and the first people we have seen
on the route in forty some days are spotted walking around. They do not spot us, and we
head to camp on the same beach up lake of them, hidden by a point. Every one is very
tired, but glad to have seventeen miles of flat water to our credit. The day was saved.
8/4
Woke up at twelve forty five. The day is hot and sunny with a light north breeze. Everyone
hopes to be paddling by four this afternoon at the latest. If we paddle until nine thirty this
evening it should be possible to return to a somewhat normal schedule without taxing
ourselves too much. Ten miles this afternoon would be very good. My current prediction
has us reaching the village by August twelfth. This is my day to wash up. The temperature
is around sixty-five, there is a bluebird sky, and I go for a swim off of a sand and gravel
point. It feels good to wash my body and hair. Forty-five days have passed since I took a
shower, excluding a few swims here and there, and the quick wash at Allan’s camp. The
smell is gone and I feel like a new person, awake and ready to go.
After the shower I break down my tent as the wind dies down and the flies become
horrendous. We are now in a treeless land. The tundra has been reached. Only a few
widely scattered spruce and tamarack nestle near the water. I laze around and make
blueberry bread with berries gathered during yesterday’s hike.
The fuel bottles were replenished with the spare white gas I had been carrying for the entire
trip. After this I made a quick exploration of a dilapidated shack falling apart on the beach.
The wreckage of an old bush plane lay next to it and I had no problem leaving the empty can
of white gas in this broken apart cabin.
By three thirty the expedition is underway. Just below Wedge Point is an extensive open
sandy esker like area on the west side of the lake. Teepee poles and a shack or two
occupy the beach. This could be the spot where Mina Hubbard encountered the Naskaupi
Indians, or it could be an old trading post. A strong current in the lake here leads to a wider
body of water. Larger mountains lay off to the east and a snack break is called.
8/5
I woke up at six thirty to glass conditions on the lake after an incredibly
good night sleep despite being camped on rocks. Our stay on Indian
House Lake ends by paddling ten to twelve miles in hot sun and perfect
conditions fit for kings. Fields of rocks all along the lakeshores dominate
the scenery. We canoe through a narrow section with fast current by ten
thirty and stop where a side creek enters above a camp. Troy catches
three brook trout and one lake trout at the confluence of this stream
while all I come up with are a few snags.
The rest of the lake is more of the same, with higher hills becoming more
predominant to the west. A larger stream enters on the right about a
mile from the end of the lake and a stop is made to fish the crystal clear
waters. I catch three brook trout while Troy lands five ensuring us a
good feed of fish tonight. All are pan sized and will be easy to cook.
The gorgeous creek drops from the mountains rising up on the east side
of the lake. After fishing we paddle on to the end of the lake and see a
tent and canoe pulled up on the beach. This looks like the same outfit
we saw the other day, but no one appears to be around so Troy and I
paddle down until we meet Jim and Caroline again.
They are pulled over above the outlet rapids of Indian House Lake. The
entire north end of the lake draining out into a class II-III rapid is
impressive. The river must be a half-mile wide here. According to the
map, these rapids continue for two miles to a wide section of river.
Everything looks runnable, but I make sure to point out to Troy the
tremendous width of the river and the need to stay close to shore and
out of the heavy water. A swim would be long and frightening as some of
the waves were up to six feet tall through this section. The fast and deep
current produced irregular waves, but a dry line was run. Ten scoops
with the bailer saw our canoe empty and ready to go. Troy and I stuck to
shore whenever possible, while Jim ran a more center line.
Near the bottom of the rapids we saw two people on shore and a strong
ferry was made to land our canoes along side of them for a chat. These
were the first people we have had contact with in forty some days and it
was exciting for us. There was a guide from Montreal and a woman from
New York State. They had heard about our trip while talking with people
on the train to Schefferville who had heard it mentioned in a radio show
on the CBC. The guide’s name was Eric and he was very excited to
have met us here and chatted for nearly an hour. Eric told us that he
had forty pounds of extra food to get rid of, but it was all at the top of the
rapid about three and a half kilometers away. Since our group had no
real need for extra food we politely declined, feeling a little upset about
not having the Nutella and ham that was described to us.
After our conversation the last hundred meters of class II was paddled to
a lake expansion with a fishing camp on the left. The whine of a motor
could be heard and a small speck grew larger as a motorboat
approached holding the owner of the camp and a guide. He offered the
use of his beach as a campsite and seemed a little shocked when we
told him our trip had started at Northwest River Post. The guide gave us
advice about the rapids below. He said the sides would be fine, but that
the water in the middle of the river was very big.
I woke up at six thirty to glass conditions on the lake after an incredibly
good night sleep despite being camped on rocks. Our stay on Indian
House Lake ends by paddling ten to twelve miles in hot sun and perfect
conditions fit for kings. Fields of rocks all along the lakeshores dominate
the scenery. We canoe through a narrow section with fast current by ten
thirty and stop where a side creek enters above a camp. Troy catches
three brook trout and one lake trout at the confluence of this stream
while all I come up with are a few snags.
The rest of the lake is more of the same, with higher hills becoming more
predominant to the west. A larger stream enters on the right about a
mile from the end of the lake and a stop is made to fish the crystal clear
waters. I catch three brook trout while Troy lands five ensuring us a
good feed of fish tonight. All are pan sized and will be easy to cook.
The gorgeous creek drops from the mountains rising up on the east side
of the lake. After fishing we paddle on to the end of the lake and see a
tent and canoe pulled up on the beach. This looks like the same outfit
we saw the other day, but no one appears to be around so Troy and I
paddle down until we meet Jim and Caroline again.
They are pulled over above the outlet rapids of Indian House Lake. The
entire north end of the lake draining out into a class II-III rapid is
impressive. The river must be a half-mile wide here. According to the
map, these rapids continue for two miles to a wide section of river.
Everything looks runnable, but I make sure to point out to Troy the
tremendous width of the river and the need to stay close to shore and
out of the heavy water. A swim would be long and frightening as some of
the waves were up to six feet tall through this section. The fast and deep
current produced irregular waves, but a dry line was run. Ten scoops
with the bailer saw our canoe empty and ready to go. Troy and I stuck to
shore whenever possible, while Jim ran a more center line.
Near the bottom of the rapids we saw two people on shore and a strong
ferry was made to land our canoes along side of them for a chat. These
were the first people we have had contact with in forty some days and it
was exciting for us. There was a guide from Montreal and a woman from
New York State. They had heard about our trip while talking with people
on the train to Schefferville who had heard it mentioned in a radio show
on the CBC. The guide’s name was Eric and he was very excited to
have met us here and chatted for nearly an hour. Eric told us that he
had forty pounds of extra food to get rid of, but it was all at the top of the
rapid about three and a half kilometers away. Since our group had no
real need for extra food we politely declined, feeling a little upset about
not having the Nutella and ham that was described to us.
After our conversation the last hundred meters of class II was paddled to
a lake expansion with a fishing camp on the left. The whine of a motor
could be heard and a small speck grew larger as a motorboat
approached holding the owner of the camp and a guide. He offered the
use of his beach as a campsite and seemed a little shocked when we
told him our trip had started at Northwest River Post. The guide gave us
advice about the rapids below. He said the sides would be fine, but that
the water in the middle of the river was very big.
While some trees persist at the southern end of Indian House Lake, it gets progressively barren the farther
north you travel.
north you travel.
Faced with a moderate headwind, we decided to stop for a long rest break at this beach on the western side of
Indian House Lake.
Indian House Lake.
The small rocky island that we selected for a campsite on Indian House lake was covered with a few of these
large stone circles and several other pits and chambers created with stones.
large stone circles and several other pits and chambers created with stones.
Pitching out tents among the stone structures on this small barren island was exciting and made it easy to feel
connected to the people that inhabited this land not so long ago.
connected to the people that inhabited this land not so long ago.
We found ourselves windbound on Indian House Lake, but we managed to paddle to shore so we could hike
a barren ridge for a view of the area.
a barren ridge for a view of the area.
Troy approaching the summit of the unnamed hill that we climbed while
pinned down by the wind on the fifty mile long lake.
pinned down by the wind on the fifty mile long lake.
The long expanse of Indian House Lake stretched away as far as the eye
could see. At its far end the lower George River waited to sweep us away to
Ungava Bay.
could see. At its far end the lower George River waited to sweep us away to
Ungava Bay.
Shortly after beginning our evening paddle on the much calmer waters of Indian House Lake we spotted this
small black bear that fearlessly approached out canoed to take a better look.
small black bear that fearlessly approached out canoed to take a better look.
Indian House Lake calmed to glass as evening slipped away into night and we made the decision to paddle
through the night to take advantage of the favorable conditions.
through the night to take advantage of the favorable conditions.
After sleeping until noon we were pleased to find that the lake remained calm so we hopped into the canoes
and knocked off some more miles under clear skies and calm winds.
and knocked off some more miles under clear skies and calm winds.
An amazing spell of calm hot weather began while we were on Indian
House Lake and almost lasted until the end of the trip.
House Lake and almost lasted until the end of the trip.
It barely got dark enough to see the northern lights until the second half
of our trip. This evening gave a brief, but spectacular show.
of our trip. This evening gave a brief, but spectacular show.
Clear skies and easy paddling allowed for a relaxed pace while we knocked off the last few miles of the big
long lake.
long lake.
While there are some fantastic campsites on Indian House Lake, there are many stretches where the shores
are choked with alders and the only suitable spots are on the open banks below the high water mark.
are choked with alders and the only suitable spots are on the open banks below the high water mark.
This shallow side creek looked like a promising fishing hole, and ten minutes of casting saw fifteen or twenty
brook trout landed. We only kept those that were badly hooked.
brook trout landed. We only kept those that were badly hooked.
A glassy lake above the treeline is a spectacular sight unlike any other I have ever seen.
At its northern terminus, the whole width of Indian House Lake narrows back into a river as it drains through
some impressive outlet rapids.
some impressive outlet rapids.