Expedition Journal
Overland to Smallwood Reservoir
7/14/2003 - 7/20/2003
One of the last major barriers that we faced was the hight of land
between the source of the Beaver River and waters draining into
Smallwood Reservoir. The portage took the better part of a day that
happened to be one of the hottest encountered on the entire trip. We
pushed through and made our way to the resupply cabin located on
an unnamed stream flowing into the lake.
The resupply gave us all a boost of energy. We puttered around the
cabin, cleaned clothing, repaired gear, and ate food and drinks
brought in. Caroline joined us at this point and helped unpack our
food cache and load the boats for stage two of the expedition.
By the time we pushed off paddled out to Lake Michikamau it almost
felt like we were starting a completely different trip. The worst was
behind us and we while we knew that crossing the massive expanse
of Smallwood Reservoir would be a challenge we looked forward to
spending some quality time in the canoes paddling instead of
dragging them along behind us!
7/14/2003 - 7/20/2003
One of the last major barriers that we faced was the hight of land
between the source of the Beaver River and waters draining into
Smallwood Reservoir. The portage took the better part of a day that
happened to be one of the hottest encountered on the entire trip. We
pushed through and made our way to the resupply cabin located on
an unnamed stream flowing into the lake.
The resupply gave us all a boost of energy. We puttered around the
cabin, cleaned clothing, repaired gear, and ate food and drinks
brought in. Caroline joined us at this point and helped unpack our
food cache and load the boats for stage two of the expedition.
By the time we pushed off paddled out to Lake Michikamau it almost
felt like we were starting a completely different trip. The worst was
behind us and we while we knew that crossing the massive expanse
of Smallwood Reservoir would be a challenge we looked forward to
spending some quality time in the canoes paddling instead of
dragging them along behind us!
7/14
What a day! I woke up to a strong sun heating the tent. A double
oatmeal breakfast was prepared to fuel us for the long portage out of the
Beaver River to Lake Hope. Our goal is to complete this portage
today.
The carry was started at eleven thirty this morning under a clear sky with
very hot temperatures. I am able to convince the group to consolidate
our gear into heavier loads. Doing this allowed us to make the portage
in two trips as opposed to three, effectively shortening the distance
covered by a third. The portage begins in thick woods that quickly give
way to more open ground. Scattered large spruce trees inhabit the
valley on a floor of reindeer moss. Rocks of all sizes are scattered
through this U shaped glacial valley with barren hill tops on either
side.
As the day progresses things become hotter and hotter. By one o’clock
the thermometer reads eighty five degrees in the shade of a spruce tree
we are laying under. Between each trip we lie exhausted and try to
recover. Green eyed horseflies start to swarm and only get worse as the
day continues. Near the end of the portage over two hundred flies had
accumulated around each of us. The constant buzzing is loud and
maddening. My bug shirt is saving me even though these large flies
were capable of biting through a pair of socks. Between trips we are
forced to sit and deal with the onslaught of insects. The heat would not
be that bad if it were not for the fact that we are fully clothed from head
to toe to keep insects from destroying us. Our head nets hold in so
much heat, but removing them would expose our faces to the full force of
the horseflies and blackflies. Our eyes would be swollen shut within
minutes from the bites.
In the afternoon we reach the height of land between Lake Hope and the
Beaver River watershed. This area is an alpine meadow with plentiful
trees overlooking two tiny ponds that are the true source of the Beaver
River. At least we are in a gorgeous setting for such difficult work.
Continuing the portage we come across a small turquoise colored pond
covered with mats of a strange algae. Troy and I continue to fight
through thickening vegetation on a ridge above this pond until we strike
a larger pond which we make our way down to before dropping a load of
gear. The horseflies around us are completely out of control now. All we
want is to see Lake Hope and complete this nightmare of a portage.
We meet Jim at this pond because he was portaging along his own route
instead of following us. He was convinced it made more sense to follow
the water, but the vegetation seemed to be twice as thick near the
stream. While Troy and Jim rested I ran up a hill sixty feet high and was
treated with our first view of Lake Hope. I am fairly certain that is the
view that Hubbard photographed on his 1903 expedition. It is very
encouraging to have our goal in clear view.
What a day! I woke up to a strong sun heating the tent. A double
oatmeal breakfast was prepared to fuel us for the long portage out of the
Beaver River to Lake Hope. Our goal is to complete this portage
today.
The carry was started at eleven thirty this morning under a clear sky with
very hot temperatures. I am able to convince the group to consolidate
our gear into heavier loads. Doing this allowed us to make the portage
in two trips as opposed to three, effectively shortening the distance
covered by a third. The portage begins in thick woods that quickly give
way to more open ground. Scattered large spruce trees inhabit the
valley on a floor of reindeer moss. Rocks of all sizes are scattered
through this U shaped glacial valley with barren hill tops on either
side.
As the day progresses things become hotter and hotter. By one o’clock
the thermometer reads eighty five degrees in the shade of a spruce tree
we are laying under. Between each trip we lie exhausted and try to
recover. Green eyed horseflies start to swarm and only get worse as the
day continues. Near the end of the portage over two hundred flies had
accumulated around each of us. The constant buzzing is loud and
maddening. My bug shirt is saving me even though these large flies
were capable of biting through a pair of socks. Between trips we are
forced to sit and deal with the onslaught of insects. The heat would not
be that bad if it were not for the fact that we are fully clothed from head
to toe to keep insects from destroying us. Our head nets hold in so
much heat, but removing them would expose our faces to the full force of
the horseflies and blackflies. Our eyes would be swollen shut within
minutes from the bites.
In the afternoon we reach the height of land between Lake Hope and the
Beaver River watershed. This area is an alpine meadow with plentiful
trees overlooking two tiny ponds that are the true source of the Beaver
River. At least we are in a gorgeous setting for such difficult work.
Continuing the portage we come across a small turquoise colored pond
covered with mats of a strange algae. Troy and I continue to fight
through thickening vegetation on a ridge above this pond until we strike
a larger pond which we make our way down to before dropping a load of
gear. The horseflies around us are completely out of control now. All we
want is to see Lake Hope and complete this nightmare of a portage.
We meet Jim at this pond because he was portaging along his own route
instead of following us. He was convinced it made more sense to follow
the water, but the vegetation seemed to be twice as thick near the
stream. While Troy and Jim rested I ran up a hill sixty feet high and was
treated with our first view of Lake Hope. I am fairly certain that is the
view that Hubbard photographed on his 1903 expedition. It is very
encouraging to have our goal in clear view.
7/15
Up at eight thirty, but not out and paddling until ten thirty. Taking two hours
to get going in the morning is unacceptable. By the time we are moving there
is already a slight headwind building. Five kilometers are made, but by the
time we reach a turn to the right into the northern part of Hope Lake a strong
wind is blowing. As we start a crossing to an island the wind builds up even
more and forces a landing on the island at the end of the crossing. We are
windbound, unable to move into the wind without exerting an inordinate
amount of energy.
On the island everyone sits quietly, annoyed by the delay. With luck it will be
possible to move tonight. By two thirty spats of rain are blowing through and
patience for sitting is running thin. It is agreed to attempt to force a passage
to a point about a kilometer away. This is done by making fast crossings and
staying in the lee of islands whenever possible.
Once at the point we reassess and realize that travel is futile. To conserve
energy the bug tent and a tarp is set up to sleep under. It was very near this
point that Hubbard stumbled off of this route to Michikamau and headed north
into Windbound Lake, which proved to be unconnected to Michikamau. They
spent a long time wandering and stranded in this area before deciding to turn
back and retreat for Northwest River Post. It must have been truly
devastating to know all of that difficult terrain would have to be retraced with
no food. A journal entry from August twenty seventh shows the desperate
state that Hubbard and his team was in already. It wasn’t until late September
that they decided to turn back.
Up at eight thirty, but not out and paddling until ten thirty. Taking two hours
to get going in the morning is unacceptable. By the time we are moving there
is already a slight headwind building. Five kilometers are made, but by the
time we reach a turn to the right into the northern part of Hope Lake a strong
wind is blowing. As we start a crossing to an island the wind builds up even
more and forces a landing on the island at the end of the crossing. We are
windbound, unable to move into the wind without exerting an inordinate
amount of energy.
On the island everyone sits quietly, annoyed by the delay. With luck it will be
possible to move tonight. By two thirty spats of rain are blowing through and
patience for sitting is running thin. It is agreed to attempt to force a passage
to a point about a kilometer away. This is done by making fast crossings and
staying in the lee of islands whenever possible.
Once at the point we reassess and realize that travel is futile. To conserve
energy the bug tent and a tarp is set up to sleep under. It was very near this
point that Hubbard stumbled off of this route to Michikamau and headed north
into Windbound Lake, which proved to be unconnected to Michikamau. They
spent a long time wandering and stranded in this area before deciding to turn
back and retreat for Northwest River Post. It must have been truly
devastating to know all of that difficult terrain would have to be retraced with
no food. A journal entry from August twenty seventh shows the desperate
state that Hubbard and his team was in already. It wasn’t until late September
that they decided to turn back.
By nine thirty we have traveled between twelve and fourteen kilometers from the windbound
resting spot. Camp sites look very sparse, so we paddle to a small beach about a half
kilometer above a section of marked rapids. The beach is very narrow, but there is just
enough room to set the tents against a bank of alders. The alders are far too thick for a tent
and the woods are too dense and wet here for camping. Some quick sawing and uprooting of
alders made a suitable site for the tents. We are actually lucky to have found the spot that
we did. Besides, everyone is too tired to continue on.
Food is a little low now so we are glad to have the fish for dinner. Everything is set up under
the bug tent. While we are eating the first northern lights of the trip are seen as green bands
that gather for a half hour in the western sky and arc to the east before the moon rises.
Mosquitoes are out in force tonight and their tapping and buzzing on the tent is a background
noise to everything.
Two dinners are left now, with little lunch, and two small breakfasts. This should be enough
to carry us to Allan’s camp. There is also plenty of Almond Butter left which has lots of
calories if need be. It is twelve twenty five now and I am too tired to write any more. Need
sleep badly. Had a multi vitamin with the hopes that it will give me more energy tomorrow.
Today was a very low energy day. Approximately twenty miles to the resupply. Much more
relaxed now. Not worried about time anymore. Felt shattered paddling into camp
tonight.
7/16
Nice warm morning with no breeze. Lake is absolutely perfect glass. Painfully slow morning
waiting for Jim and Troy to get ready. I cooked up a batch of flatbread while waiting and it
came out particularly well. The team paddled the one kilometer to the marked rapid on the
Metchin River once finally on the water.
Our first rapid of the trip was a class II+. The tandem boat chose to line on river left while I
ran the drop from top to bottom with a very dry line. My canoe handles well when paddled
solo, even full of gear. Running the rapid was exciting and felt very good. Below here was a
right turn containing class II rapids leading to heavy water around the blind corner. I ran the
lead in whitewater down to a small left side eddy above a short stretch of heavy class III. I
portaged over big rocks while the others lined down the river right side. The portage was
made in less time than it took the tandem boat to line the rapid. This was a little frustrating,
but tolerable since we were in such a great place and so close to the end of stage one.
We made our way slowly across the next lake and took a long rest at one thirty after not
moving until eleven thirty today. Eventually we reach the point where our route has us
portaging out of the Metchin River and into an unnamed system of lakes, ponds and river that
extends to the long south eastern arm of Smallwood Reservoir.
resting spot. Camp sites look very sparse, so we paddle to a small beach about a half
kilometer above a section of marked rapids. The beach is very narrow, but there is just
enough room to set the tents against a bank of alders. The alders are far too thick for a tent
and the woods are too dense and wet here for camping. Some quick sawing and uprooting of
alders made a suitable site for the tents. We are actually lucky to have found the spot that
we did. Besides, everyone is too tired to continue on.
Food is a little low now so we are glad to have the fish for dinner. Everything is set up under
the bug tent. While we are eating the first northern lights of the trip are seen as green bands
that gather for a half hour in the western sky and arc to the east before the moon rises.
Mosquitoes are out in force tonight and their tapping and buzzing on the tent is a background
noise to everything.
Two dinners are left now, with little lunch, and two small breakfasts. This should be enough
to carry us to Allan’s camp. There is also plenty of Almond Butter left which has lots of
calories if need be. It is twelve twenty five now and I am too tired to write any more. Need
sleep badly. Had a multi vitamin with the hopes that it will give me more energy tomorrow.
Today was a very low energy day. Approximately twenty miles to the resupply. Much more
relaxed now. Not worried about time anymore. Felt shattered paddling into camp
tonight.
7/16
Nice warm morning with no breeze. Lake is absolutely perfect glass. Painfully slow morning
waiting for Jim and Troy to get ready. I cooked up a batch of flatbread while waiting and it
came out particularly well. The team paddled the one kilometer to the marked rapid on the
Metchin River once finally on the water.
Our first rapid of the trip was a class II+. The tandem boat chose to line on river left while I
ran the drop from top to bottom with a very dry line. My canoe handles well when paddled
solo, even full of gear. Running the rapid was exciting and felt very good. Below here was a
right turn containing class II rapids leading to heavy water around the blind corner. I ran the
lead in whitewater down to a small left side eddy above a short stretch of heavy class III. I
portaged over big rocks while the others lined down the river right side. The portage was
made in less time than it took the tandem boat to line the rapid. This was a little frustrating,
but tolerable since we were in such a great place and so close to the end of stage one.
We made our way slowly across the next lake and took a long rest at one thirty after not
moving until eleven thirty today. Eventually we reach the point where our route has us
portaging out of the Metchin River and into an unnamed system of lakes, ponds and river that
extends to the long south eastern arm of Smallwood Reservoir.
The carry to this next drainage starts with a short twenty meter portage to a
smaller pond. At the far side of this pond we set out at a 340 degree
compass bearing to find a large lake. The carry is 500 meters through a
swamp, so we veer to higher ground on the left to make the walking easier.
Troy is obsessed with blindly following a compass bearing and fails to see
the benefits of using favorable terrain to our advantage. I know his method
is fool proof, but looking for easier terrain is so tempting! Temperatures must
have risen to eight five during our carry. Sweat in our eyes is burning and it
is nice to see the lake at the end of the carry and have a drink of water.
After this trip we returned to get the canoes. When I finished the portage I
had about ten minutes to myself to think and reflect on where we were. The
portage we just finished probably has not seem much traffic in the last million
years.
After paddling along an esker for four kilometers in the new lake I notice that
a distant thunderstorm has drawn nearer. A snack stop is made at five thirty
as the storm approaches and briefly blows the lake into whitecaps. We take
shelter, but the storm skirts us. A little rain falls while we are eating Almond
Butter to reenergize ourselves. Sheets of rain and amazing clouds along with
distant rainbows are everywhere as a result of the far away storms.
Once it is clear that the storm is well past it is back on the water. Good
paddling greets us and an occasional tail wind even gets in on the act. A
fast five kilometers to the outlet of this lake is covered. The outlet is a single
line on the 1:50,000 scale maps, but it is encouraging that the first 200
meters of this are navigable. The next lake is one kilometer long and full of
islands and rocks just under the surface that can not be seen until they are
paddled over. In paces we have to exit the canoes and push them along.
This is tiring and discouraging. By eight thirty everyone is exhausted and
looking for a campsite.
The only promising sites appear to be at the top of a fifty foot esker that is
lightly wooded. I ran up to the top and saw plenty of tent sites along with
game trails that appeared to be active. We carried our personal gear up to
the top of the esker and watched a great sunset on the horizon. This
has been our twenty third day out without seeing any people. Twenty six
kilometers remain to the cabin. I feel I could easily cover this alone, but it
seems as though the others may slows us down so much that this kind of
distance is nearly impossible to cover in a day. Passed on cooking dinner in
favor of going to sleep and getting rest.
It is breezy now but mosquitoes are still buzzing and tapping on the tent
walls. They hit so hard and frequently that they make it sound like rain
outside. Gear is starting to smell, but it is not yet unreasonably offensive. I
tried to shoot a duck on the water at two hundred yards today, but missed
low and to the left. Good weather may give us a shot at making the camp
tomorrow night. Fresh food and caribou steaks are waiting for us there.
10:22pm.
smaller pond. At the far side of this pond we set out at a 340 degree
compass bearing to find a large lake. The carry is 500 meters through a
swamp, so we veer to higher ground on the left to make the walking easier.
Troy is obsessed with blindly following a compass bearing and fails to see
the benefits of using favorable terrain to our advantage. I know his method
is fool proof, but looking for easier terrain is so tempting! Temperatures must
have risen to eight five during our carry. Sweat in our eyes is burning and it
is nice to see the lake at the end of the carry and have a drink of water.
After this trip we returned to get the canoes. When I finished the portage I
had about ten minutes to myself to think and reflect on where we were. The
portage we just finished probably has not seem much traffic in the last million
years.
After paddling along an esker for four kilometers in the new lake I notice that
a distant thunderstorm has drawn nearer. A snack stop is made at five thirty
as the storm approaches and briefly blows the lake into whitecaps. We take
shelter, but the storm skirts us. A little rain falls while we are eating Almond
Butter to reenergize ourselves. Sheets of rain and amazing clouds along with
distant rainbows are everywhere as a result of the far away storms.
Once it is clear that the storm is well past it is back on the water. Good
paddling greets us and an occasional tail wind even gets in on the act. A
fast five kilometers to the outlet of this lake is covered. The outlet is a single
line on the 1:50,000 scale maps, but it is encouraging that the first 200
meters of this are navigable. The next lake is one kilometer long and full of
islands and rocks just under the surface that can not be seen until they are
paddled over. In paces we have to exit the canoes and push them along.
This is tiring and discouraging. By eight thirty everyone is exhausted and
looking for a campsite.
The only promising sites appear to be at the top of a fifty foot esker that is
lightly wooded. I ran up to the top and saw plenty of tent sites along with
game trails that appeared to be active. We carried our personal gear up to
the top of the esker and watched a great sunset on the horizon. This
has been our twenty third day out without seeing any people. Twenty six
kilometers remain to the cabin. I feel I could easily cover this alone, but it
seems as though the others may slows us down so much that this kind of
distance is nearly impossible to cover in a day. Passed on cooking dinner in
favor of going to sleep and getting rest.
It is breezy now but mosquitoes are still buzzing and tapping on the tent
walls. They hit so hard and frequently that they make it sound like rain
outside. Gear is starting to smell, but it is not yet unreasonably offensive. I
tried to shoot a duck on the water at two hundred yards today, but missed
low and to the left. Good weather may give us a shot at making the camp
tomorrow night. Fresh food and caribou steaks are waiting for us there.
10:22pm.
Large areas of ground were covered with low alder bushes. This tangled
mess hid the actually ground from view, making footing a guessing game.
There could be angled rocks, water, or rarely solid ground below this
vegetation. On two separate occasions I fell beyond my knee between
rocks while carrying a load of over eighty pounds. It is a miracle that I did
not get injured during these falls. The single lined stream we were following
was broken by several ponds that appeared on our maps. What the maps
did not show was that these ponds were at best an inch deep. There was
seldom enough water to float the boats even in these expansions. There
was nothing to do but push on as quickly as possible.
Eventually a larger lake scattered with islands was reached on which two
kilometers were paddled to a large rock. It is now one in the afternoon and
a lunch stop is called for. Lunch is down to a small chunk of pepperoni and
a sip of soup. Jim naps, I fish, and we shoot a little extra ammo. The lake is
so glassy that we skip a few bullets by aiming at the water with the rifle.
Dark clouds are on the horizon, but for now the weather is fine.
On our way back to get the second load of gear we agreed to follow Jim’s creek. Just above the larger pond we came across a big bear den dug into the sandy bank of
the river. Piles of feces were scattered around the entrance and there were scratches all over the trees in the immediate area. Everyone was a little nervous until our
canoes were reached again, since the woods here were very thick and stumbling across a hiding bear would not have been all that hard to do. We carry and paddle the
boats the final half kilometer to Hope Lake in an utterly exhausted state.
Dropping the last load of gear on the shores of Lake Hope was incredible. I sat on the bow of my canoe completely exhilarated to be finished with our upstream work for
quite some time. Open water lay ahead of us as far as we could see, and conditions were perfect glass. To our left a high hill with a cliff face drops down to the
water.
The paddling conditions are so perfect that we decide to move on. In one hour of nearly effortless paddling we cover five kilometers after having spent the last nine hours
advancing our position a mere two and a half kilometers. A perfect campsite is seen high up on a peninsula overlooking the lake. The fifty foot climb to the top of this
esker is difficult but it is worth it for the commanding view extending over three miles up and down the lake. There are a few pieces of old plywood scattered around here
that were probably from a shelter of some sort. We are off of the water around ten tonight and the lake was a vivid blue color as the sun set. The day’s end was a perfect
reward for the effort put in earlier. An MRE dinner was had in order to save cooking time and get us to sleep.
There are thirty miles to cover in three days in order to reach Allan’s camp and our resupply on schedule. This would be easy without a headwind and if the unnamed
drainage leading to Michikamau that we had selected to follow is navigable. I am very excited to complete stage one of the trip. Our food is running very low now, but it
should carry us to the cache. From the tent I can hear a cascade dropping into the other side of the lake. It is warm out and maybe the weather will hold. Time is 11:
20pm. Monday.
the river. Piles of feces were scattered around the entrance and there were scratches all over the trees in the immediate area. Everyone was a little nervous until our
canoes were reached again, since the woods here were very thick and stumbling across a hiding bear would not have been all that hard to do. We carry and paddle the
boats the final half kilometer to Hope Lake in an utterly exhausted state.
Dropping the last load of gear on the shores of Lake Hope was incredible. I sat on the bow of my canoe completely exhilarated to be finished with our upstream work for
quite some time. Open water lay ahead of us as far as we could see, and conditions were perfect glass. To our left a high hill with a cliff face drops down to the
water.
The paddling conditions are so perfect that we decide to move on. In one hour of nearly effortless paddling we cover five kilometers after having spent the last nine hours
advancing our position a mere two and a half kilometers. A perfect campsite is seen high up on a peninsula overlooking the lake. The fifty foot climb to the top of this
esker is difficult but it is worth it for the commanding view extending over three miles up and down the lake. There are a few pieces of old plywood scattered around here
that were probably from a shelter of some sort. We are off of the water around ten tonight and the lake was a vivid blue color as the sun set. The day’s end was a perfect
reward for the effort put in earlier. An MRE dinner was had in order to save cooking time and get us to sleep.
There are thirty miles to cover in three days in order to reach Allan’s camp and our resupply on schedule. This would be easy without a headwind and if the unnamed
drainage leading to Michikamau that we had selected to follow is navigable. I am very excited to complete stage one of the trip. Our food is running very low now, but it
should carry us to the cache. From the tent I can hear a cascade dropping into the other side of the lake. It is warm out and maybe the weather will hold. Time is 11:
20pm. Monday.
After this rest stop the team paddles a few kilometers to the outlet of the
lake as a rain shower blows through quickly. The outlet is narrow, being
only twenty feet wide and about 50 meters long. We are happy to see that
a good amount of water is flowing through here. The result is a runnable
class III- rapid. This is encouraging because this is one of the last sections
of single line streams on our maps. All other single lines have been
terrible. I run first and eddy out on river left below the rapid. My fishing pole
is rigged with a three inch Five of Diamonds spoon and a steel leader. I
hardly think it is worth fishing this pike lure here, but decide to take a cast
anyways. On the second cast I feel the line go taught and the rod bend.
This is a sure sign of a good sized fish and a smile instantly spreads across
my face. I reel in the fish without playing it since we are hungry and the
food will be good to have. On lifting the fish out of the water and into my
boat I see that it is a seventeen inch brook trout! A blow to the head with
the paddle puts the fish out of its misery.
The very next cast produces the same results, only better. A good fight up
thirty feet of current is required to land a four pound twenty inch brook
trout. I have found the first truly hot fishing spot of the trip. I holler up to Jim
and Troy, who are still scouting, and show them the fish, which gets me a
few thumbs up. Those two run the rapid and Troy assembles his fishing
pole while I continue to fish and land another twenty inch trout. These
monster fish were rolling and jumping out of the water after my lure having
following it for some distance up the current. Dinner is now secure. Troy
fished for about ten minutes and played a large trout for a long time before
loosing it. I am so excited. A tough and demoralizing day has just become
much better. There may be nowhere in the United States that you can
catch brook trout like this.
Although the fishing is amazing, the time is getting late and ominous
rumbles of thunder are approaching. A heavy downpour breaks out while
paddling away, but the majority of the storm seems to be to our south. The
paddling is on flatwater with a slight current, but the waterway is narrow
enough so we are not overly concerned with lightning. This lake paddling
leads to a stretch of river with deepwater and a good current. The sky
grows slate gray with swirling dark patches and lightning looks like much
more of a concern now. Everyone keeps their eyes to the sky and continues
to paddle. A torrential downpour with heavy winds slams into us, but the
thunder seems to be far enough away so no one stops. Our raingear is
very helpful here. It is now five or five thirty. The storm passes and the
clouds in the sky are amazing. The weather is cooler out with glassy
paddling conditions so we are encouraged to proceed. While crossing a
large lake a big dark cloud passes just north of us.
The outlet of the next lake is a decent sized stream with good flow. A
section of marked rapids lies downstream on the map, with Allen’s camp and
our resupply only nine kilometers farther. Everyone feels good and it is
decided that if the rapids can be easily dealt with that a push will be made
for the camp tonight. It is already six thirty, but daylight should hold out until
ten thirty or thereabouts.
The rapids are shallow and steep, but produce only fast class II whitewater.
This two kilometers of swiftwater is covered in little time. At the base of the
rapids we have a quick snack and take a few pictures. Just after our snack
a flock of Geese is spotted off to our right down a side bay in a section of
marshes and ponds. Troy and Jim paddle into the flock of ten birds and
herd out two smaller ones which are shot for dinner. There is now enough
food in our boats for a feast at the camp.
lake as a rain shower blows through quickly. The outlet is narrow, being
only twenty feet wide and about 50 meters long. We are happy to see that
a good amount of water is flowing through here. The result is a runnable
class III- rapid. This is encouraging because this is one of the last sections
of single line streams on our maps. All other single lines have been
terrible. I run first and eddy out on river left below the rapid. My fishing pole
is rigged with a three inch Five of Diamonds spoon and a steel leader. I
hardly think it is worth fishing this pike lure here, but decide to take a cast
anyways. On the second cast I feel the line go taught and the rod bend.
This is a sure sign of a good sized fish and a smile instantly spreads across
my face. I reel in the fish without playing it since we are hungry and the
food will be good to have. On lifting the fish out of the water and into my
boat I see that it is a seventeen inch brook trout! A blow to the head with
the paddle puts the fish out of its misery.
The very next cast produces the same results, only better. A good fight up
thirty feet of current is required to land a four pound twenty inch brook
trout. I have found the first truly hot fishing spot of the trip. I holler up to Jim
and Troy, who are still scouting, and show them the fish, which gets me a
few thumbs up. Those two run the rapid and Troy assembles his fishing
pole while I continue to fish and land another twenty inch trout. These
monster fish were rolling and jumping out of the water after my lure having
following it for some distance up the current. Dinner is now secure. Troy
fished for about ten minutes and played a large trout for a long time before
loosing it. I am so excited. A tough and demoralizing day has just become
much better. There may be nowhere in the United States that you can
catch brook trout like this.
Although the fishing is amazing, the time is getting late and ominous
rumbles of thunder are approaching. A heavy downpour breaks out while
paddling away, but the majority of the storm seems to be to our south. The
paddling is on flatwater with a slight current, but the waterway is narrow
enough so we are not overly concerned with lightning. This lake paddling
leads to a stretch of river with deepwater and a good current. The sky
grows slate gray with swirling dark patches and lightning looks like much
more of a concern now. Everyone keeps their eyes to the sky and continues
to paddle. A torrential downpour with heavy winds slams into us, but the
thunder seems to be far enough away so no one stops. Our raingear is
very helpful here. It is now five or five thirty. The storm passes and the
clouds in the sky are amazing. The weather is cooler out with glassy
paddling conditions so we are encouraged to proceed. While crossing a
large lake a big dark cloud passes just north of us.
The outlet of the next lake is a decent sized stream with good flow. A
section of marked rapids lies downstream on the map, with Allen’s camp and
our resupply only nine kilometers farther. Everyone feels good and it is
decided that if the rapids can be easily dealt with that a push will be made
for the camp tonight. It is already six thirty, but daylight should hold out until
ten thirty or thereabouts.
The rapids are shallow and steep, but produce only fast class II whitewater.
This two kilometers of swiftwater is covered in little time. At the base of the
rapids we have a quick snack and take a few pictures. Just after our snack
a flock of Geese is spotted off to our right down a side bay in a section of
marshes and ponds. Troy and Jim paddle into the flock of ten birds and
herd out two smaller ones which are shot for dinner. There is now enough
food in our boats for a feast at the camp.
The rest of the distance to the cabin is great going. A two and half kilometer lake is crossed before entering a stretch with many islands and different channels to
choose between. I navigate from the 1:50,000 scale map and ground is covered quickly as sunset approaches. We followed the more northerly route through this
section. Dusk is approaching and the ski is growing a dim dark blue. At nine fifty we see the bridge over Orma Lake Road and five minutes later the cabin is spotted.
The canoes are beached and the structure is checked out. Every one is very excited, and experiencing a mix of emotions. Weariness combined with ecstatic joy and a
sense of accomplishment. Stage one is complete and two years of planning have come to fruition. One hundred and fifty miles of traveling are done and five hundred
remain.
It is a late night. No one gets to sleep before one thirty. The fish and Geese had to be cleaned and cooked. A small fire in the wood stove made the cabin almost
unbearably hot. There are many mosquitoes in the camp, but they are tolerable and I sleep on a bed. Our stomachs have shrunk and the meal we have prepared is too
much to finish. Every one heads to bed full and content to rest at last.
7/18
Slept until nine thirty this morning. This rest day at Allen’s camp is the first we have had in twenty five days. It is so nice to do nothing. The morning was spent lounging
around, eating the last of our oatmeal, and washing clothes. The insects are not even that unbearable outside. The Cabin is outstanding. Caribou antlers and furs
adorn the rough cut log walls. Basically we lounged on the couch and chairs and did very little for a long time. Allen and Jim’s girlfriend Caroline show up around eleven.
We chat for a while about where the good fishing is upstream of here. Allen said that few people go up into where we were, if any at all. Above the 55 parallel you
technically need a guide to go farther than a half mile from a roadway if you are not a resident. Allen sounds excited about trying to head up to fish the stream we came
down.
We are told that a bear has been around the camp recently. A twelve gauge shot gun is showed to us and we are told to shoot the bear if it is spotted. The best thing
the pair brought for us was a cooler full of food and beer. A huge breakfast of eggs and potatoes is cooked up and the more we eat the hungrier we become. Tomorrow
will be spent repacking supplies and food for stage two of our expedition.
The weather has turned cooler and a north wind is blowing across the pond in the river towards the cabin. Stage two should be good as long as we are not bogged down
by wind on the reservoir. It is decided to leave the day after tomorrow as early as possible. Scattered thunderstorms and rainbows decorate the horizon to our north.
The rest of our day was spent drying gear, cleaning the gun, and general housekeeping things. We are grilling Caribou steaks that Allan brought us. At 8:00 there was
a large storm just north of us. For dessert we ate a boxed apple pie. Things are very good.
Reflecting on the trip to this point, I am amazed that we have finally made it. At times it seemed like we were moving so slowly. Steady progress and lots of persistence
added up. Overall, an outstanding effort was put forth by all members involved with the expedition. Both mentally and physically everyone performed admirably well.
The toughest part was really more mental than anything else. It was a tough trip and a hard strain. The fact that no one was injured is still a little amazing to me. So
many slippery rocks, loose rocks, and holes, plus heavy loads and bags made thing treacherous at times.
Low point of trip – Evening on Goose Creek before portaging to Mountaineer Lake. Camped at the edge of a swamp in cold rain with Sea Gull for dinner. Fourth
consecutive day of rain.
High Point of trip – Three twenty inch brook trout in fifteen minutes. Top of Barren hill on Beaver River. Reaching Hubbard Memorial. Completion of stage One.
choose between. I navigate from the 1:50,000 scale map and ground is covered quickly as sunset approaches. We followed the more northerly route through this
section. Dusk is approaching and the ski is growing a dim dark blue. At nine fifty we see the bridge over Orma Lake Road and five minutes later the cabin is spotted.
The canoes are beached and the structure is checked out. Every one is very excited, and experiencing a mix of emotions. Weariness combined with ecstatic joy and a
sense of accomplishment. Stage one is complete and two years of planning have come to fruition. One hundred and fifty miles of traveling are done and five hundred
remain.
It is a late night. No one gets to sleep before one thirty. The fish and Geese had to be cleaned and cooked. A small fire in the wood stove made the cabin almost
unbearably hot. There are many mosquitoes in the camp, but they are tolerable and I sleep on a bed. Our stomachs have shrunk and the meal we have prepared is too
much to finish. Every one heads to bed full and content to rest at last.
7/18
Slept until nine thirty this morning. This rest day at Allen’s camp is the first we have had in twenty five days. It is so nice to do nothing. The morning was spent lounging
around, eating the last of our oatmeal, and washing clothes. The insects are not even that unbearable outside. The Cabin is outstanding. Caribou antlers and furs
adorn the rough cut log walls. Basically we lounged on the couch and chairs and did very little for a long time. Allen and Jim’s girlfriend Caroline show up around eleven.
We chat for a while about where the good fishing is upstream of here. Allen said that few people go up into where we were, if any at all. Above the 55 parallel you
technically need a guide to go farther than a half mile from a roadway if you are not a resident. Allen sounds excited about trying to head up to fish the stream we came
down.
We are told that a bear has been around the camp recently. A twelve gauge shot gun is showed to us and we are told to shoot the bear if it is spotted. The best thing
the pair brought for us was a cooler full of food and beer. A huge breakfast of eggs and potatoes is cooked up and the more we eat the hungrier we become. Tomorrow
will be spent repacking supplies and food for stage two of our expedition.
The weather has turned cooler and a north wind is blowing across the pond in the river towards the cabin. Stage two should be good as long as we are not bogged down
by wind on the reservoir. It is decided to leave the day after tomorrow as early as possible. Scattered thunderstorms and rainbows decorate the horizon to our north.
The rest of our day was spent drying gear, cleaning the gun, and general housekeeping things. We are grilling Caribou steaks that Allan brought us. At 8:00 there was
a large storm just north of us. For dessert we ate a boxed apple pie. Things are very good.
Reflecting on the trip to this point, I am amazed that we have finally made it. At times it seemed like we were moving so slowly. Steady progress and lots of persistence
added up. Overall, an outstanding effort was put forth by all members involved with the expedition. Both mentally and physically everyone performed admirably well.
The toughest part was really more mental than anything else. It was a tough trip and a hard strain. The fact that no one was injured is still a little amazing to me. So
many slippery rocks, loose rocks, and holes, plus heavy loads and bags made thing treacherous at times.
Low point of trip – Evening on Goose Creek before portaging to Mountaineer Lake. Camped at the edge of a swamp in cold rain with Sea Gull for dinner. Fourth
consecutive day of rain.
High Point of trip – Three twenty inch brook trout in fifteen minutes. Top of Barren hill on Beaver River. Reaching Hubbard Memorial. Completion of stage One.
7/19
Another day at the camp spent eating and making repairs. Fixed fishing
pole, food bag, and canoes. My canoe had a tear in the Royalex that didn’t
go all the way through, but was bad enough to be a little alarming. I filled it
with five minute epoxy before applying three layers of fiberglass cloth and
resin. This field repair should hold well for the remainder of the expedition.
Fair weather today with a light northeasterly breeze. I shampooed my hair
and restocked personal gear from our cache. Fresh batteries, Gold Bond,
and toilet paper was the main stock. I inventoried my film. Six and a half
rolls were shot on stage one, leaving thirteen rolls for stage two.
One of the strangest things we have encountered is that the ground is not
truly ground at times. Quaking bogs are mats of moss and soil on top of
water. Stepping on this “ground” causes a squish of water with the ground
quaking up to five feet away. As the day progressed the wind shifted and
began to blow from the east, which has tended to mean rain. I made a call
home on our satellite phone this evening. It was strange to be talking to my
parents from the middle of nowhere with crystal clear reception.
Stage two of the trip will be underway tomorrow. The hundred miles of
reservoir paddling that lies ahead is not particularly exciting to me and I am
anxious to get it over with. Wind could stop us for weeks really, which would
be quite frustrating. I am hoping that we can make our way across
Another day at the camp spent eating and making repairs. Fixed fishing
pole, food bag, and canoes. My canoe had a tear in the Royalex that didn’t
go all the way through, but was bad enough to be a little alarming. I filled it
with five minute epoxy before applying three layers of fiberglass cloth and
resin. This field repair should hold well for the remainder of the expedition.
Fair weather today with a light northeasterly breeze. I shampooed my hair
and restocked personal gear from our cache. Fresh batteries, Gold Bond,
and toilet paper was the main stock. I inventoried my film. Six and a half
rolls were shot on stage one, leaving thirteen rolls for stage two.
One of the strangest things we have encountered is that the ground is not
truly ground at times. Quaking bogs are mats of moss and soil on top of
water. Stepping on this “ground” causes a squish of water with the ground
quaking up to five feet away. As the day progressed the wind shifted and
began to blow from the east, which has tended to mean rain. I made a call
home on our satellite phone this evening. It was strange to be talking to my
parents from the middle of nowhere with crystal clear reception.
Stage two of the trip will be underway tomorrow. The hundred miles of
reservoir paddling that lies ahead is not particularly exciting to me and I am
anxious to get it over with. Wind could stop us for weeks really, which would
be quite frustrating. I am hoping that we can make our way across
Smallwood and the height of land to Cabot Lake in no more than ten days. This would leave us with fifteen days to reach Kangiqsuallujjuaq. Fifteen days seems to be
the average length of time required to paddle the George from Cabot Lake. The end of the trip should be reached by August fourteenth. It would be spectacular to
reach Adams by the twentieth and arrive at Dublin by the twenty fifth. I am going to need some time to clean up and prepare for classes. The camping trip should be
good for that.
The group has decided to buy Allen a Fisher pelt for his cabin when we return home. Listening to tapes of Newfoundland and Saint John’s Irish sailor folk music. The
generator is firing outside to supply us with this power. This cabin has been so helpful to our expedition. Doing all of this work and trying to rest at a random campsite in
the bush would have been difficult. I have copied Allen’s information from the log book in his cabin nicknamed “38 special” because it is at mile 38 on Orma Lake Road.
Allen Gosling Churchill Falls, Newfoundland 925-3710 B Lannon 925-3270
A great trip would be to head upstream from here and down the Beaver River to Northwest River Post. This would access great fishing and allow for a spectacular side
trip to the Red Wine Mountains. A car shuttle would even be relatively simple. There is a non migratory caribou herd that lives in the barren Red Wine Mountains.
Quaniche is a land locked salmon that Allen’s log book claims are quite common. Many are reported to be around six pounds. Suckers run as well but there are no
Walleye. Lots of Pike and good numbers of Lake Trout. I also realized that it would be nice to own a twelve gauge shot gun for future trips to Canada. A weather proof
one would be best.
the average length of time required to paddle the George from Cabot Lake. The end of the trip should be reached by August fourteenth. It would be spectacular to
reach Adams by the twentieth and arrive at Dublin by the twenty fifth. I am going to need some time to clean up and prepare for classes. The camping trip should be
good for that.
The group has decided to buy Allen a Fisher pelt for his cabin when we return home. Listening to tapes of Newfoundland and Saint John’s Irish sailor folk music. The
generator is firing outside to supply us with this power. This cabin has been so helpful to our expedition. Doing all of this work and trying to rest at a random campsite in
the bush would have been difficult. I have copied Allen’s information from the log book in his cabin nicknamed “38 special” because it is at mile 38 on Orma Lake Road.
Allen Gosling Churchill Falls, Newfoundland 925-3710 B Lannon 925-3270
A great trip would be to head upstream from here and down the Beaver River to Northwest River Post. This would access great fishing and allow for a spectacular side
trip to the Red Wine Mountains. A car shuttle would even be relatively simple. There is a non migratory caribou herd that lives in the barren Red Wine Mountains.
Quaniche is a land locked salmon that Allen’s log book claims are quite common. Many are reported to be around six pounds. Suckers run as well but there are no
Walleye. Lots of Pike and good numbers of Lake Trout. I also realized that it would be nice to own a twelve gauge shot gun for future trips to Canada. A weather proof
one would be best.
7/20
I was up at seven thirty well before everyone else. I read a little from Great
Heart and had a leisurely breakfast. Everyone packed up and cleaned the
cabin from top to bottom. So thankful for that place to stay. Getting Caroline’
s gear packed up and into a boat was tricky but possible. The fifteen foot
Explorer paddled by Troy and myself has about four inches of free board and
I am having a hard time sitting in the stern. This is sort of a pain, but it should
not take that long to get used to.
Stage two of the expedition is underway by three in the afternoon, which is
not good, but not terrible either. It is sixteen kilometers downstream to
Smallwood Reservoir. This stretch of lakes and river is paddled in passing
showers. Several faint rainbows bless the start of stage two. One tricky
looking class III is lined on river right and it is nice to work with Troy lining the
canoe. Two people who know what is going on with currents and
hydrodynamics can maneuver a boat through lots of wild places. Jim and
Caroline are struggling a little since she is new to whitewater, but everyone
manages to get along with a team effort.
We ran a ledge and a few class I and II rapids before paddling a stretch of
flatwater under clearing skies to the final rapid above the southeast arm of
Smallwood Reservoir. This final rapid is a class III leading to a class IV+
ledge that must be lined. Troy and I work well again and walk back upstream
to help Jim and Caroline with the larger Dagger canoe. Caroline’s
inexperience is a little disconcerting, but everything should be fine. It is nice
to finally have reached the lake, which is fifteen feet below its maximum level.
Lots of orange and brown rocks line the shore where the water and waves
from higher water levels have eroded the soil away. The lake is like glass
when we arrive, but the late hour forces us to stop and eat a snack. I take
three casts at the base of the rapid and catch two pike. The second takes
my lure, which is pretty sad. The first fish got away and must have weakened
the line by rubbing it on a rock. Fish are literally jumping out of the water. It
is pretty amazing really. Bummed out to have lost my five of diamonds lure,
but there is still one left in my tackle.
About four miles on the reservoir in calm conditions before making camp in
the approaching darkness at ten thirty. To reach the woods and suitable
campsites everyone must walk for three hundred feet over rocks and through
a pile of driftwood. It is eleven thirty now and a wind is heard blowing from the
south out on the lake. Hope it calms by morning because we could be wind
bound here for a very long time. The huge lake looks like an ocean out
beyond the protected arm we have been paddling across. The wind sounds
even worse now. The canoes are tied to rocks and full of our gear so they
should not be blown anywhere. This massive body of water needs to be
crossed in ten days at the most if there is to be any chance of making the
end of the trip on schedule. Sounds
like a gale is blowing now as rain spatters against the thin tent walls. Nothing
to be done except hoping for the best. Will get up at five thirty or six to check
conditions again. There is a need to maximize the distance paddled when
conditions are favorable. Ham and cheese sandwich taken from the camp for
dinner was very good.
I was up at seven thirty well before everyone else. I read a little from Great
Heart and had a leisurely breakfast. Everyone packed up and cleaned the
cabin from top to bottom. So thankful for that place to stay. Getting Caroline’
s gear packed up and into a boat was tricky but possible. The fifteen foot
Explorer paddled by Troy and myself has about four inches of free board and
I am having a hard time sitting in the stern. This is sort of a pain, but it should
not take that long to get used to.
Stage two of the expedition is underway by three in the afternoon, which is
not good, but not terrible either. It is sixteen kilometers downstream to
Smallwood Reservoir. This stretch of lakes and river is paddled in passing
showers. Several faint rainbows bless the start of stage two. One tricky
looking class III is lined on river right and it is nice to work with Troy lining the
canoe. Two people who know what is going on with currents and
hydrodynamics can maneuver a boat through lots of wild places. Jim and
Caroline are struggling a little since she is new to whitewater, but everyone
manages to get along with a team effort.
We ran a ledge and a few class I and II rapids before paddling a stretch of
flatwater under clearing skies to the final rapid above the southeast arm of
Smallwood Reservoir. This final rapid is a class III leading to a class IV+
ledge that must be lined. Troy and I work well again and walk back upstream
to help Jim and Caroline with the larger Dagger canoe. Caroline’s
inexperience is a little disconcerting, but everything should be fine. It is nice
to finally have reached the lake, which is fifteen feet below its maximum level.
Lots of orange and brown rocks line the shore where the water and waves
from higher water levels have eroded the soil away. The lake is like glass
when we arrive, but the late hour forces us to stop and eat a snack. I take
three casts at the base of the rapid and catch two pike. The second takes
my lure, which is pretty sad. The first fish got away and must have weakened
the line by rubbing it on a rock. Fish are literally jumping out of the water. It
is pretty amazing really. Bummed out to have lost my five of diamonds lure,
but there is still one left in my tackle.
About four miles on the reservoir in calm conditions before making camp in
the approaching darkness at ten thirty. To reach the woods and suitable
campsites everyone must walk for three hundred feet over rocks and through
a pile of driftwood. It is eleven thirty now and a wind is heard blowing from the
south out on the lake. Hope it calms by morning because we could be wind
bound here for a very long time. The huge lake looks like an ocean out
beyond the protected arm we have been paddling across. The wind sounds
even worse now. The canoes are tied to rocks and full of our gear so they
should not be blown anywhere. This massive body of water needs to be
crossed in ten days at the most if there is to be any chance of making the
end of the trip on schedule. Sounds
like a gale is blowing now as rain spatters against the thin tent walls. Nothing
to be done except hoping for the best. Will get up at five thirty or six to check
conditions again. There is a need to maximize the distance paddled when
conditions are favorable. Ham and cheese sandwich taken from the camp for
dinner was very good.
Thursday, August 27th.—Bright and lightly clouded by spells. No rain. Northwest River panned out only a little stream. N.G. Guess we must portage. Desperate. Late in
season and no way to Michikamau. One more try for inlet, and then a long nasty portage for the big lake. See little hope now of getting out before winter. Must live off
country and take big chances. Camping near where we camped last night. Going up Northwest River and hunting outlets some more, took our time. Ran across geese this
A.M. I went ashore and George and Wallace chased them close by. Shot leader with rifle. Then two young ones head close in shore. I killed one with pistol and two others
started to flop away on top of water. Missed one with pistol, and killed other. While exploring a bay to N.W., we landed to climb ridge. George found three partridges. I shot
one, wounded another, pistol. Camped to- night cheerful but desperate. All firm for progress to Michikamau. All willing to try a return in winter. Discussed it to-night from all
sides. Must get a good place for fish and caribou and then freeze up, make snowshoes and toboggans and moccasins and go. Late home and they will worry. Hungry for
bread, pork and sugar. How I like to think at night of what I'll eat, when I get home and what a quiet, restful time I'll have. Flies bad by spells to-day.
season and no way to Michikamau. One more try for inlet, and then a long nasty portage for the big lake. See little hope now of getting out before winter. Must live off
country and take big chances. Camping near where we camped last night. Going up Northwest River and hunting outlets some more, took our time. Ran across geese this
A.M. I went ashore and George and Wallace chased them close by. Shot leader with rifle. Then two young ones head close in shore. I killed one with pistol and two others
started to flop away on top of water. Missed one with pistol, and killed other. While exploring a bay to N.W., we landed to climb ridge. George found three partridges. I shot
one, wounded another, pistol. Camped to- night cheerful but desperate. All firm for progress to Michikamau. All willing to try a return in winter. Discussed it to-night from all
sides. Must get a good place for fish and caribou and then freeze up, make snowshoes and toboggans and moccasins and go. Late home and they will worry. Hungry for
bread, pork and sugar. How I like to think at night of what I'll eat, when I get home and what a quiet, restful time I'll have. Flies bad by spells to-day.
7/17
My alarm ringing at five thirty this morning was surreal. All I wanted to do was sleep and rest in the warm dryness of the tent. However, to have any chance of reaching
Allen’s camp we would need as much time as possible today. Twenty six kilometers would be one of our biggest days yet. The rest at the cabin will be much enjoyed
since twenty four continued days of hard work is difficult to deal with. Heavy rain with a few scattered rumbles of thunder keeps us in the tents until five forty five. Finally
we were up and out in the damp and chilly weather.
I manage to haul all of my gear down the fifty foot esker to the canoe and load it before the others have even packed all of their stuff. After a bit of a wait we load up the
boats and paddle a hundred yards to a low island for breakfast. By doing this we avoided having to carry all of the kitchen gear and food to the top of the esker.
Everyone agreed on having a big breakfast because today was likely to be long. When we started to cook it was discovered that the Peak One needed repairs and that
the Whisper Lite was missing the fuel pan that screwed onto the bottom of the stove and held the entire system together. This was discouraging. We were less than half
through with the trip and both of our stoves were potentially out of commission. After fifteen minutes of searching through the foot thick caribou moss for the pan, which is
about the size of a quarter, Troy spotted it right under our feet. With a functional stove we continued with breakfast and made soup, tea, and rice with beans.
The one kilometer paddle to the end of the lake was quick and easy. The outlet is very narrow and shallow for a good distance. This was encouraging, but the stream
continued to narrow down. The brook quickly turned into a trickle running through impassable boulder fields. We are forced to drag and portage over sharp rocks that
are slippery and angular. Our pace was reduced to a crawl and everyone became very frustrated and discouraged. At this rate there would be no way to reach the
resupply tonight. We are starting to regret the decision to leave the sizeable Metchin River for this torture. The angular rocks are sharp and ripping the bottom of the
boats to shreds. Even the tough Royalex is showing signs of wear.
My alarm ringing at five thirty this morning was surreal. All I wanted to do was sleep and rest in the warm dryness of the tent. However, to have any chance of reaching
Allen’s camp we would need as much time as possible today. Twenty six kilometers would be one of our biggest days yet. The rest at the cabin will be much enjoyed
since twenty four continued days of hard work is difficult to deal with. Heavy rain with a few scattered rumbles of thunder keeps us in the tents until five forty five. Finally
we were up and out in the damp and chilly weather.
I manage to haul all of my gear down the fifty foot esker to the canoe and load it before the others have even packed all of their stuff. After a bit of a wait we load up the
boats and paddle a hundred yards to a low island for breakfast. By doing this we avoided having to carry all of the kitchen gear and food to the top of the esker.
Everyone agreed on having a big breakfast because today was likely to be long. When we started to cook it was discovered that the Peak One needed repairs and that
the Whisper Lite was missing the fuel pan that screwed onto the bottom of the stove and held the entire system together. This was discouraging. We were less than half
through with the trip and both of our stoves were potentially out of commission. After fifteen minutes of searching through the foot thick caribou moss for the pan, which is
about the size of a quarter, Troy spotted it right under our feet. With a functional stove we continued with breakfast and made soup, tea, and rice with beans.
The one kilometer paddle to the end of the lake was quick and easy. The outlet is very narrow and shallow for a good distance. This was encouraging, but the stream
continued to narrow down. The brook quickly turned into a trickle running through impassable boulder fields. We are forced to drag and portage over sharp rocks that
are slippery and angular. Our pace was reduced to a crawl and everyone became very frustrated and discouraged. At this rate there would be no way to reach the
resupply tonight. We are starting to regret the decision to leave the sizeable Metchin River for this torture. The angular rocks are sharp and ripping the bottom of the
boats to shreds. Even the tough Royalex is showing signs of wear.
Troy looks out over the height of land at the head of the Beaver River. From this vantage point the terrain looks
deceivingly flat, but in reality this was the most difficult portage of the expedition.
deceivingly flat, but in reality this was the most difficult portage of the expedition.
Jim hauls the heavy tandem canoe across the portage in ninety degree temperatures while blackflies and
horseflies, or "bulldogs" swarm relentlessly.
horseflies, or "bulldogs" swarm relentlessly.
Here I am standing before Hope Lake, a sight that remains virtually unchanged from when Hubbard first laid
eyes on its waters 100 years ago. Despite the passage of a century, and being in much better condition,
spotting the lake after the long portage indeed instilled a sense of hope in us all.
eyes on its waters 100 years ago. Despite the passage of a century, and being in much better condition,
spotting the lake after the long portage indeed instilled a sense of hope in us all.
Even though this pond was not at the end of the portage, we launched our boats and paddled our gear
across its one hundred yard length to shorten the carry.
across its one hundred yard length to shorten the carry.
Reaching the waters of Hope Lake at the end of the day gave us all an incredible
feeling of accomplishment and we all looked forward to being able to paddle again.
feeling of accomplishment and we all looked forward to being able to paddle again.
Knowing that it was all downstream to our resupply point and being slowed to a crawl by painfully shallow
lakes and streams was incredibly demoralizing.
lakes and streams was incredibly demoralizing.
Luckily, navigable waters were reached and we came across some of the best brook trout fishing
imaginable, with giants like this the norm.
imaginable, with giants like this the norm.
With more ammunition waiting at our resupply and a huge empty lake, we decided to shoot off a few
round from the .22 to visually test its range.
round from the .22 to visually test its range.
Within a few miles of our resupply cabin Troy was able to take two Geese which made for a huge feast
that night prepared on a real stove and eaten indoors.
that night prepared on a real stove and eaten indoors.