Tidal George River
8/10/2003 - 8/12/2003
8/10/2003 - 8/12/2003
8/10
This could be our last full day in the bush and there are mixed feelings
for sure. What a carefree routine we have had this summer. A hot
morning gave way to cool breezes that ushered in showers by
evening. After lunch the upper extent of tidal influence was reached.
It is hard to say if the tide was low or high when we showed up. At the
upstream end of tidal influence is a rapid that we ran on river right
through a narrow channel that avoided heavy water in the center of
the river.
Below this rapid we fished for a while. A bunch of small brook trout
were caught and released, and I landed a sea run trout or a small
salmon that I released. The George is now in its estuary and the
terrain is as barren as it has been at any point on the trip. The
scenery is like a fjord and the river continues to widen. Currents begin
to affect us and a headwind starts to build stronger and stronger.
Much effort is exerted, but we are determined to reach a site marked
as having fresh water and tent sites by this evening. Troy and I
outdistance Jim and Caroline early in the afternoon and we stop on a
sandy island exposed by low tides to wait for them. I climb a boulder
and we mess around for nearly half an hour as the other boat comes
up from behind.
It is agreed to stay a little closer together since the George is getting
very large and we are unsure of our final destination for the day. The
whole river swings to the left and we paddle along under mountains
lined with gray rocks covered with scatterings of white quartz that looks
like snow. The wind continues to build and it starts to feel chilly as a
few showers blow by. The river eventually turned back to the right and
when this corner was rounded a strong headwind slammed us.
Forward progress became difficult and swells made travel
treacherous. An incoming tide was being fought as well, and Troy
thought he saw something rise out of the water along side of us. We
were getting tired and things were getting difficult and strange. The
shores were bare rock and ledge and a high water mark could be
seen. It was time to make camp. The first spot marked as suitable
was around a small point. This protected bay had a small trickle of a
freshwater stream coming in and a little shack of a hunting camp
tucked near a stand of vegetation at the bottom of mountain on the
north side. We paddled to this spot and landed the canoes.
The tide was coming up quickly and by the time a load was taken out
of the canoes and carried up to the shoreline vegetation, which was
the only sure fire indication of a place where the tide did not reach, the
boats were almost floating again. The whole outfit was dragged way
up and we decided to make the last camp of the trip in this rugged little
bay. Once on shore we spotted a seal or sea lion out in the water. It
swam around for a while and checked us out. This was great, and we
were all excited to see more signs that the ocean had been reached.
This could be our last full day in the bush and there are mixed feelings
for sure. What a carefree routine we have had this summer. A hot
morning gave way to cool breezes that ushered in showers by
evening. After lunch the upper extent of tidal influence was reached.
It is hard to say if the tide was low or high when we showed up. At the
upstream end of tidal influence is a rapid that we ran on river right
through a narrow channel that avoided heavy water in the center of
the river.
Below this rapid we fished for a while. A bunch of small brook trout
were caught and released, and I landed a sea run trout or a small
salmon that I released. The George is now in its estuary and the
terrain is as barren as it has been at any point on the trip. The
scenery is like a fjord and the river continues to widen. Currents begin
to affect us and a headwind starts to build stronger and stronger.
Much effort is exerted, but we are determined to reach a site marked
as having fresh water and tent sites by this evening. Troy and I
outdistance Jim and Caroline early in the afternoon and we stop on a
sandy island exposed by low tides to wait for them. I climb a boulder
and we mess around for nearly half an hour as the other boat comes
up from behind.
It is agreed to stay a little closer together since the George is getting
very large and we are unsure of our final destination for the day. The
whole river swings to the left and we paddle along under mountains
lined with gray rocks covered with scatterings of white quartz that looks
like snow. The wind continues to build and it starts to feel chilly as a
few showers blow by. The river eventually turned back to the right and
when this corner was rounded a strong headwind slammed us.
Forward progress became difficult and swells made travel
treacherous. An incoming tide was being fought as well, and Troy
thought he saw something rise out of the water along side of us. We
were getting tired and things were getting difficult and strange. The
shores were bare rock and ledge and a high water mark could be
seen. It was time to make camp. The first spot marked as suitable
was around a small point. This protected bay had a small trickle of a
freshwater stream coming in and a little shack of a hunting camp
tucked near a stand of vegetation at the bottom of mountain on the
north side. We paddled to this spot and landed the canoes.
The tide was coming up quickly and by the time a load was taken out
of the canoes and carried up to the shoreline vegetation, which was
the only sure fire indication of a place where the tide did not reach, the
boats were almost floating again. The whole outfit was dragged way
up and we decided to make the last camp of the trip in this rugged little
bay. Once on shore we spotted a seal or sea lion out in the water. It
swam around for a while and checked us out. This was great, and we
were all excited to see more signs that the ocean had been reached.
Our tents were set up on the edge of a stand of spruce and a
macaroni and cheese dinner was cooked up with a pudding for
dessert. After eating I decided to hike up the mountain on the south
side of our bay to get a view of the surrounding land. The walk took
me across slabs of ledge at the head of the bay and across the fresh
water brook that spilled into the George. The hill was only a few
hundred feet high, but provided a commanding view of the area. I
may have been able to see Ungava Bay had the weather been clear.
At the summit of the hill I saw something surprisingly large bound
away. It turned out to be an arctic hare, but I was shocked at its size.
I took a few pictures and noted that dark clouds were swirling all
around. The little shack and our tents could be clearly seen next to
the full bay below us. I hope the weather would calm down and hold
long enough to let us reach the village tomorrow. By ten fifteen I was
in bed and asleep.
8/11
Well. It turns out that yesterday was not our last full day in the bush.
It is storming pretty badly this morning. We woke up to wind and
patchy showers blowing through. The lengthy stretch of amazing
weather was apparently over. The tide was high this morning and
starting to drop when I poked my head out of the tent. As we got
ready to leave the wind increased and swells out on the river grew to
three or four feet. The group decided that conditions are not fit for
travel. The only course of action that makes any sense is to wait out
the weather.
Squalls blow through now and I take a walk up the open rock behind
the cabin to check things out. Whitecaps are blowing across the
water and showers are slamming through. The wind is blowing so
hard that I can hunker down in the lee of rocks and not get wet from
the wind driven rain showers. These showers produce incredible
rainbows over the water. One rainbow looks like it was actually below
my position up on the hill.
macaroni and cheese dinner was cooked up with a pudding for
dessert. After eating I decided to hike up the mountain on the south
side of our bay to get a view of the surrounding land. The walk took
me across slabs of ledge at the head of the bay and across the fresh
water brook that spilled into the George. The hill was only a few
hundred feet high, but provided a commanding view of the area. I
may have been able to see Ungava Bay had the weather been clear.
At the summit of the hill I saw something surprisingly large bound
away. It turned out to be an arctic hare, but I was shocked at its size.
I took a few pictures and noted that dark clouds were swirling all
around. The little shack and our tents could be clearly seen next to
the full bay below us. I hope the weather would calm down and hold
long enough to let us reach the village tomorrow. By ten fifteen I was
in bed and asleep.
8/11
Well. It turns out that yesterday was not our last full day in the bush.
It is storming pretty badly this morning. We woke up to wind and
patchy showers blowing through. The lengthy stretch of amazing
weather was apparently over. The tide was high this morning and
starting to drop when I poked my head out of the tent. As we got
ready to leave the wind increased and swells out on the river grew to
three or four feet. The group decided that conditions are not fit for
travel. The only course of action that makes any sense is to wait out
the weather.
Squalls blow through now and I take a walk up the open rock behind
the cabin to check things out. Whitecaps are blowing across the
water and showers are slamming through. The wind is blowing so
hard that I can hunker down in the lee of rocks and not get wet from
the wind driven rain showers. These showers produce incredible
rainbows over the water. One rainbow looks like it was actually below
my position up on the hill.
By lunchtime a steady rain has developed, but the wind appears to
have calmed enough to allow for paddling. We eat and try to leave
the bay. The tide is so low now that there are at least a quarter
mile of exposed mud flats before the water. We tried to drag the
loaded canoes through the mud to the channel cut by the
freshwater creek and out to the George. As we make our way
through the slop to the water, the tide continues to fall and the
attempt to make the final push is squashed when winds in excess of
twenty miles an hour with heavier gusts build up and blow the water
we are headed for into a frenzy of whitecaps. The wind gets so
strong that it is hard to even stand up when it gusts. The attempt is
aborted and we struggle to drag the outfit to a clump of spruce
above the high tide mark. The canoes and whatever gear we do
not need is tied off and stashed here. From this position we retreat
to the shelter offered by the little shack back in the bay.
A full on storm is blowing now and travel is impossible. We agreed
to wait for good weather and will try to leave on the high tide to
avoid dragging through the mud flats. The schedule was becoming
clear now and we would try to use this to time our arrival at George
River Village. Hopefully the storm abates by tomorrow. This place
is so rugged. Rain is pouring down now and it looks like it could
storm for a while. The shack is getting chilly and it is very humid
and damp in here. Still, there is more room than in the tents, and
we can cook in here and stretch out. The final push to town will be
made tomorrow whenever the conditions allow.
have calmed enough to allow for paddling. We eat and try to leave
the bay. The tide is so low now that there are at least a quarter
mile of exposed mud flats before the water. We tried to drag the
loaded canoes through the mud to the channel cut by the
freshwater creek and out to the George. As we make our way
through the slop to the water, the tide continues to fall and the
attempt to make the final push is squashed when winds in excess of
twenty miles an hour with heavier gusts build up and blow the water
we are headed for into a frenzy of whitecaps. The wind gets so
strong that it is hard to even stand up when it gusts. The attempt is
aborted and we struggle to drag the outfit to a clump of spruce
above the high tide mark. The canoes and whatever gear we do
not need is tied off and stashed here. From this position we retreat
to the shelter offered by the little shack back in the bay.
A full on storm is blowing now and travel is impossible. We agreed
to wait for good weather and will try to leave on the high tide to
avoid dragging through the mud flats. The schedule was becoming
clear now and we would try to use this to time our arrival at George
River Village. Hopefully the storm abates by tomorrow. This place
is so rugged. Rain is pouring down now and it looks like it could
storm for a while. The shack is getting chilly and it is very humid
and damp in here. Still, there is more room than in the tents, and
we can cook in here and stretch out. The final push to town will be
made tomorrow whenever the conditions allow.
Lots of food and fuel are left and we are making lots of hot drinks and eating everything. It is
hard to believe we have come all this way. Being in Northwest River Post seems like it was a
different lifetime. What a way to spend an entire summer! I am excited to get to enjoy the
nice hot summer weather of late August at home, with crickets chirping, warm nights, corn on
the cob, and fresh tomatoes. I am missing my friends and family a little, and this autumn
storm is not making things easier.
The little shack is creaking in the wind now and starting to leak. There is no sign of the
weather changing except for the fact that the wind is getting stronger. It is blowing so hard
out there. August is known as the start of the fall storm season and we are lucky that this is
the first of these we have experienced. The shack is feeling more and more like home. It
should be possible to reach the village in five or six hours of paddling from here. I will be
very happy to have some time to be at home and relax before work starts.
Everything will be a luxury after this trip with so many modern conveniences. Still, it was nice
to have nothing to worry about for two entire months. Some days I thought about nothing at
all except for the task that was at hand. I am very ready to reach the village though. Sitting
here waiting is frustrating, especially since we are so close to the end. It is now four o’clock
and the shack is starting to leak more. I ate a Cloudberry or bake apple berry. That was a
little under ripe and seedy, but still tasted good. Slightly chilled and bored. Tough to deal
with delay now, but it is the reality of the trip and of life in the north. Weather reigns supreme
here and dictates everything. It certainly raises one’s awareness of their surroundings.
It has been really remarkable to have seen such a variety of terrain. We have been the first
people to paddle the route that is nearly completed. Patience and perseverance will win out
now. We should all be home in a week at the most, probably much sooner.
It is seven in the evening now and the storm is slamming us. Winds must be gusting well over
thirty miles and hour. The shack is rattling but should hold up through the night. Troy and I
have decided to spend the night in here instead of setting up the tents again. Setting up the
tent in this driving rainstorm would be ridiculous. This is the first full storm of the year and we
are bummed out to be stuck, but glad to experience the harsh reality of this land. You just
cannot be in a rush when you travel in the north. The shack is very rickety, but we have
managed to plug up most of the holes with bags and other stuff.
Future trips in the north will involve more time for side trips. There is such spectacular
scenery and fishing that I could have spent thirty days paddling the George River relaxing,
fishing, and hiking. It is inevitable that I will return to Canada for another bush trip. It is so
cool to be totally self reliant for so long. Saw some caribou tracks in the mud today and
found some bones and vertebrae with flesh still attached. Still playing the waiting game now.
hard to believe we have come all this way. Being in Northwest River Post seems like it was a
different lifetime. What a way to spend an entire summer! I am excited to get to enjoy the
nice hot summer weather of late August at home, with crickets chirping, warm nights, corn on
the cob, and fresh tomatoes. I am missing my friends and family a little, and this autumn
storm is not making things easier.
The little shack is creaking in the wind now and starting to leak. There is no sign of the
weather changing except for the fact that the wind is getting stronger. It is blowing so hard
out there. August is known as the start of the fall storm season and we are lucky that this is
the first of these we have experienced. The shack is feeling more and more like home. It
should be possible to reach the village in five or six hours of paddling from here. I will be
very happy to have some time to be at home and relax before work starts.
Everything will be a luxury after this trip with so many modern conveniences. Still, it was nice
to have nothing to worry about for two entire months. Some days I thought about nothing at
all except for the task that was at hand. I am very ready to reach the village though. Sitting
here waiting is frustrating, especially since we are so close to the end. It is now four o’clock
and the shack is starting to leak more. I ate a Cloudberry or bake apple berry. That was a
little under ripe and seedy, but still tasted good. Slightly chilled and bored. Tough to deal
with delay now, but it is the reality of the trip and of life in the north. Weather reigns supreme
here and dictates everything. It certainly raises one’s awareness of their surroundings.
It has been really remarkable to have seen such a variety of terrain. We have been the first
people to paddle the route that is nearly completed. Patience and perseverance will win out
now. We should all be home in a week at the most, probably much sooner.
It is seven in the evening now and the storm is slamming us. Winds must be gusting well over
thirty miles and hour. The shack is rattling but should hold up through the night. Troy and I
have decided to spend the night in here instead of setting up the tents again. Setting up the
tent in this driving rainstorm would be ridiculous. This is the first full storm of the year and we
are bummed out to be stuck, but glad to experience the harsh reality of this land. You just
cannot be in a rush when you travel in the north. The shack is very rickety, but we have
managed to plug up most of the holes with bags and other stuff.
Future trips in the north will involve more time for side trips. There is such spectacular
scenery and fishing that I could have spent thirty days paddling the George River relaxing,
fishing, and hiking. It is inevitable that I will return to Canada for another bush trip. It is so
cool to be totally self reliant for so long. Saw some caribou tracks in the mud today and
found some bones and vertebrae with flesh still attached. Still playing the waiting game now.
There it was deep in a cove, on the right bank of the river, a little
group of tiny buildings nestling in at the foot of a mountain of solid
rock. It seemed almost microscopic in the midst of such surroundings.
The tide was low and a great, boulder- strewn, mud flat stretched from
side to side of the cove. Down from the hills to the east flowed a little
stream winding its way through a tortuous channel as it passed out to
the river. We turned into it and followed it up, passing between high
mud-banks which obscured the post till we reached a bend where the
channel bore away to the farther side of the cove. Then to my surprise
the men suddenly changed paddles for poles and turning the bows
inshore poled right on up over the mud-bank. It was such a funny and
novel performance that it snapped the spell for me, and I joined with
the men in their shouts of laughter over the antics of the canoe on the
slippery mud-bank. When we finally reached the top and slid out on to
the flat, we saw a man, who we supposed must be Mr. Ford, the agent
at the post, coming over the mud with his retinue of Eskimo to meet us.
Jim saw us make the turn towards the town but though that it was too
soon for the town so he kept to the left shore. Rain showers and a
fog bank rolled in and we lost sight of Jim and Caroline. We can’t
believe they have not followed us. The conditions were way too rough
to sit and wait for them to realize the mistake so we kept paddling
hoping they would see the town. Troy and I eventually reach the edge
of the bay that the town sits in and find a few hundred meters of
mudflats separating us from an access road leading to a point on the
water. We portage our gear the three hundred meters to the roads
and start to look for Jim and Caroline. We are on shore around two
and there is no sign of Jim’s canoe anywhere. Troy waves his paddle
and screams, but there is nothing. Then, along the far shore he spots
the red canoe being carried out on the ebbing tide. Even from a mile
away we could see their canoe speeding down the river away from the
village. We were a little scared for them because some fog was rolling
in and the water full of swells and rollers. Apparently Jim did not
realize his mistake until it was too late. There was nothing to do now
but hope that they would make the crossing safely and be able to
carry their stuff up to the town.
On the half mile dirt road Troy and I meet two Inuit. Felix and his
father load our gear into their truck and drive us to the doublewide
trailer, owned by a man named Pierre, that acts as the town’s hotel
and restaurant. Pierre gives us a room for seventy five bucks and
drives us out across the mud flats to pick up Jim and Caroline’s gear.
This is a great deal really. It is a little strange to be riding around in
the back of a truck all of a sudden. The village is a well organized but
severe looking. Rock dominates the landscape with buildings going
back in a valley away from the water. Dirt streets and kids tearing
around on four wheelers dominate the scene. We get our gear into
the hotel and start to scatter things around to dry them out and
separate them. We still have to deal with flights home, but now it is
time to his the shower and catch a badly needed shave. After
cleaning up I feel like a new person and decide to explore the town
tomorrow. It is unreal that the journey that has consumed my
thoughts daily for at least two years is over. We will check with the
airport tomorrow to see how to work things out.
8/13
Wednesday. Getting information in the north is an absolute disaster.
To book flights from here to Kuujjuaq I had to call Ottawa onlyto find
out that there are only three seats available on Thursday’s flight. If
need be I am willing to spend another day in town and make the trip
on Friday, but tomorrow would be best. The canoes are more of a
nightmare to ship. It would cost a dollar seventy five per pound, plus
the seat space they took up, to fly them to Kuujjuaq with no guarantee
on when they fly. Then it is four dollars a pound to fly them to
Montreal with no time guarantee. This is just not feasible because it
would cost more to ship the boats than we paid for them in the first
place. We have started looking for an alternate option. Pierre knows
some one named Jean Guy that will take the canoes for fifty dollars
each and put them on a cargo ship to Montreal for a hundred dollars.
They may arrive as late as November, but this seems to be the best
option that we have. This was set up and the canoes are out of site
and out of mind. I just hope we see them again.
We explored the town today and went to John Jack’s house today to
look at carvings. He finished a seal with a fish in its mouth for me and
charged a hundred and fifty Canadian. The carving was made out of
a caribou antler and well worth it to me since it will make a great gift
group of tiny buildings nestling in at the foot of a mountain of solid
rock. It seemed almost microscopic in the midst of such surroundings.
The tide was low and a great, boulder- strewn, mud flat stretched from
side to side of the cove. Down from the hills to the east flowed a little
stream winding its way through a tortuous channel as it passed out to
the river. We turned into it and followed it up, passing between high
mud-banks which obscured the post till we reached a bend where the
channel bore away to the farther side of the cove. Then to my surprise
the men suddenly changed paddles for poles and turning the bows
inshore poled right on up over the mud-bank. It was such a funny and
novel performance that it snapped the spell for me, and I joined with
the men in their shouts of laughter over the antics of the canoe on the
slippery mud-bank. When we finally reached the top and slid out on to
the flat, we saw a man, who we supposed must be Mr. Ford, the agent
at the post, coming over the mud with his retinue of Eskimo to meet us.
Jim saw us make the turn towards the town but though that it was too
soon for the town so he kept to the left shore. Rain showers and a
fog bank rolled in and we lost sight of Jim and Caroline. We can’t
believe they have not followed us. The conditions were way too rough
to sit and wait for them to realize the mistake so we kept paddling
hoping they would see the town. Troy and I eventually reach the edge
of the bay that the town sits in and find a few hundred meters of
mudflats separating us from an access road leading to a point on the
water. We portage our gear the three hundred meters to the roads
and start to look for Jim and Caroline. We are on shore around two
and there is no sign of Jim’s canoe anywhere. Troy waves his paddle
and screams, but there is nothing. Then, along the far shore he spots
the red canoe being carried out on the ebbing tide. Even from a mile
away we could see their canoe speeding down the river away from the
village. We were a little scared for them because some fog was rolling
in and the water full of swells and rollers. Apparently Jim did not
realize his mistake until it was too late. There was nothing to do now
but hope that they would make the crossing safely and be able to
carry their stuff up to the town.
On the half mile dirt road Troy and I meet two Inuit. Felix and his
father load our gear into their truck and drive us to the doublewide
trailer, owned by a man named Pierre, that acts as the town’s hotel
and restaurant. Pierre gives us a room for seventy five bucks and
drives us out across the mud flats to pick up Jim and Caroline’s gear.
This is a great deal really. It is a little strange to be riding around in
the back of a truck all of a sudden. The village is a well organized but
severe looking. Rock dominates the landscape with buildings going
back in a valley away from the water. Dirt streets and kids tearing
around on four wheelers dominate the scene. We get our gear into
the hotel and start to scatter things around to dry them out and
separate them. We still have to deal with flights home, but now it is
time to his the shower and catch a badly needed shave. After
cleaning up I feel like a new person and decide to explore the town
tomorrow. It is unreal that the journey that has consumed my
thoughts daily for at least two years is over. We will check with the
airport tomorrow to see how to work things out.
8/13
Wednesday. Getting information in the north is an absolute disaster.
To book flights from here to Kuujjuaq I had to call Ottawa onlyto find
out that there are only three seats available on Thursday’s flight. If
need be I am willing to spend another day in town and make the trip
on Friday, but tomorrow would be best. The canoes are more of a
nightmare to ship. It would cost a dollar seventy five per pound, plus
the seat space they took up, to fly them to Kuujjuaq with no guarantee
on when they fly. Then it is four dollars a pound to fly them to
Montreal with no time guarantee. This is just not feasible because it
would cost more to ship the boats than we paid for them in the first
place. We have started looking for an alternate option. Pierre knows
some one named Jean Guy that will take the canoes for fifty dollars
each and put them on a cargo ship to Montreal for a hundred dollars.
They may arrive as late as November, but this seems to be the best
option that we have. This was set up and the canoes are out of site
and out of mind. I just hope we see them again.
We explored the town today and went to John Jack’s house today to
look at carvings. He finished a seal with a fish in its mouth for me and
charged a hundred and fifty Canadian. The carving was made out of
a caribou antler and well worth it to me since it will make a great gift
I can’t imagine the storm lasting through tomorrow, but I suppose
anything is possible. There is no way to overpower nature.
Life is so simple in the bush. You need food, water, and shelter. That
is simple to understand. It often seems like we are forced to deal with
too much in our daily lives. We are locked into this system from birth
and any chance to escape, no matter how long or short, is
worthwhile. The chance to escape is essential. Still, it is hard to
complain about our lives. The amenities of home are so enjoyable
and we certainly use them all of the time and even rely on them.
Some people may not see the importance of the chance to get away
to explore and test yourself. I may teach forever. It is different each
day yet has a reassuring routine to it. There is so much that I want to
do. It is a great job for planning trips like this. It is great to think that I
have seen places that no white men have ever seen from the ground.
Truly unspoiled land up here. Enough mental wandering for now.
8/12
I am writing this from the inside of the hotel in Kangiqsuallujjuaq! We
have made it. The Hubbard Memorial Expedition was a success.
Awake at six this morning to the sound of rain still falling, but
tapering. The wind seemed to be lighter, but it was still audible
through the shack. It was decided to attempt to leave for the town if
there was any possibility of paddling. By breakfast time at eight the
wind is diminishing, whitecaps are becoming fewer and fewer, and our
little bay is starting to fill in with the flood tide. Hopefully we will be
able to leave here as the tide turns and ride it out to the village. After
breakfast is finished the wind has settled to a breeze and there are no
whitecaps. The decision is made to make a final push.
We walked the three hundred meters to where the canoes were tied
off yesterday and paddled them back to our gear. By ten the tide has
just started to ebb. The boats were loaded and we were quickly
underway. There were some rollers, but we crossed to the west side
of the river and rode the current past Ile Ford before coming to a
large crossing.
Troy and I notice buildings to our right about three miles away.
Headlights and an airplane are seen forcing us to believe that this
must be the village. As we start to head into the open water the
current is ripping out so fast that it is drawing us away from the
village. I express my concern to Troy, set a strong ferry angle, and
start paddling hard to escape the big current. Large waves are
forming here and things are a little intimidating. The closer we get,
the more apparent it becomes that what we are seeing is
Kangiqsuallujuaq. The tide was carrying us out to Ungava Bay much
faster than we anticipated and both of us started paddling hard to
make the crossing.
anything is possible. There is no way to overpower nature.
Life is so simple in the bush. You need food, water, and shelter. That
is simple to understand. It often seems like we are forced to deal with
too much in our daily lives. We are locked into this system from birth
and any chance to escape, no matter how long or short, is
worthwhile. The chance to escape is essential. Still, it is hard to
complain about our lives. The amenities of home are so enjoyable
and we certainly use them all of the time and even rely on them.
Some people may not see the importance of the chance to get away
to explore and test yourself. I may teach forever. It is different each
day yet has a reassuring routine to it. There is so much that I want to
do. It is a great job for planning trips like this. It is great to think that I
have seen places that no white men have ever seen from the ground.
Truly unspoiled land up here. Enough mental wandering for now.
8/12
I am writing this from the inside of the hotel in Kangiqsuallujjuaq! We
have made it. The Hubbard Memorial Expedition was a success.
Awake at six this morning to the sound of rain still falling, but
tapering. The wind seemed to be lighter, but it was still audible
through the shack. It was decided to attempt to leave for the town if
there was any possibility of paddling. By breakfast time at eight the
wind is diminishing, whitecaps are becoming fewer and fewer, and our
little bay is starting to fill in with the flood tide. Hopefully we will be
able to leave here as the tide turns and ride it out to the village. After
breakfast is finished the wind has settled to a breeze and there are no
whitecaps. The decision is made to make a final push.
We walked the three hundred meters to where the canoes were tied
off yesterday and paddled them back to our gear. By ten the tide has
just started to ebb. The boats were loaded and we were quickly
underway. There were some rollers, but we crossed to the west side
of the river and rode the current past Ile Ford before coming to a
large crossing.
Troy and I notice buildings to our right about three miles away.
Headlights and an airplane are seen forcing us to believe that this
must be the village. As we start to head into the open water the
current is ripping out so fast that it is drawing us away from the
village. I express my concern to Troy, set a strong ferry angle, and
start paddling hard to escape the big current. Large waves are
forming here and things are a little intimidating. The closer we get,
the more apparent it becomes that what we are seeing is
Kangiqsuallujuaq. The tide was carrying us out to Ungava Bay much
faster than we anticipated and both of us started paddling hard to
make the crossing.
ffor my parents. Most of the buildings are steel or wood sided and
raised off of the ground, which is snow covered or full of mud for most
of the year. The buildings are generally brown with either blue or
orange trim and numbered, while the streets appear to have no names.
Troy and I walked through a clearing where houses were moved away
from after they were wrecked by an avalanche in the later nineties. We
then climbed the hill that the avalanche came down, collected berries
with some locals, and went to the top for the view. The town could all
be seen with the road to the airport leading away up into the valley. We
could not see all of the way to the open water of Ungava Bay because
of some low clouds in the distance. The village looks very small from up
here. Such a modernized speck of development in the middle of a vast
wilderness provides a vivid contrast.
Flights are confirmed and paid by calling 1-800-361-2965
44 pounds of cargo is allowed per person plus carry on. Overweight is
charged $3.80 per kilogram. Keep heavy stuff in the carry on. We
were a little over weight.
It is such an experience up here. I will only be convinced that I am
leaving the north when our plane lands in Montreal. This evening was a
cool and misty forty five degrees. Looks like this is probably pretty
typical weather for Kangiqsualujjuaq.
8/14
We woke up at a reasonable hour on our last day in Kangiqsualujjuaq
and caught a ride up to the airstrip. After charging overweight on Jim
and Caroline’s bags, the kids working the desk got frustrated and let
the rest of us bring all of our gear for no extra cost. Apparently they
weren’t that concerned about the plane being overweight. While waiting
for the shuttle flight to Kuujuaq I talked with a kid named Tommy from
Kangrisuq, farther up on the west side of Ungava Bay at the mouth of
the Payne River. He had just driven a freighter canoe the few hundred
miles to this village for a relative and was now heading to Kuujuaq to
visit some friends. An interesting conversation about life in the sub
arctic ensued, and it was clear that Tommy was pretty bored up here.
Just as things got interesting, the plane landed and off loaded a bunch
of people. We headed out onto the gravel strip and boarded.
The Twin Otter lifted off soon afterwards and flew at what I guessed to
be no more than three thousand feet over the coast of Ungava Bay for
about an hour. The landing in Kuujuaq was smooth, but as we
unloaded I noticed that the jet on the runway looked loaded up and
ready to go. We were all hurried into the building at the airport and
told that the jet was ready to take off for Montreal. I headed up to the
counter and the lady said I owed her over two thousand dollars for the
three flights I had booked. This was crazy, and everyone was nervous
that the plane would take off while we were sorting this out. Eventually I
ended up being charged under seven hundred dollars Canadian, which
was less than what everyone else from expedition paid. I wasn’t about
to say a word.
A minute after boarding, the jet blasted down the runway and lifted off,
taking us away from the simple life if the bush. Thousands of lakes and
rivers could be seen below, and in just under three hours the first signs
of civilization were spotted. Soon we were landing in Montreal at
Dorval Airport. Stepping off the plane and entering the massive
international airport was a little strange. In thirty seconds we saw more
people than we had in the last two months. Our bags were easy to
spot since they were the ones covered in mud stains with caribou
antlers strapped to them. Keith was there to pick us up again, and in
less than half an hour the expedition was on the road to the states.
Apparently the entire east coast was being plagued by a blackout, but
we were able to find an open gas station and keep traveling. Sitting at
a rest stop on the Northway in New York State, looking ay a full moon,
and listening to crickets in the warm sixty degree air of an August night
never seemed better. We pulled into Adams sometime that evening
and it was great to be home. No one really knew how to put any official
closure to this trip that had dominated our lives for the last two years,
so we kind of just went our own ways. I am wondering where the next
big expedition will lead me.
raised off of the ground, which is snow covered or full of mud for most
of the year. The buildings are generally brown with either blue or
orange trim and numbered, while the streets appear to have no names.
Troy and I walked through a clearing where houses were moved away
from after they were wrecked by an avalanche in the later nineties. We
then climbed the hill that the avalanche came down, collected berries
with some locals, and went to the top for the view. The town could all
be seen with the road to the airport leading away up into the valley. We
could not see all of the way to the open water of Ungava Bay because
of some low clouds in the distance. The village looks very small from up
here. Such a modernized speck of development in the middle of a vast
wilderness provides a vivid contrast.
Flights are confirmed and paid by calling 1-800-361-2965
44 pounds of cargo is allowed per person plus carry on. Overweight is
charged $3.80 per kilogram. Keep heavy stuff in the carry on. We
were a little over weight.
It is such an experience up here. I will only be convinced that I am
leaving the north when our plane lands in Montreal. This evening was a
cool and misty forty five degrees. Looks like this is probably pretty
typical weather for Kangiqsualujjuaq.
8/14
We woke up at a reasonable hour on our last day in Kangiqsualujjuaq
and caught a ride up to the airstrip. After charging overweight on Jim
and Caroline’s bags, the kids working the desk got frustrated and let
the rest of us bring all of our gear for no extra cost. Apparently they
weren’t that concerned about the plane being overweight. While waiting
for the shuttle flight to Kuujuaq I talked with a kid named Tommy from
Kangrisuq, farther up on the west side of Ungava Bay at the mouth of
the Payne River. He had just driven a freighter canoe the few hundred
miles to this village for a relative and was now heading to Kuujuaq to
visit some friends. An interesting conversation about life in the sub
arctic ensued, and it was clear that Tommy was pretty bored up here.
Just as things got interesting, the plane landed and off loaded a bunch
of people. We headed out onto the gravel strip and boarded.
The Twin Otter lifted off soon afterwards and flew at what I guessed to
be no more than three thousand feet over the coast of Ungava Bay for
about an hour. The landing in Kuujuaq was smooth, but as we
unloaded I noticed that the jet on the runway looked loaded up and
ready to go. We were all hurried into the building at the airport and
told that the jet was ready to take off for Montreal. I headed up to the
counter and the lady said I owed her over two thousand dollars for the
three flights I had booked. This was crazy, and everyone was nervous
that the plane would take off while we were sorting this out. Eventually I
ended up being charged under seven hundred dollars Canadian, which
was less than what everyone else from expedition paid. I wasn’t about
to say a word.
A minute after boarding, the jet blasted down the runway and lifted off,
taking us away from the simple life if the bush. Thousands of lakes and
rivers could be seen below, and in just under three hours the first signs
of civilization were spotted. Soon we were landing in Montreal at
Dorval Airport. Stepping off the plane and entering the massive
international airport was a little strange. In thirty seconds we saw more
people than we had in the last two months. Our bags were easy to
spot since they were the ones covered in mud stains with caribou
antlers strapped to them. Keith was there to pick us up again, and in
less than half an hour the expedition was on the road to the states.
Apparently the entire east coast was being plagued by a blackout, but
we were able to find an open gas station and keep traveling. Sitting at
a rest stop on the Northway in New York State, looking ay a full moon,
and listening to crickets in the warm sixty degree air of an August night
never seemed better. We pulled into Adams sometime that evening
and it was great to be home. No one really knew how to put any official
closure to this trip that had dominated our lives for the last two years,
so we kind of just went our own ways. I am wondering where the next
big expedition will lead me.
We had mailed ourselves clean clothes for the end of the trip and my folks had sent up team T shirts which
we happily wore. Here we pose in front of the town dock in Kangiqsualujuuaq.
we happily wore. Here we pose in front of the town dock in Kangiqsualujuuaq.
This picture is reason 134 why I don't ever sport a beard in the real world.
A modern day Inukshuk stands over the Kanqigsuallujuuaq. The small town is a tiny speck of humanity in the
otherwise vast expanse of Ungava.
otherwise vast expanse of Ungava.
Placing the village at the head of this small bay protects it from the weather. It also leaves the community
shut off from sea travel for 6 hours periods as the thirty foot tide drops away and exposes mud flats.
shut off from sea travel for 6 hours periods as the thirty foot tide drops away and exposes mud flats.
We wanted to ride the tide out to the village of Kangiqsualujuuaq and reach the dock before the tide was too
low. We timed things a little wrong and ended having to carry gear across this extensive mud flat.
low. We timed things a little wrong and ended having to carry gear across this extensive mud flat.
After being in the bush with the same three other people for almost 50 days being crammed into a tiny cabin
for a day and a half can get interesting!
for a day and a half can get interesting!
Whitecaps in the fjord meant no paddling. The river here was several kilometers wide and paddling in heavy
waves was absolutely out of the question.
waves was absolutely out of the question.
By the time night fell the tide had flooded in all of the way up to our boats and we stayed awake until we saw it
turn. It would have been a bummer to wake to no boats the next morning.
turn. It would have been a bummer to wake to no boats the next morning.
During a break in the weather I climbed the hill above our camp. The shack
can be seen in the lower right hand corner of the picture.
can be seen in the lower right hand corner of the picture.
Eventually we got tired of sitting around outside and took refuge in what we lovingly came to know as the
"miserable little shack".
"miserable little shack".
My canoe provides a welcome break from the wind and made a surprisingly comfortable place to take an mid
morning nap while waiting some rain squalls.
morning nap while waiting some rain squalls.
The next day we hoped to leave our bay during high tide and ride the ebbing tide out to Kangiqsualujuuaq.
The problem was that we found ourselves windbound by a strong storm system. Our canoes can be seen
laying high and dry as the water drained out from below us.
The problem was that we found ourselves windbound by a strong storm system. Our canoes can be seen
laying high and dry as the water drained out from below us.
Although a small wooden shack was perched above the high tide line at the
head of this bay we decided to sleep in the tents.
head of this bay we decided to sleep in the tents.
Ungava Bay experienced thirty foot tides and the water rose so quickly that while unloading gear out boats
would be floating be the time we completed a trip to the high water mark and back.
would be floating be the time we completed a trip to the high water mark and back.
By early in the afternoon the weather grew cloudy and the tide raced in, forcing us to land at this rocky bay.
The wave pattern on this exposed mud suggested that we had arrived at a time of low tide. This ended up
being less than ideal, but more on that later.
being less than ideal, but more on that later.
Troy and I discussed whether or not we would know when we reached the point where the George River was
influenced by the tide. These extensive mud flats made it quite apparent.
influenced by the tide. These extensive mud flats made it quite apparent.
The mouth of the George River remains one of the most dramatic
places I have been to in the north. Ungava Bay has the distinction of
experiencing some of the world's highest tides and we were not
disappointed by the show. While paddling in the mouth of the George
River one thing is clear, you aren't going to fight the tide. Plan on being
able to paddle for no more than six hours at a time and know that it can
be tricky to find places to camp. We picked a secluded bay on the east
side of the river, and while the picturesque spot was protected from the
weather, it was also left high and dry when the tide went out.
A strong storm swept across the region and pinned us down in this bay
for a day and a half with less than ten miles left to the journey that had
taken us so far. Ungava had let us pass easily, but it didn't want us to
cruise into Kangiqsulaujuuaq without showing us who was boss. When
the storm finally abated we rode the ebbing tide at breakneck speeds
and landed in the extensive mud flats outside of the village. Carrying
our gear through the mud up to solid ground was a somewhat
unceremonious was to end the expedition, but we were all feeling on
top of the world.
places I have been to in the north. Ungava Bay has the distinction of
experiencing some of the world's highest tides and we were not
disappointed by the show. While paddling in the mouth of the George
River one thing is clear, you aren't going to fight the tide. Plan on being
able to paddle for no more than six hours at a time and know that it can
be tricky to find places to camp. We picked a secluded bay on the east
side of the river, and while the picturesque spot was protected from the
weather, it was also left high and dry when the tide went out.
A strong storm swept across the region and pinned us down in this bay
for a day and a half with less than ten miles left to the journey that had
taken us so far. Ungava had let us pass easily, but it didn't want us to
cruise into Kangiqsulaujuuaq without showing us who was boss. When
the storm finally abated we rode the ebbing tide at breakneck speeds
and landed in the extensive mud flats outside of the village. Carrying
our gear through the mud up to solid ground was a somewhat
unceremonious was to end the expedition, but we were all feeling on
top of the world.