ACCESS TO LAC MOLLET WITH
CARGAIR FROM LG4 ON THE
TRANS TAIGA HIGHWAY, QUEBEC
CARGAIR FROM LG4 ON THE
TRANS TAIGA HIGHWAY, QUEBEC
A significant part of paddling the Little Whale River is
accessing its waters. The fact that the nearest the river
comes to any kind of roads is one hundred and fifty mile
means that this involves a flight on a floatplane. We had
selected an outfit known as Cargair. This was the only flight
service offering float plane access to the north and their
northern outpost was based out of LG 4 a tiny cluster a
several houses near the fourth dam upstream of James Bay
on the La Grande River.
accessing its waters. The fact that the nearest the river
comes to any kind of roads is one hundred and fifty mile
means that this involves a flight on a floatplane. We had
selected an outfit known as Cargair. This was the only flight
service offering float plane access to the north and their
northern outpost was based out of LG 4 a tiny cluster a
several houses near the fourth dam upstream of James Bay
on the La Grande River.
Reaching LG 4 required driving north for sixteen hours before turning off of the
paves James Bay highway. At this point a 150 mile long gravel road was driven
to LG 4. Since this side road receives less use than the other route its surface is
large gravel and does not facilitate speeds much over fifty miles an hour. At
reduced speeds we headed deeper into the bush, through diminishing spruce
forests. The route followed the La Grande Complex and occasional glimpses of
control structures and the reservoir were caught through the trees. This was the
bush, and despite the road, we were deep in the wilderness. On several
occasions we saw the lower legs of Caribou scattered on the middle of the road.
The best explanation is that these were left over from wolf attacks. A few hours
of driving and the runway at LG 3 was seen looming in the distance. A few more
hours and we would be at LG 4 and the airbase for Cargair, the company that
would be transporting us to the start of the trip.
By eight in the evening we reached the sign for Cargair and pulled off of the
main road into a dirt driveway. The driveway led down to a few trailers on a rise
overlooking a small lake with a dock housing a Single Otter floatplane and a
small landing area for a helicopter. We met the pilot of the Otter, Martin, and
tried to confirm our flight for tomorrow morning. Martin gave us a funny look and
said that he hadn’t heard anything about this flight. Normally, this reaction might
fluster someone, but such a response is to be expected in the north. Our travel
weary group walked with Martin up to one of the trailers and traded a little small
talk. Martin shuffled through some papers on a desk and after a few minutes
looked up with a smile. The flight had indeed been booked and we could leave
at eight in the morning on the day’s first flight. He also showed us the two rooms
where we could spend the night and told us to meet at seven in the other trailer
for a nice hot breakfast.
paves James Bay highway. At this point a 150 mile long gravel road was driven
to LG 4. Since this side road receives less use than the other route its surface is
large gravel and does not facilitate speeds much over fifty miles an hour. At
reduced speeds we headed deeper into the bush, through diminishing spruce
forests. The route followed the La Grande Complex and occasional glimpses of
control structures and the reservoir were caught through the trees. This was the
bush, and despite the road, we were deep in the wilderness. On several
occasions we saw the lower legs of Caribou scattered on the middle of the road.
The best explanation is that these were left over from wolf attacks. A few hours
of driving and the runway at LG 3 was seen looming in the distance. A few more
hours and we would be at LG 4 and the airbase for Cargair, the company that
would be transporting us to the start of the trip.
By eight in the evening we reached the sign for Cargair and pulled off of the
main road into a dirt driveway. The driveway led down to a few trailers on a rise
overlooking a small lake with a dock housing a Single Otter floatplane and a
small landing area for a helicopter. We met the pilot of the Otter, Martin, and
tried to confirm our flight for tomorrow morning. Martin gave us a funny look and
said that he hadn’t heard anything about this flight. Normally, this reaction might
fluster someone, but such a response is to be expected in the north. Our travel
weary group walked with Martin up to one of the trailers and traded a little small
talk. Martin shuffled through some papers on a desk and after a few minutes
looked up with a smile. The flight had indeed been booked and we could leave
at eight in the morning on the day’s first flight. He also showed us the two rooms
where we could spend the night and told us to meet at seven in the other trailer
for a nice hot breakfast.
The next day a bluebird morning greeted us while moving gear down to the plane. Every
item had to be loaded onto a huge metal scale for the company’s flight record and to ensure
that enough fuel had been loaded in to allow for the trip. Martin helped us load the gear
into the plane and the canoes were ties to the left side float of the old single Otter. Inside
the plane a blue tarp was secured over the gear to keep it from rolling around and a few old
metal seats were folded down for the five of us.
Since it was the first flight of the day Martin has to take the plane through a complete engine
check routine. The huge engine fired up and the chugging noise of the propeller and
banging pistons became quite loud. For ten or fifteen minutes the Otter taxied around the
lake while it warmed up. A few times Martin increased power to the maximum level to ensure
that the engine would not fail during take off. The plane would rock and vibrate as the
power increased. After a flap check the craft was pointed into the wind and when the
engine roared to full power again the plane started skipping over the water at an ever
increasing speed. The Otter smoothly took to the air and headed south before banking to
the right and heading directly towards Lac Mollet.
The inside of the Otter was painted gray and neat but the plane had a very old feel to it. An
apparently simple series of cables held together the steering column and connected to a
wheel crank at the base of the pilot’s seat. The old feel of the Otter had a simple
explanation. Dehavilland stopped producing float planes in the mid nineteen sixties,
meaning that all planes in service have been working for at least forty years. Parts are still
produced and most of these northern workhorses have probably been reconditioned
several times. With a top speed of just over a hundred miles an hour, the Otter is not
exactly graceful in the sir. What it lacks in speed and maneuverability, it makes up in
durability and versatility. The Otter can land on water, be fitted with skis to land on snow
and ice, or given wheels and landed anywhere that is flat and smooth. With a fuel efficiency
of four miles of gallon it’s not exactly cheap to fly around, but this plane will get the job
done.
item had to be loaded onto a huge metal scale for the company’s flight record and to ensure
that enough fuel had been loaded in to allow for the trip. Martin helped us load the gear
into the plane and the canoes were ties to the left side float of the old single Otter. Inside
the plane a blue tarp was secured over the gear to keep it from rolling around and a few old
metal seats were folded down for the five of us.
Since it was the first flight of the day Martin has to take the plane through a complete engine
check routine. The huge engine fired up and the chugging noise of the propeller and
banging pistons became quite loud. For ten or fifteen minutes the Otter taxied around the
lake while it warmed up. A few times Martin increased power to the maximum level to ensure
that the engine would not fail during take off. The plane would rock and vibrate as the
power increased. After a flap check the craft was pointed into the wind and when the
engine roared to full power again the plane started skipping over the water at an ever
increasing speed. The Otter smoothly took to the air and headed south before banking to
the right and heading directly towards Lac Mollet.
The inside of the Otter was painted gray and neat but the plane had a very old feel to it. An
apparently simple series of cables held together the steering column and connected to a
wheel crank at the base of the pilot’s seat. The old feel of the Otter had a simple
explanation. Dehavilland stopped producing float planes in the mid nineteen sixties,
meaning that all planes in service have been working for at least forty years. Parts are still
produced and most of these northern workhorses have probably been reconditioned
several times. With a top speed of just over a hundred miles an hour, the Otter is not
exactly graceful in the sir. What it lacks in speed and maneuverability, it makes up in
durability and versatility. The Otter can land on water, be fitted with skis to land on snow
and ice, or given wheels and landed anywhere that is flat and smooth. With a fuel efficiency
of four miles of gallon it’s not exactly cheap to fly around, but this plane will get the job
done.
The farther north we flew the more inconsistent the weather
became. Showers could be seen building up and blowing around,
but in general the day looked nice. After an hour and a half the Otter
had reached Lac Mollet. Once over the lake the plane banked left
and headed south towards the outlet rapids and a camp with a
known landing spot. Soon the engine noises cut back and things
became eerily quiet as the Otter began to glide and loose altitude.
The clarity and detail of the landscape below increased as we circled
in preparation for landing. While descending the outlet of Lac Mollet
was spotted runnig through a series of big wave trains that looked to
be class II or III. While this aerial scout was useful, I had to remind
myself that we were at least a few hundred feet above the
whitewater. On the second pass we couldn’t have been more than
two hundred feet off the deck and the rapids looked much more
formidable. Things happened quickly now as the plane skimmed a
few feet above some spruce and gently glided onto the waters of the
lake. The second the plane touched down the engine brake was
applied and we slowed to a stop.
On the water the Otter was a little less in its element, but we taxied
towards the beach at the fishing camp and swung around to back
into our temporary parking place. The white plane with blue trim was
unloaded and the gear sent along a line of people to shore were it
was scattered on the beach. The canoes came off next and the
boys eagerly started unstrapping and reassembling the boats with
leathermans. In less than ten minutes the Otter was empty and
Martin was shaking hands and wishing us good luck. He stepped up
into the cockpit and fired the engines. The plane taxied away from
shore, the massive engine roared to life, and the empty plane shot
into the sky in no time at all. After heading away from us for a
minute or so Martin banked hard and headed over our position. As
he screamed overhead Martin climbed quickly and headed home.
This farewell buzz passed quickly and the noise of the Otter was
soon lost, leaving us alone on the beach approximately a hundred
and sixty miles from the nearest remote outpost.
became. Showers could be seen building up and blowing around,
but in general the day looked nice. After an hour and a half the Otter
had reached Lac Mollet. Once over the lake the plane banked left
and headed south towards the outlet rapids and a camp with a
known landing spot. Soon the engine noises cut back and things
became eerily quiet as the Otter began to glide and loose altitude.
The clarity and detail of the landscape below increased as we circled
in preparation for landing. While descending the outlet of Lac Mollet
was spotted runnig through a series of big wave trains that looked to
be class II or III. While this aerial scout was useful, I had to remind
myself that we were at least a few hundred feet above the
whitewater. On the second pass we couldn’t have been more than
two hundred feet off the deck and the rapids looked much more
formidable. Things happened quickly now as the plane skimmed a
few feet above some spruce and gently glided onto the waters of the
lake. The second the plane touched down the engine brake was
applied and we slowed to a stop.
On the water the Otter was a little less in its element, but we taxied
towards the beach at the fishing camp and swung around to back
into our temporary parking place. The white plane with blue trim was
unloaded and the gear sent along a line of people to shore were it
was scattered on the beach. The canoes came off next and the
boys eagerly started unstrapping and reassembling the boats with
leathermans. In less than ten minutes the Otter was empty and
Martin was shaking hands and wishing us good luck. He stepped up
into the cockpit and fired the engines. The plane taxied away from
shore, the massive engine roared to life, and the empty plane shot
into the sky in no time at all. After heading away from us for a
minute or so Martin banked hard and headed over our position. As
he screamed overhead Martin climbed quickly and headed home.
This farewell buzz passed quickly and the noise of the Otter was
soon lost, leaving us alone on the beach approximately a hundred
and sixty miles from the nearest remote outpost.
Our three nested canoes get tied to a pontoon on the Dehaviland Otter that would be flying us to
the trip's start on Lac Mollet.
the trip's start on Lac Mollet.
Brad Bassi loading up Cargair's scale. The amount of fuel loaded into the
plane was a function of the weight being carried.
plane was a function of the weight being carried.
Martin at the control of the Dehavilland Otter somewhere en
route to Lac Mollet, Quebec.
route to Lac Mollet, Quebec.
Once the plane was unloaded we quickly assembled the canoe seats and prepared
to begin the trip.
to begin the trip.
Martin buzzing us one last time before heading back south and leaving us on our
own deep in the wilderness of the northern Quebec.
own deep in the wilderness of the northern Quebec.