Hudson Bay and the Flight to
Kuujuarapik
Kuujuarapik
Eventually the mouth of the river could be seen, with the
shimmering waters of Hudson Bay in the distance. A long
sweeping point of low land came across the mouth from river left
and made a type of natural harbor. The actually opening out to
the bay was no more than a few hundred meters wide. After a
solid hour of paddling we reached a small sandy beach with a
well worn path leading up to the point. It quickly became
apparent that this was a special place.
The point of land was made of sand and housed a large teepee
plus numerous other stone tent rings, that acted as foundations
for temporary houses in the past. The ground was littered with
whale bones and other artifacts. Large cliffs and mountains
surrounded the site, making a huge natural amphitheater. A
small dune of sand rose on the seaward side and acted as a
windbreak.
shimmering waters of Hudson Bay in the distance. A long
sweeping point of low land came across the mouth from river left
and made a type of natural harbor. The actually opening out to
the bay was no more than a few hundred meters wide. After a
solid hour of paddling we reached a small sandy beach with a
well worn path leading up to the point. It quickly became
apparent that this was a special place.
The point of land was made of sand and housed a large teepee
plus numerous other stone tent rings, that acted as foundations
for temporary houses in the past. The ground was littered with
whale bones and other artifacts. Large cliffs and mountains
surrounded the site, making a huge natural amphitheater. A
small dune of sand rose on the seaward side and acted as a
windbreak.
We walked up to this small dune and sat among pale blue and yellow
wildflowers to catch the breeze and survey they bay. Hudson Bay was
shimmering in the sun and while no massive waves were breaking, the steady
wind had a series of constant rollers splashing against the shore. The breeze
was just stiff enough to slow canoe travel enough to make proceeding along
the coast inefficient and undesirable. A unanimous vote suggested that we
eat lunch at this incredible spot and wait to make any decisions about
paddling on the bay.
A large spread of food was laid out for lunch and we munched away while
looking out on the expanse of Hudson Bay. Just as I took a bite of a Snickers
Bar a white form out in the narrows connecting the river to the bay caught my
eye. I told everyone that I had just seen a seal or a whale or something. We
all looked out, hoping that the creature would return. Sure enough, after a
minute or so another white shape was seen rolling across the surface of the
water. Then another and another, followed by a head, and more white
shapes. The identity of these beasts was unmistakable; we were looking at a
pod of Belugas, the ghostly white whales of the north.
Some of the whales were alone, others were in pairs, and some even had
small gray babies swimming at their side. It is no wonder why this is called the
Little Whale River. For thousands of years these gentle whales have come
here to feed during the summer months. To be able to watch this spectacular
wildlife display in such isolation was incredible. Groups would come and go,
and eventually it seemed like all the whales had left. This snapped us back
into the present. It was still too windy to paddle out on the open water of
Hudson Bay, so we elected to camp here and wait for tomorrow.
In the mean time, the surrounding hills beckoned. From camp we walked
along the beach to the base of a barren hill rising a few hundred feet above
the water. The walking was open and rocky with constantly changing
perspectives of the incredible landscape. The cool breezes off the bay kept
the shore cool. Something strange caught my eye again. Narrow white
shapes were all over the bay a few hundred feet below us. At first this
confused me, but it was soon obvious that these shapes were more Belugas.
For the next half hour we all sat and looked down on what must have been at
least two hundred whales concentrated in a small pocket of water at the mouth
of our river. At one point a new group swam in from the south, while others
shifted and moved away. In general, the whales tended to stay in groups of
three or four, but the constructs of these pods did not seem strict. This was
one the most incredible things I had ever seen.
wildflowers to catch the breeze and survey they bay. Hudson Bay was
shimmering in the sun and while no massive waves were breaking, the steady
wind had a series of constant rollers splashing against the shore. The breeze
was just stiff enough to slow canoe travel enough to make proceeding along
the coast inefficient and undesirable. A unanimous vote suggested that we
eat lunch at this incredible spot and wait to make any decisions about
paddling on the bay.
A large spread of food was laid out for lunch and we munched away while
looking out on the expanse of Hudson Bay. Just as I took a bite of a Snickers
Bar a white form out in the narrows connecting the river to the bay caught my
eye. I told everyone that I had just seen a seal or a whale or something. We
all looked out, hoping that the creature would return. Sure enough, after a
minute or so another white shape was seen rolling across the surface of the
water. Then another and another, followed by a head, and more white
shapes. The identity of these beasts was unmistakable; we were looking at a
pod of Belugas, the ghostly white whales of the north.
Some of the whales were alone, others were in pairs, and some even had
small gray babies swimming at their side. It is no wonder why this is called the
Little Whale River. For thousands of years these gentle whales have come
here to feed during the summer months. To be able to watch this spectacular
wildlife display in such isolation was incredible. Groups would come and go,
and eventually it seemed like all the whales had left. This snapped us back
into the present. It was still too windy to paddle out on the open water of
Hudson Bay, so we elected to camp here and wait for tomorrow.
In the mean time, the surrounding hills beckoned. From camp we walked
along the beach to the base of a barren hill rising a few hundred feet above
the water. The walking was open and rocky with constantly changing
perspectives of the incredible landscape. The cool breezes off the bay kept
the shore cool. Something strange caught my eye again. Narrow white
shapes were all over the bay a few hundred feet below us. At first this
confused me, but it was soon obvious that these shapes were more Belugas.
For the next half hour we all sat and looked down on what must have been at
least two hundred whales concentrated in a small pocket of water at the mouth
of our river. At one point a new group swam in from the south, while others
shifted and moved away. In general, the whales tended to stay in groups of
three or four, but the constructs of these pods did not seem strict. This was
one the most incredible things I had ever seen.
The tents were set on the point and this site gave us a commanding view
in all directions. While the others relaxed Phil and I discussed the
expedition’s situation. Essentially we had three days to paddle eighty miles
of coast back to the village of Kuujuarapik. This seemed like a stretch,
especially since no progress was made today. The post trip logistics would
probably be far more time consuming than we anticipated. This combined
with the fact that everyone had obligations back in the front country and
helped us make the decision to be flown out. Phil used our satellite phone
and made a call to Air Inuit where an old pilot named Pierre Vallier said he
was certain that he could fly us out if we were willing to charter a flight.
We would make a call in the morning to confirm the weather.
I immediately asked Phil if the plane was going to land in the water out on
the bay or upriver somewhere. I was shocked by the response. He said
that Pierre told him the plane had no pontoons and that it would be making
a bush landing at a suitable site. In fact, Pierre knew the spot and said he
thought there would be some suitable places up on a ridge about a
kilometer upstream from our camp. We could see the flat ground on some
bluffs and agreed that it was probably the most likely landing site. It was
our job to get up there and establish a runway in the morning. This plan
certainly lacked nothing in excitement.
I was up and out of the tent at seven thirty, anxious to see if a flight would
be possible. Fog and low clouds hung in the valley, but the ceiling was
lifting and we were confident that Pierre would be able to make the flight
later in the day. We skipped breakfast and broke camp quickly. Our
entire outfit needed to be moved a kilometer upstream and portaged onto
the high bluff where the plane was presumably going to land. Pierre said
that he needed three hundred feet to land, but that we should try to find a
thousand foot area that was relatively flat. His instruction concluded by
saying that a two foot ditch or bump would make landing tough.
The top of the bluff was relatively flat, but totally covered with blueberry
bushed anywhere from one to two feet in height and many bumps. Landing
a plane here looked crazy at best, but we decided to trust Pierre and bring
up the gear. This area must have also housed Inuit camps since
numerous whale bones lay all over the ground.
By ten o’clock the fog had lifted and only a few low clouds touched the tops
of the surrounding mountains. Visibility was adequate for Pierre to scout
out the landing site and put the plane down. By ten thirty we heard a
distant buzzing noise and a minute later the Twin Otter came into view as it
banked around the shoulder of a mountain and headed up our valley.
Pierre’s first pass was at full speed and far above the ground. The noisy
airplane banked hard left and came back for another pass, this time flying
much lower and a going a lot slower. For the next ten minutes we looked
up in amazement, trying to figure out what the pilots were thinking as they
made pass after pass. On a few of the fly overs the plane was no more
than twenty feet off of the ground and we could see the pilots craning their
necks to get a better view of the landing site. After five or six passes we
started to doubt weather or not they were going to put the Twin Otter
down.
Just when we were sure they were going to bail out the plane came in very
slow, flying perpendicular to valley. About two hundred meters away the
Twin Otter dropped from the sky and took what appeared to be a violent
bounce as it landed. We would later learn that this was done on purpose
to stop as quickly as possible and that everything had gone as planned.
All I knew was that I was very glad not to have been on board.
The pilots taxied the plane towards us and shut down the props on
arriving. The old pilot Pierre said little, but the young Inuit copilot
mentioned that the landing had been “interesting”. After some small talk
the pair said that they needed to go and find a stretch of ground that was
suitable for taking off because where they had landed was a little too
bumpy. They set out to establish a runway and returned almost an hour
later.
I was sitting up front and nervous about getting safely off the ground. With
clammy palms I decided that the pilots didn’t seem suicidal, so things were
probably going to be fine. The plane roared to life and taxied slowly over
the bumpy ground towards the makeshift runway that had been laid out.
Once at the head of the selected site the engines were brought to full
power to test them, a standard safety practice in these small craft. After
roaring to life for a few seconds the plane was shut off.
The two pilots spoke to each other for a while and kept pointing at a gauge
on the control panel After a little tapping and head scratching they pulled
out their multi tools and started to unscrew the dash. Pierre removed the
gauge and played with some wires before reinserting the cylinder and
reattaching the metal plate covering the instrument panel. Now I was
genuinely horrified about being on board. Once the instruments were all
back in place the younger pilot turned around and told us not to worry
because Pierre was a good mechanic and had fixed the problem. Afterthis
Pierre turned around and grinned before saying “I tell you what, everything
is going to be ok, but it is not going to be smooth”. Everyone laughed a
little, but no one was saying much when the engines roared to life again
and we prepared for take off.
Pierre turned around, gave the thumbs up, and popped the brakes. The
plane accelerated and there were a few violent bumps, but in less than a
hundred and fifty feet the plane was airborne and I breathed a sigh of
relief. Once we were in the air and banking away from the fast
approaching cliff on the opposite side of the river valley the pilots turned
around and gave another thumbs up. At this point I was ecstatic and the
urge to vomit subsided. In forty minutes we landed in Kuujuarapik.
in all directions. While the others relaxed Phil and I discussed the
expedition’s situation. Essentially we had three days to paddle eighty miles
of coast back to the village of Kuujuarapik. This seemed like a stretch,
especially since no progress was made today. The post trip logistics would
probably be far more time consuming than we anticipated. This combined
with the fact that everyone had obligations back in the front country and
helped us make the decision to be flown out. Phil used our satellite phone
and made a call to Air Inuit where an old pilot named Pierre Vallier said he
was certain that he could fly us out if we were willing to charter a flight.
We would make a call in the morning to confirm the weather.
I immediately asked Phil if the plane was going to land in the water out on
the bay or upriver somewhere. I was shocked by the response. He said
that Pierre told him the plane had no pontoons and that it would be making
a bush landing at a suitable site. In fact, Pierre knew the spot and said he
thought there would be some suitable places up on a ridge about a
kilometer upstream from our camp. We could see the flat ground on some
bluffs and agreed that it was probably the most likely landing site. It was
our job to get up there and establish a runway in the morning. This plan
certainly lacked nothing in excitement.
I was up and out of the tent at seven thirty, anxious to see if a flight would
be possible. Fog and low clouds hung in the valley, but the ceiling was
lifting and we were confident that Pierre would be able to make the flight
later in the day. We skipped breakfast and broke camp quickly. Our
entire outfit needed to be moved a kilometer upstream and portaged onto
the high bluff where the plane was presumably going to land. Pierre said
that he needed three hundred feet to land, but that we should try to find a
thousand foot area that was relatively flat. His instruction concluded by
saying that a two foot ditch or bump would make landing tough.
The top of the bluff was relatively flat, but totally covered with blueberry
bushed anywhere from one to two feet in height and many bumps. Landing
a plane here looked crazy at best, but we decided to trust Pierre and bring
up the gear. This area must have also housed Inuit camps since
numerous whale bones lay all over the ground.
By ten o’clock the fog had lifted and only a few low clouds touched the tops
of the surrounding mountains. Visibility was adequate for Pierre to scout
out the landing site and put the plane down. By ten thirty we heard a
distant buzzing noise and a minute later the Twin Otter came into view as it
banked around the shoulder of a mountain and headed up our valley.
Pierre’s first pass was at full speed and far above the ground. The noisy
airplane banked hard left and came back for another pass, this time flying
much lower and a going a lot slower. For the next ten minutes we looked
up in amazement, trying to figure out what the pilots were thinking as they
made pass after pass. On a few of the fly overs the plane was no more
than twenty feet off of the ground and we could see the pilots craning their
necks to get a better view of the landing site. After five or six passes we
started to doubt weather or not they were going to put the Twin Otter
down.
Just when we were sure they were going to bail out the plane came in very
slow, flying perpendicular to valley. About two hundred meters away the
Twin Otter dropped from the sky and took what appeared to be a violent
bounce as it landed. We would later learn that this was done on purpose
to stop as quickly as possible and that everything had gone as planned.
All I knew was that I was very glad not to have been on board.
The pilots taxied the plane towards us and shut down the props on
arriving. The old pilot Pierre said little, but the young Inuit copilot
mentioned that the landing had been “interesting”. After some small talk
the pair said that they needed to go and find a stretch of ground that was
suitable for taking off because where they had landed was a little too
bumpy. They set out to establish a runway and returned almost an hour
later.
I was sitting up front and nervous about getting safely off the ground. With
clammy palms I decided that the pilots didn’t seem suicidal, so things were
probably going to be fine. The plane roared to life and taxied slowly over
the bumpy ground towards the makeshift runway that had been laid out.
Once at the head of the selected site the engines were brought to full
power to test them, a standard safety practice in these small craft. After
roaring to life for a few seconds the plane was shut off.
The two pilots spoke to each other for a while and kept pointing at a gauge
on the control panel After a little tapping and head scratching they pulled
out their multi tools and started to unscrew the dash. Pierre removed the
gauge and played with some wires before reinserting the cylinder and
reattaching the metal plate covering the instrument panel. Now I was
genuinely horrified about being on board. Once the instruments were all
back in place the younger pilot turned around and told us not to worry
because Pierre was a good mechanic and had fixed the problem. Afterthis
Pierre turned around and grinned before saying “I tell you what, everything
is going to be ok, but it is not going to be smooth”. Everyone laughed a
little, but no one was saying much when the engines roared to life again
and we prepared for take off.
Pierre turned around, gave the thumbs up, and popped the brakes. The
plane accelerated and there were a few violent bumps, but in less than a
hundred and fifty feet the plane was airborne and I breathed a sigh of
relief. Once we were in the air and banking away from the fast
approaching cliff on the opposite side of the river valley the pilots turned
around and gave another thumbs up. At this point I was ecstatic and the
urge to vomit subsided. In forty minutes we landed in Kuujuarapik.
The night in Kuujuarapik was spent camping behind the airport in an
area of sand dunes. Everyone lounged around and enjoyed the
warm afternoon, excited to be one step closer to home. Three small
sled dog puppies became our best friends that night as they
begged for handouts. After a fitful night of sleep morning came
and everyone was up early, eager to catch the flight back to
Radisson. An hour before the flight we were checking our gear and
hanging out in the town’s miniature airport.
The flight was uneventful and once back at Radisson we grabbed
lunch and some beers. I gave the local police a call and asked
about the status of the road to LG 4 where our vehicle was located.
Several active forest fires had the road shut down for an indefinite
amount of time. This left us stuck in town, which was good and
bad. Everyone was eager to get home, but the time to relax was
much appreciated. The officer was very nice and said that the road
may be opened tonight when the winds died down and the fires went
to sleep.
Phil and I decided that the best way to get back to the Suburban at
LG4 was to rent a truck. Back at the hotel we lounged around and
had a few beers while watching television and taking it easy. Just as
we were about to accept the fact that this would be our home for
some time there was a knock on the door. The lady working the
front desk had just received a call from the police saying that the
road out to LG 4 had opened up. Phil and I jumped into action and
got ready to make the long five hour drive out to Cargair. It was
about five thirty now and if we hurried it would be possible to get
back around four and sleep to nine, giving us some rest.
Interestingly, one of the most special moments of the whole trip
came during the drive. At one point the brake lights from Phil’s
Suburban shone in my eyes until he came to a complete stop. As I
pulled up alongside the Suburban, I was looking at a pack of about
six wolf cubs milling around in the glare of our headlights. We
watched the cubs playing for about three minutes before rolling
down our windows and whispering to each other in amazement. I
sat up on the window frame and leaned out of the truck. I let out a
long howl and the cubs circled up and made a few whining noises
before sitting on their haunches, throwing back their heads, and
yipping away. Just behind the trucks I spotted a shadow running
along the side of the road. Moments later an eerie howling set up
as the mother wolf gave a deep howl. Shivers went down our spine
and the cubs quickly ran away into the protection of the forest.
The ride home took two more days and I left this trip enthralled by
the north, already planning the next expedition to Ungava in my
mind. The Little Whale River is an amazing place.
area of sand dunes. Everyone lounged around and enjoyed the
warm afternoon, excited to be one step closer to home. Three small
sled dog puppies became our best friends that night as they
begged for handouts. After a fitful night of sleep morning came
and everyone was up early, eager to catch the flight back to
Radisson. An hour before the flight we were checking our gear and
hanging out in the town’s miniature airport.
The flight was uneventful and once back at Radisson we grabbed
lunch and some beers. I gave the local police a call and asked
about the status of the road to LG 4 where our vehicle was located.
Several active forest fires had the road shut down for an indefinite
amount of time. This left us stuck in town, which was good and
bad. Everyone was eager to get home, but the time to relax was
much appreciated. The officer was very nice and said that the road
may be opened tonight when the winds died down and the fires went
to sleep.
Phil and I decided that the best way to get back to the Suburban at
LG4 was to rent a truck. Back at the hotel we lounged around and
had a few beers while watching television and taking it easy. Just as
we were about to accept the fact that this would be our home for
some time there was a knock on the door. The lady working the
front desk had just received a call from the police saying that the
road out to LG 4 had opened up. Phil and I jumped into action and
got ready to make the long five hour drive out to Cargair. It was
about five thirty now and if we hurried it would be possible to get
back around four and sleep to nine, giving us some rest.
Interestingly, one of the most special moments of the whole trip
came during the drive. At one point the brake lights from Phil’s
Suburban shone in my eyes until he came to a complete stop. As I
pulled up alongside the Suburban, I was looking at a pack of about
six wolf cubs milling around in the glare of our headlights. We
watched the cubs playing for about three minutes before rolling
down our windows and whispering to each other in amazement. I
sat up on the window frame and leaned out of the truck. I let out a
long howl and the cubs circled up and made a few whining noises
before sitting on their haunches, throwing back their heads, and
yipping away. Just behind the trucks I spotted a shadow running
along the side of the road. Moments later an eerie howling set up
as the mother wolf gave a deep howl. Shivers went down our spine
and the cubs quickly ran away into the protection of the forest.
The ride home took two more days and I left this trip enthralled by
the north, already planning the next expedition to Ungava in my
mind. The Little Whale River is an amazing place.
Our team looks out over Hudson Bay at the mouth of the Little Whale River.
Brad Bassi sitting on the shores of Hudson Bay at the site of an ancient Inuit
camp.
camp.
Brad standing on a hill above Hudson Bay. The Little Whale River and the point
of land where we camped are visible in the background.
of land where we camped are visible in the background.
Each white spot in this picture is one of the hundreds of Beluga Whales
congregated at the mouth of the Little Whale River.
congregated at the mouth of the Little Whale River.
An Inuit hunter posing with his kayak and a harpooned beluga Whale in the 1860s. This
photo was taken at the mouth of the Little Whale River where we camped. The sense of
history at the place was remarkable.
photo was taken at the mouth of the Little Whale River where we camped. The sense of
history at the place was remarkable.
Phil and myself watching the Twin Otter make one of its many passes before
the dramatic bush landing.
the dramatic bush landing.
Seeing this plane land on the hummocky ground was exciting and frightening.
I'm glad I was not on board when it touched down.
I'm glad I was not on board when it touched down.
Barret, James, John, Brad, and Phil stand in front of the Air Inuit Twin Otter that
made a bush landing to pick us up. Pilot Pierre Valier was outstanding.
made a bush landing to pick us up. Pilot Pierre Valier was outstanding.
The crew, happy to be airborne after the harrowing take off, enjoys the view
below.
below.
The crew waiting for their gear after landing in Kuujuarapik.
Phil encouraging the pack of free roaming sled dog
puppies that accompanied us for the night in Kuujuarapik.
puppies that accompanied us for the night in Kuujuarapik.