Magpie_River

The Magpie River

Location - Quebec - North shore of the Saint
              Lawrence

Difficulty - Class IV-V   Length - 100 miles

Level - High    Date - June 14-18, 2000

Group - Brad Bassi, Mike McDonnel, Ryan
          Goodrow, Galen Webster

The idea to kayak Quebec’s Magpie River came to me one evening while reading through a
general guidebook to whitewater from all over the world. Having canoed many rivers in the
James Bay region, I was very interested in northern Canadian Rivers, and felt that my kayaking
experience would allow me to handle a full on whitewater trip in this sub arctic setting. Our plan
was to paddle the seldom run West Branch of the Magpie River, cross forty mile Magpie Lake
halfway through the run, and kayak the lower sixty miles of river that are more frequently run.

Maps were ordered and the gradients that we calculated looked spectacular. In organizing the
trip I spoke with two well known paddlers that had both been on the river in the past. Their news
was encouraging and they said that the run would surely be within our capabilities. However,
their enthusiasm was mixed with plenty of warnings. In particular, they both mentioned the final
stretch of rapids on the West Branch before it entered Magpie Lake. This warning consisted of
ultrafast current and gigantic hydraulics that "could really fuck you up". The one piece of advice
that both of these respected paddlers gave us was to time the trip to take place no earlier in the
season than late August. This, however, did not fit well with our summer schedules. Being
young, we decided it was no big deal to set our departure date a bit earlier than what had been
suggested. Our four person team unanimously agreed to depart on June 13th.

I had convinced Saint Lawrence University to fund the expedition with a grant and everyone
arrived back on campus to begin the monumental task of assembling gear and food for the ten
day trip . We loaded up on pasta, Snickers Bars, and an assortment of other items, finally
coming up with what seemed like well balanced and packable meals. By avoiding dehydrated
food we were able to save a lot of money at the expense of weight. The difficult part of preparing
for the expedition was making sure that the heaps of gear fit into our kayak, which were looking
smaller by the minute. My Crossfire underwent major internal surgery as the rear wall was
removed and the forward pillar modified to accept gear in front of the bulkhead. By ten o'clock
on the night of June 12th, our entire team of four was test loading boats to make sure all of the
necessities would fit. Encouraged by being able to pack all of our gear we decided to load the
Outing Club van and start the long drive north. We were on the road by one o'clock and never
more excited in our lives.

After the sixteen hour drive we found Labrador Air
Safari, the flight service that would be taking us to
the remote put in at Lac Vital. The float plane
base was tucked away at the end of a bumpy dirt
road on the shore of Lac Rapide, just outside of
Sept Isles, Quebec. Several blue and yellow
planes sat clustered next to a dock and I was
relieved that they looked to be in good repair.
We spoke with the owner who knew a bit of
broken English and told him that we would be
back with his payment and ready to fly out this
evening. On returning from the bank in town
things suddenly became very serious and very
real. Gear was quickly gathered and loaded into
the Otter. The two pilots, eager to make this last
flight of the day before darkness settled in,
helped us load up. This was the first of many
times I would be in a float plane and the laid back
process of strapping down equipment and letting
us help with everything surprised me. Once the
huge engine roared to life no time was wasted
before taking off and cruising north.

The scenery from the air was absolutely incredible. I had been warned that there was no way to walk out from this river in the event of an
emergency, but the reality of that warning didn’t set in until I was in the plane. Mountains were flanked by sheer granite walls and deep river
gorges, too numerous to count, cut the landscape into a mess of valleys and ridges. Many of the creeks and rivers we were looking down on
contained spectacular looking rapids of unknown difficulty. The possibility for first descents in this remote region is nearly limitless. Eventually, a
mountain range full of snow capped peaks came into view and the fact that it was still spring at this latitude was reinforced by the frozen lakes we
flew over at one point. No one was doubting the seriousness of the trip at this point.

The copilot turned to us after about an hour in the air and informed us that we were over the landing zone. He then asked if it was alright to land
on the river instead of the lake. Not knowing any better, we said yes, and the engines immediately cut back to a dull rumble as the craft was
banked at a 50 degree angle. This caused the hunk of metal to immediately begin loosing altitude at what seemed to be a dangerously fast pace.
The tundra grew closer and things started to happen quickly. Before I really knew what was going on the plane leveled and gently touched down
on the river. As the Otter taxied over towards a large sandbar I thought to myself that this was likely to be the most exciting part of the trip. Little
did I realize what was about to happen over the course of the next four days.

ramp of green water and was nearly overwhelmed by the power of the first six foot wave that broke over my head. By now it was obvious we
would be dealing with high water and it was with some trepidation that we headed downstream.

Several more similar rapids were run before approaching a horizon line were the water constricted into a canyon and fell out of sight. The deeper
tone of the drop and the fact that it was marked on the map convinced us to pull out on river right for a scout. Although there were clear lines
through this class V rapid, the volume was so intense that it scarred me and Galen into portaging. If I had known at this point what the rapids
downstream were going to be like I probably would have run the gorge, but it being the first significant drop of the expedition made it extra
intimidating. There was also the issue of what appeared to be a river wide hydraulic a hundred yards downstream. Portaging the loaded boats
was difficult. Our first revelation was that ninety pounds is too heavy to carry on your shoulder. This left dragging as the only other option. To
facilitate this I had a six foot piece of webbing that was binered to the front grab loop making the task much more bearable. To shorten the carry
we found a small ten foot cliff we could lower our boats down that led to a river left eddy from which we could ferry to the opposite shore and scout
the next drop in the canyon. Soon enough we had passed this first test and were on our way to one of the steepest section of rapids on the run.

As the river bent to the east it cut deeply through rough mountains. Dark spruce trees scattered these hillsides which were banded with cliffs and
patches of snow and ice. Rapids resumed here but appeared to be quite runnable and boat scoutable. We headed into them cautiously and
found the water to be pushy and large class III, with clean six foot waves and an occasionally huge hole. The rapids blended into each other for
what seemed like a kilometer before entering a calmer stretch with more open surroundings. This section of fun whitewater was a huge relief as I
was beginning to get nervous that none of the river would be moderate enough to boat scout. Encouraged, we paddled downstream and were
soon at the head of the first gorge which contained many rapid slashes and had a healthy gradient of 80 to 100 feet per kilometer and a volume
we estimated to be between 10,000 20,000 cfs. From our planning we had assumed that this stretch of river would contain the first serious water
of the trip, and it was our hope to clear this gorge before setting up camp tonight.

We beached our boats in a boulder sieve and scrambled on the rocks to scout the main channel. The scene was humbling with the main feature
being another river wide hydraulic that no one wanted to deal with. Fortunately we were able to put together a line through the maelstrom due to
the nature of the river here. The actual river bed was quite wide, with the shores being comprised of massive ledges and boulders. At lower flows
only the main channel would have existed, but due to the high levels the water was flowing in and around these rocks. We saw a steep line on
river right through some narrow slots that avoided the big hole at the to pand led to a river right eddy We all ran the line successfully but were
again shocked by its power. Once regrouped in the eddy the move was to ferry out into the main current as high as possible to avoid a hole
coming off of the right bank while not getting too far out into the middle of the river. Mike and Galen anxiously waited as I headed up the eddy only
to be rejected by the strong eddy fence. I circled around, quite nervous now, and blasted out of the eddy a bit lower. The power of the current
was sobering and in a flash I decided to straighten out and punch the hole where ever I hit it instead of blowing the ferry and dropping into it
sideways. Reaching the eddy at the bottom was very rewarding.

In the continuous class IV that followed the group became slightly separated above another section the appeared to deserve a scout. Goodrow
and I were on river left and Mike and Galen the right shore. We all exited our boats to scout and Ryan and I were forced to climb a large ledge to
see the rapid. As we crested the top of the rise the sight was awe inspiring. River right was a straightforward class IV+ line with nothing to get in
the way. To out dismay Ryan and I couldn’t reach river right because we had eddied out too far into the rapid. Our line was solid class V and
although we were thirty feet above the water it was obvious that this would be the biggest water I had ever run. The main features were two
enormous boulders in the center of the river. There was at least forty feet between them but they appeared undercut as they had no pillows and
entire trees stripped of their bark could be seen wedged against them. The lead in contained a few ten foot waves which would be useful
landmarks, but there was a massive breaking wave to the right of the second boulder that couldn’t be avoided. Portaging was out of the question
and we were totally committed to the run.

I put happy thoughts into my head and paddled aggressively out
of the eddy. There was no turning back now and I lined up on
the right shoulder of the first wave which was pretty damn big.
On its crest I could see most of my line. It was apparent I would
easily make it between the two boulders so I started paddling
hard at the breaking wave which looked twelve tall. Just before
the impact I leaned forward on the deck to minimize the power of
the hit. It was still jarring but it didn’t stop my downstream
momentum. Looking back upstream all I could see was a wall of
white water crashing down between the two boulder with trees
poking out from behind them. The site of this almost flooded
river was intense.

By the time we set up camp at the end of the day everyone was
fired up and feeling good about having made it through the
huge drops. A glance at the maps showed that we would
encounter the steepest section of the river tomorrow afternoon.

We were back on the water before 8:30 that morning and my boat was much more comfortable and well balanced now. The first class three was
simple and was followed by several large yet harmless wave trains. The quick water sped at a frightful pace and although there were larger
rapids in this section much of that morning blended together. By eleven that afternoon we had covered the twenty five kilometers to the
sandbars and great bend in the river. The Magpie was lake-like here and we were forced to negotiate shallow sand and gravel bars on river left.
Mist rose on updrafts and careened across the open space above the river. The mountains were quite far back from the waters edge now. This
was the calm before the storm.

Sitting around eating lunch made us quite cold and forced us to cut the meal to a scant ten minutes. Five more clicks brought us to a distinct
horizon line that corresponded to the start of continuous rapid bars on our topo maps. The river slid over smooth granite ledges creating keeper
hydraulics with uniform backwashes. Most of the holes were unpunchable and appeared to be quite terminal. Still, the wide nature of the river
made nearly all of the rapids in these first sets runnable. At many of the horizons we were able to paddle up onto the rock and muscle the
kayaks onto the dry slabs and scout without leaving the boats. The first set was run on the extreme right side were diagonal seams needed to
be punch with authority to avoid being kicked into the maw of the hydraulics. The task of scouting from the smooth ledges and running ten foot
slides as sneak routes became commonplace. Although the lines were shallow they were deceivingly steep and fast. It was a great feeling to be
able to paddle quick and clean class four lines instead of carrying the otherwise terminal rapids.

After running some large drops we soon came to
a terrible looking horizon line still near the top of
the gorge. We exited on river left and hobbled
along the rocky shore to take a peek at the
drop. It didn’t take very sophisticated scouting
to realize that the rapid was unrunnable. It
featured a massive tongue leading into a terrible
river wide hydraulic. The boats were dragged
up into the thick scrub and the sweating began.
The main problem with portaging was that the
edges of the river were lined with a dense
growth of stunted alders and willows so thick it
was almost impossible to walk through them.
Luckily this portage was short and in ten minutes
everyone was back on the water and after a
short moving pool confronting the next rapid.

Once the gear was all unloaded we thanked the
pilots for a great flight and snapped a quick
photo of them. They wished us good luck,
hopped into the plane, and taxied into the middle
of the river. The engine raced and the plane
quickly lifted into the air and disappeared behind
a mountain. We were left with a deafening
silence as dusk fell and the feeling of being
totally on our own was pretty overwhelming.

When we went to launch into the river the next
morning we quickly realized just how heavy our
boats were. However, once in the water they
seemed to perform quite well, despite sitting
lower and being a bit less responsive. With that
we headed off downstream, hoping to paddle
through the first gorge today, which promised to
hold some of the more difficult whitewater on the
trip. After about thirty minutes of quickwater the
first horizon line was reached and appeared to
be a simple class III rapid from above. Deciding
to boat scout, I maneuvered my boat down the

The gradient continued to increase and our group was
divided into twos once again as we reached a position
were a ferry across the river was next to impossible.
One blown stroke would result in the unfortunate
boater being carried blindly swept over a horizon.
Galen and I scouted from river left and found a great
looking line on river left. Our vantage showed bus
sized holes in the center of the river but we found a line
on river left that involved a few boofs and required
punching only the edges of the largest stoppers. I
elected to run first and headed back to my boat pretty
excited for the fun looking drop. Upon entering the
rapid it was obvious that things were a bit more serious
than they appeared from shore. Things were twice as
steep as they had seemed and the speed of the
current over the bedrock was sobering. I rocketed off
of a boulder which deflected the bow of the Crossfire
airborn into a perfect boof. Landing past the hole
below I scrambled to make the following series of must
make moves and ended in a pool below the drop much
quicker than I could have ever imagined. Galen ran a
very similar line and we both commented that that was
solid class five and one of the more pleasing rapids we
had ever run.

Encouraged by our success we headed into the next rapid overly confident. Mike quickly scouted and led by ferrying to a river center eddy
above a nasty looking horizon. This proved to be a mistake as we found ourselves committed to running the falls as there was no way to work
our way back to shore from here. Another hairy ferry brought us to a river left eddy below a fin of ledge in the river. A ten foot vertical drop lay
below but the runout was walled in by a ridge of ledge running perpendicular to the current. Ryan dropped the ledge and signaled that it was
shallow. Mike followed and then I paddled over the edge only to violently piton. Luckily the bow deflected and choose not to pin. The holes in
the middle of the river here were stupendous and we were a little upset at having been led into a major class five essentially blind. A large dent
adorned the Crossfire’s bow and I was happy that the deck didn’t cave on impact.

All readily agreed to scout the horizon line that lurked several meters downstream. The scout showed a clearly unrunnable triple falls which we
happily portaged over the open ledge on river left. More slide type rapids followed in a blur of tight sneak lines and huge water routes.
Sweeping to the left again the Magpie dropped into the second gorge proper as mountain walls closed in again and dropped steeply to the
water. Checking our position on the map placed us at the head of the steepest section of river. Our group was overwhelmed with excitement at
the excellent time we had made and lured onward by the prospect of clearing this gorge by nightfall. Our great speed up to this point should
have been looked at as a blessing and we should have slowed our pace and became more cautious. The exact opposite happened and we
eagerly sped into the ensuing maelstrom.

A class three rapid started and didn’t stop. Instead it
gradually built to class four as it rounded a bend.
Technically this stretch was nothing super hard. The
alarming fact was that the current was moving at an
unprecedented speed. The bedrock that the water ran
over offered little resistance to slow the water. This
resulted in us moving at breakneck speeds. Galen and I
hung back as Mike and Ryan charged ahead. We all
stuck to the inside of the left bends w were confronted
with and ran shoreline routes. The river was now
continuous class IV-V and the gradient was becoming
disturbing. As we rounded another next left turn Galen
commented that the gradient was so steep and uniform
that the river could be seen sloping downhill like a ski
slope. The effect was indeed quite readily noticed, and
we both agreed that things were getting a out of control.
A mistake here had potential to quickly grow into a major
situation so we agreed to signal Mike and Ryan to take
out at the next place they could to scout.

As we neared them Ryan was already our of his boat inspecting a horizon line. He made a sweeping motion with both hands signaling Mike to
run a line driving hard left over a ledge. Mike paddle over the drop and after a second Ryan’s hands flew to his head. I asked if Mike was alright
and was pretty disheartened when Goodrow shook his head no. He was still pointing far left so I ran the ledge to see if I could help Mike. I went
far left and slid down nearly dry rock into a swirly eddy that was feeding into one of the most brutal holes I had ever seen. I went downstream
slightly to look for Mike and remember Ryan screaming at me to stay river left. The class V chaos soon forced me to a large eddy on river left.
As I eddied out I saw Galen swimming towards me! He had apparently blown his line and swam in the hole. He looked at me with the fear of God
in his eyes and pleaded that I help him. There was absolutely nothing I could do except to encourage him to swim towards me. Thankfully he
reached shore but his boat sped around a bend and into oblivion. Ryan had reentered his boat by this time and fool heartedly paddled blindly
into the class V rapid. This ill conceived idea was potentially disastrous at a tying time such as this.

Galen was now safely up on shore and I yelled to him asking if I
could paddle downstream in pursuit of Mike and the gear that
was so vital to us. When he told me there was no way I should
head down there the gravity of his response didn’t set in until
later. I was glad to have an excuse to get out of the river. I
quickly stashed my boat and began to run along the shore in
search of Mike. The rapid was big class V with massive ledge
drops and holes. Although a million terrible thoughts danced
sinisterly through my mind. I was obviously deeply concerned
for Mike but strangely, emotions took a back seat to adrenaline.
Instead of being rushed and imprecise my actions were quite
deliberate. To hurt myself running to Mike would have placed us
in an even worse predicament. Soon there was no viable
shoreline to walk along. Cliffs led directly down to water level
and I was forced to wade under an overhanging ledge full of ice
to make downstream progress. The full scale of the rapid was
now revealed. At least three terrible holes were in the three or
four hundred yards downstream of the hole Mike swam from.
When I saw the full scale of the rapid I first realized that one of
my best friends ever could very well be dead.

The awful vision of dragging his body to shore was plastered in my head. Luckily adrenaline still had control of my body and I was able to run a
punk song through my head to dull the senses. In about five more minutes I was near the bottom of the rapid. All I could see of the river was
another horizon line below with mist filling in the air above it. I prayed that Mike hadn’t swam over this as it was obviously a falls. Then I noticed a
white helmet poking out from behind a rock on shore fifty yards below my position. Total relief flooded my system when I saw Mike walking around
down there. We waved or something stupid and went through the standard are you ok deal. He had a nasty scrape on his leg but that was the
only visible injury. That kid is one tough bastard. The mere thought of swimming what he did still makes me cringe. Even more amazing was that
he had a boat up on shore. He had lost track of his but had the presence of mind to pull in Galen’s as it somehow floated into the eddy before
being carried over the next falls. Through all of this he also managed to hang on to his paddle which proved to be another godsend.

By this time Galen had made his way down to us
and after a brief celebration of our reunion we
made a rapid assessment of the situation. We
were missing Mike’s boat and all of his gear
except for his paddle, and Galen had lost his
paddle and some other gear also. I still had all of
my equipment and Ryan was unaccounted for. I
headed back up to my boat to get it around this
now notorious rapid while Mike and Galen headed
to the next drop to see what had become of
Goodrow and to search for Mike’s boat. Walking
upstream to my kayak gave me time to reflect a bit
on what had just happened although nothing had
really set in just yet. I did realize that although
everyone was presently alright we were still a
hundred miles from nowhere and currently missing
a lot of essential things. Arriving back at my boat I
dragged it through thick alders and over boulders
to a point where I felt I could get back on the river
and run the ret of the rapid. Soon I was out of the
boat on river left standing in the midst of a river
left boulder sieve with Mike and Galen. The falls
to our right dropped fifteen feet or so overall and
was absolutely unrunnable. If Mike had ended up
swimming over that he surely wouldn’t be with us
today.

The problem was that his boat was nowhere to be seen and more unrunnable rapids lay downstream. To make matters worse, actually much
worse, I learned that Goodrow had also swam. He was ok but Mike and Galen last saw him heading downstream on river left to retrieve his boat.

It was decided that Galen and I head uphill from the river where we could best start a long portage around this stretch of river. Thick vegetation
lined the river but the woods were much more open uphill and back from the water. There was also a flat plateau here with game trails we could
easily walk along with our boats in tow. As we bulled our ninety pound loads up to the flat area Mike walked downstream along the river in search
of his lost craft. At this point we were very optimistic about recovering the kayak. It seemed almost impossible that it wouldn’t eddy out
somewhere. At the very worst it was decided the boat would turn up the following day in a wide area of the river where there were many
sandbars, or in Lac Magpie at the very worse. I think secretly we all knew his boat could very well be gone for good, but no one was willing to
voice that at this time. Saying that would have been a shot to our morale, and Mike was in no need of that. To make matters worse he had lost
his shoes during his swim and was now traipsing through the woods barefoot. Anyone who has been to the northwoods of Canada will realizes
how ridiculous this is.

As we struggled our way through the forest we
heard Mike yell up to us that he had spotted a dry
bag. Galen ran down to meet him and recognized
the bag as containing his sleeping bag. At this
point it was essential that we recover as much of
our lost gear as possible, so Galen elected himself
to make a ferry out to the eddy that held the dry
bag. We made sure he could get back to our side
of the river as it was a miracle we all ended up on
the same side in the first place. From above I
watched as Galen made a class IV ferry between
two seemingly killer falls. This all took quite some
time and we began to wish Ryan would show up as
we resumed the carry. After a bit more toiling with
the kayak sleds being towed by webbing slings
Ryan’s voice was heard ahead. he had somehow
found his kayak and half of his paddle which was
broken. This was fantastic news as there was one
point when I was the only person that was in
possession of a boat. The three of us carried the
boats for another kilometer of so before
determining that we could drop back to river level
and paddle once more. Ryan had walked most of
the distance at water level and saw no signs of
Mike’s kayak, but reported more large drops
riddled with holes.

All four of us were finally regrouped below the most sever rapids in the midst of one of the most visually impressive spots I have encountered on
a river. Steep mountain walls dropped to the river with the far side being nearly vertical in places. A sizeable creek tumbled into the Magpie just
a little upstream of us and set in a break in the mountains. Mist danced in this valley and the clouds swirled through the narrow gorge. Despite
our battered condition we all admired the scene and fantasized about returning to one day run that creek or at least take the time to explore it
more thoroughly. We now had a plan to make. It was late in the day and everyone was pretty worn out both physically and mentally. The three
of us with boats decided to paddle the class four we could see down to an area we picked on the map where the river widened and the gorge
opened up. A stretch full of sandbars could be seen on the topos and we set that as our goal. Even though Mike agreed to this we felt bad as
we paddled downstream while he was forced to make his shoeless march.

The rapids in this next section were much easier but remained big and clean. They were particularly enjoyable and although we were looking for
the lost boat we didn’t miss the chance to unwind and have some fun while running them. After what was probably two kilometers we realized it
must be torture for Mike to be hiking so we scoped out a campsite. A fine river left site was found up on an open sandbar. Ryan and Galen
started to set up camp and I nominated myself to paddle a kilometer downstream to the sandbars to give a look for the boat. Once there I
searched in vain for about half an hour but nothing showed itself. Even though I knew that the chances of finding the boat were slim I was
convinced the boat would be floating in each eddy I paddled through. Darkness was now not far away and I really wanted to be back to camp by
dark so I started to attain back upstream. The current was much steadier than I had thought and the effort it took to paddle back was great.
Then I reached a riffle it was impossible to paddle up so I made the decision to stash my boat on a grassy sandbar on river left and to walk to
kilometer back to the campsite.

I did find some wreckage from Mike’s swim. Amazingly, the insole from his
Laguna water shoe had washed up onto a rock. I grabbed this to give to him
as a sick sarcastic sort of joke. I also came across an ancient raft paddle,
possible from one of the first descents down the river back in the late
seventies or early eighties. Being down on paddles I figured it may prove
useful somehow. Just as complete darkness settled in I walked up to the fire
that was raging with the bad news that there was no boat to be found.
Mike had made his way down and the four of us were all together again.
The warmth of the fire was outstanding and the weather gods had graced us
with a dry period. Mike was in pretty tough shape. His feet were destroyed,
and he told us he thought he had ruptured his eardrum when he walked into
a stick. His ear was caked in blood and we cleaned him up with some iodine
to prevent infections. He was pretty happy with the extra clothes I had
decided to take along. My gray micro fleece and extra polypro pants didn’t
seem such a bad idea any more. Sitting around the fire we took some time
to recount what had happened and tell each other our personal account of
the events. This was good because we were still a little confused about the
whole thing having been separated for much of the time. A recap is in store
here to help clarify what went down. My perspective has already been
presented so I’ll try to convey what the others told me.

Ryan and Mike were about three hundred yards ahead of Galen and myself
when Ryan got out to scout the initial horizon line. He directed Mike to run
far left but Mike failed to drive hard enough to the left. He apparently
dropped into the edge of the monster hole and was surfed to the center of
the river. He claims to have hung in there for a while but realized he wasn’t
going to get out in his boat. He bailed and was underwater for a long time as
a series of holes followed. He recounted being driven to the bottom of the
river time and time again and loosing energy by the end of the rapid. He felt
that he was on his last leg when he dragged himself to shore, and admits
that he probably couldn’t have swam much more. After I ran the drop Galen
suffered the same fate as Mike as he was violently surfed to the middle of
the river and torn from his boat. Somehow the second hole surfed him back
left, allowing him to exit the river near where I was.

It was at this point that we saw Ryan get back into his boat and foolishly head downstream. He now admitted that this probably wasn’t the
brightest idea. Ryan recounted paddling into a huge hole that was such a big hit his paddle broke in half. He tried in vain to build speed with the
paddle halves as he dropped into the next hole where he was forced to swim after hand surfing for some time. Ryan was able to climb to a river
center rock only to have to jump back into the river and swim to shore. At this point Mike, Galen, and Ryan had all lost their boats. If things had
stayed this way I would have had to paddle the big water of the lower river by myself to go for help. Luckily, as Galen and I headed down to find
Mike Galen’s Outburst eddied out and Mike was able to swim out and retrieve it. As we portaged and Mike looked for his boat Goodrow was
walking down the river where he discovered his kayak in a river left eddy, another stroke of luck. The rest should have been clearly explained
before.

We also used this time to assess our situation and what
course of action we should take. We were missing Mike’s
kayak which contained all of his personal gear. The
group gear he lost included a tent, stove, fuel,
breakdown paddle, satellite phone, and his share of the
food. Galen lost his paddle, a dry bag, and all of his
fishing gear along with a bit of food. Ryan broke his
paddle and lost the majority off food that he was
carrying. Luckily I had lost nothing. We now had boats
and paddles for three people as I had another
breakdown paddle. Our only option for Mike was to get
him to Lac Magpie and have him wait their while we
paddled out and sent a plane back for him. If we had not
lost the satellite phone we could have called in our
coordinates and had him flown out with no wait. It was
gone though, and we were truly self supported once
again. Being self reliant is a good feeling, but it was a bit
intimidating now. When w had gathered information
about the trip Bob Gedekoh had warned us that there
was no way we could walk out of the Magpie. We sort of
dismissed this, but the flight in and looking at our current
position confirmed that the river was the only feasible way
to get back to civilization.

Walking would have taken who knows how long and we would have run out of food long before we made it anywhere useful. So the plan was
made. We would figure out a way to have Mike walk the ten kilometers left to the lake or float him out if it proved possible. Then we would have to
leave him there while paddled out. The exact details of this were left to be determined later, when the time came. After eating our feeble dinner
we headed off to sleep. Ryan and I had the one tent left and Mike and Galen slept in Galen’s bug tent. Although Mike had no sleeping bag he
was able to use Galen’s Bivy Bag to keep warm. We were still overwhelmed by the situation and in deal with it mode so nothing truly sank in yet.
While we were eating we passed jokes about the situation back and forth. Mike took it well and spirits weren’t bad considering. Still, a depressing
air hung over the scene and we were a pretty battered crew. We were so worn out that everyone quickly fell asleep that evening.

The next morning we rigged up a raft out of our boats that would be used to float Mike down to the lake. It was way beter than walking, but would
need to be broken down at even moderate rapids. Luckily, our maps showed few rapids remaining before the lake. Progress was steady but
there were still no signs of the missing boat. As we moved downstream a blue object appeared on the water. It was another dry bag from Galen’s
boat. I unhitched from the barge and paddled over only to find that it was pretty much empty except for a roll of toilet paper. While I was
separated I noticed the site of an old fishing camp and hopped out of the boat to explore it for anything useful. I did find an old frying pan
adorned with the tooth marks of a bear and grabbed so we had something to cook the potatoes. I regrouped but in a while we reached a horizon
and a ledge drop that required us to separate to run. While we ran the falls Mike walked around through the woods. The same process was
repeated just below at another class IV ledge which we ran on river right. As we reassembled the raft a cow Moose lazily looked across the river
at the happening. She didn’t seem very impressed to say the least. Within another kilometer or so a sharp horizon and a deep rumbling greeted
us. The river appeared to enter a canyon here and we were forced to de-raft to scout from river left.

After portaging the canyon with much effort and having a
quick Snickers break, we rafted up and carried on
downstream. The sight of the canyon pretty much erased
any realistic hoped we had of finding Mike’s boat, although
we didn’t entirely give up just yet.

Some easy class two brought us to the base of a massive
cliff face that must have been several hundred feet tall on
river left. Mike was certainly thankful of the rafted boats as
it would have taken a few hours for him just to walk around
this one section of cliffs. Around the next bend we found
ourselves in an arm of Lac Magpie. Mountains a thousand
feet tall surrounded the lake and sheer cliffs dropped
directly into the water. A fresh breeze blew over us and
the site was utterly glorious. We had survived the most
difficult part of the trip and were at a location were we
could get a plane to Mike. The Situation was farther
improved when we spotted a fishing cabin in the woods on
river right. It seemed to still be under construction but that
didn’t bother us much. We pried our way in the door and
found blankets and a variety of other things that could be
useful to Mike. I spotted a path behind the main building
and decided to see were it lead. In a few hundred yards it

ended on a beach on the lake from which I could see another fishing camp out on a sandy point. It shimmered like a mirage but appeared to be
much nicer than the place we were at now. Mike took a look and we agreed that that would be the place to leave him off. Before we made the
tow to the point which was about a klick away we decided to relax for a while and take a lunch break.

While we lounged for a while Mike hopped in the Outburst and paddled out into the lake in a last ditch effort to find his lost boat. There was no
such luck. Towing Mike to the point only took about twenty minutes. Arriving at the actual point was a little disenchanting. The luxury building we
envisioned turned out to be a decrepit and rotting fishing camp that appeared to be abandoned. The beach was a wreck from the ice and in a
state of disrepair. Quite a bit of scraps were strewn around everywhere. There was another shed made of logs that contained nothing useful.
The sites strongest features were its open location and easy visibility for planes and large sandy beach, not to mention a world class view of the
cliffs and mountains of northern Lake Magpie. There was also a bed in the cabin and an old jacket that Mike could also use to keep warm. All
said, it was actually pretty first rate.

By this time it had already been decided that the best
course of action would be for Mike to remain at the cabin
alone while Galen, Ryan, and I paddled out. Mike was in a
stable condition and we figured that nothing could really
happen to him if he stayed put at the beach here. On the
lower river it would be a big advantage to have three
paddlers in case there were additional problems. If
another boat were lost at least there would be no solo
paddling. Mike wholeheartedly agreed with the plan. We
quickly divided the remaining food. Mike figured we would
use more energy paddling so he offered to take just the
two packs of potatoes and a Snickers Bar or two. We left
him with the pan and loaded our boats up once again.
We clicked a couple of parting pictures of Mike and then
there was nothing left to do but leave. He wished us a
safe trip and begged that we be careful. Don’t forget that
him getting out depended on us making it out ok also.
Handshakes were exchanged and we were off. Forty five
kilometers of lake paddling lay in front of us and it was
only two o’clock or so, which left us plenty of time to make
some distance. The departure was unceremonious and
after five minutes of paddling the group was officially
separated.

   A point was selected on the opposite shore of the lake and we began our circumnavigation. The minute we left the shelter of the point with
Mike’s cabin we were slammed by a healthy headwind. Go figure. This was kicking up some chop and slowed our progress considerably, but
headway was made.    The openness of the lake was unique and refreshing, but judging distances was a little tricky. After about twenty minutes
of paddling the point we were headed for didn’t seem all that much closer. Although the flat water wasn’t exactly exciting the views were incredible
and the warm breeze had a refreshing effect. Occasionally a wave of icy water would break over the bow of the boat sending splashed of cold
water all over. Most of the paddling for the next hour was done in silence but we eventually reached the point of land we were aimed at. Once
there it was decided to hop out for a stretch break and to survey where to head from here. While munching some food on the point we were
treated to one of the mot spectacular sights of the whole trip. Tall mountains rose from the water on the far side of the lake with lush green on
the lower sloped giving way to a mottled gray at tree line. Warmed by the sun and psyched about the great weather we were quickly on the move
again.

This time our target was a point formed where the ridge of a
mountain extended to the lake. Our best guess placed it five
kilometers away and we agreed to take another float break
when we arrived. A fast pace was established. The most
efficient way to keep moving quickly was to Indian run. We
were able to draft each other by surfing the wake of the boat
in front. The lead paddler was switched every fifty strokes or
so by the rear paddler sprinting to the front of the line. Even
with the head wind we were able to reach our target in about
an hour, which is an admirable flat water pace. The float
break was alright but we decided to leisurely paddle across a
bay and stretch our legs again on the opposite side. Shortly
the west shore of the lake we were following became a cliff
dropping directly to the water which seemed as though it
would prevent us from leaving the boats for another five
kilometers. During the rest Mike’s situation was discussed
and we all felt pretty bad about having to leave him. Still, we
justified it by telling ourselves that there was nothing that
could happen to him there. We tried not to dwell on this
because we still felt the trip could be successful and
enjoyable.

Once the sun dipped behind the mountains for the last time the temperature dropped significantly. As dusk approached a distant point was
choose to be out final destination for the day. Landing at the point we saw a gorgeous sandy beach with many prime camp sites. As it turned out
we wouldn’t need to even set up the tents that night. A fishing cabin maintained by a local outfitter was situated here and the doors were all
unlocked. Inside were two bunk beds and we were able to string up a clothes line on the porch to dry out our paddling gear. This was classic, we
would sleep in style tonight. Goodrow started a fire on an expose part of the beach but the wind was so strong that it burned way to fast and hot to
be of much use. A more secluded spot was selected and a manageable blaze kindled as a full moon rose into the crystal clear night air. Lounging
around the fire we saw mini waves breaking on the lee side of the sandbar that were absolutely perfect in form. We daydreamed about being
miniaturized and surfing these waves as a dinner of cheese and pepperoni was enjoyed. The beds felt great that night and we slept well, knowing
that the next day would be long indeed.

The maps showed there was twenty kilometers of lake left to paddle and fifty five or sixty kilometers to cover on the river. Bob Gedekoh had told
us that the lower river could be covered in two days but we speculated that if we paddled all day mot of the fifty some miles could be covered. By
six thirty we were hurrying to get on the water so we would be off of the lake before the afternoon winds kicked up, which assumed would be
blowing in our faces. A compass bearing was made aiming us at Rocher something or other which lurked ten kilometers down the lake obscured
by a thick fog blanket. As we paddled away from the cabin a loon playfully dove around us and keckled its eerie call time and time again.

The lake continued to steadily narrow and the surrounding
mountains became less pronounced. The maps showed we
were not far from the start of the Magpie River and our
anticipation was a bit overwhelming. All of a sudden the
lake's waters were not smooth and placid. Odd currents
shifted laterally and boiling eddy like whirls were noted. The
lake was suddenly alive, a mess of wild and mysterious
currents like we had never before witnessed. We stopped for
a short lunchbreak at a river right outcrop. From this outcrop
our first view of the lower river was obtained.

Our maps showed the first ten miles of the lower Magpie to
contain numerous rapids. The gradient was much lower than
what we had experienced on the West Branch, but the
volume was also significantly higher. The lower Magpie River
is a wilderness run commercially rafted several times a year.
It is known for its fun and forgiving class III and IV rapids.
Today, in early June, the river looked to have a whole
different personality. The Magpie was two hundred or more
yards wide, and running at a bankfull level and carried what
we estimated to be at least twenty thousand cfs. With that
said, the first rapid looked absolutely enormous, but
appeared to be very runnable and looked like a hell of a lot
of fun.

The tension and nervous, anxiety laden excitement of heading down a largely unknown piece of whitewater replaced the foreboding, yet mentally
simple task of cruising a long piece of smooth lake.
Galen and I headed for the more forgiving river right line through the first class III-IV rapid, while Ryan broke left and headed for the largest looking
waves. Galen and I were both surprised by the power and size of the river features on our line. In stead of being shallow as we had supposed, the
water ran fast and deep, with waves building to four or five feet. From a small eddy we saw Goodrow smash into an eight foot breaking wave that
stopped and rolled him mercilessly. As he righted the boat he flashed us a wide eyed stare, obviously also impressed by the power of the river.
We all grouped up in the middle left part of the river and noticed that the rapids would probably not be truly pool drop as reported due to the high
water. Fast current motored us into the next set of rapids which proved to be larger than the first. This rapid contained waves easily ten feet tall
with big holes scattered throughout. This was the biggest volume and largest featured water I had ever experienced. The waves were truly huge
but surprisingly clean, and while many of the holes were massive their locations could be predicted fairly easily and avoided.

Our tiny group of three careened downstream at a breakneck pace. The ride could most accurately be described as a runaway train. I can
honestly not recount many of the individual rapids, but many individual sights or memories do stick in my mind. At one particular point we were in
the center and fast water was drawing us to what appeared to be a horizon line that would certainly house a nasty hole below it. However, upon
drawing closer it as revealed that the ramp dropped steeply, but friendly into a massive wave train, with monstrous walls of water easily reaching,
and some breaking, over our heads. My eleven foot Crossfire could easily be stood vertically in the trough of these waves and not be longer than
the waves were tall. Indeed this happened on several occasions. We were able to boat scout just about everything and we slowly became
accustomed to paddling the huge flow, realizing that we could stick to the sides of the largest wave trains until we were sure they were clean, then
heading to the meat of them for some fun.

I can distinctly recall trying to stay to the inside of turns where
the volume and current velocity was reduced. Although
limiting downstream vision this was proving to be quite
successful. About five or six kilometers into the lower river we
became strung out by a hundred yards or so each due to the
continuous nature of the rapids. Our team approached a right
turn and while Goodrow headed out left I stuck to my plan and
tucked in tight to the inside left shore. This proved to be
somewhat of a mistake as the rapid was significantly steeper
than some of those we had just run. Glancing left a glimpse of
Ryan pounding through massive waves was had as I realized
my line was somewhat shallow and studded with holes.
Narrowly missing the worse of these and crossing an incredible
eddy fence complete with whirlpools I eddied river left with
Ryan in one of the first large pools we had encountered in
some time. We were just in time to watch Galen’s run of the
pounding rapid. He entered left of center in the meat of the
waves, his Outburst barely visible in the midst of the turmoil.
Ryan and I knowingly shook our heads as he approached the
whirlpools on the eddy line next to us only to squirt his huge
boat and deeply brace to prevent a flip.

It was quickly becoming obvious that a swim would be a major problem on this river, perhaps even more so than during much of the trip on the
West Branch. The river’s extreme width would make swimming to shore very arduous and boat rescue nearly impossible.    Eddy fences and
whirlpools would suck even life jacketed swimmers to the bottom for an indefinite period of time. The higher water levels meant that the rapids
which were described to us as being separated by flat pools were now joined by sections of very fast water and even rapids that probably didn’t
exist at other times.

More continuous rapids followed until we reached an obviously steeper rapid that deserved a scout. We saw a long class IV+ rapid leading to a
horizon line with mist billowing up from below. The full portage would have been long and difficult due to the thick forest and cliffs so we carefully
paddled down to a small surging eddy near the top of the final drop. With much difficulty we lowered the loaded kayaks around this terminal
hydraulic that was perhaps two hundred yards wide. Having blindly run this huge rapid would have led us into the maw of this hole and there is a
high probability that the results would have been grim.

At a rest break stretching out felt real good, and we could all tell that fatigue was starting to set in. We had already been paddling for ten hours
today and covered over 45 kilometers, twenty of which were on a lake with a headwind. There were only twenty five or so kilometers left to the
ocean, and we felt we could at least continue on to Magpie Falls today. This would leave us with only ten kilometers to cover tomorrow.   Shortly
after heading out we reached one which featured an enormous center wave train with a few big holes mixed in. Most of rapids in this section were
big water class IV, the features simply being to large to call it class III even though the going wasn’t real difficult. This stretch was paddled in less
than an hour because the rapids were all boat scoutable. Often times we skirted the largest of the waves because they potentially hid downstream
holes.

The constant action of big water paddling was interrupted by a
horizon line at a sharp left turn. Our river left scout revealed a
mandatory portage around a ten foot drop where the Magpie
was funneled into the biggest hole yet encountered on the
river. The carry was mercifully easy on this side and required
only a short drag down a bedrock outcrop into a log infested
eddy. Below the falls the Magpie turned ninety degrees to the
right and led to a stretch with two more sets of rapids before a
considerable section of flatwater. The shadows were growing
longer and accordingly we wasted no time in moving along.

The first set was runnable, with one steeper drop containing a
ten foot breaking wave which Ryan briefly surfed. This was the
ultimate river wave, but we bolted off downstream bent on our
destination. Shortly after the wave an even steeper drop yet
was reached. Ryan headed over it but was briefly surfed,
prompting him to give us the stop sign, signaling to portage. I
was certain I saw a line but Galen was already on shore and
starting his carry, which was all the convincing I needed to not
run this and avoid a potential but kicking. We had covered a
phenomenal distance today and careless mistakes would not
help anyone's situation at this point.

Once on shore I binered the pink loop of webbing I had to the Crossfire’s bow loop and began what turned out to be the hardest carry of the trip. I
was soon reduced to using both hands in dragging the boat under and through thick vegetation, and over numerous fallen logs, while traversing a
forty degree sidehill slope. The woods were too thick for me to carry a paddle so I had to toss it in front of me and then retrieve it, repeating the
process for what seemed along time, but was actually probably only ten minutes. The way soon became blocked by a cliff face dropping directly
into the water. Thankfully I had dragged past the large hole and could reenter the river where I was. Getting back to river level involved lowering
the boat over a fifteen foot near vertical bank and tying it off as I climbed down around it. After a slight production everything was at water level,
but the eddy I was next to was surging violently and the upstream current same in pulses and drew fiercely into the hydraulic that had forced the
portage. To try to get back into the kayak in this eddy would have been next to impossible so I decided to drag it to the next eddy below. I
started this, but was forced to wade in the surging eddy because the shore was made of the cliff that had ended my portage in the first place. The
upstream eddy current was occasionally so strong that standing up was difficult, and holding on to the eighty pound kayak even harder. Then a
surge of water battered the boat, tipping it on its side and filling it with water. I was now clinging to the webbing tied to the half sunk boat full with
over three hundred pounds of water as the river tried to tear it from my hands and suck it into hole. Even though there was barely no footing I was
determined not to let go. There were moments when the eddy was calmer, due to the pulse of the river, when I could make downstream progress.
After quite a battle I had the kayak emptied of water and in the calmer eddy below. Thoroughly pissed and pretty tired out I paddled out to meet
Ryan and Galen who had watched the whole thing from several eddies below.

After only a short paddle another somewhat steeper rapid sent us heading for the river left shore to scout. Luckily, there were several lines to
chose from on river left and the section was paddled. Some more easier whitewater led to a ninety degree right hand turn and a four kilometer
section of flatwater. As we started the flatwater stretch a large Osprey circled over head. While this smooth stretch allowed some stress free
mileage to be made, it also allowed us to feel just how tired we had all become. After several kilometers a low rumbling could be heard and faint
traces of a horizon were recognized. The scene grew in detail and noise as we approached the mandatory portage, which, judging by the map,
looked as if it would be at least a kilometer long.

By the time we reached the head of the gorge it was seven or
so and dark, ominous looking storm clouds were building.
Distant rumbles of thunder were audible as Galen
disembarked from his boat at a point of land to look for a
portage route. The portage around the kilometer long gorge
went quick and easy. From below the Magpie could be seen
cascading between narrow rock walls, dropping over eighty
feet in many horrendous pitches. The evening air was
refreshingly cool and the storms had subsided. A full rainbow
greeted us, which is always a good sign. At low water some of
these drops are probably runnable, but what we saw was a
truly humbling cascade of raw power.

In ten minutes the horizon of Magpie Falls was visible, and a
deep thunderous roar grew in intensity. A cloud of mist filled
the air below, and we felt perched on the edge of the world as
we landed on river left where there was a bit of surveyors tape.
This flagging marked a freshly cut portage which we were
more than happy to utilize in our way around the falls. The
drag was relatively easy and we walked out onto the rocks at
the lip of the falls to take a better look.

In ten minutes the horizon of Magpie Falls was visible, and a deep thunderous roar grew in intensity. A cloud of mist filled the air below, and we
felt perched on the edge of the world as we landed on river left where there was a bit of surveyors tape. This flagging marked a freshly cut
portage which we were more than happy to utilize in our way around the falls. The drag was relatively easy and we walked out onto the rocks at
the lip of the falls to take a better look. The sight of over thirty thousand cfs thundering over the broken eighty foot ledge was humbling. The
rainbow that graced our presence had faded to a half arc, but still provided a truly spectacular backdrop to this scene. The sun was setting
somewhere behind the clouds off to the west highlighting the clouds with a yellowish orange hue. Although excited to get to the seaway, the sight
was to incredible to rush away from. This drop was the culmination of the Magpie’s final plunge from the Laurentide plateau into the Gulf of St.
Lawrence, and the power it generated could be felt. As eight o’clock rolled around we had yet another Snickers and continued the portage after
five more minutes of gaping at this wonder. The map showed only one more rapid so we decided to shoot for the mouth of the river before
darkness came in an hour or so.

The put-in was below a class V constriction below the falls. We had to battle some fierce whirlpools to escape the eddy and continue
downstream. The Magpie was now running narrow and deep in a trench-like gorge. In ten or fifteen more minutes another horizon was detected,
and to our dismay the deep rumble of a bad falls was heard again. Another portage was required and we started the river right drag on a faint
trail in a rather disheartened mode. Everyone was operating on autopilot, driven only by motivation to reach the end of the river. Energy levels
were low, but frustration were held back, which is surprising as it becomes exponentially easier to get angry at people when your exhausted,
dehydrated, and hungry. The drop we were carrying could be recognized as one pictured in photos from the internet. The drop in those pictures
was being run, but the photos depicted a river with water levels ten or fifteen feet lower. Despite this we hoped to be able to reenter the river
below the initial ledge which was creating another massive hydraulic.

Our hopes of putting in below the ledge were dashed away
when we saw the water that lay below. The velocity of the river
confined between the narrow canyon walls was scary and a
series of fifteen foot waves combined with gathering darkness
to force an extended portage that quickly became a bushwhack.
This placed us on a knob of land overlooking the very bottom
of the rapid. The best option now required another ten foot
lowering of the boats to a tiny flat ledge outcrop barely big
enough for one person and their boat. From here a ten foot
seal launch placed us, one by one, back into the river. Once in
the water a strong ferry to river left was necessary to avoid
being slammed into a building sized boulder or hole just to its
left by the high velocity current exiting the canyon above. The
rapidly gathering darkness made the move even more scary.
By the time Galen went first Ryan and I could just discern him in
the eddy a hundred yards away due to the darkness. I went
next and pulled hard to make the move, only realizing I had
cleared the rock and hole when I eddied out next to Galen. It
was now almost totally dark and we could hardly see Ryan as
he seal launched and started his move. In a few seconds he
eddied out next to us, reporting to have been stuffed in the hole
and violently surfed for a few seconds.

We knew we were close to the mouth now and relieved to see a light in the distance around the next bend in the river. However, we were very
confused by the sound of another falls below us. Night was now upon us and we had no visibility. We were sure we were within a kilometer of the
seaway and just couldn’t deal with this next obstacle which Ryan thought might be a dam. We pulled out on river left and decided to spend the
night on a rock ledge just above the falls and building with its bright light. The morning would reveal to us the best way to deal with this final
obstacle.

It was seven thirty by the time all of us had woke up the next morning, which dawned clear and sunny. The building turned out to be part of a
hydroelectric facility built on top of a final falls. From our campsite we could see the Route 138 bridge and realized we were only a few hundred
yards away from it. A short drag down a path and up a dirt road led to a fence which we were able to crawl under and throw the kayaks over. The
river portion of the trip was complete and the Magpie could be seen flowing out in the Gulf of Saint Lawrence beyond the tall highway bridge. We
stashed the boats off of the road and decided to walk along the road to the town of Magpie in hopes of hitching a ride back to Sept Iles. Luckily
we managed to stop a car and I hitched the 100 miles back to the town of Sept Iles.

Back at the float plane base La Pierre was amazed to see me. He couldn’t understand how I had got back so quickly. I explained to him the best I
could what happened and how Mike was stranded on Lac Magpie. He agreed to send a Beaver in that afternoon and to charge us for a Cessna
which amounted to only three dollars per mile. Mike’s rescue would only cost us about a hundred bucks each. La Pierre told me I didn’t need to
go with the pilot so I marked Mike’s position on the map and double checked that the pilot could find the spot. Part of me really wanted to take the
flight to see the scenery again, but I decided to go get the boats and round up Ryan and Galen. I was assured that Mike would be back before I
returned with the van.

When we pulled in La Pierre called Mike out.
Although it had only been two days since we left him
he was a sight for sore eyes. He was shoeless and
his feet, and a good deal of his body, was covered
in tar, which is another story altogether. We agreed
to head into town to get some cash so we could pay
for the rescue flight. After this we decided to get
some food and head straight home. There would be
no celebration in Quebec City as we had originally
planned. As we drove into town we started to swap
brief accounts of our separate experiences. Mike
was babbling something about a bear and we couldn’
t wait to hear the whole tale. At a shopping center
we withdrew some cash and made calls home, much
to our parent’s surprise.

Our stories of the lower river were kept to a minimum
as we were dying to hear about what happened to
Mike back at the abandoned fishing camp. For the
full account of what happened to Mike while he was
alone at the little wooden shack on Lake Magpie,
click here. Its unbelievable, but just isn't the kind of
person that would make up a story like this.

We all disbanded so quickly after our return that we didn’t really get a chance to discuss the trip as a group in any depth beyond replaying what
happened and retelling the most dramatic parts of the story many times. Since that June a day hasn’t passed when I haven’t thought about
those days in Quebec. This deep reflection and several conversations about what went down had allowed me to make many conclusion about
the adventure.

The Outing Club van loaded up with our boats sits in front of the float plane base on Lac
Rapide, Quebec in early June.

Mike sorting through some of the ten days worth of
gear that would go into our whitewater kayaks.

Ryan helps one of our pilots load the Otter that would fly us into the remote upper reaches of the West Branch
of the Magpie River.

On the flight in it became clear that summer had not yet arrived in northern Quebec. It was discouraging to
learn that the lake we had selected to land on was still skimmed with ice.

The pilots dropped us off on a small sandbar that would make a great campsite for the first night out in the
bush. Here Ryan holds the plane while we unload boats.

At the put in rounded hills were tall enough to extend above treeline, giving the area a
rugged sub arctic feel.

High water made for big rapids. Even the first drop of the trip, an easy class III, produced some eight
foot waves and surging eddy lines.

Ryan running a strong class IV+ in the first mini canyon of the trip. Shortly downstream the river
plunged over a wide and uniform hydraulic.

The run out of the first gorge was pushy, but would seem small when compared to what
would be encountered later in the trip.

Mike McDonnell skirts an enormous hole near the top of the steep section of river that we encountered on
day one. A short portage around a terminal drop started from the eddy the picture was taken in.

Dwarfed by the scale of a rapid on the West Branch of the Magpie, Mike (circled in red) makes his way
into a big drop. The pour overs in the bottom tide side of the picture were the size of small houses.

After fighting through big and powerful class V for many hours, we enjoyed
a long class III-IV section of rapids before making camp at the end of the
first day.

Before leaving Mike behind on Magpie Lake we decided to take a picture of the raft system we used
to float him out of the mellower lower reaches of the Magpie's West Branch.

Here Mike explores one of the two cabins that he would be calling home for the next two nights
while we paddled out for help.

Here I am enjoying a rare rest on Magpie Lake while checking our position on a map. The long
lake crossing involved thirty miles of flatwater paddling. Luckily the scenery was outstanding.

Ryan and I paddle into a sandy beach at the end of the third day of the expedition.

At this nearly flooded level the lower Magpie contained nearly continuous big class IV-IV+white
water interspersed with even bigger class V drops. The river here is several hundred yards wide.

A thin line existed on river left, but the consequences of going into this hole were such that no
one elected to run the marginal drop.

Although most of the lower river was runnable, it was important to stay alert for hazards like
this riverwide ledge that forced a portage.

At the flows we saw the final gorge above Magpie Falls was an unrunnable flush of some of
the biggest water imaginable. This picture does the river no justice.

A self portrait of Galen Webster that he took while looking for a portage around this
monstrous gorge.

Our team reached hundred foot Magpie Falls near sunset after paddling over fifty miles in a single
day. The Gulf of Saint Lawrence lay only a few short miles downstream.