| STAGE ONE - Dublin, NH to Umiujaq, Quebec |
After a long week of late nights, shopping trips, and packing,
Eric and I left Dublin a few hours before noon to begin the first
stage of the Northern Ungava Canoe Expedition. The drive
took two full days and carried us roughly one thousand miles
due north. My truck was loaded with provisions and spare fuel
for the long stretches of desolate road that typify northern
Canada.
Shortly after crossing the border in northern Vermont we
passed through Montreal and marveled at the fact that this
was the last major metropolitan area that we would be seeing
for the next few months. Once you travel much north of
Montreal the vast majority of Quebec is uninhabited
wilderness. For the last several hundred years many great
expeditions have started from Montreal. In fact, the city was
the staging area for voyageurs, who canoed thousands of
miles across North America in search of furs. To us, it felt
appropriate to begin our epic journey in the historic place.
The road north of Montreal lead through the densely forested
Laurentian Hills. High humidity and heat made driving with the
windows down pleasant, and both of us enjoyed this bit of
summer before heading north to the unknown. By evening we
had entered the boreal forest. Fir trees and young birch were
the primary vegetation here, and the landscape was very
similar to that which comprises much of the terrain I have
canoed through on past expeditions. The desolate roads
made finding a place to stay for the night as simple as driving
down any unmarked dirt track and pitching a tent.
Eric and I left Dublin a few hours before noon to begin the first
stage of the Northern Ungava Canoe Expedition. The drive
took two full days and carried us roughly one thousand miles
due north. My truck was loaded with provisions and spare fuel
for the long stretches of desolate road that typify northern
Canada.
Shortly after crossing the border in northern Vermont we
passed through Montreal and marveled at the fact that this
was the last major metropolitan area that we would be seeing
for the next few months. Once you travel much north of
Montreal the vast majority of Quebec is uninhabited
wilderness. For the last several hundred years many great
expeditions have started from Montreal. In fact, the city was
the staging area for voyageurs, who canoed thousands of
miles across North America in search of furs. To us, it felt
appropriate to begin our epic journey in the historic place.
The road north of Montreal lead through the densely forested
Laurentian Hills. High humidity and heat made driving with the
windows down pleasant, and both of us enjoyed this bit of
summer before heading north to the unknown. By evening we
had entered the boreal forest. Fir trees and young birch were
the primary vegetation here, and the landscape was very
similar to that which comprises much of the terrain I have
canoed through on past expeditions. The desolate roads
made finding a place to stay for the night as simple as driving
down any unmarked dirt track and pitching a tent.
The next morning we continued driving, passing through the mining town that is Val D’Or and heading north to Metagami. Once prosperous from the work brought
in by massive hydroelectric projects in the region, the only thing allowing the village to survive is its strategic location at the southern end of the James Bay
Highway. All travelers heading north are forced to make a stop here for gasoline and to check themselves in to wilderness road.
After the check in station at Matagami the road changes and frost heaves become more prevalent. The trees turn to spruce and become steadily more stunted.
Good time was made under the mostly sunny skies. The easy driving conditions and complete lack of traffic made proceeding at a steady seventy miles an hour
on this two lane road acceptable. Few people have ever experienced a more desolate stretch of pavement. In four hundred miles the route passes a single gas
station and no other permanent settlements. Although the road is patrolled by provincial police, having a spare tire and some basic safety gear in your vehicle is
essential.
in by massive hydroelectric projects in the region, the only thing allowing the village to survive is its strategic location at the southern end of the James Bay
Highway. All travelers heading north are forced to make a stop here for gasoline and to check themselves in to wilderness road.
After the check in station at Matagami the road changes and frost heaves become more prevalent. The trees turn to spruce and become steadily more stunted.
Good time was made under the mostly sunny skies. The easy driving conditions and complete lack of traffic made proceeding at a steady seventy miles an hour
on this two lane road acceptable. Few people have ever experienced a more desolate stretch of pavement. In four hundred miles the route passes a single gas
station and no other permanent settlements. Although the road is patrolled by provincial police, having a spare tire and some basic safety gear in your vehicle is
essential.
After three hours we reached the spectacular falls at the Rupert River
and the water level seemed a little low for this time of the year.
Unfortunately, the Rupert is slated to be dammed by Hydro Quebec in
the next few years. The Cree’s capitulated and sold their aboriginal
rights to the waterway for a cash settlement. Mixed feelings in the
various native communities abound and rightfully so. The dam project
will divert nearly all of the mighty river’s water into a completely
different drainage. The result will be over three hundred miles of
dewatered river. The impacts of drying up a river the size of the
Rupert extend far beyond the loss of the mighty waterfalls we gazed
on from the road this afternoon.
For the last 6 hours we have been driving through one of the largest
intact forest ecosystems remaining in the world. The taiga, or boreal
forest, is a low diversity forest wrapping around the entire globe in
northern landscapes. In Quebec, the black spruce is ubiquitous.
Rivers are lined with alders and dense mats of moss blanket the
ground. Moose are common as are black bears, marten, lynx, fox,
and a host of other mammals. Snowfall is abundant and the frigid
winters are broken by short, but often hot and wet summers. The
protective trees of the taiga are familiar territory to many canoe
trippers, myself included, but we would soon be leaving behind this
comfortable land of abundance. The vast majority of our trip would be
taking place north of the treeline, in the barren grounds of Quebec.
Eventually the road brought us to the La Grande airport, where it was
confirmed that we could load up our gear at seven in the morning.
From here it was a mere twenty kilometers to the town of Radisson.
There is little to see in town and less to do, but our final pre trip meal
of cheeseburgers and poutine was fantastic. For the vast majority of
people visiting the northern parts of Quebec, Radisson is their most
remote destination. Anglers and sportsmen may occasionally venture
beyond this wayside at the end of the road, but for most, this place
represents the limit of isolation and wilderness. For Eric and myself
this was almost the beginning. A few hundred miles still separated us
from the true start of our journey. It would still be quite some time
before I realized the full extent of the isolation that we would be
experiencing.
and the water level seemed a little low for this time of the year.
Unfortunately, the Rupert is slated to be dammed by Hydro Quebec in
the next few years. The Cree’s capitulated and sold their aboriginal
rights to the waterway for a cash settlement. Mixed feelings in the
various native communities abound and rightfully so. The dam project
will divert nearly all of the mighty river’s water into a completely
different drainage. The result will be over three hundred miles of
dewatered river. The impacts of drying up a river the size of the
Rupert extend far beyond the loss of the mighty waterfalls we gazed
on from the road this afternoon.
For the last 6 hours we have been driving through one of the largest
intact forest ecosystems remaining in the world. The taiga, or boreal
forest, is a low diversity forest wrapping around the entire globe in
northern landscapes. In Quebec, the black spruce is ubiquitous.
Rivers are lined with alders and dense mats of moss blanket the
ground. Moose are common as are black bears, marten, lynx, fox,
and a host of other mammals. Snowfall is abundant and the frigid
winters are broken by short, but often hot and wet summers. The
protective trees of the taiga are familiar territory to many canoe
trippers, myself included, but we would soon be leaving behind this
comfortable land of abundance. The vast majority of our trip would be
taking place north of the treeline, in the barren grounds of Quebec.
Eventually the road brought us to the La Grande airport, where it was
confirmed that we could load up our gear at seven in the morning.
From here it was a mere twenty kilometers to the town of Radisson.
There is little to see in town and less to do, but our final pre trip meal
of cheeseburgers and poutine was fantastic. For the vast majority of
people visiting the northern parts of Quebec, Radisson is their most
remote destination. Anglers and sportsmen may occasionally venture
beyond this wayside at the end of the road, but for most, this place
represents the limit of isolation and wilderness. For Eric and myself
this was almost the beginning. A few hundred miles still separated us
from the true start of our journey. It would still be quite some time
before I realized the full extent of the isolation that we would be
experiencing.
We showed up at the La Grande airport cargo center by 8:00 am and were greeted by some helpful people. The gear was weighed and tagged in
preparation for the cargo flight to Umiuaq and the cost of shipping it came to $450 Canadian, not a bad deal. The charge was per kilogram as expected.
However, despite previous information, the attendant informed us that canoes usually have to pay by volume as well as weight. Since this would have
driven the cost of shipping our boat into the thousands of dollars the head of cargo was waving that fee. It’s always been a mystery to me how in the north
fees like that just get waved, but we weren’t about to question anything that kept travel costs down.
Although we were flying to Umiujaq today, no one was sure about exactly when the cargo flight would arrive for us. This is quite typical and even though
hearing this was not shocking, I couldn’t help but be alarmed. We would just have to be patient on this count. When planning the trip we were told that one
cargo flight per week went to Umiujaq, but that if there was enough material to ship sometimes two would go. The guys here said that maybe the boat would
show up tomorrow or the day after, but that it all really depended on the weather as well as the volume of shipping. If a heavy fog blew in off of Hudson Bay
it could shut down flights for a week or more. The question of when we would see our gear again would continue to plague us.
preparation for the cargo flight to Umiuaq and the cost of shipping it came to $450 Canadian, not a bad deal. The charge was per kilogram as expected.
However, despite previous information, the attendant informed us that canoes usually have to pay by volume as well as weight. Since this would have
driven the cost of shipping our boat into the thousands of dollars the head of cargo was waving that fee. It’s always been a mystery to me how in the north
fees like that just get waved, but we weren’t about to question anything that kept travel costs down.
Although we were flying to Umiujaq today, no one was sure about exactly when the cargo flight would arrive for us. This is quite typical and even though
hearing this was not shocking, I couldn’t help but be alarmed. We would just have to be patient on this count. When planning the trip we were told that one
cargo flight per week went to Umiujaq, but that if there was enough material to ship sometimes two would go. The guys here said that maybe the boat would
show up tomorrow or the day after, but that it all really depended on the weather as well as the volume of shipping. If a heavy fog blew in off of Hudson Bay
it could shut down flights for a week or more. The question of when we would see our gear again would continue to plague us.
After the weather delay the flight to Kuujuarapik was smooth and enjoyable. Landing in a storm of sleet and freezing winds was a bit of surprise, but that
was just the beginning of the excitement. To our dismay, but not shock, La Grande had failed to communicate our delay to Kuujuarapik, and the connection
to Umiujaq had left without us. Luckily, after a few phone calls were made, it was set so that the plane we came in on would reroute and drop us off in
Umiujaq before heading out to the Belcher Islands in the middle of Hudson Bay. The laid back approach to everything in the north can be infuriated, but it
often works to one’s advantage as well. To the schedule oriented southerner this informal and relaxed way of running things seems very unprofessional
and disorganized, but it stems largely from a culture were time is irrelevant. To the traditional Inuit time is simple not an issue. There is never a rush and in
most cases what can and can not be accomplished is likely to be determined by some uncontrollable factor such as the weather. A true northerner puts little
faith in schedules and learns to go with the flow. I would love to think I have learned a lot from this attitude, but the truth is that I will never grow fully
accustomed to this “northern time”.
was just the beginning of the excitement. To our dismay, but not shock, La Grande had failed to communicate our delay to Kuujuarapik, and the connection
to Umiujaq had left without us. Luckily, after a few phone calls were made, it was set so that the plane we came in on would reroute and drop us off in
Umiujaq before heading out to the Belcher Islands in the middle of Hudson Bay. The laid back approach to everything in the north can be infuriated, but it
often works to one’s advantage as well. To the schedule oriented southerner this informal and relaxed way of running things seems very unprofessional
and disorganized, but it stems largely from a culture were time is irrelevant. To the traditional Inuit time is simple not an issue. There is never a rush and in
most cases what can and can not be accomplished is likely to be determined by some uncontrollable factor such as the weather. A true northerner puts little
faith in schedules and learns to go with the flow. I would love to think I have learned a lot from this attitude, but the truth is that I will never grow fully
accustomed to this “northern time”.
The flight up to Umiujaq was nice. Mostly clear skies allowed us to see the pans of sea ice that were still floating around in Hudson Bay. I
was relived to see that the channel inside of the barrier Nastapoka Islands was clear enough to paddle. As early as ten years ago ice on
Hudson Bay would not go out until the first few weeks of July. However, global climate change has pushed back this date to the middle of
June. On debarking the copilot looked at us, gave a sarcastic smile as if to say “what in the hell are you guys doing here?” and uttered the
word “Umiujaq”.
The Umiujaq airport is small and tended by one guy that didn’t say very much at all. The landscape here is truly barren and stark. Tundra
extends in all directions away from the ocean with only low growth and a few clumps of severely stunted trees. Ice floated out on the bay and
a chilly north breeze greeted us. Thankfully it was not raining and sleeting like it had been only a hundred miles to the south. Eric and I
grabbed our things as they were tossed into the building and made our way down towards the water. The airport was located up on a hill
about a kilometer from the ocean and the walking involved moving around clumps of bushes and hummocks. A suitable tent site was found
that placed us a kilometer from the airstrip and a kilometer from town. This was close enough to let us conduct our business, but far enough
away so that we could remain unobtrusive. The trip would start with a portage from the airport to the water, but the practice would be nice
and the walk was all downhill.
was relived to see that the channel inside of the barrier Nastapoka Islands was clear enough to paddle. As early as ten years ago ice on
Hudson Bay would not go out until the first few weeks of July. However, global climate change has pushed back this date to the middle of
June. On debarking the copilot looked at us, gave a sarcastic smile as if to say “what in the hell are you guys doing here?” and uttered the
word “Umiujaq”.
The Umiujaq airport is small and tended by one guy that didn’t say very much at all. The landscape here is truly barren and stark. Tundra
extends in all directions away from the ocean with only low growth and a few clumps of severely stunted trees. Ice floated out on the bay and
a chilly north breeze greeted us. Thankfully it was not raining and sleeting like it had been only a hundred miles to the south. Eric and I
grabbed our things as they were tossed into the building and made our way down towards the water. The airport was located up on a hill
about a kilometer from the ocean and the walking involved moving around clumps of bushes and hummocks. A suitable tent site was found
that placed us a kilometer from the airstrip and a kilometer from town. This was close enough to let us conduct our business, but far enough
away so that we could remain unobtrusive. The trip would start with a portage from the airport to the water, but the practice would be nice
and the walk was all downhill.
Umiujaq, with its population of 390 people, is one of the smallest Inuit villages. Although the site was a traditional gathering place for Inuit, it was
not developed as a community until 1986. Most of Umiujaq’s residents formerly inhabited Kuujuarapik, but a term negotiated into the 1975 James
Bay and Northern Quebec Agreement, required the Canadian government to help create a community that provided access to excellent hunting
and fishing. The natives selected the site for Umiujaq because of the opportunities it provided for the them to maintain their rich culture. The
name Umiujaq comes from a prominent hill behind the town that resembles an Umiujaq, which is a traditional Inuit walrus skin boat primarily used by
women.
not developed as a community until 1986. Most of Umiujaq’s residents formerly inhabited Kuujuarapik, but a term negotiated into the 1975 James
Bay and Northern Quebec Agreement, required the Canadian government to help create a community that provided access to excellent hunting
and fishing. The natives selected the site for Umiujaq because of the opportunities it provided for the them to maintain their rich culture. The
name Umiujaq comes from a prominent hill behind the town that resembles an Umiujaq, which is a traditional Inuit walrus skin boat primarily used by
women.
Eric Nemitz waking up after our first night's camp on the road north.
Brad Bassi points to a road sign on the James Bay Highway. Looks like 600 km to Radisson.
A large rapid on the Rupert River. The Rupert, slated to be dammed by Hydro Quebec,
could be dewatered by the year 2010. Many rivers of the north are threatened by such
projects.
could be dewatered by the year 2010. Many rivers of the north are threatened by such
projects.
The security isn't so tight at the La Grande airport. Notice the thick fog that delayed our flight by several hours. In the north expect to wait for the
weather.
weather.
Eric contemplates the wide open spaces of Ungava. We waited at this camp for a full day before the rest of our gear arrived on a separate flight.
When you are stuck in Umiuaq the only thing to do is ride an ice berg. We were not surprised to find ice floating in Hudson Bay despite the June 20th
date.
date.
| To learn more about Umiujaq and Nunavik click the link for the Nunavik Tourism website. |
