| STAGE TWO - Umiujaq to Lake Minto |
After many delays our gear arrived in Umiujaq a day after us and
the hundreds of pounds of equipment were carried down to the
water. After organizing everything we decided to wait until the
morning to begin paddling up the coast.
When we woke up at 5:00 am to no wind and a calm Hudson Bay
we eagerly packed up and headed down to the beach. Even
though only a small swell was coming in, launching the heavily
loaded boat was a tough process. One of the most common
questions that people asked before the trip was how we were
going to fit all of our gear into the canoe. Well, we were asking
ourselves that exact same question at 6:30 this morning just
before piling a massive dry bag of dinner food on top of everything
else and paddling into the waves. That was just the start of what
would turn out to be a long, diverse, and memorable day.
The first day of traveling brought every possible emotion with it.
Paddling for three hours in the morning on a glassy Hudson Bay
while dodging chunks of sea ice was euphoric. The sun turned the
undersides of the miniature icebergs a turquoise blue. At times ice
floes forced us pretty far away from the shore, but that actually
tended to put us into an outgoing current that accelerated forward
progress. A few curious seals checked us out and we made
amazing time with the helping current. Clouds were still off to the
north and the air was made frigid by the icy water. Tipping the
canoe was clearly not an option. At times we were probably half a
kilometer offshore, much too far away to save ourselves from the
near freezing water if we were to fall in. Paddling around sea ice
while wearing a winter hat on the first day of summer was quite the
experience. This was without a doubt the most spectacular start to
a trip that I have ever had.
the hundreds of pounds of equipment were carried down to the
water. After organizing everything we decided to wait until the
morning to begin paddling up the coast.
When we woke up at 5:00 am to no wind and a calm Hudson Bay
we eagerly packed up and headed down to the beach. Even
though only a small swell was coming in, launching the heavily
loaded boat was a tough process. One of the most common
questions that people asked before the trip was how we were
going to fit all of our gear into the canoe. Well, we were asking
ourselves that exact same question at 6:30 this morning just
before piling a massive dry bag of dinner food on top of everything
else and paddling into the waves. That was just the start of what
would turn out to be a long, diverse, and memorable day.
The first day of traveling brought every possible emotion with it.
Paddling for three hours in the morning on a glassy Hudson Bay
while dodging chunks of sea ice was euphoric. The sun turned the
undersides of the miniature icebergs a turquoise blue. At times ice
floes forced us pretty far away from the shore, but that actually
tended to put us into an outgoing current that accelerated forward
progress. A few curious seals checked us out and we made
amazing time with the helping current. Clouds were still off to the
north and the air was made frigid by the icy water. Tipping the
canoe was clearly not an option. At times we were probably half a
kilometer offshore, much too far away to save ourselves from the
near freezing water if we were to fall in. Paddling around sea ice
while wearing a winter hat on the first day of summer was quite the
experience. This was without a doubt the most spectacular start to
a trip that I have ever had.
Eventually a point was rounded and we paddled up towards Nastapoka Falls. The massive waterfall could be seen dropping into a deep canyon that
led out to tidewater. The sight of the huge Nastapoka River dropping a hundred feet directly into the ocean through such a barren and rugged
landscape was awe inspiring. Also awe inspiring was the absolute downpour that was slamming into us. In addition to being a spectacular sight, the
falls was also a spectacular physical barrier to our progress. Our route was taking us up the Nastapoka River, and the only was past the falls was a
steep portage.
Once the portaging started the trip suddenly seemed like the worse idea ever. In the pouring rain we unloaded the canoe and fought our way
through a thicket of ten foot tall alders to the base of the thirty degree slope up which each eighty to one hundred pound gear bag was manhandled.
Eric did a tremendous job, but I was gasping for breath and half delirious after two trips. At times I literally felt as though I would vomit from the strain.
Water poured from the alders as you crashed through them and the rain was relentless. Still, everything was at the top of the falls by six thirty and
the decision to camp here for the night was made.
There was a lull in the rain so the tent was set up and staked out quickly, ensuring a dry place to sleep. Since there was no easy way to get down to
the river next to our campsite, we had to walk a few hundred yards upstream to get water for dinner. By the time we returned to cook another wind
driven downpour could be seen rolling in from out on the bay. Sure enough, the tempest hit and forced us to cook and eat hunkered under the
upside down canoe. While stuffed under there eating Macaroni and Cheese, soaking wet and cold, I was thinking that these are the moments that
set trips like this aside from others.
led out to tidewater. The sight of the huge Nastapoka River dropping a hundred feet directly into the ocean through such a barren and rugged
landscape was awe inspiring. Also awe inspiring was the absolute downpour that was slamming into us. In addition to being a spectacular sight, the
falls was also a spectacular physical barrier to our progress. Our route was taking us up the Nastapoka River, and the only was past the falls was a
steep portage.
Once the portaging started the trip suddenly seemed like the worse idea ever. In the pouring rain we unloaded the canoe and fought our way
through a thicket of ten foot tall alders to the base of the thirty degree slope up which each eighty to one hundred pound gear bag was manhandled.
Eric did a tremendous job, but I was gasping for breath and half delirious after two trips. At times I literally felt as though I would vomit from the strain.
Water poured from the alders as you crashed through them and the rain was relentless. Still, everything was at the top of the falls by six thirty and
the decision to camp here for the night was made.
There was a lull in the rain so the tent was set up and staked out quickly, ensuring a dry place to sleep. Since there was no easy way to get down to
the river next to our campsite, we had to walk a few hundred yards upstream to get water for dinner. By the time we returned to cook another wind
driven downpour could be seen rolling in from out on the bay. Sure enough, the tempest hit and forced us to cook and eat hunkered under the
upside down canoe. While stuffed under there eating Macaroni and Cheese, soaking wet and cold, I was thinking that these are the moments that
set trips like this aside from others.
Our second day out was the kind of day that keeps other people
away from the Ungava Peninsula. A fierce tailwind helped push us
upstream against a strong current as we paddled into a deep
canyon. The going was fine until the current accelerated and a class
I rapid greeted us. The scenery was particularly dramatic now.
Snow clung to the barren mountain sides in many places and where
cliffs did not plummet directly into the river the steep hillsides were
covered by thick alders. These nearly impenetrable tangles of
vegetation would make portaging miserable. By lunchtime the river
grew tougher and we had to line the canoe in places. Making
progress upstream became difficult and tedious with lots of energy
expended to move very little distance. The fog shrouded hills rising
hundreds of feet above us added to our sense of confinement.
The weather seemed to be even colder and more ferocious than it
was in the morning with the precipitation shifting between cold rain
and sleet. These conditions, combined with the soaking wet gear we
were forced to put on in the morning, made each of us miserably
cold at times. However, as long as we continued to work it was easy
to stay warm. In fact, I was able to adequately dry out my under
layers just from the body heat generated by the hard paddling and
lining. The trouble was that stopping was dangerous. Within
minutes of resting, a cold wetness crept in and chilled us to the
bone.
away from the Ungava Peninsula. A fierce tailwind helped push us
upstream against a strong current as we paddled into a deep
canyon. The going was fine until the current accelerated and a class
I rapid greeted us. The scenery was particularly dramatic now.
Snow clung to the barren mountain sides in many places and where
cliffs did not plummet directly into the river the steep hillsides were
covered by thick alders. These nearly impenetrable tangles of
vegetation would make portaging miserable. By lunchtime the river
grew tougher and we had to line the canoe in places. Making
progress upstream became difficult and tedious with lots of energy
expended to move very little distance. The fog shrouded hills rising
hundreds of feet above us added to our sense of confinement.
The weather seemed to be even colder and more ferocious than it
was in the morning with the precipitation shifting between cold rain
and sleet. These conditions, combined with the soaking wet gear we
were forced to put on in the morning, made each of us miserably
cold at times. However, as long as we continued to work it was easy
to stay warm. In fact, I was able to adequately dry out my under
layers just from the body heat generated by the hard paddling and
lining. The trouble was that stopping was dangerous. Within
minutes of resting, a cold wetness crept in and chilled us to the
bone.
We eventually came to a class II rapid with no way around it. The Nastapoka ran
deep and was tremendously powerful. After trying to attain the rapid by paddling
several times we regrouped and assessed our options. The river right shoreline
was a steep, nearly vertical slope of wet granite rising fifteen or twenty feet directly
out of the water to a small ledge that lead out of sight around a turn in the rock
wall. It looked like it may be possible to climb to the ledge and potentially line the
outfit around the rapid. Still, the move would have been sketchy at best with any
fall leading to submersion in the cold water. Even if the route proved viable we
didn’t know what lay farther upstream. The maps indicated that the canyon would
only grow deeper and narrower, not a good sign. From our vantage point river left
looked even more cliffed out than our side. Farther upstream progress at river
level appeared to be impossible without taking unnecessary risks.
Lots of options were tossed around, but after much debate it was agreed to
portage out of the canyon at the nearest viable location and carry our outfit three
kilometers north to the Richard River. My friends Troy Gipps and Jim Niedbalski
had ascended this stream back in 1996 while doing their own Ungava crossing
and at least we knew that their route had not been at the bottom of a canyon.
The portage involved carrying our gear up the three hundred foot tall wall of the
gorge in four trips. The loads were disastrously heavy, but our NRS Paragon
Packs handled the strain remarkably well. In all, the portage lasted for two days.
By the time we reached the Richard River Eric and I were thrilled to see a stream
deep enough to float the canoe. During the carry we experienced nearly
continuous sleet and snow with daily high temperatures not rising above the mid
thirties.
deep and was tremendously powerful. After trying to attain the rapid by paddling
several times we regrouped and assessed our options. The river right shoreline
was a steep, nearly vertical slope of wet granite rising fifteen or twenty feet directly
out of the water to a small ledge that lead out of sight around a turn in the rock
wall. It looked like it may be possible to climb to the ledge and potentially line the
outfit around the rapid. Still, the move would have been sketchy at best with any
fall leading to submersion in the cold water. Even if the route proved viable we
didn’t know what lay farther upstream. The maps indicated that the canyon would
only grow deeper and narrower, not a good sign. From our vantage point river left
looked even more cliffed out than our side. Farther upstream progress at river
level appeared to be impossible without taking unnecessary risks.
Lots of options were tossed around, but after much debate it was agreed to
portage out of the canyon at the nearest viable location and carry our outfit three
kilometers north to the Richard River. My friends Troy Gipps and Jim Niedbalski
had ascended this stream back in 1996 while doing their own Ungava crossing
and at least we knew that their route had not been at the bottom of a canyon.
The portage involved carrying our gear up the three hundred foot tall wall of the
gorge in four trips. The loads were disastrously heavy, but our NRS Paragon
Packs handled the strain remarkably well. In all, the portage lasted for two days.
By the time we reached the Richard River Eric and I were thrilled to see a stream
deep enough to float the canoe. During the carry we experienced nearly
continuous sleet and snow with daily high temperatures not rising above the mid
thirties.
Working up the Richard River was an exercise in
perseverance combined with physical and mental toughness.
Three days of rain and snow kept us cold and soaked. Each
morning we put on frozen gear and spent the day wading in
knee to waist deep water while lining and dragging our canoe
up the shallow stream.
The great thing about the weather in Ungava is that it always
changes, and by the time we reached the top of the Richard
sun broke through and allowed us to dry our gear and take
in the spectacular views. The end of the storm caused our
spirits to soar and motivated us to continue on the trip with
renewed vigor.
perseverance combined with physical and mental toughness.
Three days of rain and snow kept us cold and soaked. Each
morning we put on frozen gear and spent the day wading in
knee to waist deep water while lining and dragging our canoe
up the shallow stream.
The great thing about the weather in Ungava is that it always
changes, and by the time we reached the top of the Richard
sun broke through and allowed us to dry our gear and take
in the spectacular views. The end of the storm caused our
spirits to soar and motivated us to continue on the trip with
renewed vigor.
The next four days involved traveling through a series of lakes and ponds that were linked together with portages varying between a hundred
meters and two kilometers. As we moved inland away from the icy influence of Hudson Bay small stunted trees appeared in isolated clumps
and the weather continued to warm. Rugged terrain dominated this area and made for dramatic scenery. Although each day brought a bit of
rain, the overall conditions were quite excellent. Eric and I were now in a routine and the tripping became fluid and stress free.
When the wind stopped insects attacked us in indescribable hordes. Without our bug shirts and headnets dealing with these pests would have
been nearly impossible. It is no wonder that the Inuit choose to spend their summers near the coast where flies and mosquitoes are seldom
seen. Luckily a strong breeze blew most of the time and the majority of each day’s travel was relatively bug free.
Signs of the Leaf River caribou herd’s eight hundred thousand head of animals were numerous throughout this stretch. The caribou had
migrated through here in April on their way north to the calving grounds. Their trails were everywhere, and in most cases we used these
rough paths while portaging. Hopefully we would run into some of these caribou farther on in our trip when the beasts began to migrate back
south. While shedded antlers and the occasional carcass were interesting, seeing the actual animals would be much more exciting.
meters and two kilometers. As we moved inland away from the icy influence of Hudson Bay small stunted trees appeared in isolated clumps
and the weather continued to warm. Rugged terrain dominated this area and made for dramatic scenery. Although each day brought a bit of
rain, the overall conditions were quite excellent. Eric and I were now in a routine and the tripping became fluid and stress free.
When the wind stopped insects attacked us in indescribable hordes. Without our bug shirts and headnets dealing with these pests would have
been nearly impossible. It is no wonder that the Inuit choose to spend their summers near the coast where flies and mosquitoes are seldom
seen. Luckily a strong breeze blew most of the time and the majority of each day’s travel was relatively bug free.
Signs of the Leaf River caribou herd’s eight hundred thousand head of animals were numerous throughout this stretch. The caribou had
migrated through here in April on their way north to the calving grounds. Their trails were everywhere, and in most cases we used these
rough paths while portaging. Hopefully we would run into some of these caribou farther on in our trip when the beasts began to migrate back
south. While shedded antlers and the occasional carcass were interesting, seeing the actual animals would be much more exciting.
While working our way through this section careful navigation was required to stay on route. The land here is punctuated by so many
streams and lakes that getting off course would be disastrous. The ratio of paddling to portaging was almost perfect through this stretch
and the combination of paddling and hiking was quite enjoyable. Eventually this hard work brought us to the shores of the massive Lake
Minto and one of the most incredible rainbow and sunset combinations ever.
streams and lakes that getting off course would be disastrous. The ratio of paddling to portaging was almost perfect through this stretch
and the combination of paddling and hiking was quite enjoyable. Eventually this hard work brought us to the shores of the massive Lake
Minto and one of the most incredible rainbow and sunset combinations ever.
Our expedition was treated to glass like conditions on Hudson Bay. The still water
made for fine paddling which let us cover 35 miles on the first day of the trip.
made for fine paddling which let us cover 35 miles on the first day of the trip.
Nastapoka Falls drops one hundred feet directly into Hudson Bay. Since we were
heading up this river the falls made for a difficult first portage.
heading up this river the falls made for a difficult first portage.
The first night's camp overlooking Hudson Bay from the top of Nastapoka
Falls was quite impressive.
Falls was quite impressive.
The Nastapoka River canyon shrouded in clouds from a storm that would keep us wet and
frozen for the next several days.
frozen for the next several days.
When our route up the Nastapoka became blocked by impassable rapids
we made this 3.5 km portage to the Richard River. The task was arduous to
say the least.
we made this 3.5 km portage to the Richard River. The task was arduous to
say the least.
The Richard River proved to be a great route to ascend. The snow you
can see fell the night before. The highest temperature we saw for four
cold and wet days did not rise above 38 degrees.
can see fell the night before. The highest temperature we saw for four
cold and wet days did not rise above 38 degrees.
Brad Bassi enjoys clearings skies at the head of the Richard River. Despite the cold our
team was happy to see the rain, ice, and snow ease up.
team was happy to see the rain, ice, and snow ease up.
Eric Nemitz hauling a big load in an NRS Paragon Pack during one of the many
portages we encountered on the route to Lake Minto.
portages we encountered on the route to Lake Minto.
Half way through a beautiful but hilly portage on the way to Lake Minto.
While lake hopping and working our way upstream to Minto we were always excited
to see the next piece of open water.
to see the next piece of open water.
A tremendous rainbow shined good fortune on us
when we reached Lake Minto.
when we reached Lake Minto.