excerpt from letters to the granddaughter ... pdf/nastawgan/winter... · dearamy,...

Dear Amy,The boulder with a bronze plaque on itis in a shady nook a few feet north of theSusan River where two streams join toform the Susan about 55 kilometresabove Grand Lake. The travellers in

Winter 2012 Vol. 39 No. 4 Quarterly Journal of the Wilderness Canoe Association

Excerpt from Letters to the GranddaughterThe Story of Dillon Wallace of the Labrador Wild

Story by Philip Schubert1903 christened the second of the twostreams coming from the southwest as“Goose Creek.” The bronze plaque wasbrought in by helicopter in 1975 byRudy Mauro and your uncle, DillonWallace III. Rudy had long been fasci-

nated by the events of 1903, 1905, and1913 and your grandfather’s role inthem, and enlisted your uncle’s help in1973 in searching by helicopter for theboulder where Leonidas Hubbard diedthe loneliest death imaginable.

Trees had grown only a couple of feet in over 100 years in rugged sub-arctic climate

and then lined 18 kilometres up the RedWine River. From there I climbed out ofthe RedWineValley to the highlands andhiked 23 kilometres overland. The loca-tion was immediately downstream of twostreams coming together, one comingfrom the west and the other from thenorthwest. Was the one from the westGoose Creek? If so, where was the boul-der with the bronze plaque, which thefolks in NorthWest River assured me wasthere?I searched the area to no avail and with

the sun low in the sky, set up tent in theone flat area to be found. I reviewed theback half of your grandfather’s book, TheLure of the LabradorWild (I had torn thebook in two and only brought the second

2 NASTAWGANWINTER 2012

half in order to reduce weight) as well asa photocopy of George Elson’s trip notesfrom Mina Hubbard’s book, A Woman’sWay Through Unknown Labrador. Thedescriptions coincided. Hubbard’s placeof death must be where I was. I then con-sulted my topographical map and realizedthat if the coordinate for longitude givento me by the pilot should have includedsome seconds, the location would be far-ther west. I concluded that a trip to theHubbard Rock by helicopter did not needto worry about seconds of longitude andwith this went to sleep for the night,knowing what I would do the nextmorning.Sure enough, the next morning, about

400 metres farther east, there was the

Your grandfather returned in 1913 forthe last time to Labrador, with a bronzeplaque, which he and his team lost in arapid while attempting to ascend theBeaver River. They finally reached theboulder on foot without the plaque andDillon wrote an inscription on it in whitelead paint. Rudy and your Uncle Dillonfound a few letters remaining on the boul-der from 1913 and thus were sure of hav-ing found the same boulder in 1973. Theplaque they attached in 1975 was a dupli-cate of the one from 1913.On the fifth day of my hike to the

boulder in 2003, I arrived at the coordi-nates given to me by a helicopter pilot in1999. I had travelled up Grand Lake fromNorthWest River, up the Naskaupi River,

NASTAWGANWINTER 2012 3

boulder with the plaque just visiblethrough the black spruce as I walkedalong the north side of the Susan. A shortdistance farther west, two more streamsjoined, one from the west and the second,Goose Creek, from the southwest.Late in October 1903, Dillon Wallace

and George Elson were both “near theirfinish” as George describes it in his tripnotes. George and Dillon had separated20 kilometres downstream from where Iwas, with George continuing his hike forlife in the direction of Grand Lake andDillon staggering back in the direction ofthe tent and Leonidas Hubbard at theboulder. George had managed to findmoldy flour under knee-deep snow whichhad gotten wet on the way in and been

thrown away. Dillon was returning withthree kilograms of it, he and George bothpartially blinded from smoke from havingspent a night in the pouring rain and sleet,and attempting to warm themselves witha smoldering fire.Dillon finally arrived at the two

streams, one of which he thought must beGoose Creek. No tent was to be seenhowever. The country looked totally dif-ferent under the thick blanket of snowthat had fallen since George and he hadleft Leonidas. Dillon finally concludedthat he had probably gone too far east asthere are many streams entering theSusan, and turned back downstream. Hehad been struggling east for five days atthat point after leaving George. He was

afraid that a rescue team might have ar-rived at the tent and missed him asGeorge had told him to expect a teamwithin five days if George found trappersat the end of Grand Lake.In fact the rescue team, which arrived

after 10 days, found that Wallace hadcamped 200 metres downstream of thetent and had gone no higher. (InWallace’swords “…I crossed a brook, frozen andcovered with snow, that I felt must be theone near our tent…I staggered into thespruce growth and there came upon thesame brook I have previously mentionedas crossing. Near its bank I made a nightfire. That fire was within two hundredyards of the tent. Perhaps it is just as wellthat I did not know it.”) It seems that my

last camp before finding the boulder andplaque was in the same location in theone spot with enough room to lie down,me being equally convinced that one ofthe two streams must be Goose Creek.Dillon, Leonidas, and George on their

way in started up Goose Creek on day 16of their trip, already concerned at the ra-pidity with which they were drawing ontheir store of food. Goose Creek received

its name thanks to their concerns beingtemporarily alleviated through garneringfour geese in one go for their larder. TheNaskaupi River and then its supposedtributary, the Northwest River, on A.P.Low’s map approximately follows the di-rection of the Susan River and GooseCreek seemed like a logical extension.Days later, after crossing Mountaineerand Elson lakes they discovered the “Big


River” running to the west which they de-cided must in fact be the Northwest Riverleading to Lake Michikamau.A rugged canoe trip involves a period

of hardening of the participants, andDillon and Leonidas for the first time feltthemselves feeling great and ready for thechallenges in front of them. Both tripjournals, in particular Dillon’s, commentfrequently on the beauty of the landscape.Labrador, under good weather conditions,is a magnificent place to be. Dillon, evenunder the most dire conditions, continuedto comment on superb sunrises and sun-sets and the pristine beauty of the rivers,lakes, and mountains.A short distance down the Big River,

which was in fact the Beaver River, theysucceeded in shooting their one and onlycaribou and if there was a golden stage totheir trip, this was it. They had no imme-diate worries about food and seemed tobe on a river running to Lake Michi-kamau. Michikamau would in turn leadthem to the George River running northto Ungava Bay, with the hope of seeingthe caribou migration and meeting theNaskapi Indians along the way.Then to their chagrin, a mountain

range hove into view and it finally be-came clear that the Big River rose on theeastern watershed of this range. Finally,after extensive exploration, there was nochoice but to portage over the range to theother side. There, to their relief, they en-countered a series of lakes heading west(lakes Ptarmigan and Hope). Neverthe-less, after further exploration, it was clearthat the most westerly part of Lake Hopewas not an arm of the huge Michikamau,and by this time they had noted a muchlarger lake (Lake Disappointment) a mileor so to the north, which went far more tothe west than Lake Hope.When safely back in North West

River, Dillon learned that the BeaverRiver and Lake Hope had in fact con-stituted a route to Michikamau usedoccasionally by the Innu. The routepassed via the Metchin River, whichruns out of the more northerly of thetwo western arms of Lake Hope. TheMetchin River runs southwest via achain of lakes and then swings southto the Churchill River. The Innu wouldcontinue west to Michikamau viamore lakes and short portages from


the point where the Metchin Riverturns south.Dillon, Leonidas and George had

portaged to Lake Disappointment from abay of Lake Hope involving a distance ofless than a mile. They could see the morenortherly west arm of Lake Hope but didnot see the Metchin River. Their portagewas east of two rivers, which drain LakeDisappointment into Lake Hope and theyonly discovered these two rivers on theirreturn trip. Dillon was therefore not sur-prised to discover in North West Riverthat there was a Metchin River in turndraining Lake Hope. In his book, Lure ofthe Labrador Wild, he names the arm ofLake Hope leading to the Metchin River,as Lost Trail Lake.An intrepid team of Americans, Troy

Gipps, Jim Niedbalski, and Brad Bassi in2003 retraced the 1903 trip up to thispoint but wisely chose to go down theMetchin River and then portage througha number of smaller lakes to theSmallwood Reservoir, which now coversLake Michikamau. Here they were joinedby a fourth team member, CarolineScully, before heading east and north onthe Smallwood Reservoir and continuingdown the George River to Ungava Bay.Leonidas, George, and Dillon

searched the western end of Disap-pointment and found no outlet. It wasnowAugust 28, they had already been onthe trail for 44 days and fall was defi-nitely in the air. They were carefully hus-banding their limited stores of food andwere mainly living on the fish thatthey caught, their one caribou largelyexhausted.Most teams would have turned around

at this point, but Leonidas could not bearthe thought of returning to his editorseemingly empty handed, his editor a bru-tal man who had crossed 3,200 kilome-tres of arctic on foot, risking his life andthe lives of those with him. Leonidas wasalso an incurable optimist and wedded tothe ideals of his favourite poet Kipling(“a man’s game”). Dillon was not insensi-tive to the ideals of American manhoodeither and was totally loyal to the manwho had befriended him at the darkestmoment in his life.George also had a highly developed

sense of loyalty, which he demonstratedtime and again during the course of his

Plaque glued in place (plus container for messages from future visitors). Left Robert Irwin,right the author

life. He, more than the rest of them, musthave fully realized the huge risk theywere running, but did not object when thedecision was taken to beat overland in anorth-westerly direction. Initially they de-cided to abandon their canoe, with thehope that they would be able to hike to ameeting with the Naskapi Indians and thecaribou migration, re-equip, and travel bysled at freeze-up. They quickly foundtheir route barred by lakes and ponds, andrealized that they had no choice but toportage their canoe.Thus began the Long Portage, a total

of 65 backbreaking kilometres, occasion-ally eased by a few lakes and ponds.Intense work like this requires that fat bean important part of a diet. Fish cannotprovide this. The only possibility wouldhave been wild fowl like geese and ducks,or caribou. It is hard to understand whythey had chosen to equip themselves withtwo rifles and two 22 calibre pistols. A ra-tional choice would have been a singlerifle in the case they were lucky enoughto come across caribou and a shotgun forwild fowl. They had discarded their stockof lard early in their struggle up the

First view of Hubbard Rock by the author in 2003


comprising the first stage of the headwa-ters of the Naskaupi River. It likely in-volved a few short portages or lift-oversand one had to get past another maze ofislands in Windbound Lake in order toreach this passage. If they could have got-ten far enough west onWindbound Lake,they might have heard the rapids north ofthem in the different sections of AgnesLake. They were never closer than 11kilometres to this area. They knew LakeMichikamau lay a few miles to the west,after Leonidas and George climbedMount Hubbard, but could see no con-nection.The autumnal gales for whichLabrador is infamous had arrived and fordays the team could not venture out onthe lake. The Naskapi Indians had a well-justified fear of the wind on LakeMichikamau at this time of year, andwould go on lengthy portages to avoidrisking their lives on it.Mackenzie and Agnes lakes are now

submerged by the Smallwood Reservoiras is Lake Michikamau. The reservoirwas created as part of the Churchill Fallshydroelectric project in the late 1960s. Tomy surprise however, Windbound Lake isstill largely there, although now labled aspart of the Smallwood Reservoir as it hasbeen partially invaded by it. Robert Irwin,a fellow Hubbard and Wallace afi-cionado, and I explored it by canoe in2009. We ascended the hill climbed byGeorge and Mina Hubbard in 1905 fromwhich they observed the mountainclimbed by George and her ‘laddie,’Leonidas, in 1903. Robert and I couldonly imagine her feelings as we stoodthere.We did not make it to Mount Hubbard

as we were scared of getting windboundby a weather system, which Robert hadlearned by satellite phone was on its wayin. Even with topographical maps and aGPS, the navigating was tricky as wewended our way back through the mazeof islands to where Robert had parked hisvan on the Orma Dike road. A few milessouth of there, the road crosses the LongPortage traversed by the team onSeptember 5 and 23, 1903. Robert and Iwere not to be denied however. In 2011we returned and in a canoe trip lasting aweek, safely crossed the big water andfound our way through the maze of is-lands to Hubbard Mountain. We placed a

Susan. In the absence of enough fat in thediet under these conditions, the body be-gins consuming flesh and muscles. I re-member my first 30-day trip where I didnot have an additional source of fat to addto my freeze-dried regime. I began to

wonder at my shadow, at how skinny myneck had started to seem. It began to behard to stay warm at night, and I was hav-ing to wear more and more clothing be-fore climbing into my sleeping bag.Finally on day 55 they reached the

“big water” which they hadspied from a small hill somedays earlier. Windbound Lakewas the final puzzle they wereto be faced with. It is a largelake and in places is a mazeof islands. It in fact connectsto Mackenzie Lake through anarrow passage behind sev-eral islands. Mackenzie is partof the headwaters of theNaskaupi River coming fromLake Michikamau. It wouldbe a challenge to find the pas-sage, which might not havebeen there under low-waterconditions, even with the top-ographical maps made of thearea after World War II, with-out having access to today’sGPS technology. The teampassed six kilometres to thesouth of the passage.A second possible access

might have been at the ex-treme western end ofWindbound Lake through aseries of connected pondsleading toAgnes Lake, Agnes

River just below where they left the Beaver River in 1903

Author leaving from Orma Dike Road for attempt downThe Long Portage


granite plaque on the summit, commem-orating Leonidas’ and George’s only viewof Lake Michikamau.Leonidas had finally decided to turn

back as of September 15, day 62. He ra-tionalized that the caribou migration onthe George River and a meeting with theNaskapi Indians, on which they hadplaced great hopes for restoring theirstore of food and equipping themselveswith winter clothing, would now be over.Leonidas had also decided that he in facthad enough material for a “bully story,”in spite of everything.At this point they had two pounds of

flour, 18 pounds of pea meal, less than apint of rice and a half pound of bacon.They were blocked for several more daysby wind and only made it off the lake asof September 21.The route back retraced the route in,

each man slowly being ground down asthe fish started to bite less and less due tothe cold. Food was limited to the oddduck and partridge and on one or two oc-casions, a goose. Leonidas failed morequickly than the rest, his bouts of vomit-ing and diarrhea becoming more andmore frequent, Dillon wondering after thefact if it might have been a result of hav-ing had typhoid fever a couple of yearsbefore. In an effort to stay warm at night,they began sleeping together “spoonstyle,” a huge compromise for adults tomake, especially men.On October 14, day 91, they exited the

Big River and hiked in the direction ofGoose Creek and the Susan River. At thisstage it had taken all three of them tocarry the canoe on portages and finallythey had been reduced to dragging it.Thus the canoe was abandoned. Georgehad suggested abandoning everything ex-cept for blankets and pistols and headingas quickly as possible for Grand Lake. Bythe time they reached the Susan Riverwhere Leonidas failed completely, theyrealized that he was absolutely right.George’s notes prepared for Mina

Hubbard’s A Woman’s Way ThroughUnknown Labrador, as well as Wallace’sbook The Lure of the LabradorWild, say theteam debated whether to stay on the Beaveror not, with George and Dillon in favour ofstaying on it. The trip journals by Leonidasand Dillon make no mention of this.The trappers later told George and

Dillon that if they had stayed on the Beaverinstead of leaving it for the Susan, in abouttwo days of paddling they would haveemerged in front ofAllan Blake’s cabin, thecabin arrived at by George after his strug-gle out. If staying on the Beaver was everseriously considered, the consensus todayis that Leonida’s decision to return to theSusan likely saved two of the three lives.Dillon likely realized this after attemptingto ascend the Beaver in 1913. Very heavyrapids from the point where they left theBeaver to halfway to Grand Lake make thisstretch of the Beaver non-navigable.Having taken on some big challenges

in retracing the ‘saga,’ including the InnuPortage bypassing the rapids on theNaskaupi River below Seal Lake, I madean attempt in 2012 to try and hike downthe Long Portage to Lake Disap-pointment. I bought into Leonidas’,Dillon’s, and George’s initial idea of notdragging a canoe over the portage andonly had a lightweight inflatable dingywith me for any bodies of water that Icould not avoid through the use of mod-ern-day topographical maps. The terrainproved to be brutal, with leg-breakingblocks of rock strewn everywhere by theglaciers. I quickly realized that there is ahuge difference between the LongPortage and the portages pioneered by theInnu over the centuries, and gave up my

attempt. The Long Portage thus remainsa huge challenge waiting to be gottenover by others for the first time since1903.Robert Irwin and I subsequently met

and flew into Lake Disappointmentwhere we were able to explore the bayrunning northward leading to the start ofthe Long Portage. We then located thetwin rivers running southward from LakeDisappointment and followed them toLake Hope as they drain the LakeDisappointment watershed. Leonidas,Dillon, and George found these two riverson their return journey, avoiding the over-land route they had taken between the twolakes on their way in.We photographed the hill climbed by

George on August 26, 1903, when facedwith the huge disappointment that thelarge lake immediately to the north ofLake Hope did not lead to LakeMichikamau. George could see a chain ofsmall lakes running to the northwest to“big water,” thus on August 28, theystarted up the Long Portage, which wouldseal the fate of Leonidas.Robert and I ended our exploration at

the east end of Lake Hope where we wereable to locate the exact spot whereLeonidas, Dillon, and George took thephotograph of Lake Hope which appearsin The Lure of the LabradorWild.

Crossing from Lake Disappointment to Lake Hope


her sweet laddie’s death. The picturetaken by her bold and honourable chiefvoyageur, George Elson, of her sweepingtoward him across the caribou moss, herface alive with enjoyment, is an all-timeclassic. Elson, of Scotch and Cree blood,and as handsome as he was honourable,had put together one of the finest canoe-ing teams of all time, composed of peo-ple from his world. It is clear from the ex-pression on Mina’s face that she feelsvery safe in his world.

Having been invited to take part in the

The North seduces you. It tries to kill youtoo if it gets the chance. Having experi-enced the pleasure of the first, and beenlucky in the case of the second, I was in-vited in 2005 to the ‘Mina HubbardCentennial.’ The village of North WestRiver, in the northeast part of Labrador,hosted the centennial.

Mina Hubbard is the stuff of legend; awoman wronged who obtained sweet re-venge by canoeing across 1,000 kilome-tres of unknown Labrador in 1905 andbesting the man she held responsible for

centennial, I felt it was nevertheless myduty to remind organizers that in the inter-ests of historical accuracy, they should notforget the man she had bested. After all,the dumpy and unsmiling Dillon Wallacewas the reason that there was a centennial.

In 1903, Leonidas Hubbard, a journal-ist for a magazine specializing in the out-doors, identified a blank spot on the mapof the world to be explored, a lot closerthan the dark continent of Africa. He hadmarried Mina Benson two years before.He recruited his best friend, DillonWallace, to take part in the trip to explorethe blank spot, Labrador. Dillon was alawyer and, like Leonidas, had started outin life as a farm boy with no prospects. InDillon’s case, after the bank repossessedthe family farm, he had worked as grist-mill labourer, telegraph operator, and fi-nally as a bookkeeper-stenographer, train-ing himself as he went along. Finally, hesaved enough money to complete highschool and study law. Leonidas had be-friended him at a dark period in Dillon’slife, the lingering death of his first wife,Jennie, from tuberculosis.

Leonidas had travelled to the edge ofHudson’s Bay and thus had some idea ofthe challenges awaiting them. Dillon hadnever been outside of the USA and had noapparent qualifications for such an under-taking. Leonidas may however have rec-ognized the grit from which Dillon wasmade and his ability to learn and adaptquickly, good qualities for a trip inLabrador. George Elson was recruited asthe third member of the team, through theHudson’s Bay Company in George’s homeof Missanabi, in the area of James Bay.

The trip left from North West Riverand turned out to be a disaster, Leonidaslosing his life and Dillon nearly so, his lifebeing saved thanks to the heroics ofGeorge. The grieving widow, Mina, askedDillon to chronicle the story of the trip.Dillon sought the assistance of a FrankBarkley Copley, a personal and literaryfriend of Leonidas. Mina did not like theresulting draft. In fact it was clear shehated it. Then The Lure of the LabradorWild exploded on the scene as an instantbest seller. Fleming H. Revell Companywould explain it thus in a message dated

Letters to the GranddaughterThe Story of Dillon Wallace of the Labrador Wild

Introduction to the excerpt by Philip Schubert


February 16, 1905:“The publishers report that the Story of

The Hubbard Expedition which DillonWallace issues under the title THE LUREOF THE LABRADOR WILD which ap-peared on the 15th, sold out to the full ex-tent of the first edition almost a week be-fore the book appeared, and another edi-tion was at once necessary. Such thingshappen with novels sometimes, but notoften with books of this nature. But thattruth is stranger than fiction, and alsomore interesting when well told, is abun-dantly proven by this narrative. The authorhas never made any pretense at writingother than that incident to his professionas a lawyer, and disclaims any effort to domore than tell the truth about their heroicand tragic experiences.”

The book closely follows the trip jour-nals kept by Leonidas and Dillon. It is astory about taking a wrong river, turningback too late, and a race against the on-coming winter and starvation. Leonidas,likely weakened by a bout with typhoidfever months before the trip, failed fasterthan the others and had to be left behindin their tent while the other two went on.Dillon showed indomitable courage byheading back in the direction of the tent insnow up to his knees, with a few lumps ofmouldy flour he and George located onthe trail two days after leaving the tent.The average person’s instincts would havebeen crying out to continue on down thetrail with George in the direction of sur-vival. George made it out seven days afterleaving Dillon and sent back a team oftrappers who found Dillon, incredibly stillalive in the snow. He had been unable tofind the tent. Leonidas seemingly died inhis tent the same day he was left, but onlyafter leaving a final note in his trip jour-nal exonerating George and Dillon.Dillon’s feet were frozen but he survivedthe onset of gangrene and fully recovered.

The Lure of the Labrador Wild wouldchange Dillon’s life forever and is still inprint.

Mina, in the preface to her book on herextraordinary 1905 trip, A Woman’s WayThrough Unknown Labrador, said that shehopes her book “may go some way towardscorrecting misleading accounts of Mr.Hubbard’s expedition which have appearedelsewhere.” She planned the trip in secretwith George Elson, after learning ofDillon’s plan to go back and try to com-plete the original trip. She told the pressthat she suspected that Dillon was respon-

sible for the death of her husband and shewas going to Labrador to check the facts.Her press release resulted in a permanentrupture between her and her husband’sfamily. They knew that it had been Dillonwho had overridden the advice by the prac-tical Labradoreans to leave Leonidas’ bodyin peace in this tent and had ensured thathis body was brought back to New YorkCity for burial.

In planning his return trip to Labrador,Dillon had wanted to include George aspart of his team, to such a degree that hehad taken the train to George’s home atMissanabi. George begged off, saying thathe was planning to get married. The shockby Dillon was great when he discoveredthat he and his team were on the sameboat to North West River as Mina. Georgewas with her as a member of one of thefinest canoe teams ever assembled. Dillonand his team could not compare. Georgewas very surprised and impressed, andMina very disappointed, when Dillon andone of his two university student teammembers arrived at Ungava Bay, even ifsix weeks after Mina and her team.

George told Dillon and his team mem-ber that the rapids were the worst he hadever experienced.

Mina’s trip journal reveals her thinkingupon reaching Ungava Bay: “If we shouldget out soon I might possibly get back andget my story and some of my pictures inprint before W. is even heard from andthat would be the thing for me. If I am tobe successful that would make it com-plete. Oh, if it might only come out thatway. How grateful I should be, and howcomplete would be my victory and howcompletely it would make no account W’sreflections.” Alas for Mina, it was not tobe and Dillon’s The Long Labrador Trailappeared in 1907, a year before Mina’sbook. He went on to publish a total of 27books over his lifetime. Dillon modelledmany of his books on the people he hadmet in Labrador and the stories he hadheard. Dillon was highly respected in histime, even being invited to lead an expe-dition in search of a missing polar ex-plorer. Events like the centennial in 2005have, however, tended to forget Dillon andhe has been dismissed as a hack writer inrecent publications on the “saga.”

Mina went on to live a sad, lonely life,estranged from the Hubbards and es-tranged from her second husband, aBritish Earl who could never seem to re-place her dear lost laddie. George re-

mained her one true friend, at least inspirit, as they only briefly met on twooccasions after 1905. They would havemade an attractive couple, and peoplehave wondered ever since if there mightnot have been more than the sheer ad-venture and satisfaction of the tripshowing in her face in that photographtaken in 1905. Despite her resentment ofhim, Dillon never spoke disparaginglyof her, showing genuine empathy and re-spect for her inconsolable grief. Theirloss, after all, was mutual.

I began retracing the saga in 1999after reading The Lure of the LabradorWild and little by little, have retracedabout half of the 1903 trip and most ofthe summer portion of the 1905 trip.Five books have been written on thesaga in the modern era, the two best inmy opinion being Great Heart by JamesWest Davidson and John Rugge in1988, and The Woman Who MappedLabrador by Roberta Buchanan, AnneHart, and Bryan Greene in 2005.

In convincing the organisers of theMina Hubbard Centennial to includelocals playing Dillon Wallace and histeam in the recreation of the depar-tures, I was invited by them to locatesurviving family members. Thanks tothis I got to know his son and daughterand then f inally his granddaughter,Amy McKendry, who lives in Seattle.Amy and I decided that it was timethere was a biography on her grandfa-ther and we met for a week in October2008 to look through the extensivearchives held on the saga at MemorialUniversity in St. Johns, Newfoundlandand Labrador. It has been a big job re-searching and writing the biography,with work on it taking place duringspare moments as I continued to workas an energy specialist for the CanadianInternational Development Agency. Af irst draft has f inally been completedand editing via Friesen Press is under-way. The target is to have hard copy, softcopy, and e-reader versions out early in2013.

I live in Kanata, Ontario (a part ofgreater Ottawa), where I’m married toBeth and have three grown children.Beth has shown great patience over theyears with my heading off to Labradorand Northern Quebec each summer. Myadventures and misadventures as I’ve re-traced the saga can be seen at:www.magma.ca/~philip18/HWSaga/


DeadlinesThe deadline dates for submitting mate-rial for the four issues we publish eachyear are: the first days of February, May,August, and November. If you have ques-tions, please contact the editor; addresseson the last page.

EVENTSCALENDARWilderness & CanoeingSymposium will be held on 15and 16 February 2013 atMonarch Park.

Annual General Meeting will beheld on 02 March 2013. Locationand details will be announced soon.CheckWCAwebsite for update.

WCAActivities

Want to view all club activities, learnmore about our extensive outings pro-gram for members, or organize and posta trip? It’s easy! Visit the Outings sectionof the WCA website:www.wildernesscanoe.ca

Published by theWilderness CanoeAssociationNastawgan is an Anishinabi word meaning “the way or route”

CPM #40015547ISSN 1828-1327

The WILDERNESS CANOE ASSOCIATION is a non-profit organization made up of individuals interested inwilderness travel, mainly by canoe and kayak, but also in-cluding backpacking and winter trips on both skis andsnowshoes. The club publishes a quarterly journal,

Nastawgan, to facilitate the exchange of information andideas of interest to wilderness travellers, organizes an ex-tensive program of trips for members, runs a few basicworkshops, and is involved in environmental issues rele-vant to wilderness canoeing.

Don’t give upJournalism!

Nicola, having taken on your new job atthe French River Adventures, do not giveup your journalism. Your Nastawgan“Mountain River” article had some of thenicest adventure writing I have ever read(my wife agrees!)Your engaging descrip-tions without purple hyperbole were justgreat. I almost feel that I don’t need topaddle the Mountain since I just finishedthe trip with you.Congratulations, Tony Way

Contributors’Guidelines

If you are planning to submit any materialfor possible publication in Nastawgan, youwould do the editors and certainly yourselfa great favour by first consulting theWCAGuidelines for Contributors to Nastawgan.These guidelines should be followed asmuch as possible by all contributors, so thatthe editorial team can more effectively edityour contribution to make it fit theNastawgan style. The latest draft of theguidelines is available on theWCAwebsite.


A late fall colours made this year’s WCAFall Meeting prequel, “Hiking inAlgonquin Park”, a stunning event ofpanoramic vistas, enhanced by generousculinary and photographic contributionsby Fred Argue. Madawaska white-wateryielded interesting lower water chal-lenges, hugely enjoyed by AttilaBarbacsy’s children. They experiencedthe first thrills of in-your-face waves!MKC’s fine dining sure was the bestever! Presentations by Dave and DawneRobinson about paddling theAshuapnushuan River and by WilliamSleeth about the Mistassibi Nord EstRiver in northern Quebec sent us hometo dive into our maps for next year, whileour pile of northern books purchasedfrom George Luste will keep us enter-tained for many winter hours. ClaudiaKerckhoff-Van Wijk’s artistic talentswowed us with creative visions, one ofwhich will be under our Christmas treefor a lifetime of inspiration. Our only re-gret was not booking the deluxe cabin

WCA Fall Meeting 2012

suite before the event organizers!Jay Neilson and Frank Knaapen

“WOW” is the word that comes to mindwhen I think about the WCA FallMeeting, held at the Madawaska KanuCentre. This was my first WCA event asa member. Everyone was so friendly andthe food, accommodation and hospitality

were amazing… The slide shows wereexciting, and the paddling and hikingwere lots of fun! I encourage all newWCA members and people consideringjoining WCA to participate in this greatfall rendezvous and meet new friends. Ican’t wait for theWine and Cheese eventin November.Chantal Locatelli


CCR continues to grow in content, inmembership, in popularity, and, most im-portantly, in service to the paddling com-munity. In the five years since the acqui-sition on 20 September 2007, member-ship has increased from 4,823 to 9,334.It is expected to exceed 10,000 membersin early 2013. At 7:54 a.m. on 5 July2012, 144 persons were online, a newrecord.Highlights from 2011: 501,000 indi-

viduals made 992,000 visits; 44,000,000hits (more than one per second) wererecorded; 400 GB of data were trans-ferred (most of it from the site).Much credit for the success of the site

is due to the behind-the-scenes efforts ofthe Site Administrators, MarilynSprissler and Barbara, and the siteModerator Neil Luckhurst. Without ei-ther of these dedicated individuals, thesite would soon fail.Marilyn continues to make major ren-

ovations to the site; as well, she keeps itup and running, often in difficult circum-stances. Barbara (Assistant SiteAdministrator) filters out spammersseeking to enter the site, clears posts tothe Gallery, etc. Barbara’s primary func-tion is to approve new forum accounts(keeping the spammers out). In addition,she helps solve the reported problemsand clears posts to the Gallery. Neil has adelicate job of moderating posts in theForum section.CCR now offers over 5,000 Route de-

scriptions. Coverage of Canada is mature(in the sense that there are no majorgaps; it can never be complete), perhapsexcessive in cases (Algonquin comes tomind). The main effort is now devoted todescribing US Routes.Without the members, though, there

would be no site worth mentioning. Theyare highly knowledgeable and experi-enced, and eager to be of assistance, es-

Sadly, one of our long-time members,Jim Greenacre, recently passed awayafter a short illness at the age of 92. Jimwas one of us who joined the WCA in itsvery early years. Our first outing withthe club was a run down the Credit Riverorganized by Jim. That was back around1977. After the trip, Jim took the time tophone Rita and I to thank us for joininghim, and to encourage us to continue toget out on club trips. That was the kindof guy Jim was. Subsequent years foundus often on lakes and rivers with him,and later I joined him on the OutingsCommittee, where he was active formany years. When we organized ourfirst introductory whitewater courses,Jim was on-board, and he continued tobe an instructor on this very popularcourse well up into his 70’s.A very active outdoorsman in all sea-

sons, he travelled the Nahanni, Thelon,Quebec and Labrador Rivers, andOntario waterways from the Great Lakes

Report on Canadian Canoe RoutesAllan Jacobs

pecially to the newcomers. It is a rarequestion indeed that does not get severalinformed responses. Members’ postshave made the Forums a vast repositoryof information: Route Forums have76,200 posts, General Discussion (pad-dling matters only) 61,400, Equipment51,300, Environmental Issues 17,100,Winter Camping 10,600, Camper’sKitchen 9,400, Boat Design andConstruction 7,500, etc. And memberscontribute in other ways, for example bysubmitting trip reports to the Forums andthe Routes section.

Ed. Note: Allan Jacobs’ work is veryvaluable indeed. Allan’s been relentlessin pursuing the Routes material. TheWCA and CCR Communities expresstheir utmost gratitude to everyone whocontributes to the betterment of the CCRwebsite content.

In Memory of Jim GreenacreBy Bill Ness

to James Bay. In his mid-60’s, he partic-ipated in a Northern Ontario snowshoetrip across James Bay, keeping up withcompanions two decades his junior. Thattrip ended up as an article in “CanadianGeographic.” Jim was everyone’s idealtravelling mate. He was helpful, patient,congenial, and always pulled his weight.If your chatter got to him, he just turneddown his hearing aid and tuned you out.One of my favourite memories of Jim

was a whitewater course on the FrenchRiver where he was a co-instructor.There was another group at Blue Chute,where we were working the river. Jimfished out a soggy swimmer from thisclass, and started to explain that heneeded extreme lean to the inside of theturn in crossing such a strong eddy line.The other members of his group startedlaughing all of a sudden - the septage-narian who they thought didn’t knowwhich end of the paddle to put in thewater was demonstrating for their hot-

shot young instructor.I last had the pleasure of paddling

with Jim some 9 or 10 years ago. Thatwould make Jim in his early 80’s. Wewere pulling out at the end of the Moiraone April afternoon. We were beat, andsuggested that we all hit Tim’s inBelleville. Jim gave his regrets. He hadto hurry home to change. He wasbooked for an evening of one of hisfavourite off-the-water activities - ball-room dancing.Those of us who knew Jim came to

regard him as a paddling inspiration,continuing to canoe up until he was 90.When I talked to him a few months ago,he was still getting out for his daily hourwalks, and dancing up a storm, thoughhe confessed he had to chase up youngergals of late since finding ladies in hisown age group who could kick up theirheels with him was becoming difficult.We’ll miss you, Jim.


Doug and Lisa Ashton have been hosting a Grand River outingin June for a number of years. Dave and I were able to attendthis year and had a “grand’ time. Since we have paddled thisriver many times, the highlights for us were renewing friend-ships, meeting members for the first time, and the pièce de ré-sistance the post-paddle barbecue. Doug has many talents,which I knew about but I didn’t realize that included being a“hobby chef.” Even though the recipe below may not be adapt-able to tripping, I thought other WCA hobby chefs would enjoytrying out this delicious appetizer, which Doug prepared for therecord crowd this year. Doug would like to acknowledge ChefNeil Baxter from Rundles Restaurant in Stratford for the fol-lowing recipe. He has been Doug’s culinary mentor and friendfor many years. If you would like to contact Doug regarding therecipe, his email is: [email protected].

Pork Satay makes about 4 servings

Marinade:2 tablespoons oyster sauce2 tablespoons light soy sauce1 tablespoon fish sauce2 teaspoons brown sugar3 tablespoons vegetable oil2 tablespoons lemongrass, chopped1 tablespoon white sesame seeds, roasted1 clove garlic, coarsely chopped1 cup coriander leaves1 tablespoons chili black bean sauce12 ounces boneless port butt (shoulder)

FOOD FOR PADDLERSDipping Sauce:1 cup peanuts1 tablespoon red curry paste1 tablespoon fish sauce1 tablespoon sugar1 & 1/2 cups coconut milk

Marinating the Pork: In blender, combine the firstnine ingredients, blend to a puree, then transfer to ashallow container and stir in the chili black bean sauce.Slice pork across the grain into 1/8-inch-thick slices,place into the marinade, and allow to sit for one hour.

Preparing the Dipping Sauce: In food processor grindpeanuts to a paste. Add curry paste, fish sauce, sugar,and process until mixed (about one minute). Add co-conut milk, mix until smooth, and reserve. Warm thesauce just before serving and serve in a shallow bowl.

Cooking and Serving the Satay: Preheat grill. Threadpork slices onto skewers, leaving three inches at oneend. Place skewers on hot grill and cook until charred(about one minute). Turn skewers over and char theother side (about one minute). Serve immediately withwarm dipping sauce.

The next issue will feature Mango Salad with CherryTomatoes, Green Beans, and Tamarind, which Dougserved with the Pork Satay.

If you would like to share your favourite trippingrecipes, please contact Barb Young, 12 ErindaleCrescent, Brampton, Ont. L6W 1B5; [email protected].


In the summer of 2004, the relentlessDick Irwin proposed an extraordinarycanoe trip: a loop, beginning at Edzo-Rae, one hour west of Yellowknife, andreturning to the same place sevenweeks later. We would begin by ascend-ing the Snare and Emile rivers to reachthe central Barrens, and then follow theParent River downstream to theCoppermine. Big Bend, two-thirds fromthe river mouth, would be the exit pointfrom the Coppermine. From there, theroute would head west up the HookRiver to the Sloan River and across toiconic Great Bear Lake. Finally, travel-ling up the Camsell River and down theMarion River closed the loop. In total,we would ascend four rivers and de-scend four, and cross three major and

Up Four Rivers and Down Four Rivers:On Dogrib trails with Dick Irwin

Story by Mike RobinsonPhotos by Richard Irwin

one minor heights of land.Dick put together a group including

the extraordinary chef Tom Elliott, detailman Walter Lohaza, and myself as gen-eral-purpose canoe mule. The novelty ofthis route lies in piecing together severalwell-known rivers with a few lesser-known rivers into a loop encompassingall types of terrain and scenery. Thelesser-known aspects were particularfascinating: the Emile-Parent River ac-cess to the Barrens, the Hook-Sloanroute to Great Bear, and the remarkableexperience of travelling with Dick Irwin.The Emile-Snare system is ideally

suited to upstream travel. Named afteran early missionary, Father EmilePetitot, the river is intriguing historically[Note 1]. Most of the ascent is lake hop-

ping; almost every section of rapids canbe bypassed by fortuitous alignments oflakes that cut off bends and rapids, fre-quently cutting short some long, serpen-tine stretches of river. Furthermore, mostof the Dogrib portages on the lower riverare still open, used mainly for snowmo-bile travel. With a couple of noteworthyexceptions, even the footpaths of the oldtrails can be followed right to the head-waters of the river. Dick has a certainknack for finding these paths. Artifactsof canoe travel such as sun-cracked rub-ber boots, rusted cans, and derelict riflesoften verify the old trails.In the early weeks of our trip,

portages were frequent and the sevenweeks worth of provisions necessitatedthree heavy loads each. Pausing for

Large overgrown encampment at the northeast end of Mesa Lake


breath at one portage, I sat and leanedagainst my biggest pack, wiping fliesand sweat from my face. Frustrated andnot pleased with the prospect of the nexttrip with the canoe, I said I’d like to jet-tison my desserts to reduce weight.Dick, a man of notorious appetite,smiled his trademark grin, the smile ofthousands of kilometres of canoe travel,and with a simple statement gave a les-son in patience in his own reticent, style:“Well, I kind of like desserts.”In the last kilometres of the Emile,

the jagged hills level out and the treesthin at the height of the interior plateau,where tundra conditions prevail. TheBarrens are reached by portaging thelow ridge into the headwaters, MesaLake. After a persistent search, Dickfound the long height of land portageout of Mesa to the Parent River. Thefaint trail, little more than a slight inden-tation in the tundra, rises steadily acrossfour kilometres of hillside offering a su-perb view of Mesa Lake below. It, andthe scattered poles of collapsed tents, are

Tilley, Mike, and Tom running a rapid on the Parent River

Adapted with permission from Kellett Communications and Northwest Territories Tourism


brought us over the height of land to thebanks of the Sloan River. The Sloan al-ternates between slow, marshy sections,and rapids dashing through rockygorges. The marshes teem with birds andwaterfowl, and most of the rapids arerunnable. There are two major excep-tions, both situated at steep canyons; thefirst occurs in the middle part of theriver after Jaequir Lake. This is bypassedby a pleasant series of lakes north of theriver allowing for splendid views of thetall hills and cliffs. The second is theriver’s final descent to Great Bear, wherewe followed a portage route south of theriver to the lake. This bypass crosses 11portages and 10 lakes, and the total ele-vation loss is over 100 metres, mostly inthe last two carries. These two routesaround the rapids were dubbed theDouble and Quadruple Bypass, althoughthey were never particularly arduous.The second route showed old axe marksin places suggesting that it had been fol-lowed sometime in the past by some-thing other than caribou. Great BearLake is in a land overlooked by time.Most of its jagged shoreline looks as ifthe glaciers have just receded, or perhapsare receding still: lingering mini-glaciersstill shelter in the shattered crevassesalong the shore and inland. Perfectlytransparent water, deceptively deep, re-veals infinite colour in the submergedrocks. It defines stark, lonely beauty. Forthe first time on our trip we were nolonger surrounded by birdcalls. Therewas only the occasional high-flying gull,and upon close inspection at campsites,boreal chickadees. On one breathless

the remaining evidence of the genera-tions of families that once lived and trav-elled here. Although it was unnecessary,Dick and I carefully followed the origi-nal footpath, not for direction but forconnection. To me this faint trail makesas powerful a statement as the Pyramids,and is likely older.The Parent River is a fast and adven-

turous downstream run to theCoppermine. Narrow, bouldery rapidstwisting through treeless gravel ridgestypify the upper section. Creeks addflow through steep-sided, windy valleysthat entice the eye and curiosity. Treesmake their reappearance in the lowerstretches of river where it eventuallyspills its paddlers into Redrock Lake.Here, Dick and I solidified our paddlingpartnership, scouting and runningrapids. But there were countless quietmoments when the sun-sparkled waterdrew us through the valley, when wolvesstood on eskers as we passed, and whenwe would stop for photos at a sandy spitdotted with the footprints of bear,moose, and wolf.One golden moment stands out. We

skidded into an eddy above a long,straight stretch of whitewater. One at atime, we stood in the canoe and scannedthe 700 metres in length of the rapidwith binoculars. I said we should proba-bly scout, with little conviction, andDick replied with his trademark, “Yeah.”Then we just ran it, loving every secondof the tight teamwork that carried ussafely to the bottom. The CoppermineRiver continues in a similar vein. Thecurrent is constant, the scenery gor-

geous, and the travel fast and carefree.On a map the river literally appears as agreen oasis across white tundra; on theground this translates into a wildlife cor-ridor. Without fail, sand beaches arepeppered with large mammal tracks. Thebird life was in a frenzy as we passed, aswere the insects, in particular the black-fly, whose hatch coincided with our lastfew days on the Parent.As Big Bend approaches, the snow-

dappled hills surrounding the river pressever closer, giving the impression of theriver having nowhere to go. The mouthof the Hook River, the site of our finalcamp on the Coppermine, is just up-stream from an abrupt turn in the riverwhere it vanishes from view behind theencroaching mountains. We turned westthen. Being there in person and seeingthe Hook for the first time, the notion ofgoing up seemed utterly daft. Naturally,the only way to begin a daft undertakingis with an early start. For the first fewhundred metres, where tracking andeven a little paddling were possible, theriver lulls with a false sense of ease.After that, it was simply wade-and-carrythrough chilly water still fed by meltwa-ter from a mini glacier. The river is alter-natively well defined, then braded, thenre-coalesces in a steep valley. The goingwas slow, hut in the end the 11-km dis-tance to the headwaters took only twofull days. The reward was wonderful vis-tas from high, barren hilltops, and pureexhilaration from at last being in themountains we had been watching from adistance.A few days of high-country portaging

The Parent River runs through barren terrain

atomic bombs dropped on Japan pow-ered by Port Radium uranium [Notes 3and 4]. Later, in a wind on the big lake,the canoes became separated amongstislands leaving Dick and I windboundapart from the others. Binoculars con-firmed the safety of our companions, soDick and I settled in for a long lunch.Dick mentioned some of his trips, in-cluding the Caniapiscau, the Eastmain,the Naskapi, the St. Marguerite, theChurchill, the Mattagami, LobstickLake, and Lake Michikamau. This listonly includes the places that weredammed or flooded since he travelledthem [Note 5]. The Rupert and Romainewill soon be added to this list.The trip ended for me at Gameti

(Rae Lakes), headwaters of the CamsellRiver, instead of completing the loop.Despite good progress up the pool-and-drop Camsell, we had run overtime andas a consequence Tom and I flew outhere. Another consequence had beenfood rationing for a couple of weeks.All I had left in abundance was brownsugar, which I consumed by the handfulat rest breaks. Our last night beforeGamed was a glutinous display, thegroup of us demolishing a multi-coursemeal and fighting over how to divideeleven cinnamon buns evenly amongstfour people.Quite accidentally we arrived at

Gameti at the height of Treaty II cele-brations. The entire Dogrib nation wasgathered and the town was overflowing.As part of the festivities, a handful ofelders and children had paddled some ofthe old routes from other towns as ameans of connecting to the past. Wewere swept up and into the feasting,asked about the routes we travelled andthe trail conditions by people who re-counted journeys of their childhoodwhen they had walked the same paths.We watched and listened to the tradi-tional gambling games, played in teamsby men to the pounding heartbeat of askin drum. We learned the Dogrib namesfor Mesa, Grenville, and Parent lakes.and some old stories to add to our newones. [Note 6]At the head of the old portage out of

Mesa, where Dick and I painstakinglysought out the pathway, there was oncea peace celebration ending animosity be-tween the Dogrib andYellowknife bands.From the little hill where we lunched, itis said that the dance circle can still be


Mike tracking up the Hook River

Portaging along an open ridge on our ascent of the Camsell River

August morning our canoes cut throughskim ice and frost was visible inside thecanoe below the waterline. Nonetheless,the campsites are amongst the most de-sirable I have encountered. Sunsets overwater horizons, sheltered beachesframed by cliffs and towering rock, tinyislands of spruce in a bedrock sea.Time has not overlooked one place, at

least, on this lake. Port Radium is a now-

closed silver, copper, and uranium mine.The grounds are somewhat manicured,crushed stone smoothed over placeswhere pits once were. A few old build-ings and some mine structures remain.but most prominent are two signs. Onewarns, ominously, against prolongedstays due to radiation. The other is a his-torical plaque outlining the history of themine with a brief mention of the two


weeks and living on rationed food. Intwo days I will be thousands of kilome-tres away, in a city with showers and icecream. I have spent seven weeks with aman whose canoeing career spans fivedecades, a career that has seen morerivers dammed than I will probably evertravel on. Change surrounds us and I amvaguely wary for the future. Yet in thepeople around me, with the poundingdrums and stories of generations rootedto the land, there is confidence, strength,and hope. And in Dick there is inspira-tion from wisdom freely shared and,more importantly, an inexhaustiblepleasure from the land, a sense of won-der undiminished.

Notes:1. Father Emile Petitot produced a num-ber of writings about his travels in theCanadian northwest. Many have beentranslated into English.2. George M. Douglas outlines anotherroute from Great Bear to theCoppermine in Lands Forlorn. TheHook-Sloan connection lacks the his-toric connection, but it may have other

seen, just beyond the fallen tent poles,where warriors compacted the soil in ajubilant all-nighter. Every lake has astory, the storyteller concluded, leaningaway from across the table, then return-ing to her meal. I missed the circle, buton the same hill there is an untold story:a child’s tiny grave crib, grey woodprominent on the green tundra.The final thoughts of the trip are cap-

tured in my journal. While waiting at thevillage dock for a chartered pick-up, Ireflected:

The season has most distinctlypassed. Fireweed, sprouting when webegan, is now seeding at the top, allflowers gone. Geese swirl in preparatoryflocks. Change and culture shock leaveme somewhat confused, as do the seem-ing ironies of our trip’s end. There arenorthern children wearing sideways ballcaps and Chicago Bulls jerseys, in atown without road access. Most havenever been in a canoe. Sleek jets fromdiamond companies make frequent for-ays to the dusty local airstrip; we justate all night with several hundred peo-ple after seeing no one for nearly seven

advantages. It seems to be somewhatshorter, and paddlers taking this route inreverse to our direction can enjoy boththe scenery of Great Bear’s McTavisharm and the bulk of the rapids on theCoppermine.3. A recent Global news special claimedto measure radiation levels at the minesite at 4 mrem per hour. If correct, ourtwo-hour visit represents an increase inradiation exposure for the year of nearly3%, about the same as four diagnosticX-rays.4. In addition to Port Radium, wepassed two other abandoned mines atthe mouth of the Camsell, one of whichis the White Eagle silver mine, now justtimbers and filled shaft, the other calledthe Terra Mines. Navigation markerswith fading paint stand on the lowerCamsell to guide big lake boats up toTerra.5. Dick Irwin’s paddling resume is longenough to require a book to do it jus-tice. Dick also has photographs andsome film footage of Churchill Fallsand Lake Michikamau, possibly the lastever taken. On a related note, he de-

Dick Irwin, Mike Robinson with his Jack Russell Terrier Tilley, Tom Elliott, and Walter Lohaza

Toddler imitating drummers at Rae Lakes (Gameti)

shop in the backyard of his Ottawahome and gave canoe-building lessons.In 2004, Mike joined our trip I call

the Great Bear Circuit. He was the idealpartner, a strong paddler and an experi-enced outdoorsman with a congenialpersonality. Near the end of the trip atRae Lakes, Mike and Tom chartered aplane to Yellowknife because Mike hadto return to Ottawa to meet commit-ments. Walter and I continued on forseven days descending the Marian Riverto Marian Lake and the take-out atEdzo-Rae, thus completing the circuit.Sadly on August 24, 2010 Mike died

in a floatplane crash in northernQuebec. He was a devoted husband, fa-ther, and friend, an avid canoeist andpassionate teacher. He is missed by allwho knew him.


scribed the Naskapi, popularized by re-cent books on the 1905 ascent of theriver by Elson and Hubbard, as one ofthe most powerful rivers he has everpaddled.6. I would like to extend sincere thanksfor the people at Gameti who welcomedus into their celebrations and assisted usin moving gear and making arrange-ments.

Bare Bones Information:Access: taxi van from Yellowknife toEdzo-Rae was approximately $100 andtook one hour. Egress: the plane, a C-I85 from Rae Lakes, was charteredthrough the very reliable Air Tindi for$1000.Approximate time and distance break-down: Edzo-Rae to Redrock Lake: 21

days, 420 km; Redrock to Big Bend:five days, 250 km; Big Bend to GreatBear: eight days, 80 km (one rest day);Great Bear to Gameti: 10 days, 500 km.

MikeRobinsonBy Richard Irwin

Mike grew up in Cowan’s Bay nearLindsay, Ontario. He went to TrentUniversity and to Queen’s Universitywhere he earned a PhD in Physics. Heapprenticed for a year with HughStewart in Wakefield, learning how tobuild wood-canvas canoes. Mike took ateachers training course and became ateacher at Philemon Wright HighSchool in Gatineau. He built a canoe


This was my first trip to the Barrens. Aslong as I have my mind, I’ll rememberstanding on that esker on WhitefishLake, staring out over the blue, gemlikewater, with the clear blue sky, with themuskox herd grazing peacefully in thedistance, with the feeling that I couldsee almost forever, with the feeling thatthere were perhaps no other humanswithin maybe 100 kilometres.With apologies to Sir Walter Scott:Breathes there the Canadian with

soul so dead,Who on seeing the barrens has not

said,“This is my own, my native land!”But I came to realize that it is not my

home in any sense but that it lies inCanada. We were only casual visitors(Ragnar Jonsson of Nueltin Lake wouldhave called us, scornfully and justifi-ably, “tourists”), spending a few weeksin what had been home for generationsto a people, a people forcibly removedfrom their land. A way of life, hardthough it was (death by starvation, inCanada, in the 1950s!), is gone forever.To the superficial eye (mine anyway),

all that remains of the people are stonestructures, from the mundane to themagnificent: hunting blinds, tent rings,chipping sites, food caches, “fences”(lines of stones to guide the caribou tothe killing site; some say corrals but Idoubt this), way markers, the occasionalfire pit, and perhaps others beyond myunderstanding. My memory was nevermuch to boast about and I did not startmaking trip notes for several years. Thefew details that I have regarding rapids,portages, campsites, and so on, andmore importantly my Thelon bibliogra-phy, are posted at the CCR threadhttp://myccr.com/phpbbforum/viewto

pic.php?f=124&t=34668It was 1996. We had heard much

about the Barrens, mostly at theWilderness Canoeing Symposia (WCS),and decided that we wanted the experi-ence. George Luste, ever helpful withadvice, suggested that the Thelon is theeasiest of the Barren Land rivers and sowe chose it. We were a WCA group:Anne Snow, Enid Weiner, JoopSteinfort, and myself. As so many oth-ers have done and, one hopes, will do,

we started to put the trip together at theWCS that year.Scheduled flights got us to

Yellowknife. Thanks to Anne, who hadrouted me through Winnipeg andRankin Inlet, I got to see a part of thecountry that most people flying betweenToronto and Yellowknife miss, for ex-ample frozen lakes in mid-July. Our out-fitter (Barren Land Bob (BB) of Che-Mun fame) picked us up and drove us toour B&B. A charter flight took us to thenorthwest end of Whitefish Lake, witha stopover in Reliance for fuel and re-lief. At the end of the trip, two Cessna185 flights got us from the west end ofBeverly Lake back to the Whitefishcamp. We were flown back the next dayto Yellowknife, from where we returnedhome on scheduled flights.The bottom line: we returned to

Yellowknife on the day arranged; allservices were provided at the agreedprice; the rental canoes were in satisfac-tory condition; and we were treated wellduring our stays at Whitefish Lake. Formany people, that is enough. But all didnot go well, as I describe at the end.

Thelon River:Whitefish Lake to Beverly Lake

Story and photos by Allan Jacobs

Caribou trails on the Whitefish Lake esker


a spit off our route; we pulled in andcamped in a sandy area, hilly enough toget out of the wind. We were about fivekilometres from Lynx Lake Lodge. Idon’t know whether it was active at thetime; for sure we saw no boats. We con-tinued down Lynx Lake (I think this iswhere we saw our first “fence”), turnedeast before the cairn, and entered theriver again. We pulled in and camped ata beach site on the south shore. A cari-bou wandered past but ignored us. On ashort hike to the south, I found a mag-nificent stone structure, apparently ofreligious significance.July 18 to 20: We paddled down a

fast, easy stretch of water, ran somerapids and camped. More rapids thenext day. We scouted one, then decidedto portage it. On the scout, I cameacross some toilet paper that someonehad left. “Hey you jerk: It’s bad enoughleaving such in southern Ontario; uphere it doesn’t decay: look at those treesat the Hornby cabin!” The stiff windmade portaging the canoes a fun job.We camped after more rapids. Next day,a lazy paddle on small open stretcheswas followed by a portage aroundMuskox Falls. The river crashes improb-ably into a large centre rock (why has-n’t it been worn down over the years?). Iwas unable to control the canoe as I car-ried it down the steep hill so I let it go tofind its own way. A few kilometres later,

after the Elk River confluence, we en-countered undocumented obstacles, afew caribou swimming over to the southshore. It was perhaps on one of thesedays that Anne approached a muskoxtoo closely for my taste.July 21 to 23: More lazy paddling

got us past the outlet of Jim Lake. Thesharp turn north led to 15 kilometres ofvery fast water, past High Island andinto the east part of what is known asDouble Barrel Lake. We passed a hugesand dune and camped on the island justpast the turn north. After paddling an-other lengthy stretch of fast water withsome obstacles, we camped at a beachsite. The next day saw more fast waterand more obstacles. The river slows

JournalAfter touringYellowknife (of course weate at the Wildcat), we flew to WhitefishLake on July 12. We spent three nightsat BB’s camp on Whitefish Lake, wait-ing for the rest of our gear to arrive. BBand staff gave us lots of tips on the river,especially the rapids. One day we triedto paddle in the area but the wind wastoo strong. We visited a wolf den (noone home), saw the white spruce (wewere told that new trees grow fromroots, not from cones), failed in an at-tempt to sneak up on a muskox herd,watched a moose (yes!) through binocu-lars, were shown a collection of spearand arrow heads, and chatted with BB’sguests. A photographer among themwas after an albino muskox that BB hadspotted up north, near the Ellice.Another was a writer for Field andStream.July 14 and 17: Eventually the rest

of our gear arrived from Yellowknife.Next day (July 15), we headed out,passed the narrows, stopped for lunchby a muskox skeleton, then turnedsouth. The wind came up and we wal-lowed along. We entered LaRoque Bay,crossed to the east shore and camped ina small bay, on the edge of the tundra.Next day, the river between WhitefishLake and Lynx Lake was only fastwater. Not much later, as we travelledeast, a stiff wind came up. Joop spotted

Tundra and caribou at third campsite


down after the Mary Frances River con-fluence and an unattractive stretch gotus to Eyeberry Lake. We had set up thetents but saw a storm approaching and

so moved to the shelter of some bushes.It wasn’t much, but better than nothing.July 24 to 26: The wind was up so

we stayed put for quite a while.

Eventually, we got going, exitedEyeberry, ran some rapids, and stoppedafter a very short day. The next day sawmore rapids. After the Bear Creek con-

Anne, Joop and obstacles

From lunch stop, above canyon


fluence, we paddled some openstretches. Camp was on the rocks, justupstream from the start of the canyon.The damage done by the ice floes to therocks in the centre of the river was im-pressive. Next day, we paddled to thestart of the portage on river left. Far off,we saw a group portaging on the right,the first people we had seen for 11 days.The portage took all day; I doubt thatwe used the same route twice, in eitherdirection. I recall vividly the pitter-pat-ter, like rain on the tent at night, of bugsblown against my bug shirt by the stiffwind. We camped at the end of the

Enid and Anne at Warden’s Grove

Graves at Hornby site


portage, high on the bank, about onekilometre below the Clarke River con-fluence.July 27 to 29: That was the end of

the canyon. The next day, we scouted,then ran, a major rapid. We had dis-cussed heading up the Hanbury to lookat Helen Falls, but had been told that it’sa lengthy hike, and we were tired fromthe portage. We paddled on and campedabove Warden’s Grove, which we in-spected the next day. The highlight therewas the armoured outhouse (bears eatpeople poo?). We hiked up the hill butdidn’t get to the top. We continueddownstream through The Gap, passedGrassy Island and the Cosmos 954marker (didn’t stop to inspect it, didn’teven see it from the river) and enteredthe Thelon Oasis, a lengthy treed area inthe middle of the Barrens. Camp was anugly site on a mud bank, the only gamein town for some distance. At our lunchbreak the next day, we saw a youthgroup (some wearing shorts on the bar-rens!) ahead of us, almost certainly thegroup we had seen at the canyon. Wewaited for them to leave the Hornby sitebefore paddling to it. The sides of thecabin were still standing; some of theinterior material had been removed tosafety. The three crosses were askew;someone had tried to tie at least one to-gether. The stumps of the trees that hadbeen cut to build the cabin were stillstanding, 70 years later, testifying both

to the durability of organic material inthat environment and to the fragility ofthe barrens. All in all, a moving experi-ence. We continued downstream andcamped up a creek on the left.For those not familiar with the

Hornby-Christian-Adlard story:John Hornby (born 1880) led green-

horns Harold Adlard (born 1898) andEdgar Christian (born 1908) into theBarrens. Hornby had expected caribouto winter in a treed section of theThelon River; they did not and all threedied of starvation in 1927. Edited ver-sions of Christian’s diary were pub-lished, including the book Unflinching:A Diary of Tragic Adventure. The fulldiary and his letters to his parents werepublished much later. Further informa-tion, including discussion of the omittedmaterial, will be found athttp://www.cowboysong.com/christia

n/dontblame.htmlJuly 30 to August 1: Around noon

the next day, we saw the other groupahead; they were being picked up to gohome. We continued, lazily, andcamped. The next day, we turned leftafter an island and struggled upstreamto find a campsite with easy access tothe pingo (which is not visible from theriver). The next day, we hiked to thepingo (by the way, the topo map labelsit incorrectly). The visit is well worth astopover; don’t miss it unless you are re-ally rushed. We returned to the previous

night’s campsite.August 2 to August 4:We pulled in

at Lookout Point and inspected the re-mains of what had been a small commu-nity, if perhaps only a seasonal one. Therocks are sinking slowly into the tundraand might not be visible in 50 years orso. I read somewhere that the Inuit pad-dled up the Finnie River (almost straightacross from Lookout Point) to get wood;I read also that the point was the west-ern boundary, or near it, of Inuit terri-tory at the time. The reach near theUrsus Islands is fast, clear water; we re-laxed and watched the rocks and fishskidding by beneath the boats. Campwas on river left, in a huge sand field.Next day, we passed the Ursus Islandsand the Kigarvi River confluence, ranmore fast water, then pulled in at thewater survey cabin and camped (Enidand Anne inside, Joop and I outside).We signed the book (among others, theJapanese paddler who spoke at WCShad written a note) and looked at thetent circles and other remains (one per-haps a meat cache) of the Inuit commu-nity.August 5: We scouted the rapid at

Thelon Bluffs from river right; after asneak right (one of my two favouriteways to run rapids), we ferried over tothe north shore against a stiff current.We had one of those Barren Landsheadwinds to fight and wanted to havea look downstream; besides, it was time

Muskoxen on the lower Thelon


explained that it froze right to the bot-tom) and also the polygons, the canyon(with its rapids) and other features fromour trip. Anne and Enid got back, atdusk, on the second flight.August 9 and 10: The flight for the

four of us and our stuff came in fromYellowknife. It was a warm day thoughand the air was too thin for us to get offthe water; we tried twice, then gave up.We pulled leftover food from our packsand waited till evening when it hadcooled off some. Eventually, the pilotdecided to try again, so we went out forthe third time. He bounced the plane onthe waves. Of course we did not havethe airspeed to take off but I guess thosefew moments without water frictionhelped some. I was concerned thoughabout damage to the struts. We got off,rather too close to land for comfort, andheaded west, working our way aroundthunderstorms. The pilot informed uscasually that he had returned to flyingnot long before, having spent a fewmonths in hospital after a crash. Welanded on Back Bay, with the needles onboth fuel gauges pegged. Next day, myfriend Jean Stewart inYellowknife, whoworked for the CBC there, invited usover to her place for a grand meal withsome friends. And we ate also at restau-

rants, Anne had muskox at one of them.Then, sadly, it was time to go home.I would make five more trips to the

Barrens, the last in 2005. How I miss itnow.

AppendixDistance and duration: 700 kilome-tres, in 23 days on the water, at a mod-erate pace. We had planned for 25 dayson the water but lost two at the start.Given our later experiences on otherBarren Land rivers, we were delayedonly a little by wind. I ended up figur-ing on losing one day in six.Tip: Travel in the north is done on

what some call northern time; you aredoing very well if your charter flightsget you in and out on the agreed days.Rapids and portages: Please note

that high water may change things dras-tically. Whitefish Lake to the canyon:Lots of C2 and C3 rapids. One manda-tory portage (at Muskox Falls) plus sev-eral that are highly advisable.The canyon: Pretty well a manda-

tory portage. Some go right, others left.At least one party (I believe there aretwo such cases) tried to line down butlost a boat and spent a miserable, longtime, with almost nothing in the way ofsupplies or shelter, waiting for someone

for another hike. We had a long one; amuskox not so far away ignored us. Theriver below us was churned up by thewind but we had no choice but to con-tinue against it. And a light rain started.We met a couple from Montreal; theyhad passed us when we were camped atthe water survey cabin. We struggled onbut eventually gave up, pulled in andcamped in the mud. Camp Misery.August 6: The rain came down and

the wind blew hard enough to maketravel too painful to undertake. We sat itout most of the day. We went for a walkupriver, meeting the Montreal couplewho were waiting for their plane to landand take them out; I learned later thatother parties have been picked up herealso. The plane came in despite theweather and they left. Toward evening,Joop called to me that the wind hadgone down some. I crawled out of mytent, had a look and yelled “Let’s go!”After a hurry-up packing job, weheaded out. We continued past HoarePoint, against the wind of course, wentaround the next point (forgoing theportage across the peninsula), turnedinto the bay and made our final camp. Itwas one of the best sunsets ever.August 7:We cleaned up and sorted

out our gear. We placed the boats wherewe had been told to put them (open sideup, weighted down with big rocks; theywould be transported by zodiac up toWarden’s Grove, then flown to theWhitefish camp). As is her wont, Enidwent for a hike; Anne started out a fewminutes later, on a different route. Enidcame running back, shouting that shehad run into a bear. I chased after Anne,who stopped after a while, and we re-turned to camp. The four of us walkedaround, staying close to camp though. Aground squirrel and I chatted for awhile. I found a lot of driftwood nearthe point at the east end of the bay; I ex-pect that it comes down the Dubawntand is blown east.August 8:We got up, put everything

together and waited for our flights back.It was well into the afternoon before theCessna 185 arrived. Joop and I had thetightest schedules so we went out on thefirst flight; such gentlemen. I recall asmall lake that was still frozen (the pilot Enid and Anne preparing lunch in wind break

Experiences with Barren LandBob: First incident: Enid handled thefinances; she had paid the full cost of thetrip when requested to do so. But latershe got an angry phone call from BB, de-manding the balance of the payment andthreatening to cancel the trip and keepour $8,000 unless the balance was paidwithin hours. She explained that paymenthad been sent but he insisted, even moreangrily, that it had not been received andhe repeated the threat. Figuring thatsomething had gone wrong, and believ-ing the threat, she cancelled an appoint-ment in order to courier the amount de-manded. Well, it turned out that an errorhad been made in BB’s office, that thebalance had indeed been paid. BB neverapologized for his behaviour, even whenprompted to do so. The second cheque(voided) was returned to Enid, but shegot into considerable trouble for can-celling the appointment.


to notice that they were overdue.The canyon to Beverly Lake: After

a serious rapid below the Clarke conflu-ence, lots of fast water but only one sig-nificant rapid, that at Thelon Bluffs.Bugs: The worst in my experience

except on the Kazan (2003). The BarrenLand bugs are bad enough for a man;women who trip there are made oftougher material.Weather: Clear and beautiful, except

for a few days. Anne once jumped intothe water in her dry suit to cool off. Nosnow, no hail, not once frost at night.Considerable wind though.People encounters: A youth group

seen three times at a distance, plus acouple seen twice (chatted with them).Wildlife: One grizzly, several cari-

bou (explicitly, no herd) and severaldozen muskoxen.Scenery: Many beautiful eskers

above the canyon, not so good below it.

Second incident: All went well inYellowknife until we prepared to boardthe Twin Otter for the flight toWhitefish Lake. There were the four ofus (with gear and food for 25 days onthe river, but no canoes) plus six of BB’sguests and their gear. To most people,that is too large a load for a Twin Otter;in any case, the operator left most of ourgear behind. BB threw another fit,blaming us for having too much gear.So there we were at Whitefish withoutsupplies to paddle the river; I was theonly one with a tent, most of the foodwas still in Yellowknife, and so on. BBeventually flew back toYellowknife andbrought the rest of our stuff toWhitefish. We started downriver, twodays late.There was more remarkable behav-

iour but perhaps you have had enoughof my grousing.

Return flight: Thelon River near the canyon


Why Do You Go?Often asked that by friends from work.Told them it’s personal. Everyone hastheir own reasons for going. Can hardlytalk about it with my wife. It’s too closeto the heart.All reasons for going are OK. None

are better than others. You go becauseyou have to. Or because not going hurtstoo much. You go because at heart youare an adventurer and you want to seehonest-to-goodness wilderness. You gobecause the core of what is you has beenseared so deep that you cannot find hap-piness in any other activity or place.Tropical beaches, world famous muse-ums, and exotic locations can’t equal thehappiness that you find in the wilder-ness. You go to capture, if just for a fewmoments, exactly how all life shouldfeel. Alive.I’m sitting here at work now. A long

way from the wilderness. And I’m losingit. That vibrancy. That zest for life. Thatenjoyment of every moment of the day.Stuff that should be in every pore of mybeing.The wilderness gives you a reservoir

of strength that you can draw upon whenyou are back in the city. A lot like a dambuilt to hold winter snow melt. Thatwater is saved to be released in the deepheat of summer when people and cropsreally need it. The wilderness reservoirwill give you that same infusion ofstrength. Released when needed. Whenyour spirits are low. When you are facedwith a difficult task back in the city.When a tough decision has to be made.When work seems endless. Just likewater to dry soil.And the best is when you just get

back from the wilderness. The reservoiris at storage capacity. “Full pool” is whatthe hydrologists call it. Hopefully thewilderness reservoir will be full enoughto carry you until next year. Then youcan go back and get replenished again.Worst nightmare is wanting to go

back, and none of the variables are al-lowing it.“Always next year.” Keep telling your-

self that. On some days it might evenhelp.

Greg Went

Our canoe trip into the north end ofAlgonquin Park had been fraught with in-clement weather. My brother-in-law, Ross,and I had battled highwinds and been tossedby roiling seas. We’d been drenched in tor-rential downpours and had sat out a thun-derstorm that ripped the grommets from ourtarp. Then, on our next-to-last day, the skiesbegan to clear and wewashed ashore onto along, sandy beach on NorthTea Lake.Here we experienced the most brilliant

sunset imaginable. Reflected off the lake, itwas surreal in its intensity. We swam in thefrigidwater, exercised our culinary skills onelast time, then cleaned up and retired for thenight. I had just begun to doze when Rossshook me awake. “Gary,” he whispered ur-gently. “Something’s pissing on the tent!”“What?” I mumbled, half asleep.“Something’s pissing on the tent!

Listen!”Sure enough, something was urinating

on the tent. We listened intently as a steadystream of liquid splattered onto the fly rightabove where Ross lay, his eyes wide withfear.“What is it?” he breathed anxiously.“I don’t know.”It had a full bladder, whatever it was, be-

cause it kept peeing and peeing.“Do you think it’s a bear?” There was

panic in his voice.“Maybe a moose,” I whispered. “I don’t

think a bear can piss that high.”

The Biggest Moose in The WorldStory by Gary Storr

I thought about it some more and said,“I’ve never seen a moose take a leak. Itwould have to raise its hind leg like a dog tohit the tent, wouldn’t it? Unless, of course,it’s straddling the tent.”Ross could stand it no longer. He leaped

over to my side where we huddled together,listening...but suddenly the noise stopped.Wewaited with bated breath, but could hearnothing. It was out there biding its time,waiting for one of us to emerge - we knewthat much. After a while we decided toscope out the situation so we slowly un-zipped the door and peered into the dark-ness. Cautiously, we crawled out, but what-ever had been there was, thankfully, gone.We examined the tent andwere confoundedto discover that it was dry. Nervously, weswept our flashlight beam across the camp-site but all was quiet.We crawled back in and once we were

settled, something immediately resumedpissing on the tent. Ross jumped out of hissleeping bag at his wit’s end, and again itstopped. Then he made a discovery. Therewas a large air bubble in the middle of hisbed. Being unfamiliar with self-inflatingmattresses, he had blown in one too manypuffs of air before closing the valve.The un-fortunate result? The interior fibres wereslowly tearing away from the outer shell.And you can guess what a delaminatingsleeping pad sounds like: the biggest moosein the world.


1 Letters to the Granddaughter8 Introduction to the Story of DillonWallace

10 Don’t Give Up Journalism10 Contributors’ Guidelines10 WCA Activities

10 Deadlines10 Events Calendar11 WCA Fall Meeting 201212 Canadian Canoe Routes12 In Memory of Jim Greenacre13 Food for Paddlers

14 Up Four Rivers and Down FourRivers: On Dogrib trails withDick Irwin

19 Mike Robinson20 Thelon River27 Biggest Moose27 Why DoYou Go?

…in this issue

WCA Contacts http://www.wildernesscanoe.ca

Where it is…

Ontario

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Editorial Team:Aleks Gusev: Editor-in-ChiefPegi Dover: Text EditorBarb Young: Food EditorBill Ness: Outings EditorBob Henderson: Resource EditorToni Harting: Photo EditorPeter Jaspert: Layout

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excerpt from letters to the granddaughter ... pdf/nastawgan/winter... · dearamy,...

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