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Expedition: Lookin' Back Part II
Che-mun 100: Expedition: Lookin' Back Part I
Che-mun 100: A More Recent Look Back
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ESCAPE-ADES -- The final drop of the challenging Escape Rapids on the lower Back River has claimed many victims and requires a carry over if you're on the left side of the rapid.
-- photos by Tracy Perry
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JOHN LENTZ continues his story of the northern summer of '62 when he was one of four young Americans became the first paddlers since HBC Chief Factor James Anderson in 1855, to descend the length of the extremely remote and rugged Back River in the NWT by canoe. Part One of the story was featured in Outfit 100 and brought the group down the first half of the river and into contact with a four man British party who, incredibly, were also on the very remote river. We continue with Part Two of that summer long ago. We left the foursome near the outlet of Garry Lake and the beginning of a long stretch of whitewater.
By JOHN LENTZ
Near the outlet of Garry Lake:
Evidence of the original native peoples was not hard to find. We tended to choose high bluffs for camping places (expansive views and the bugs were more easily blown away), but often we weren't the first. Stone tent rings were commonplace and we even located an unusual rectangular one, possibly the foundation of a communal structure. One evening Tracy walked up to scout a fine, high camping spot to not only find the usual tent ring, but a rusty .38-55 Winchester rifle.
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The Back River remains a challenging northern route for wilderness paddlers.
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We wondered what story lay behind the disappearance of this valued and essential item which could only have been lost, probably in the winter, under the most dire of circumstances. It was just a few years prior to our trip that the interior of the barrens was essentially depopulated by the Canadian Government when the Inuit were transported to coastal settlements. Since that time in the mid-1950s, the entire interior of the eastern Arctic mainland actually has a far lower permanent population than when Captain Back penetrated the region in 1834. What other part of our planet can make a similar claim? Is this the ultimate definition of wilderness?
Below the outlet of Garry Lake, Kit tried his luck. We had no trouble catching the modest grayling, but this strike was something different. After 50 minutes of struggle, Kit reeled a massive lake trout close to his canoe and ordered up our landing net. We scrambled to find it, only to discover the net had been left back in Yellowknife. I then offered my poncho which was submerged between the two boats, the fish hauled over it, and when each of us raised a corner - voila! The 40-inch laker was then deposited in front of me, thrashing wildly. I did the only thing that seemed natural - grabbed an ax to give it a few good whacks. By this time Tracy had the movie camera working. Unfortunately, the film just shows me sitting there and apparently bashing the bottom of a canvas/wood canoe as if I had become afflicted with some kind of barren land dementia!
The inevitable black fly and mosquito assaults, most aggravating during supper, were met with the usual bug dope as well as attempts at oriented eating when we all faced into the wind. Each of us had a head net, but I discarded mine after a series of embarrassments. The problem was I kept forgetting my veil was there. One evening, I created some comment by trying to eat a spoonful of stew through the mesh. On other occasions, when my nose ran in the cool weather I would expectorate, having not bothered to bring a hanky. Sometimes my net was on, and well, I'm sure the reader gets the idea.
Escape Rapid, despite its awesome scope, was well handled as we took it one bite at a time in a series of eddy hops concluding with a short carry-over at the climax. Below our carry, the scene was dramatic: a wan summer sun falling behind the western hills, caribou grazing emerald green banks, and our little group launching small boats into a river whose surging power could light a small city.
Next morning, we came upon the British kayaker (BCBE) struggling to unload a broached kayak. We pitched in to help until everything was ashore then, ever mindful of our need for firewood, traded the broken frame for a spare pack which was needed by the BCBE to consolidate their gear. This was the last contact with our British friends who ultimately reached the desolate, stormy Cape Britannia.
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BACK FLIPS -- Trying his hand at some culinary artistry, Austin Hoyt flips one of the pancakes he prepared on the Back in 1962.
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Food was still a problem. Not so much quantity as what I believe is the mistaken policy of a hot lunch. Our respective mothers advocated its consumption, but the tundra had other ideas. One time the menu was a pot of spaghetti. We dutifully scoured twigs from the vicinity (limited fuel restricted use of our stove), yet despite rigging one canoe as a wind brake, the combination of a 20 mph breeze and 40 degree F. temperatures only induced the water to simmer. A critical choice presented itself - either go far afield for more wood or hope the pasta would soften in lukewarm water. Supported by a unanimous decision, I dumped the spaghetti in. I popped the pot lid back on, then checked everything a few minutes later. The stuff had fused into a gelatinous blob! We gnawed at the outside layer of semi-edible pasta, which was helped down by a few spoonfuls of sauce, then tossed the rest. On subsequent trips over the next 37 years, I've steered clear of hot lunches.
A little further on, food was again at the root of the problem. For weeks we had been treated to an astonishing, zoo-like display of animal life: caribou, muskox, wolf, and the raucous ground squirrel. So it was just another sighting when I spotted a single caribou on a hillside late one morning. Something made me suggest we take the animal for food, but Tracy quickly countered that we didn't need any so why shoot an unoffending innocent. A vote was taken, and Tracy lost three to one. I dispatched the caribou, after which our debate was forgotten as the three medical students became absorbed in field dressing the animal.
Within a mile after the site, there was a healthy rapid, but the yellow canoe found a clear route on river left. As we started down, Tracy held to the center. Halfway through I turned and shouted, "Where the hell are you going" It was too late. We filled at the bottom, but the others were there in a moment to get us ashore. As I sat on the bank drying out, I catalogued our losses: the river had reclaimed our two pots of caribou meat, my rifle had gone to the bottom, and our bloody pants were now cleansed. Had the Great Manitou spoken - that Tracy was right? I'm not a superstitious person, yet I've never shot another caribou.
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Captain Back on the Escape Rapids
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Although Captain Back's descent of the river might be considered an Arctic exploration of secondary significance, his published journal, Narrative of the Arctic Land Expedition (1836) was highly popular. Witness his description of the mighty Escape Rapids:
The boat was lightened, and every care taken to avoid accidents; but so overwhelming was the rush and whirl of the water, that she, and consequently those in her, were twice in the most imminent danger of perishing by being plunged into the gulfs formed in the rocks and hollows of the rapid. It was in one of those singular and dangerous spots \'85 that the crew owed their safety to an unintentional disobedience of the steersman's directions. The power of the water so far exceeded whatever had been witnessed in any of the other rivers of the country that the same precautions successfully used elsewhere were weak and unavailing here.
The steersman was endeavouring to clear a fall and some sunken rocks on the left, but the man to whom he spoke misunderstood him, and did exactly the reverse; and now, seeing the danger, the steersman swept round the boat's stern: instantly it was caught by an eddy to the right, which snapping an oar, twirled her irresistibly broad side on; so that for a moment it seemed uncertain whether the boat and all in her were to be hurled into the hollow of the fall, or dashed stern foremost on the sunken rocks. Something perhaps wiser than chance ordained it otherwise; for how it happened no account can be given, but so it was that her head swung inshore towards the beach, and thereby giving Sinclair and the others an opportunity of springing into the water, and thus, by their united strength, of rescuing her from her perilous situation.
At the awful moment of suspense, when one of the crew with less nerve than his companions began to cry aloud to Heaven for aid, McKay, still in a louder voice, exclaimed, "Is this a time for praying? Pull your starboard oar." Heaven helps those who help themselves' seems to have been the creed of this stout-hearted highlander.
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As a result of the trip, I was accepted into The Explorers Club of New York. I was sky high in early 1965 when the editor of the Club quarterly, Explorers Journal, told me that my Back River article would be published in the March issue. First time in print! When the magazine appeared, I took a copy right into the Chairman of the Export-Import Bank, the agency that had generously given me the leave. This gentleman didn't get to be Chairman without a keen eye. Looking at the brief author's bio I had been asked to write, he stabbed his finger at the last sentence that was intended to read, "Mr. Lentz works for the Export-Import Bank"
The Chairman growled, "After we gave you all that leave, what's this?"
My pal, the editor, had added a small descriptive modifier as in, "When not in the field, Mr. Lentz works." I stammered out a reply I hadn't written the offending phrase. The Chairman flipped to the lead page. " Says "John Lentz' here. That's your name, isn't it" , he questioned. I escaped with my job barely intact to have a chat with the editor about clearing his changes.
Captain Back found Inuit camped at the last rapid and so did we. Our arrival from the near-limitless interior surprised the three families so we quickly displayed maps, trying to explain how sensible it was to begin at the headwaters way back near Alymer Lake. Austin's moment of triumph as our leader was muted by having a patch over one eye due to irritation from a contact lens. His mood improved when he reached for a smoke and three of the "primitive" natives pulled out Ronson lighters. As many others have found, this is a traditional Inuit fishing station to which families migrate south from Gjoa Haven each summer.
We were invited for tea and dried fish, then reciprocated with doughnuts which were mostly appreciated by the kids. Fresh fish was offered once. We were watching a 10-year old take in a net which held some whitefish. It was lunch time so he dispatched one fish with a deft stroke of his knife then sliced a chunk of raw fillet and ate it on the spot. When the youngster saw our jaws go slack, he mistook the surprise for hunger and hospitably offered us another piece of fillet on the tip of his knife. Tracy apologized for our lack of an appetite, saying we really had put away a big breakfast. At this camp and one a day's travel further on at tidewater, we traded surplus food and equipment for bone pipes, snow knives, and mukluks. A fine bone and soapstone pipe from these transactions rests comfortably today on one of my library shelves.
When Chuck McAvoy appeared on August 27, it became apparent we hadn't traded enough as some gear had to be left due to the weight limitations of his Cessna 180. Back in Yellowknife at 10 pm after an illegal night landing, the veteran pilot invited us to his home for some Scotch so we could all report to the Mounties later smelling of the stuff. In the official post-trip debriefing at midnight, all of us were positive Chuck had us back by 5 pm, and it was duly noted.
So we returned to structured life on the "outside" after a stunning and most fulfilling barren lands experience. I, for one, was imbued with an affection for the north to the extent of returning on twelve subsequent trips down N.W.T. rivers. I still pass many pleasurable hours pouring over maps in search of that perfect route.
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OUTFIT 101: As we head into our second hundred issues we'll finish with the main story of last issue - John Lentz' Back River trip.
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WHERE ARE THEY NOW?
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Austin Hoyt - Senior executive with WGBH, the educational TV channel in Boston.
Kit Gregg - Medical doctor, practicing in South Hamilton, Massachusetts.
Tracy Perry - Former geneticist at University of Montreal, now retired in Shoreham, Vermont. Did a 1967 trip with John Lentz down the Kaniapiskau River in Quebec.
John Lentz - Retired from U.S. Government in 1999 to join a private financial consulting firm in the Washington, D.C., area. Between 1962 and 1999 John did 13 river trips in the Northwest Territories, three in Quebec, and two in Siberia.
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Part I of 'Lookin' Back' appeared in Spring Outfit 100 of Che-Mun.
This article first appeared in
Che-Mun Outfit 101
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