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The Barretts on the Bay in '25
The Journal of Richard Barrett
Edited by Gwyneth Hoyle
A diary of a trip made by my father, L.A. Barrett and myself. My father was 49 years of age, and I was 20, and a student in Mining Engineering at the time."
"Grandfather Barrett always talked to his sons about making a canoe trip to James Bay. He never did. Later Father and his brother Ethelred planned to do so, and finally the summer of 1925 became the definitive date. All was set until Ethelred found himself as defense attorney in a very important case and had to cancel out. I was working underground at the Dome Gold Mine near Timmins that . So Father wrote to me to see if I would join him on the venture. I jumped at the chance."
Dr. Barrett and his son Richard met on the Temiskaming and Northern Railway, en route to Cochrane where they visited an old friend, Mr. Stevens. Stevens and his two grown sons were all good bushmen. After hearing their plan to go down the Abitibi and return up the Missinaibi, he suggested an alternative route that he thought would be safer although longer. They accepted his advice to go down the Pagwa, Kenogami and Albany Rivers, canoe along the coast of James Bay to Moose Factory and return up the Abitibi.
In Cochrane the Barretts bought a beautiful 18' tight ribbed canvas covered canoe, broad of beam and "heavy as the devil" because of the extra thick canvas. They fitted it to take a mast for the lateen sail they had brought with them, and boarded the CNR train going west to Pagwa Crossing. At 2 am on August 5, the train let them off at a flag stop amidst thousands of mosquitoes, within the babbling sound of a river. Their only map was of the Abitibi River, but they made their way easily down the Pagwa and Kenogami to the Albany River. Dr. Barrett had water-proofed their groundsheet by dissolving paraffin in warm gasoline and painting the solution on canvas. They had also made their own fly dope by cooking citronella, pine tar oil and camphor into an olive oil base. It was black, smelt strongly of tar, and was so sticky that it stayed on even over perspiration.
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Father Barrett |
By August 12, after a week of travel, they had reached the island-filled, seven mile wide mouth of the Albany River. Without a map, it took an extra day of heavy paddling back upstream in foul weather to locate the Revillon post of Fort Albany. The post manager, Mr. Reid, was their first English speaking contact since Cochrane. He warned them of the dangers of coastal travel where the tide runs out in places for a distance of three miles. He also gave them a five gallon gunpowder tin to carry fresh water, believing there would be none along the coast.
The easy going canoe trip now turned into an adventure as they set off at 9.30 am on the second leg of their trip:
Aug. 14. Two o'clock found us poling with our paddles so far from shore that the trees were just a faint line. There was a gale blowing offshore and we were fearful of being blown out to sea. While trying to work our way back towards shore, we grounded on a sand bar and realized the tide had left us high and dry. About four o'clock we floated again and started to work our way back towards land, moving in every time we had sufficient water. At ten o'clock we could move no closer, but in the darkness could see nothing but marsh. We drove our paddles into the mud, tied the canoe to them and moving our dunnage fore and aft, made space amidships to lie down with our heads at opposite ends and in this manner fell asleep.
Aug. 15. We awoke just at sunrise with a bitterly cold "norther" blowing across our faces. The tide picked us up about nine o'clock and we started immediately to make as far as we could before getting caught again. About noon we reached a long ridge that seemed to run a great distance out to sea. After nearly 27 hours in the canoe we were glad to go ashore, pitch camp and wait out the blow. There were no trees from which we could cut tent poles so we threw the tent over the upturned canoe, rocked it down and camped under it.
Aug. 16. Very heavy sea running. We managed to make the next point, five miles away without smashing the canoe on one of the many large rounded rocks, almost invisible in the murky water. Our canoe has so much freeboard that it caught a lot of wind giving my Father trouble in the stern. His hands, not toughened when we started, are still blistered from paddling. He wrapped them carefully each morning with clean handkerchiefs to protect the bare flesh. It was still very cold and we shivered a lot. Decided to spend the day and night here. During the night it rained heavily and I woke to find that water was running in under the side of the tent. We had a moment of fright thinking that the high tide was coming in over our wee island. With the flashlight we spotted the problem with the tent, corrected it and rolling over in our wet blankets were soon asleep again.
Aug. 17. Another dull cold morning, very stormy, but we felt we must push on. Waves were running four to five feet high. After shipping several pailfuls of water, we were forced to give up and go ashore, wading the canoe along in the shallow water to the next point. Some Indians were camped further along the shore. Father pointed out that there must be fresh water otherwise Indians would not camp there. They showed us a water hole back in the woods. The swampy tasting water was particularly welcome as the water in our tin was almost exhausted and tasted of sulphur and saltpetre from the gunpowder.
Aug. 18. Bright, clear and calm. We got away early and made the first decent progress for several days. We paddled until rain hit us. It promised to be an all day rain so we went in and made camp. We estimate we had made about ten miles. All night long it blew a gale and rained in torrents.
Aug. 19. The frying pan had a good inch of water in it. It was cold and windy all day, although the sun broke through for part of the time. We cut down a couple of fair sized spruce to make a windbreak. We cooked the plovers (shot the day before) and made a delicious stew, thickening the gravy with flour. Served with hot bannock it was a scrumptious meal. All day long great skeins of geese were flying overhead.
Aug. 20. Day broke bitterly cold, the wind still tearing at the tent. Without waiting for breakfast, we pulled up stakes and moved back into the spruce woods. The sun was shining and the dense growth shielded us from the cutting wind. It was heaven. We set snares (which never catch anything), blazed a trail to the water-hole, and when the shades of night drew upon us we crawled into a delightfully soft bed, underlain with spruce boughs.
Aug. 21. We spent the night watchfully. Estimating that the tide would be in about 2.30 am, we were up early, cooked breakfast and tumped all our gear across to the shore. My Father took the first load across while I let down the tent, and when he came back he said he could see no sign of the water. With considerable effort we carried the canoe and gear out a distance over the mud flats so we could move as soon as the tide reached that spot. Just at noon, we floated and got on our way. This trip is teaching us patience if nothing else. We made good time for a while with the sail up. At 3 pm we beached on the south side of a stubby peninsula. The wind had swung around to the south and it was now quite warm, so we stripped off our clothes and had a quick swim in the icy waters. There was speculation as to where we were on the Bay. If only we had a map of part with us!
Aug. 22. Up and away before daylight. We followed the tide out, manoeuvring carefully among the rocks, passing a number of longish ridges that ran out quite a distance from shore. We sighted what appeared to be a headland far ahead to the south - perhaps the mouth of the Moose. By steady work against a strong head wind the objective was reached, and to our disappointment the shore extended beyond for miles without a single break. After bucking head winds all day we turned and ran in until we grounded. It was late in the evening and the tide was out a good way. We gathered a few pots and some grub and walked across the tidal flats to build a fire and cook a meal. As we walked in from the canoe, which was painted grey, we realized that it might be hard to find on our return, for the flats were dotted with large boulders of a similar colour. We set two tallish poles upright in the sand in line with the canoe. We returned to the canoe as dusk was approaching, aligning ourselves with the poles which showed against the sky, and by this method had no trouble in reaching the canoe. The shore was poor and marshy. We tied the canoe to paddles driven firmly into the mud and bedded down in it. As we lay there with our hips wedged in under the thwarts and our faces turned skyward, we beheld the greatest display of Northern Lights we had ever seen. Row upon row of ghostly streamers, some even lying in great arcs in the southern part of the sky. Tide would float us about 2 am.
Aug. 23. At the first swing of the canoe we awakened. We decided to ride "at anchor" until the paddles came adrift or it got light enough to navigate. Father said he would sit up and watch. I tried to do likewise but soon pulled the covers over my head. Father, sitting with the covers up to his neck drifted off into dreamland. He awoke when the canoe started bumping on the bottom, the sun well up in the sky. The tide had come in and was now on its way out! In a twinkling we had our socks off and were wading the canoe out into shallow waters we could paddle. About midday we ran into a basin and as the tide continued to fall, found ourselves land locked, once more the victim of the tides pranks. We smoked Durham cigarettes and chatted until we floated again. Further along we suddenly noticed that the shore line was broken for quite an interval. Running past a shoal island we spied an Indian who pointed in the direction we were heading as an answer to our shout of "Moose?". Suddenly something smooth and yellow flashed at the surface off our port bow. Then we saw them flashing all around us,sometimes so close that we feared lest the monsters would upset us. We learned later that these were "white whales" and were never known to upset a boat. We reached the Hudson Bay Post at 6 pm and a welcome sight it was. Here endeth the second leg of our trip.
Aug. 25. We were away at 6.15 with the tide, working against a headwind. We passed the mouth of the French River, flowing in from the southeast at noon and ran into miles of shoal water which we waded, dragging the canoe.
Aug. 26. The wind was more moderate and sometimes behind us. Once, with sail and paddles we almost made the top of a rapid before the wind dropped. In spite of furious effort with our paddles we drifted down stream again. The first of the four Abitibi River mouths was reached in early afternoon. We explored all four of them and finally found the portage on the south bank of the fourth branch late in the afternoon and camped beside a survey station.
Aug. 29. Woke to the howling of the cursed sou'wester, but had to push on because of the food situation. Checking our position on the map, we estimate eight days ahead of us and our supply of flour, etc., will only last about four days
Aug. 30. A thunderstorm and head winds. Caught a fair sized bass and two pike.
Aug. 31. We finished the fish for breakfast. Strong head winds again today. By lining we made some of the best mileage so far and reached the Blacksmith Rapids in the afternoon, camping a mile above them.
Sept. 1. Woke late to a favourable wind. Making good time, we reached the mouth of the Little Abitibi and reached the Long Rapids in mid-afternoon. We had wondered if they had been named after a Mr. Long but soon found that the name was descriptive. It was slow hard work, stealing up inch by inch, and cold wading those waters. Wonderful night. Cold and clear with the Northern Lights waving in curtains of spectral colours overhead.
Sept. 2. Our rations are now very small. Our clothing involves good woollen underwear and heavy corduroy trousers. We let them dry on us at night by the heat of our bodies so as not to have to put cold wet clothing in the morning. Continuous rapids all day, wading most of the time - hard, slow slippery going. Reached smooth water at 5 pm. What a relief! Found a deserted cabin in an old clearing and decided to spend the night there. The thump of a rabbit's foot outside got us up. After missing two shots, we saw a rabbit sitting motionless under a bush and got it. Upon entering the shack again, what did we see but another rabbit, cringing in the corner. It was not a very sporting shot, but hunger overcomes training.
Sept. 4. The view this morning from our camp was beyond description: the hills, the waning moon, the spires of mist rising above the tree, the silently moving strings of foam from the eddies. Today at lunch, we were drinking a little of the gravy from the rabbit stew, when I realized that my Father was holding the pail to his lips, but was not drinking. He was pretending to do so, so that there would be more for me. We were both getting weak from the strenuous work and the small amount of food. Taking him to task about this, he smiled as only a father can smile who loves his son,and he agreed to take his proper quota. We must make the Hudson Bay "New Post" tomorrow at all costs.
Sept. 5. We thought we had passed our last rapids until after the Post, but we were wrong. Half a mile from our camp, we encountered the other half of the Otter. After a long search for the portage, and a lengthy carry, it was a pleasure to be paddling on smooth water. Tired, hungry and irritable for the want of food, we said little as we paddled along. We finally sighted the white building of the Post at 6.15 PM. Two French Canadians helped us unload and turned the canoe over to examine its bottom. One exclaimed: "By Jees Chris', I set of the trip, despite many portages and more rain, was without incident. We prepared a great feast of bacon, salt pork, boiled potatoes, hot bannock and corn syrup and ate until it was painful to move.
On September 9 they reached Island Falls where the Fraser-Brace Company was building a huge dam to develop power for Ontario Hydro. They were allowed to eat in the staff dining room and sleep in the hospital between clean sheets. They awoke feeling fit as fighting cocks, clean, warm and not bothered by the cold rain that was still . The company's little construction train took them out to the junction with the main line, three miles away. In Cochrane they sold their canoe back to the merchant from whom they had bought it for a fair price, and had dinner with their old friend Mr. Stevens. In spite of the heaped plates they had demolished at dinner, as they waited for the train south, they bought an apple pie at a bakeshop, asked for it to be smothered in ice cream, and shared it between them.
This story first appeared in Che-Mun Outfit 105 in 2001.
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