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Expedition: To Queen Maud by Ellice
By DOUG MCKOWN
It was a beautiful morning in Cambridge Bay, NWT. Clear blue skies, warm temperature, and calm winds did a great deal in softening the view of the barren Arctic landscape. It was a wonderful July day to begin our trip on the Ellice River in the summer of 1996.
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Author Doug McKown and partner Donna paddle one of the large granite gorges on the Ellice.
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However, if it was such a wonderful day, why was I wasting it by lying on the floor of an airplane hanger trying to fix broken down rental canoes? Unfortunately, this was just one aspect of a number of difficulties we encountered in getting this trip underway. Changes in airline schedules were only the first in a number of problems. We waited six hours in the Edmonton airport while they repaired the plane we were supposed to fly to Cambridge Bay. When we finally left Edmonton late in the evening, we were surprised to find that when you are flying to Cambridge Bay, for some reason that we couldn't quite grasp, you first fly to Resolute Bay. All the flight delays had quashed any hope of flying into the Ellice River that day.
Arriving in Cambridge Bay well after midnight, we slept on the floor of the charter airline hanger, eager to get away early in the morning. At 9 am a pickup truck arrived at the hanger and dumped four canoes onto the pavement. I looked at the canoes and thought, "They must be getting rid of these old junkers".
A few minutes later when our outfitter arrived, I sadly realized that these were the rental canoes we were expected to use for our trip. Of the four canoes, one had a split hull, all the cane seats had no cane, none of the wood had a speck of varnish, some were missing thwarts, there were no knee pads, and the sprayskirts did not fit. The outfitter came up with another canoe to replace the one with the split hull, and had a couple of rough cut chucks of wood to use as thwarts in a couple of the others. He handed us a role of duct tape to fabricate seats to replace the worn out cane. We spent almost 3 hours trying to rebuild the canoes so that they would be fit to use. We never did get the sprayskirts to fit very well, and it was a good thing we never had to depend on them. There was nothing else we could do since there were no other canoes available in Cambridge Bay, and at this point were we at the complete mercy of the outfitter.
After this very frustrating work wasting most of the day of our ever-shortening river trip, the pilot of the charter company came up to me and asked, "So where is it you want to go?". I was not impressed. As far as I knew, all the flight arrangements, according to our outfitter, were finalized, complete, and understood. Now was not the time that I wanted to find out that he had never actually talked to the charter company. The question had always been could we fly into the river with a Twin Otter on wheels, and land on an esker that was marked on the map right beside our starting point. None of the pilots had been to this spot and did not know if it would be possible. If not, the entire 520 km flight in would be wasted.
After a great deal of discussion we finally decided to go in by float plane first. Our outfitter who was returning to the Thelon in his own Cessna 185 float plane would take one of us and one canoe. Three more of us would go in a Beaver with one more canoe. We would all land on the water, and then decide if the Twin Otter could land. When we arrived at the headwaters, the pilot thought that it looked like it would be possible, but interesting, for the Twin Otter to land on the esker. two hours later, Donna, Keith and I stood as markers on top of the hard packed esker, which we personally did not think appeared quite large enough to land a Twin Otter. As the big plane roared in low over the ridge, the esker seemed very small indeed.
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The Ellice offered a great range of paddling thrills and Barrenlands vistas.
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We watched the plane begin circling, as the pilot tried to decide whether he agreed with us. We observed with tense anticipation as the Twin Otter finally made an amazingly short and bouncy landing. Finally, at 10 pm, all canoes, paddlers, and equipment were on the shore of a small lake, watching the plane disappear over the rolling hills of the wide tundra.
It had been a frustrating day. However, these are the sorts of things that often occur, especially when you are trying to reach the more remote areas of our country and the Ellice River is certainly remote. The Ellice rises in the central barrens, just north east of the Beechy Lake area of the Back River. The Ellice flows north, on the east side of Bathurst Inlet, along the west side of the vast Queen Maud Bird Sanctuary. At the end of its 250 mile journey, the river empties into the Arctic Ocean at Campbell Bay.
From the top of the ridge beside our first campsite we had a wonderful first view of the central barrens. To the south of our lake we could see the land fading away down towards the valley of the mighty Back River. To the north was the wide valley of the Ellice River, stretching into the lonely, silent distance. The view was so good of course because there was plenty of light, even at 11 pm, and there were no trees at all. The nearest tree was probably more than 150 miles to the south of us in the valley of the Thelon River. A lack of trees is one of the advantages of travelling on the tundra. There are no trees to block the view, campsites are everywhere, walking is easy, and there is no portaging through deadfall or dense forest. Of course at the same time there is no firewood, no shade, no wind protection, no way to sneak up on animals, and in a thunderstorm you are the tallest thing around. Actually, one of the most difficult aspects of the tundra to get used to is the problem of determining scale with no trees for reference. It takes some experience to tell how tall a hill or cliff is, how far away is a ridge, or even how big animals are.
The tundra is by no means an empty landscape. While, in the shelter of some deep creek beds, we were able to find a few willow shrubs a meter high, most of the ground vegetation exists within 4 to 8 inches of the surface. In this zone there is a great variety of willows, mosses, lichens, and flowers, thick and lush covering every inch of the thin soil. The vegetation is a lush and vigorous carpet, hammered into this stunted configuration by the merciless, brutal, Arctic winter. While we did find plenty of interesting plants, we were just a little too late in the season to enjoy the best of the blossoming flowers.
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One of the great pleasures of northern camping in extreme location,
like the Ellice River shown here, is the ability to make oneself as comfortable as possible.
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As we cooked our first supper, and set up our tents on the copper brown esker, we were looking forward to seeing plenty of wildlife in this lively Arctic environment. Even so, everyone was quite surprised when Keith called to us and we looked up from our activities to see a caribou trotting completely unconcerned through the centre of our camp.
The morning of our first day on the river, the eight of us, Pam and Don, myself and Donna, Heather and Keith, and Mike and Shelley set off, paddling down the long lake under blue skies, and with a warm, light tail wind. At the end of the lake, expecting to find the river outlet, we found instead a wide flat field of boulders, with a small trickle of water disappearing amongst the rocks. While somewhat disappointing, this was not a complete surprise to us. Like most of the barren land rivers, the Ellice floods during the spring melt. From the time of the melt, the river level drops steadily as the water drains off the shallow soil of the Arctic permafrost.
The trick is to plan your trip to happen just after breakup but before all the water has run away. This is always a bit of a guessing game in the Arctic, as the spring weather is quite unpredictable. We knew before arriving that breakup had been early this year. There is a remote water flow measuring station on the Ellice River a few miles from the Arctic coast. Indications were that the flow volume for our trip this year would be 50% or less of the average values. Low water levels always make paddling at the headwaters of a river a chancy prospect. What followed for us was four days of lifting, portaging, wading, humping and sliding canoes over rocks and boulders. The river bed was a tumbling mass of stones, ledges and ribs of stark, jagged rock. It was hard, wet work, wading, crawling, pulling and pushing, over slimy, slippery rocks.
I kept myself entertained listening to various snippets of conversation around me: Donna cursing yet another banged shin; Shelley complaining that she just stepped into a hole deeper than her gumboots once again; and Don wondering if that eight inch wide gap was big enough for his canoe to slip through. While a very interesting area, a great deal of this first portion of the river would require serious portaging even at regular water levels. Though the travelling was rough, we still had plenty of time to appreciate the magnificent, rugged landscape. The barrens is a raw and wild land. It is easy to imagine that the great glaciers of the last ice age have only just departed, leaving the raw, newly exposed tundra of shallow soil, and tumbled broken rocks.
Fine weather made dealing with the low water considerably more pleasant. For four or five days we had warm temperatures, clear skies, and light winds. The mosquitoes were only moderately troublesome, easily dealt with by our headnets, and our roomy bug tent for cooking and eating. The water was surprisingly warm and we were able to swim, or at least bathe, most days.
As we proceeded down the river, the water volume increased and we reached a point where we were actually paddling more than we were portaging. The long hours of sunlight allowed us to get the most out of our days. On the rolling, treeless tundra we could stop just about anywhere to camp. In short order we would have the bug tent up or the wind tarp in place.
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Doug McKown and party work down the granite ledges of one of the rapids on the elusive Ellice River at the very top of the mainland portion of Nunavut. This remote river offers a great challenge to serious paddlers willing to pay the price to get there.
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While one of the couples would start supper, the rest of us had an hour or two to hike, explore, swim or just relax. An evening hike across the tundra, through small creek beds, or across the rocky ridges, made us keenly aware of the variety and abundance of life in this seemly empty landscape. Caribou tracks are everywhere, the small paths of voles, and lemmings run under the low vegetation hiding from the eagles and Peregrine falcons. Among the shrubs and flowers we heard the busy ground birds, sparrows, hoary red polls, horned larks, and ptarmigans as they rustled and fluttered, searching for seeds. On one rocky ridge Heather and Keith found an entire family of short tailed weasels. These beautiful little creatures never stopped moving, darting among the rocks, boldly approaching to inspect the possible food potential of our hiking boots. In the evenings we could listen to the raucous cackling of the tall sand hill cranes as they flew from lake to lake across the tundra.
We also enjoyed a great variety of wildlife as we paddled along the river. Canada geese were our constant companions. There were many other species of waterfowl joining us on the river. Mergansers and Jaegers were often about. Arctic Terns hovered over us with their sharp cries. Elegant Red Throated loons, and fat Greater White Fronted geese fled down the river before us.
We scared up a number of Arctic hares along the river shore. With grey summer colouring, they are almost invisible crouching motionless among the scattered, lichen covered rocks. On one of our rare wet days, we finished one of the last long rocky portages, arriving at the shores of one of the longer lakes. Keith spotted movement on the far side of the lake, and our binoculars soon showed us countless caribou moving along the shore. We managed to find ourselves in the middle of a caribou migration. Caribou were following the shore, and swimming across the bays, travelling upstream as we travelled down. We paddled across the lake to camp along the edge of an enormous esker. This camp marked the beginning of our life among the caribou.
From our camp, Michael sat and watched the caribou as they came over the rocky ridge beside our esker. Hundreds swam across the narrows and travelled down the far side of the lake. Many others continued along the esker behind our camp. The caribou continued past us in small groups, and larger herds, constantly, 24 hours a day, for days. For the next week we could watch as we paddled, small groups trotting along shore, lying on the sand flats, swimming across the river, and silhouetted on the ridges. The ankles of caribou have a unique arrangement of tendons that causes them to click when they walk. It is an awesome experience to sit in your canoe a few metres from shore and watch a herd of a thousand animals trotting along the sand, only the clicking of their ankles breaking the silence of the arctic landscape.
There are a great variety of features along the Ellice River. The more distinct regions are the rocky upper headwaters, the wide sandy valley, and the rugged granite canyons. The numerous rapids reflected the nature of these landforms. Many rapids were long, continuous rock gardens, where the river spilled through expanses of rocks and boulders. Because of the low water level, we could paddle directly into most of the rock gardens, scouting as we go. It was very enjoyable, maneuvering around the rocks, watching the other canoes to see who was stuck, and trying to see if anyone else managed to find a better route than the one I was struggling with. These rapids were often quite technical and care was imperative as most of them ended in a steep, rocky, drop, sometimes requiring portaging or lining. The major waterfalls and portages were created by the upthrust granite ridges, providing deep canyons and spectacular waterfalls. From above the high granite cliffs, peregrine falcons would scream and dive at us as we portaged through their breeding territories.
One afternoon was so extremely hot, and muggy that we could go no further and had to stop for a swim break. This day marked the end of the unseasonably hot weather. Early next morning we huddled in our tents as an earth shattering thunderstorm crashed around us. When the rain ended and the thunder faded off into the distance, we arose to find the valley shrouded in thick swirling mists. Wailing out of this white fog came the eerie howl of a lone Arctic wolf. As we scanned the foggy shoreline with our binoculars, the mists cleared and a few hundred metres along the shore, a huge white wolf turned and trotted off across the tundra.
One crisp morning Don called us out of our tent to see a herd of 12 muskox a few hundred yards along the shore. The dark shaggy bodies grazed peacefully, swinging their great horns and plodding through the low vegetation. We also saw some single bulls along the way, perfectly at ease in their chosen isolation.
As the weather cooled somewhat, the mosquitoes disappeared completely and we were never bothered by them again. In the wide flat valley bottom, there were vast expanses of sand bars, and steep sand banks. These were prime denning areas for Arctic foxes. We saw them playing on the sand ridges. The foxes were small and skinny, with pointed ears, bushy tails, and inquisitive little faces.
At the rapids all along the river, the fishing was great. While none of us were truly ardent fishers, the Arctic char, lake trout, and Arctic grayling were all hungry and eager. Mike and I fished quite a bit, but with no net and light gear, we were never able to actually land one of the big lake trout. They would tease us for fifteen or twenty minutes, then simply turn and swim away, snapping our lines. Don said he could hear them laughing. However, two or three of the midsized fish were plenty to feed the entire group, and assuage our pride. Sometimes we could just watch the fish along the way. With the shallow river and clear waters of the wide rock gardens, it was quite distracting to be trying to manoeuvre the canoe among the rocks and see these enormous, metre long fish skittering away from under the canoe in eight inches of water.
One morning we were paddling along the shore of a small lake, into a moderate, onshore crosswind. Donna and I, and Mike and Shelley were in the lead canoes, with Pam and Don, and Heather and Keith about 20 yards behind. The wind must have been carrying our rather strong scent to shore, because just as Donna and I passed a small pile of rocks, an enormous grizzly bear jumped straight up and started galloping along the shore, away from our canoe, but directly toward the other canoes. Seeing the grizzly charging right at her, Pamela, in the last canoe, shouted, "Lookout!". Heather, who was in the front of the nearest canoe looked up for her first view into the face of a charging grizzly! She squawked and the bear looked up for his first view into the face of a terrified paddler! At this point the bear put out all four feet and almost fell over backwards in his efforts to put on the brakes. The bear made an abrupt right turn and was last seen scampering away at full speed across the tundra. Heather was last seen paddling at full speed in the opposite direction.
The interior Ellice River area of the Arctic was never heavily used by the original native peoples. It is not called the Barren Lands for no reason. However, native peoples did cross the area from time to time, following the caribou migrations. Hiking and exploring at some of our campsites, we did find occasional evidence of these travelers of long ago. There were lonely stone tent rings in the grass, and trail marking rocks or inukshuks on the ridges, showing routes and campsites of these ancient hunters. There are no European historical sites along the river. The Ellice was never on the way to anywhere as far as European exploration and commerce was concerned. The entire valley remains today wild, unexplored, rarely visited.
The last day of rapids on the Ellice involved a long series of granite ledges and waterfalls. Like many of the previous rapids, we could run some, line some, and portage some. We were greatly enjoying the beautiful scenery, technical rapids, and spectacular waterfalls. At the second last rapid, Donna and I were turning in at the bottom, when we noticed the rest of the group still at the top, not watching us, but staring down the river with their binoculars.
We jumped out to see what the fuss was about, and downstream, a few hundred metres away beside the next waterfall, was another large Barrenground grizzly. We all watched this bear for a while as he grazed along the shore. He seemed unaware, or at least unconcerned, about our presence, which was good for us since we still had to get past him down the river. We paddled to the waterfall, and, with a wary eye on the bear, we carried out the portage and continued on our way.
The last 25 miles of river is flat and wide as the land gently shelves down to the Arctic ocean. We camped on the shore of a large island. That night, Donna woke up to find that the river had disappeared! The tide had receded, leaving only a small channel across hundreds of metres of wet mud. This section of river could be quite troublesome if paddlers were faced with the normal Arctic headwinds and a strong incoming tide. We were lucky to paddle away from camp next morning with light winds and an ebbing tide.
That afternoon we arrived on the wind swept, barren coast of the Arctic ocean. We had been 21 days on the Ellice river. We had crossed more than 250 miles of the central barrens, saw a great deal of wild life, and enjoyed a beautiful wild river. When the Twin Otter landed on our beach the next morning, we were rather surprised when the pilot stated that they would take us but had to leave the canoes behind. Again, my original agreement with the outfitter was that our canoes and us would be taken back to Cambridge Bay. However, since these were the outfitters rental canoes, we happily tied them down and left them on the beach as we flew off to Cambridge Bay.
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