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50 Days - From Camsell to Consul
By MICHAEL PEAKE
Che-Mun Editor
As the ancient Chinese proverb says, and so did I, this journey of 1000 miles began with a single step on the north shore of Lake Athabasca.
Andrew Macdonald and I led off the first of two 25-day legs of the Arctic Land Expedition. We were deposited on Lake Athabasca at 3 am on July 8 following a cold and eerie flight from Yellowknife by way of an Air Tindi Turbo Otter.
We scrambled to get a few hours sleep in the lingering twilight and were up early hoping the plane had put us near the beginning of the venerable Camsell Portage. The town of the same name lay a few miles west of us, a smattering of twinkling lights we observed in the pre-dawn grayness as we descended down from the chilly altitudes to the chillier great lake.
Charles Camsell, noted canoeist for the Geological Survey of Canada, headed a trip through this region in 1914. We had a copy of his report with us for we would follow his route for the first 10 days of our 50 day Arctic Land Expedition. (See Che-Mun 81 for background info.)
The small opening in the bushes just 200 yards from our tent gives no indication of the physical or historical breadth of the portage which remains there to this day. A wide swath through the alder forest of the north shore of Athabasca plows north towards Tazin Lake, 10 miles away. There are actually four segments of the portage with lake breaks and all are obviously still in use to this day, though probably by snow machines during winter season.
The path is wide with easy walking - no tree ducking or moose-mushing here. Well, a bit of mush and a bit of garbage as well from winter camps that are established along the way. The gain from Athabasca to Tazin is 400 feet, not totally painless but the historic significance helps the body through the hard parts. Of course it's tough to do a uphill grind at the best of times but at the very start of a 50-dayer with bulging packs and sagging muscles it's even rougher. That's why this 43-year-old canoeist takes along a strong and eager young man of half his age. Andrew's 22-year-old steel spring legs continued to pump all day and though we were equally tired, he was ready to go again well ahead of me.
It took us two days plus an hour on the third to get into Tazin and the big lake greeted us with placid waters and a wonderful vista. It was the calm before the storm. Our route called for us to descend the Tazin River which flows north towards the Barrenlands before heading west and into the Taltson on its way north to Great Slave Lake. As we reached the river outlet on Tazin Lake, preparing for the first current and swift water of the trip my eyes appeared to be deceived by finding no outlet at all! This was no deception. A very solid rock and earth dam was quite effectively holding in every precious drop of Tazin water. Ahead lay a stagnant pond, the remains of the Tazin River which Mr. Camsell propelled down with great speed.
This was indeed a surprise. Nothing in my research had told me about this dam which I later found out was constructed in the 1970s to boost water levels for the diversion of water to the hydro dam for Uranium City - which is now abandoned. Thanks a lot Saskatchewan!
We had no choice but to carry over this monstrosity and begin to haul our boat down the fetid waters of Tazin Pond. The soupy, algae-filled water was an affront but if there is one area where the Hide-Away Canoe Club is proficient - it's dragging. And that's what we did for several miles. We were heartened many times by paddleable stretches which soon closed in again. A day and a half later the river was pretty well back to normal - for September but this was July 10th. Our second evening on the Tazin was special. We were treated to a fine chorus of wolves from a mile or two away. Their calls were so good they sounded like a nature recording. Beautifully eerie.
Andrew and I began to make more mileage on day 6 as we approached Hill Island Lake - an expansion of the Tazin. We were anxious to see this lake and had an outstanding campsite near where the river comes in. The famous island which gives the lake its name was noted by Samuel Hearne on his return journey from Coppermine in 1772. It's quite prominent and we stared at it for a couple of hours while plying the glassiness of Hill Island.
We had a very sobering incident when we stopped for a lunch break near the top of the lake and stretched out on the smooth rock after the meal, myself for a quick nap, and Andrew to read. He was reading Siddhartha and had a short passage he wanted me to hear. I lay on my granite pillow listening to him say, "And then Siddhartha said, 'Holy shit the canoe's floating away!" For a split second I thought, "I don't remember that line in the story" and then I realized that Andrew had looked up to see our canoe - our only canoe - skimming south east on the now-rippling surface of Hill Island. Andrew quickly stripped down and hit the water in a running dive. The boat was only 50 feet away but starting to gain momentum but he hauled it in easily. I applauded his fast action and cursed our carelessness. We were not going very far without that 17 feet of Old Town ABS. We would be a lot more careful in the future but it wasn't the last time we'd lose the canoe on this half of the trip.
We passed another small lodge coming out of Hill Island, we'd seen one earlier on Tazin but both were empty. They were probably hunting camps for moose later in the fall. We were to leave the Tazin shortly and start on our second of eight rivers this summer.
Actually the Thekulthili River is a pretty short stretch of water. The Chipewyan name means 'flowing out over flat rocks' and we ascended it through a couple of large lakes and short river stretches towards the Taltson River system. The Taltson flows through large lakes in a fairly benign manner until its lower reaches. We reached the Taltson at mighty Nonacho Lake which we found to our surprise draining south. It is supposed to drain to the west via the Taltson. There was no drainage outlet marked on the map here but a solid rapid is definitely there.
Andrew and I were still trying to catch up following our slow adventures on the Tazin and we were thankful to get over Nonacho with its long sweeping bays with no real wind problems. One large and impressive rapid was passed heading upstream from Nonacho and just afterwards we headed off into the much less travelled areas.
We were now in the hands of Guy Blanchet and his published account of travel in the area in 1925 and printed in the Canadian Field Naturalist. Blanchet, a veteran and inveterate northern traveller, was also looking for the route as proposed by Dr. King. The critical jump was the one from the Taltson to Eileen Lake. Samuel Hearne called the lake Clowey and it was a critical stop for his band of Coppermine-bound natives in 1771. Eileen straddles the Barrenlands, it's south shore a solid fuzz of trees; its north boundary stretching unbroken to the northern wilds.This jump was to give us two of the biggest obstacles we would face all summer. The first was simply a matter of slogging it out, the second a true mystery.
Andrew and I managed to weave our way through the first couple of portages into small lakes north of the Taltson without too much problem. There were, of course, no trails - no human trails, that it, the area was honeycombed with a maze of caribou trails heading in any direction you'd like. The problem came when we had the do the final 3 km portage with no breaks. It looked so obvious on the map but the reality of swamps, trees and undulating ground made it anything but.
All our sensible plans went by the boards and we ended up slogging, scouting and dead reckoning our way though to Relief Lake which we named our ultimate destination.
The second problem was more maddening and frustrating. We had another 3 km portage into Eileen. We figured this would be easier since the trees were much more thinly spaced. And this sort of turned out to be the case. The carrying was ridiculously easy when compared to our previous day's tribulations. We leap-frogged the loads into 10-15 minute segments so we wouldn't get too strung out. We reached a the edge of a boggy area within easy reach of Eileen and left a load on top while we struggled though the wet mess. We had to make a detour of a few minutes and gratefully reached the lake and headed back for our final load. But that final load had disappeared. And I mean disappeared. It defied all logic. We didn't go more than 400 metres as the crow flies yet we were unable to find our packs in the relatively open forest. We retraced our steps thinking any minute they would appear. But they didn't. The slow wash of panic was beginning to be felt. The sun was getting low in the sky, thrashing around in bear country was unsettling.
Surely they must be right here. . .or here. Every place we saw that looked just like the spot - wasn't. It was the most confounding two hours of my canoeing life. It was just one more sweep of an area I was sure we'd been over - and there they were. Most of our food, our tents and our peace of mind all sitting there in a patient pile of Cordura and canvas.
It was a maddeningly scary event that almost defied analysis. Just another nudge from the North.
Once on Eileen, we wanted to camp in an appropriate spot and found a great point not far from the offending portage. What made this spot special was the presence of an ancient birch tree standing guard over things. Perhaps the direct descendant of one of the trees Hearne and Matonabbee used to make their tiny bark boats. We took a rest day here and the worst scenario unfolded - a beautiful and calm rest day followed by a vicious north wind that pinned us down for a day and a half. The outlet from EIleen had been noted as a great fishing hole by Blanchet. And indeed it was. After wading down the rocky rapids in the Eileen River we had eight hits in 10 casts. Blanchet hauled in 150 pounds of fish for his subsistence diet from this spot.
We were left with one more overland section to get us into the Thelon River system. Blanchet mistakenly thought his run down the Eileen River was actually on the Thelon but there was one more watershed to carry. We decided here on the more northerly of two possible routes- the probable old native route into the Thelon. Blanchet had met some Chipewyans on Nonacho Lake and an elder in the group recalled her family's summer trips to the barrenlands via the Thelon River - and she used that name.
The chain of lakes northeast of Eileen that head towards the southwest bay of Whitefish was the route we chose. The final portage into the Thelon headwater lake was spectacular. It followed a classic esker - up to 80 feet high - that snaked and knifed its way for two miles though the lakes and trees of the area. The view was incredible, the walking superb and it took us quite close to Whitefish. A flurry of rainbows finished off the day and we camped in a cold evening not far from the outlet to Lynx Lake where our pickup would be.
We had chosen an esker right near the outlet of Lynx Lake as the drop spot but we weren't able to make it all the way and found a great beach for the airplane to land eight miles dues west of our original spot. I figured they would see it as they flew in from Yellowknife which was 220 miles to the west. Wrong. In fact it was a near thing that they found us at all. The Air Tindi pilot carrying our second half crew followed the north end of the lake and landed at the original spot after not seeing us. It was only with a few minutes to go before just dumping the group out that they spotted our yellow tent and the merrily waving ALE flag.
I was looking forward to seeing our second half crew and sad to see Andrew go. This was his first trip to the Barrens and his excitement rekindled my own first thoughts from 10 years earlier. But he had to go out, that was the plan and my brothers Geoffrey, HACC Chief Guide, and David, Quartermaster, and HACC Piscine Director Peter Brewster would carry on. Only one problem. No Peter Brewster. Geoffrey was first off the Air Tindi Turbo Beaver with a note from Peter explaining his rib injury a week earlier which forced him off. So what were we to do? Mr partner David was there and Geoff said he'd go solo. I didn't really like that idea. Much confusion and b.s. followed and shortly after brother Sean emerging from the back of the plane with a pizza box in one hand and his order to join the expedition in the other. It was to be the four Peakes - alone. I was most sorry for Peter who had looked forward to this all year but happy that a replacement was found - and I was related to him. There was a surfeit of cigars and distilled products that evening and the weather blessed us with a great sunset.
With groaning gunwales we headed off down the Thelon the next day. We had heard the river was low - and it was - but still quite runnable. The first two days on the upper Thelon were new to us. We had entered the river below the Elk River and Muskox Falls in 1985 and missed its thundering grandeur - and this was in low water. It was there we met the only group I saw all summer - and of course they were Che-Mun subscribers. Dalen and Lori Bayes of Washington state are veteran northern travellers. In fact, they were camped at the mouth of the Elk River thinking they might see us. Dalen was photographing Muskox Falls, he'd hiked the couple of miles up when we met him. One look at the four hairy, hulking canoeists in our logo-splattered canoes and he said, "You must be the Peake boys." We chatted for a while and promised to see them both the next morning when we headed down river. The rapids below the big fall, the big waves can be avoided by going far right, are the last big ones for many miles. Dalen and Lori were camped just below the cairn J. W. Tyrrell made in his trip up the Thelon in 1900. After arriving at their camp in style - with flags flying - we delivered a Che-Mun to Dalen who'd given his away and were hosted royally with some "heart starter" in our coffee. We then visited the cairn which also had a wooden stake attached. Our HACC Director of Research, Sean, noticed that the almost-illegible signature was that of W. H. B. Hoare who passed through here in 1937.
We made good time down the upper Thelon from that point since it's mostly swift water. The only real obstacle before the Hanbury junction in Thelon Canyon which is a three mile 90-degree turn which many people portage across. We ran and lined in '85 and were hoping to do the same this time. The only really hard part is the undercut cliff down the left side which was simply run last time. In much lower water the ledge we went over was more exposed meaning a tougher run outside or a possible tight run against the cliff.
The upper drop of the canyon was still a portage and then a short run and into a snapping eddy which brings you down to the superb sandstone lining ledges. This was where I lost the boat in 1985, letting the stern get too far out. With less water and more experience this did not happen again. Sean and Geoff, who rescued by canoe then, stood and politely applauded when I went through the fateful chute.
Geoff and Sean approached the cliff without being sure of which way to go - out or in. Then they realized something I had forgotten from an old trip report. In really low water you can walk around the cliff. It was about two feet deep and a team effort was needed but no real problem. All you're left with then are several miles of big standing waves which can usually be avoided by sticking close to chore. We did line the next big drop on the side, one we'd barreled through in '85 to our absolute horror and wetness.
We made the junction about 9 pm and camped right there next to the mouth of the Hanbury - a great place to be. The view from my tent door, 60 feet up the river bank looked right down the Thelon. And that was the easy route that beckoned. But not for the Peakes.
We headed up the Hanbury the next morning. We have no other record of any group travelling up this river since Hoare in 1929. But perhaps some people have. (Let us know.) The first day's relatively easy lining brought us to Helen Falls a place I'd always wanted to see. This beautiful drop, the last on the Hanbury, is also noted as the Eric Morse cairn site. The climb up to the portage trail - some distance from the falls - was a treat.
Low water meant a large area of the fall's ledge was dry and great for camping. The cairn, an unassuming pile of rocks, contained an ammo box and a well-waterproofed journal dating from 1992. Missing was the reproduction that editor David Pelly had done and left there after taking out the original (See Che 74). Even in the few short years no fewer than seven Che-Mun subscribers had written their names!
I was sure we were in a select few who had done both Thelon Canyon and Helen Falls in three days of travel. Heading upstream from Helen meant a lot of lining with some flat stretches where we actually got in the canoe. Ford Falls was the next obstacle and really not much after Helen but the big one lay just a couple of miles further west - Dickson Canyon.
Now here's a formidable piece of water. Dickson Canyon's three miles of tortuous twists and deadly drops is a portage all the way. We didn't start the carryuntil 6 pm after dragging up the greasy and rapids rocks well below. Three and a half hours of tough slogging brought us to the only spot along the way where you can camp close to the water. It's a highwater runoff channel that appears just before a mighty drop through the dark rocks and we dragged our very weary bodies into camp as it was getting dark. Geoff made a bracing cup of sweet tea with milk that was as good as anything I'd tasted in recent memory.
The next morning before finishing the final third of the carry we set out to have a good look at Dickson. The bugs were again atrocious here - as they had been most of the summer. Our Woods bug jackets were in constant use and a real sanity saver. For many years I had mentally pictured Dickson Canyon and now here it was in front of me. It's a incredibly savage piece of water, ripping its way down more than 200 vertical feet of the Hanbury's elevation. I would love to see it in break-up. We posed for some shots and walked much of the length (it's much better without packs) before donning our loads again for the final kilometer. We put in just above the blind corner that would be a nightmare to descend and headed for Macdonald Falls which lay just ahead.
Not far past Macdonald there is a rock narrows that signifies the end of the steep section - and the beginning of an adventure for those heading downstream. We entered the sandy expansion of the Hanbury where the deep water disappeared and finding the route through the tons of pure white sandy proved harder than you'd think. It wasn't far before we began to head north leaving the now-easy Hanbury behind.
The footing was pretty good but the bugs, general work load and temperatures were oppressive. Four northbound carries later, totalling 3.5 km, we entered a long lake where we'd hoped to have lunch. But it was just too buggy. Heavy blackflies coated us and we were drinking large amounts of water to keep cool. We decided to paddle down the lake where the big carry started and put up the tent to cook and relax in. This we did and enjoyed an hour's respite from the hordes. Of course, it was almost 6 pm before we finished lunch and had to push on to a tough 3 km carry.
It was ugly. Hot, sweaty, buggy, nauseous, aching. Ah, the glory of the Arctic canoe trip. But you just do it. The maddening part was that at 11 pm when were trying to cook something to eat even though we're not really hungry - it was still buggy! In fact, it was buggy all that night of August 11, though nice and cool. But it dawned sunny and calm again - a curse. We had about the same routing for this days and dragged our butts around camp before departing at noon.
It's never as bad on the final day of a big carry since you at least have the end in sight. And of course that's one of the great and not-so-great things about the Barrens. The end is usually in sight which can be uplifting and depressing. It all depends on your mindset and if you feel like you're actually getting any closer to that damned lake. Our 5 km of carrying today offered a nice breeze which was most helpful. We had a 140 foot ridge to rise up which kept us puffing but offered a lovely view from the top (i.e. the big lake we were heading to).
As happens so often, on August 12 we found ourselves over the hump. That day has become a special celebratory one throughout the years (it's the wedding anniversary of our Chaplain Peter Scott) and was no exception this time as we toasted the trip with some fine spirits, treats and cigars. David once again pulled his surprise from his pack in the form of four cool cans of Boddington's Best Bitter. They were lovely ales! We were camped on an esker fragment in a lovely lake which straddled the 64th parallel and we called Ruggles. A rest day was declared and it proved still and sunny again. We had to put the sleeping bags over the tent during the day to keep it cool. (See Page 9 for more details of this area.)
The route from here to the Baillie was quite scenic with many eskery hills and winding waterways. The upper Baillie was extremely low and were were worried about making good time. The river slowly improved getting bigger and bigger but it was clear the water was quite low. The Baillie completely changes character about a third of the way down where a stream comes in from the west. All of a sudden the river is full of deep, runnable rapids. These sets, perhaps a hundred in all, continue at regular intervals all down the river to near its confluence with the Back. There was a lot of evidence of caribou activity, it must be quite a sight in July but we saw only scattered 'bou throughout our descent.
We saw two grizzlies along the river in one day. The first was rambling along the shore and moved away once they caught our scent. The second was seen swimming across the river ahead of us and sitting on the bank once we caught his eye. We stopped, thankful we weren't in a rapid and watched for a while. Once he caught a whiff of us, he headed uphill. We also had a close encounter with a wolf who must have been sleeping by a rock when we passed a feet feet from shore and he jumped up and loped off before we could react with our cameras.
We finally reached the mighty Back River which also looked pretty low. Below the junction was a red Old Town canoe with German lettering that was tethered to the bank near the high water level. It'll be gone in the spring unless claimed. Just below where the Baillie enters is a long sandy section where channel finding is an art. This was surprising to us who had been on the Back in 1985 from Garry Lake on down. The river there flows fast and full with many challenging rapids.
We had only one named rapids on this section of the river and it proved fun and scenic. Hawk Rapids are now known to many of you as the cover art on the front of Canoeing North Into the Unknown which came out a year ago. There were also several unnamed and demanding sets following Hawk including a river-wide ledge that demanded respect.
When Geoffrey flew in he arranged a secondary pickup point for us - after reviewing the mileage in a more realistic manner and told Air Tindi to first look for us at the mouth of the Consul River - some 60 miles upstream from our original point. This is the northern boundary of the Thelon Game Sanctuary which we had been following since before the Hanbury Thelon junction. This pickup point proved to be realistic despite a final day's slog into NE winds that confirmed the Back River's reputation.
The plane arrived on time and we had a special treat to finish off the trip. We flew to the cairn at the head of the Morse River which we erected in 1985. We had no idea whether the six-foot pile of rocks would even be standing - but there it was. The Twin Otter could not land on the rocky shore with the high winds that day so we did a Marine number and baled out 60 feet from shore in waist deep water. The cairn had once held a bottle with our message about naming the river after Eric Morse. The bottle and the top few rocks had been knocked down and the bottle chewed up by a grizzly, but the rest of the cairn stood tall. It was a thrill to finish another 50-day, 1000 mile trip at so special a place. The Morse River is now on the map and we're still planning other northern canoeing adventures.
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