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Expeditions: Alex Mackenzie - to the Max
In the summer of 1997, I retraced the Alexander Mackenzie Voyageur Route (AMVR) from my home
in Canada's capital city on the banks of the Ottawa River to Cumberland House in Saskatchewan.
In 1998, I continued my exploration of the AMVR, following the route from Bella Coola on the west coast
east to Fort Chipewyan on Lake Athabasca in Alberta. The journey spanned 55 days, from May 29 to July 24.
It was a most amazing trip.
Story and photos
By MAX FINKELSTEIN
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Hump Lake, on the AMVR trail from Bella Coola. The mountain in the
background is Mt. Stupendous.
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OVER THE MOUNTAINS
"Time to eat the cantaloupes", Chris said, swinging his backpack to the ground. We had packed carefully for this hike, eliminating all but the most necessary items. Except for the cantaloupes. We toted two beauties almost 2000 metres up the Mackenzie Trail to Hump Lake, a lovely alpine lake rimmed by spruce trees and overlooking the Bella Coola valley.
As we slurped down the sweet, refreshing tropical taste of the cantaloupes under the watchful gaze of snow covered Mt. Stupendous, we agreed it was worth the effort of carrying them. The mountain was putting on a great show for us, framed by a double rainbow, with shafts of sunlight highlighting the snow and bold black rock. The showers and thunder squalls that had followed us here were dissipating, and our first night on the trail promised to be a memorable one.
Ahead lay a host of uncertainties; will we be able to cross Burnt Bridge Creek this early in the year? Will there be too much snow to travel over Mackenzie Pass? How about the other creek crossings? But tonight, with the stars blazing and Mount Stupendous shining in the evening glow, with muscles, unaccustomed to what seemed an endless climb, aching, we are at peace.
From the trail overlooking the Bella Coola valley, with Mt. Stupendous in
the background.
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I was travelling this portion of the trip with Chris Taggart. Chris and I had met last year as we both were traversing the continent. Chris would travel with me to Prince George, which would complete his canoe trip across the AMVR. The logistics for this trip were complicated. Chris and I left Bella Coola May 29, as early as the snow melt permitted, hiking the AMVR 120 km across the Coast Range and Rainbow Range to Eliguk Lake. At Eliguk Lake, we would pick up a canoe that we had arranged to be dropped there, and paddle down the Blackwater River to the Fraser, and then up the Fraser to Prince George. Chris would leave at Prince George and I would continue alone over the continental divide to Hudson Hope, on the Peace River.
There, I would meet a film crew from Ontario and my girlfriend, Connie Downes, a biologist for the Canadian Wildlife Service, and we would follow the Peace River to Fort Chipewyan, a distance of 1200 km.
It took eight days for Chris and I to backpack to Eliguk Lake. We were blessed with sunny weather for the entire trip. The uncertainties about the route, of course, as in all trips, were resolved. Our feet did get very wet but there was a new bridge across Burnt Bridge Creek, which was cause for great rejoicing.
The Blackwater cuts through several canyons. Here the entire river
squeezes through a slot about three feet wide! (look beside Chris in the
photo - that's the entire river)
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On the hike over Mackenzie Pass, the vistas were so beautiful that one forgot about being tired, or the weight of our backpacks. The snow-filled pass was easy walking on firm snow, and the first view of the Rainbow Range will never be forgotten. Mountains the colour of sunsets. A new suspension bridge over the Dean River dispelled our last fears about the route to Eliguk Lake.
The last few days on the trail we were hiking through open Douglas fir forest, and large wet meadows, followed by clouds of hungry mosquitoes. There are several old cabins along the trail, testifying that this was once, like much of the Canadian wilderness, used more in the past than today. The deserted Indian village of Ulkatcho on a hillside studded with dandelions overlooking Gatcho Lake reminded us that when Mackenzie walked this route, there were villages and people all along it. Mackenzie may have been the first white person to come this way, but the route he was guided along has been used for millennia for trade between the coast and the interior.
On the last day on the trail, we climbed a hill that gave us a good view to the west. We could see the snow covered peaks of the Coast Range in the distance. Mackenzie must have stood here and shuddered, knowing he would have to cross those pointy, snowy mountains before reaching the ocean. At 2:15 on June 4, Chris and I walked into Eliguk Lake Lodge, where we received a warm welcome from the owners, Moe and Jeanette Schiller. Our sleek new canoe, a 17.5-foot Hellman, provided by Hellman Canoes of Nelson, B.C., was waiting for us, having been dropped off by float plane a day earlier.
The next phase of the trip was about to begin the descent of the Blackwater River. The Blackwater is a very special river. The creek leading out of Eliguk Lake, is plugged with logs, requiring a portage of about one mile mostly along the AMVR. With a little work, it could be passable for canoes. The upper river lazily meanders through ranching country. However, soon forest closes in on the river, as it tumbles towards the Fraser over waterfalls, through black basalt canyons, and over innumerable rapids and swifts.
Twelve metres high, Tsacha Falls, above Tsacha Lake, cascades in a curtain of white. Below the falls, rainbow trout leap. The Blackwater River above the junction of the Nazko is jumping with rainbow trout. Really. Toss a fly in, and see if you can retrieve it without catching a trout. Fresh rainbow trout rolled in chili mix and cooked with wild chives was our staple.
Below the junction of the Nazko, the river changes character as it now begins to cut through the soft sediments of the Interior Plateau and sheer rock canyons. At one point, the river surges through a crack just over one metre in width. Rock walls rise straight up over 30 metres. Below Blackwater Bridge, a look at the topographic map sends chills through us. The river snakes for 30 km though a canyon several hundred metres deep, dropping at 40 feet per mile. Once we enter this section, we're committed to following the river to the Fraser. There is no turning back. We're both a little anxious. But the Blackwater River treats us like a friend.
All the rapids are passable for an open canoe, which is fortunate as the solid vertical rock walls make portaging impossible for long sections. At one point, a sweeper had blocked the entire river, but luckily we were able to scramble around it. At another point, a landslide had blocked the river, creating a small waterfall. Judging from the fresh green leaves on the branches caught up in the slide, it was very recent. We portaged on the slide, tiptoeing across. Just as we were loading, dust and gravel started falling around us. We got out of there in a hurry.
The lower Blackwaer drops about 40 feet per mile through almost
uninterrupted canyon of bedrock and softer, silty deposits.
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It was with some relief that on the afternoon of Friday, June 12, one week after we started, we arrived at the confluence of the Fraser. We celebrated with a Mars bar and the last of our rum, and began our upriver run to Prince George.
Ron Thompson, an outfitter in Williams Lake who runs tours on the Blackwater, had advised us that he wasn't worried about whether we would get down the canyons of the Blackwater, but he wasn't sure how we'd get up the Fraser. It wasn't easy. The current is about 10 mph in the centre, much too strong to paddle against. We crept up the shores, crossing the river only to take advantage of eddies on the inside of curves. We cursed the ball bearing rocks on the banks when we were tracking the canoe upstream.
At Fort George Canyon, where Mackenzie had to portage twice, we managed to "eddy hop" all the way. On June 15, in the evening, we arrived at Prince George, exhausted but elated. For Chris, this completed his trek across Canada.
THROUGH THE ROCKIES:OVER THE DIVIDE
From Prince George, I continued on to Summit Lake and down the Crooked and Pack rivers to Williston Lake and the Peace River. The continental divide is crossed by the Giscombe Portage, a 6km trail connecting the Fraser to Summit Lake. Mackenzie had followed a much more difficult route over the mountains. Like the fur traders that followed Mackenzie, I decided to follow an easier route. Williston Lake, the reservoir of the Bennett Dam, is the biggest lake in British Columbia. I expected it to be the most boring lake in B.C., but I was pleasantly, and spectacularly, surprised.
Junction of the Blackwater and Fraser. Nnotice the contrast in colour
where the waters meet but don't mix.
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The Peace Arm of Williston Lake cuts through the heart of the Rocky Mountains. Grey limestone mountains soar straight up from the water thousands of feet. The Wicked River flows into the lake over a series of waterfalls through a twisted gorge. One morning, a lynx came down to the shore to check me out. As I paddled east, the mountains slowly recede into foothills, and patches of prairie appear. And finally, the thin grey line of the WAC Bennett dams appears on the horizon. My main concern about the WAC Bennett Dam was how to get around it. I needn't have worried. I landed above the dam and walked up a hill to a modern building with big glass windows. As I came out of the bush into the parking lot, a large tour bus was just leaving. Keith, the driver waved at me and yelled: "Do you want to go on the tour?" I shrugged and walked onto the bus, sat down beside Rheanan, the tour guide, and suddenly realized how dirty my clothes were, and probably how bad I smelled. After Rheanan's very informative tour of the site, which took us underground into the huge caverns where the generators are housed, we portaged my canoe and gear on the bus. Everyone at the dam was so friendly, it warmed my heart and made my tired spirits soar.
Below the dam is Dinosaur Lake, the reservoir of the Peace Canyon Dam. Dinosaur Lake is rimmed by cliffs of shale and sandstone, with horizontal layers of coal. At the Peace Canyon Dam, I was met by Bob and Greta Fechet, who adopted me for a few days while I waited for the video team, Brenda Beck and Eric Harris, and Connie, fresh from field work on the prairies, to meet me for trip down the Peace to Fort Chipewyan.
HEADING DOWN THE PEACE
Peace Arm of williston Lake, where the Peace River cut a canyon through
the Rocky Mountain. Mountains rise straight up over 3,000 feet. Imagine what it
was like before the dam. The photo is taken from the mouth of the Wicked River.
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The Peace is, well, so peaceful and muddy. Above the town of Peace River, the Peace is a prairie river, flowing in wide sweeping curves, framed by steep grassy slopes, groves of poplar, and sheer cliffs of ochre earth. Although the river traverses a land of farms and ranches, almost everywhere along this section, the valley of the Peace appears unchanged from the time when Mackenzie travelled on it, over 200 years ago. His descriptions of the majesty and beauty of this river hold true today.
All that was missing from upper Peace River are the vast herds of elk and buffalo, which Mackenzie noted. However, we did see some elk, and many deer, in small herds resting by the river, or clambering up almost vertical slopes with carefree ease.
At Fort Dunvegan, the fur trade days come to life at this restored Hudson's Bay post. A provincial Historic Park marks the site of Fort Fork, where Mackenzie took off from for his 1793 push to the Pacific, just upstream from the town of Peace River.
The WAC Bennett Dam, still the biggest pile of rubble in Canada, and
the biggest dam until the projects in northern Quebec were built. I was
told that if you took the dam apart, it would make a wall of rock three
feet tall across Canada.
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Downstream of Fort Vermilion, a community born of trading posts, missions, and, most recently, pioneering grain farmers, the Peace flows in seemingly neverending curves through a vast flat land of spruce forest. Sometimes a moose is seen, with one or two calves, wading in the muddy water. Often, black bears can be seen swimming across the river. Each evening, the setting sun paints the broad, swirling, murky waters of the Peace with the colours of flames, opals, and the inside of clam shells. Although the river now flows beyond the grain fields and roads to the south, there are several native communities and camps along the river that are not accessible by road.
A sense of peacefulness, serenity, and timelessness enveloped us as we travelled. The Peace is a gentle, calm, giant of a river, old, wide and wise. The only portage is at Vermilion Chutes, where its murky waters, now the colour and consistency of chocolate milk, pour over a series of limestone ledges.
The final leg of the journey to Fort Chipewyan takes us upstream on the Quatre Fourches [locally pronounced as "catfish"] channel. The current is strong, and progress is slow. We think of Chris Taggart paddling up the Peace last year, against a current like this for 1200 km. The trip took him 40 days, a journey of biblical proportions, and just a fraction of his entire journey.
After a seemingly endless succession of bends that all looked the same we came to a channel leading to Lake Athabasca and Fort Chipewyan. The wind swings around to the west, and we hoist our sail. Sailing into Lake Athabasca, across the lake we could see a white church, a large red brick building, and a cluster of houses on the shore of Lake Athabasca, backed by the rocky spruce covered hills and pink granite outcrops of the Canadian Shield.
The final 600 km of the Peace flows through boreal
forest. Everyday here we saw bears swimming across the river.
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Behind us lies the flat, soggy, expanse of the Peace-Athabasca Delta. Fort Chipewyan, a community of 1200 people, is a fitting end for this segment of the voyage. Once the headquarters for the Northwest Company and later the Hudson's Bay Company, it is the oldest community in Alberta.
What have two summers of travel on the Alexander Mackenzie Voyageur Route taught me?
I set off on this venture as a pilgrimage to being Canadian, to gain perspectives on the roots of Canada, and perhaps to find within myself some answers concerning personal goals and objectives - one way to address a mid-life crisis (it would have been easier to buy a sports car).
But what this experience has indelibly etched on my consciousness is that it is the most significant water trail in North America, and perhaps the world, and that this route embodies a wellspring of Canadian heritage and history. To a large extent, it defines Canada and what being Canadian means.
This story first appeared in Che-Mun Outfit 96 in 1999.
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