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Fording the Rat
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Hudson's Bay Company supply ship The Distributor at the Ramparts blowing its whistle - Mackenzie River.
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By GWYNETH HOYLE
In 1926 four young Harvard men celebrated the end of classes with a circular trip from Chicago, north to the Rat & Porcupine Rivers, and working their way home through Alaska. Sherwood Platt's diary is one of a collection of trip journals in the archives of the Canadian Canoe Museum in Peterborough, Ontario. With his permission, what follows is condensed from his journal:
On the morning of setting out from Boston, they found their car had been stolen overnight. In short order, they bought a 1922 Ford for $100 and headed for Chicago. Pete Onthank went ahead by train to Edmonton, and the others left Chicago on July 1 in the Ford, loaded with gear. The hiss of tires going flat accompanied them through Minnesota into North Dakota where they crossed the border into Manitoba and found the "Trans-Canada Highway" was "two deep ruts with grass between", worse in Saskatchewan.
Sunday, July 4. Ford began to miss badly when going slow and our attempts to fix it proved ineffectual. On all night, taking turns sleeping. Occasionally dozed off at the wheel even. I got miles off on a blind road with only a gallon of gas in the tank. Bet I made fifty miles on that gallon. Made one town but everything was closed so drained the hoses of several gasoline pumps and went on to Indian Head where we awoke garage man and got gas. Relieved to have full tank once more. On toward Regina.
Monday, July 5. Awoke suddenly at 6:30 to find Ford stopped in middle of road. Jake asleep at wheel with map clutched in his hands. Al Leete a short distance off asleep on the prairie. How we got there none of us could tell. Woke all and started on. Ford acting badly and only hitting on three cylinders, but went right along. Gave gas to a fellow stuck in the road and so partially atoned for the help others have given us. Across barren prairie into big city of Regina. Took Ford to garage and found timer was worn out, got that fixed, and greased the car in the bargain. Edmonton was still 600 miles away, instead of the 400 we had figured, so obvious we could not make it in our worn condition. Found that a train left for Edmonton in an hour, so Jake and I took Ford up town in search of a place to park it. Left it with a sergeant of the city police, rushed back to station and caught the 10:20 train. Al and I rode in style with Pullman berths while Jake, ticketless, bummed his way on back of coal car and was pitch black but full of experiences by morning.
Tuesday, July 6. Reached Edmonton at 7:30. Pete met us and we got breakfast. Over to Hudson Bay Store and bought two 16-foot grey Peterborough canvas covered canoes. Loaded them and duffle in truck and were taken a couple of miles out to the "Alberta & Great Waterways Railroad" station (train every Tuesday). Helped load baggage cars and especially our canoes. Great train: 52 cars, two of them passenger and the rest carrying every kind of freight from launches to 250 live wild buffalo being taken to the woods up where we are going by the Slave Lake. Hot slow ride, train would stop often and the passengers would get out and pick wild strawberries.
Wednesday, July 7. Reached Waterways, the end of the line, at eleven. Unloaded our baggage and canoes and carried them a hundred yards down to the Clearwater River. By the time we had loaded up our canoes everyone had disappeared and we were on our own. Into our tiny canoes and dipped our first paddles on our hoped for many thousand mile trip. Paddled four miles beyond Fort McMurray and camped. Not an ounce of sleep for any of us on account of the terrible mosquitoes which got in spite of our mosquito tent. Poured rain all night too.
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Three in their Ford leaving for trip.
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Thursday, July 8. Headwind straight from the north made going hard. The waves threatened to swamp our heavily loaded canoes. By one o'clock I was utterly all in and thought it was my physical condition, but upon stopping on a tar sand beach and devouring a mess of baked beans I found my trouble was solely hunger. Made camp some 27 miles below McMurray on a bluff. Beautiful evening. Still light in the north at 11.30. Finally to bed, and so utterly weary that we slept soundly in spite of the mosquitoes.
Friday, July 9. At McKay, steamer passed us pushing scow loaded with wild buffalo. Temporarily lost other canoe and relieved when they appeared out of side channel far ahead of us.
Saturday, July 10. Down the Athabasca and ate lunch on sandbar on 100-mile island. First mosquito-less place we have yet found. Jake tried his hand at bread-baking and eventually produced a respectable looking loaf.
Sunday, July 11. Started off at 7:10 with Lake Athabasca for a destination. Bad headwind made going hard. Watched for mouth of Embarrass River but never found it. Then looked for Fletcher's Eddy where we were to turn off Athabasca, but found a dozen places that fitted the description, and turned left always thinking we had only 8 miles more. Discouraging. Expected to see lake at every turn. Finally we got into a labyrinth of waterways with low marshy willow shores and masses of floating grass, impossible to camp. Everyone weary and discouraged. We felt pretty much lost. At last we found a small island of solid ground covered with soft dry grass and laden with driftwood for the campfire, an ideal camping spot.
Monday, July 12. Awoke in bright hot sunlight at eight, embarked and continued our search for Lake Athabaska. After a mile's paddling we were at our reward. An inauspicious looking lake at first, only about a foot deep and full of stranded dead tree trunks for miles out. Paddled out into lake in spite of rough water. Soon the waves got big and the going terrible and dangerous. Ten miles across the rough water with plenty of thrills as we watched our little canoes, laden within a couple of inches of the gunwales, ride the waves.Struggled toward the shore, shipped much water, often on verge of being swamped. Sargasso-like seaweed occasionally smoothed the sea and gave us a chance to rest and bail. Saw Al and Pete ashore on rocky point so headed for them and just made it. Relieved to get ashore together, even though separated from the town of Chipewyan by wide stretch of rough water.
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Approx July 31, 1926. Tracing the canoe up the Rat River. Driscoll and Onthank.
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Tuesday, July 13. Launched our canoes into the breakers in the inlet. Sure rough going and shipped much water but got across safely and found all Chipewyan down watching us, expecting us to swamp. First we went to the Hudson Bay Post and bought cookies and supplies. Then to a building labeled "restaurant" in an Indian's private home which was all spick and span and some meal we got there: we all just gorged. I know not when I have appreciated a meal more. And it only cost us seventy-five cents apiece. Camped on a rocky point at the entrance to the Rocher River Channel.
Wednesday, July 14. Early driven out of our mosquito infested camp and paddled down the Rocher River. Just below, the Rocher joined the Peace River, the current became much swifter and we struck frequent boilings and "rapids". Camped late on a rocky beach fifty miles below Chipewyan.
Thursday, July 15. Paddled down the river and over the Demi Charge Rapids of which we saw little save boilings and whirlpools.
Friday, July 16. Up early and paddled five miles down to Fitzgerald. Docked under scrutiny of all the townspeople. Arranged about portaging around the 16 miles of impassable rapids below. We asked if people hadn't ever run the rapids in canoes and they answered, "Yes, frequently, but they have never come through alive." A Ford truck carried us and our canoes over the rough wagon road to Fort Smith. Jake went down to the Mackenzie River boat to see about passage across the Great Slave Lake and when he returned he informed us that if we would help load the boat we could go as far as we liked. We immediately went over to the boat and pitched in, hurling boxes and bales from warehouse to trucks to ship. Two hours of it and the mate told us we could eat with the crew so we piled into a tiny dining room with a dozen Indian mess-mates. Wish Mrs. Onthank could have seen Pete then! Meal was huge and good and we made the most of it. For the next three days the fellows worked like navvies loading fur-trade post supplies aboard the "Distributor", and finally their own canoes and gear, for the down-river trip. The ship burned five cords an hour, and at any time of the day or night they were on call to hurl twelve cords of four-foot logs down from the woodpiles on shore and carry them aboard. In addition to the fur-trade posts, the stops could be anywhere along the river. In between, they enjoyed loafing on deck, watching the scenery, talking to the other passengers, and the free meals.
Sunday July 25. Finally reached the Peel Channel and went ashore at an Indian village where we left a couple of poor little Indian boys who had served their long term away at the Mission Schools and were apparently taken back by their forgotten parents with misgivings. We debated about going up to Fort McPherson for information, but before we decided the ship's whistle sounded and we stopped alongside a god-forsaken mud bank, a special stop to let us off. Unloaded our junk and everyone waved us a last farewell. Felt a wee bit lonely as the old ship headed up the Peel River for Fort McPherson and left us there alone clinging to the narrow mud bank beside the wide river. However, we quickly loaded our canoes and took to paddling. A short stiff pull against the current and into the Peel River and then downstream a short distance and entered a small side stream, which we trust is the Rat River. Pretty paddling but too many mosquitoes. We all had to put on two pairs of trousers to keep them from biting through. Without a map, the next three days were spent finding the main channel of the Rat River. One canoed overturned and they lost rifle, camera, axes and potatoes.
Thursday, July 29. The river was mostly rapids now so we spent the day up to our waists in the river. Hard work but exciting fun. At first used long tow line, but later found it went better if one grasped bow and other stern of canoe and walked along beside it and fairly heaved the boat up the rapids. At times could hardly stand up in swift water. Entered deep canyon. On again and ever bigger rapids. Built huge fire to dry out our wet clothes and warm our chilled limbs.
Friday, July 30. Chilly day and hard drizzle of rain, found it impossible to persuade ourselves to plunge into that cold stream so decided to lay over a day.
Saturday, July 31. The river swollen by yesterday's rain which enhanced the hardship. Waded valiantly but could make little distance. Water much colder too. Came to a big rapid requiring short but difficult portage through underbrush. On again all afternoon, proceeding very slowly. Greatly encouraged when we came upon reasonably fresh human footprints, evidently of a woman, since we were told on boat that a couple of adventurous women were trying this route. [Lady Vyvyan's book Arctic Adventure describes the trip.] First thing to give us confidence that we were on the right river.
Sunday, August 1. River had risen over night and was frightfully cold and nearly paralyzed one's legs. Had gone only a quarter mile or so when the other canoe got caught sideways in the swift current while Pete and Al were tracking it, and over it went in midstream. Duffles and food were lashed in and were brought safely to shore but the cooking utensils went down save for one pot which floated free. Pete's rifle and rod were also lost. Righted canoe and got up to nearby sandy point and built fire for we were most frozen. A discouraged bunch as we discussed what to do and drank tea out of some camphor tins Pete scared up, which gave the tea a vile taste. Ate Jake's bread which was very very good in spite of having gotten soaked in canoe upset.
Monday, August 2. Loafed in camp all day and argued on what to do. Counted and apportioned grub supply and found we had only enough for fourteen frugal days, and no cooking utensils. Much discussion and deadlock. Finally compromised and decided Jake and Pete should go back while Al and I scouted canyon ahead.
Tuesday, August 3. After breakfast Pete and Jake off for McPherson for supplies. They hadn't gone 200 yards ere their canoe filled and sank in cross current in shallow water. We helped them out and they went on. Al and I watched them disappear downstream around the bend and were a good deal worried. Just as we got back to camp it started to hail and then to snow. Woods, pines and mountains perfectly beautiful, but 'tis awful to think of Pete and Jake wading those rapids with their clothes and blankets soaked from the tip-over. The two remaining in camp explored on foot until their way was blocked by the Barrier River.
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July 25, 1926. Drop off point where the "Distributor" left the adventurers in the Mackenzie River delta.
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Saturday, August 14. Set out on foot down the river in hopes of meeting Jake and Pete and help them bring their canoe up the rapids. River divided into three channels and we feared to miss the others. By luck I was driven out on a point by the mosquitoes and found Jake and Pete toiling upstream with their canoe. Sure a glad exchange of yells and good to be united again. They told us great tales of having shot the rapids of the Rat after finding it impossible to wade downstream and having upset a second time. Two days later they reached the permanent camp, finding bear tracks around the tent, but nothing disturbed. For the next six days they tracked up rapids and through canyons.
Monday, August 16. The river soon changed from its muddy nature to a clear cold mountain stream. Water was frightfully cold and an icy wind sprang up so that we were chilled to the bone. Took long time before we could persuade ourselves to push on. Despondency turned to joy for we came to our longed-for three forks in the creek - the middle one with a tiny fall as described. A great relief to at last be sure that we are on the right way. Many camps, tent-frame structures and lean-tos which we believe were left by the old adventurers and prospectors of '98 who didn't get across but had to spend the winter and die there.
Tuesday, August 17. Portage from camp to small creek above [falls] and then started to paddle up it. Crossed lake, found well-marked portage trail and were elated to be sure we were on right way.
Wednesday, August 18. Started to rain and then to snow and was most unpleasant the whole day. We portaged to a tiny lake, picked up the trail again and made the main half mile portage over the Continental Divide to Summit Lake, beautifully set in high mountains right on the Pass. The clouds hanging low, but the new mantle of snow made them grand and impressive. Ate chocolate bar to celebrate having crossed the Divide and then embarked at last on our longed-for downstream paddle.
It was clear sailing from here on, down the Little Bell, the Bell and Porcupine Rivers to Fort Yukon, arriving there on August 31st. Along the way they met every person of interest, saw part of the caribou migration, and visited Old Crow.
At Fort Yukon they sold the canoes, wired their families and received word back that they had passed their law exams. They had to buy tickets for the boat which took them down the Yukon and up the Tanana to Nenana, where they bought tickets to ride the caboose of a freight train going south, sleeping in freight cars or cow barns along the way.
At Seward they signed on as long-shoremen and worked their passage on a boat to Ketchican, where three of them caught the CNR boat to Prince Rupert. By train they reached Regina in a snowstorm at 6:30 a.m. on September 23. It took them all day to find their car and replace the tires and the battery, but by 7 p.m. they were on the road. Fighting their way south through snow-drifts, they joined up with other travellers and formed a convoy, as far as Weyburn, where blowouts and further snow-storms forced them to give up, sell the car for $81 and take the train home. They reached Chicago on Sunday, September 26th.
In later years, Sherwood Platt was a named partner in a well-known Chicago law firm. Alfred Driscoll - Jake - was the Governor of New Jersey in the 1940s, and afterward the president of Warner-Lambert pharmaceutical company. Pete Onthank was an attorney and Al Leete a successful businessman. A few years ago, Al Leete's grandson recreated the 1926 trip with friends.
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Platt group near the Rocher River 1926.
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This story first appeared in Che-Mun Outfit 90 in 1997.
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