In NtesinanAcross the Labrador Plateau

Words by Stephen LoringImages by Dave Brown

the federal and provincial governments. During the fallof 1979, a small party set out from the Quebec NorthShore & Labrador Rail Road landing at Astray Lake,bound for the coast of Labrador. The party consisted of

Winter 2017 Vol. 44 No. 4 Quarterly Journal of the Wilderness Canoe Association

Ntesinan is the Innu word for the land, the country. TheInnu (as the Naskapi refer to themselves) have for cen-turies lived and hunted in what is now called Labrador.Recently they have begun land claim negotiations with

Paddlers survey the Kogaluk canyon for a decent route.

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barren Labrador plateau, hoppingfrom pond to pond, to reach the val-ley of the Kogaluk River, which wasdescended to the sea. Upon reachingthe Labrador coast they paddled toZoar Bay and a mid-October ren-dezvous with Inuit hunters fromNain. Following is excerpted fromStephen Loring’s journal.

15 August. The North Coast of the St.LaurenceThe Cote Nord is rich with birds. Itis a cool misty land, lush in its ownway, bejeweled with forests and flow-ers. Each night’s f ire consumesbridges. The aspen and birch burnsand creates a circle, a warmth and

Stephen Loring, a graduate student inanthropology at the University ofMassachusetts, his younger brotherErie, and the then-not-yet-venerableMaine Guide Thomas Hallenbeck.

The trip was, in part, a means to fa-cilitate archaeological and ethnohis-torical research, in that it sought todocument evidence of previousIndian land use. But there were otherreasons for traveling not so clearlydefinable. The party worked throughthe series of lakes east of Schefer-ville, portaged across the divide intothe Ungava watershed, and locatedthe headwaters of the De Pas River,which they followed until it joinedthe George at Indian House Lake.From there they followed a route thathad been pioneered by WilliamBrooks Cabot between 1903 and1910, that entailed a long portage toLake Mistinibi and then across the

Calm weather provides ideal conditions for a crossing of Lake Mistinibi.

It did not seem strange or un-naturalto be setting out as I was onsuch an errand.Rather there came a sense ofunspeakable reliefin thus slipping away into thewilderness.

Mina Benson Hubbard

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light that keeps back the mist of thesea. Each night’s fire is a milestonethat marks more than the day’s accu-mulation of miles. My distances aremeasured in different units. On theferry, we crossed the Saguenay, con-tinuing east through the fog.Cormorants preceded the boat andlured us from the shore to the deeper,darker waters. Another river crossing– it seems that I am always trying toput distances between myself andothers. The river forms a tangiblebarrier. I look back over my shoulderonce the ferry pulls clear of theshore, looking back fearfully as if ex-pecting pursuit. When the river fogobscures the abandoned shore, I feel

sciousness this morning as well asnow, when after dark, by firelight, Iwrite these words. After trying toload all our stuff AND Eric into thecanoe, we still managed to taketwenty-eight miles and stuff it into akit bag of memories. The boat isheavily loaded and will require atten-tion and care in the days ahead.The woods are full of cloudberries,the lake air is full of terns, and ourstomachs are full of Tom’s amazingpemmican stew. Life is just royallygrand for the three of us, satiated aswe are.In 1975, when Tom and I paddleddown the shores of Lake Mistassini,we reveled in the open expanses and

an illogical sense of relief. Still, Iwould be at a loss to try and namemy pursuer. If only I could, I mightthen know something of the nature ofthis headlong rush. There is such apower in names, the Inuit know this.I know it now in that I cannot facethis sense of uncertainty because Icannot define it. It has no name, orelse, and this may be closer to thetruth, it has my name.

18 August. Camp at the North End ofPetitsikapau LakeAltogether an extraordinarily f ineday, as all should be when bracketedby the calls of loons. Theirs was thef irst sound that lured me into con-

The barren, rocky landscape in the vicinity of Hawk Lake is typical for the plateau.

tic feature of this river’s shores,which I haven’t noticed on otherrivers, is this ice-rafted wall of boul-ders that forms a nearly continuousnatural levee above the river banks.All the river’s rocks are scoured andstreaked from the same tremendousforce of the spring ice-out.

28 August. De Pas RiverAwoke once again to an incrediblyf ine morning. Where do these dayscome from? One for a summer wouldseem a fair share yet today. we areagain blessed with a cloudless bluesky and a bright sun. We workeddownriver past an old abandoned andsorry-looking f ish camp, The riverturned into a narrow canyon andquite quickly her whole characterchanged. Bare rocky hills rose aboveboth shores. The waters of the riverbecame more and more containedand consequently less ruly, quicker,and more powerful. The country onthe eastern shore was burned, sothere was an added element of deso-lation to the scene. The canyon be-came more and more pronounced,and the river seemed to run througha maze of huge boulders. Always,with each little distance made, thespeed of the current increased as theangle of the river’s descent sharp-ened. We had to maneuver into thecenter of the river to f ind a clearcourse through. Once there, we couldnot get back to the security of a routenear one of the banks as boulderscompletely barred the way. Loadedas it is, the boat develops a forwardtrajectory that is diff icult to direct.Maneuvers must be anticipated withplenty of time to allow for the canoeto follow one’s desires. While canoe-ing through the boulders massed infront and beside us, our thoughts areever downstream forty or sixty yardsaway, when an obstruction is spiedalternative channels are sought out.Always the search is for deep water.So I was a little nervous, when in the

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the big-sky sense afforded by lake’simmensity. These Labrador lakes arewonders, too. Fleets of broad cumu-lus wind a parallel course throughthe sky matching our own excursionson the water. Storms come and go.We watch the curtains of rain thathang on the horizon grow nearer andeventually descend on us. Waves lashthe boat. Nervously we point towardland, then the cloudburst has passedus by and the sky is a showplace forcloudy creations. The wonder of laketravel is in its openness, especially onbig lakes where there are no bound-aries to contain one’s thoughts andthe horizons are layers of blue. I getto feeling at the center of things.A squall pushed us ashore on towardevening. We poked about through thevegetation of alder that masks theforests behind the shore. Into thewoods and one forgets the quest thatsought a camping spot as the thickcarpet of moss on the ground isstrewn with cloudberries, and theyare sought and consumed reverently,one by one. Later, Tom makes breadand pemmican stew. The bread wasserved with peach jam that mymother had made, and the stew in-cluded the dried morels that I hadwatched grow on the old elm stumpin front of Tina’s house in SouthWoodbury. I love this sort of min-gling of different times and differentplaces.It had been an amazingly f ine daytoo! Damn close to being perfect, Isuspect. I can almost not bear to haveit end, and yet I am tired, bone tired.This friendly little f ire and the fewfaint flickerings of northern light willnot keep me here long.

22 August. De Pas River at the Outletof Fredrickson LakeCrossed over the height-of-land thismorning after an early climb up thehill that forms part of the divide be-tween Quebec and Labrador, betweenthe St. Lawrence and the Ungava Bay

watersheds. We portaged the kit fromlake to pond then on to another lake.They were relatively short portagesbut the loads, as Eric will arrest,were heavy ones. We were quick toload up and be under way as thesewaters flow north. The headwatersare a succession of narrow lakes con-nected by tumbling brook-like sec-tions. If we didn’t know the nature ofrivers, there would be little to suggestthat such inauspicious beginningswould ever be transformed to thestark immensity of the George Riverat Ungava Bay.A family of bald eagles sat in a deadspruce at the mouth of the riverwhere it entered Frederickson Lake.Two mature birds and a single imma-ture who stayed on the nest while theparents circled above. I made my waythrough the alders to the base of thenest tree. The ground was splatteredwith guano from above. It looked asthough a light snow had fallen. Therewere several discarded eagle feath-ers; I carried two back to Eric.

27 August, De Pas RiverThe river matures with every mile.What started out as a shallow brawl-ing brook has gathered waters, likeyears, and a much more stately char-acter, so that the continuous shoalwater and gravelly rapids have beenleft behind us. We find ourselvespaddling broad, straight sections be-tween sets of bouldery rapids.The morning was cold with more orless constant rain, but it warmed upand cleared off by late afternoon. Thecaribou are constantly about us. Wechased a merganser up a small brookand saw an osprey nest with twoyoung birds within.This evening we are camped abovean embayment of the river in aspruce grove. The route to camp firstascends a thirty-foot-high wall ofboulders before crossing an alderthicket to the f inal spagnum-moss-covered camping spot. A characteris-

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rapids. It took us the rest of the after-noon to work down through it. Wecamped opposite the mouth of thecanyon on an overgrown food plain.It seems that often at the end of aparticularly long heavy rapid, thecountry opens up, forming a deep,sheltered bowl.This was a wild spot, ringed with thebarren rocky summits of tumbledmountains. Much of the country,least the side we were on, had beenburned and the stark white skeletonsof spruce added a further solemnnote. Some light still lingered in thewestern sky after our stew had beenconsumed. Tom and Eric, excitedabout the baking possibilities af-forded them by their wealth of blue-berries, addressed themselves to the

matter of barters and fires. I set outfor the country behind our camp. Myintentions were to pick berries. Ieven carried a bowl in which to placethem. Even though I kept thinking itwould be nice to climb, I figured thatit was late, almost dark, and the sum-mit far away. When I had pickedsome berries and climbed a knoll, Ifound that the summit shadows stillcalled and eventually, subcon-sciously, I just put down my berrybowl and started up. I was well upone side clambering over the f ire-hardened stalks of burned sprucewhen my goal suddenly dawned onme. I just plugged into high gear andcharged for the summit. In the lategloaming light, a purple tinge, thelast reflection of the day, glowed in

The route out of the eastern end of Lake Mistinibi involves more portaging than paddling.

very middle of the rapid, I could findno way through the boulder barricadethat stretched from shore about fiftyyards and twenty seconds away. “‘Ithink we are in trouble Tom, I said,meaning: “‘I sure hope we can findsome boulders to crash-up on and‘park’ instead of going over.”‘ “‘Yup,we’re in trouble,”‘ not reassuringwords from Tom, never a man towaste words at such times. We weredefinitely committed to the center ofthe rapid. At nearly the last moment,with our destruction, or a form of it,at hand, Tom spied a hole we couldsqueeze through, pulling of thewhole set with a lot of splash andflair and, needless to say, luck. Thisrapid was our introduction to a longgorge that had three sets of large

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the west silhouetting the distant sum-mits of rocky crags. The river poureddown through the gorge we had ne-gotiated that afternoon, into thebowl-like embayment, where the or-ange light of our campfire betrayedthe bakers’ progress, and downthrough a hilly valley lined withspruce. Six miles or so away the riverturned an angle and there was a lastglimpse of the water we travel, al-though the valley that contained itcontinued its serpentine course to thenorth. What is the feeling that comeswhen I stand out on top? It is morethan a deep satisfaction and sense ofcontentment, but what more I cannotsay. It is partially a remembrance of

past days and persons therein. It ismore than this, too, but in my heart Ido not begin to know the whole of it.Mine is a long and careful descentthrough the darkness of the ruinedforest. .

4 September. Indian House LakeA small camp on the beach ofMushauwaunipi, the “‘BarrenGround Water”‘ of the Naskapi. Awaterfall crashes down to the lakebehind our camp, which is nestledinto the alder growth facing thebeach. The full moon dances on thecold lake waters. We had risen withthe determination of camping on hershores and with every turn of the

river searched the farther shores forsigns of her water; by late afternoonwe had crossed over the invisible lineseparating the river waters fromthose of the lake and we had joinedthe George. We lunched at the con-fluence, on a brightly carpeted ter-race. I climbed a rocky knoll to takea look up the George River waters. Iremember a passage from MinaHubbard’s book that moved me whenI read it:

When the outfit had been landed,and the canoes drawn up on shore,George (Elson) walked up thebank a little way, and there, withfolded arms, stood quite still for

Travelers portage along the canyon rim just before beginning the descent to the Kogaluk.

some time looking up the river.Presently I asked: “‘What are youthinking, George?”‘ “‘I was think-ing how proud I am of this river,”‘he replied.

So we cross again in the footsteps ofWallace and those of Mina Hubbard.The years past, as yet changes to theland have been few. How long thismay last? I wonder. And I wonderwhere there would be changes in thefeelings at seeing the land. We allhave our reasons for traveling.

5 September. At the Beginning of thePortage across to Mistinibi LakeOurs was a slow morning, a lengthybacon, eggs, and potato breakfast.We washed our clothes and broke outthe wool clothing as the weather hasturned cold and promises to remainso now. Tom made an inventory ofthe food and we are good through tothe end of this month.Eric and I spent the afternoon sur-veying the f irst half of our portageroute across to Mistinibi. We wan-dered about for a bit before f inallyclimbing a high ridge from which wecould spy a distant arm of Mistinibi.It was a tremendous feeling to actu-ally lay eyes on the very countrythrough which I had been portagingsince March. It always tickles myfancy when the lay of the land mir-rors the map. I mean it is supposedto, but here we have been travelingon faith for a couple of weeks nowand who would know the conse-quences if it all were different? I re-member some lines from a MacLeishpoem of which I am fond:

Senora, once the maps have allbeen madeA man were better dead than findnew continents.

And later:

No fortune passes that misfortune

To lift along the evening of the sky,Certain as sun and sea, a new-foundlandSteep from an ocean where nolandfall can be.

It had been raining off and on andthere was a dark sky of heavy lowclouds so that distances were ob-scured. From our high perspective wecould look down past the kettle-holebeneath us, and along the huge eskerthat will be our road the day after to-morrow, past a land of jumbled boul-ders strewn with a glacier’s disregardfor order, to see a part of the distantlake, our destination. On our wayback to f ind Tom we worked outwhat seemed to be a really nice routefor our carry. It wound about theflanks of several hills gaining andgiving elevation with a miserlytouch. And later that night, when thedarkness had closed in about ourcamp, I left the company of myfriends and the warmth, which was asmuch theirs as it was the fire’s, andwandered north a bit. Here we turn tothe east. Our path is no longer that ofthe George bound for the icy watersof Ungava, we turn east toward thesunrise. It is a profound move full ofconsequence. I f ind my view ofTshinutivish, the old Naskapi campwhich had been a lodestone forCabot for so many years, and took along hard look at the great water, itsbarren reaches stretching towardUngava and other mysteries.

10 September. At the Eastern End ofMistinibi’s Long ArmWe have begun the long barrenlandportage across into Labrador and tothe presumed shelter of the Kogaluk(Cabot’s Assiwaban) Valley. Despitemy forebodings about the weather, itremained kind for our passage.Although heavily overcast, the daywas warm with gentle winds. Wepaddled off Mistinibi up the long,river-like arm past the point where

Cabot found the Naskapi camped in1906 (where the hunters had spearedover a thousand caribou as they wereswimming across the Narrows in thecourse of their migration). This east-ern extension of the lake is paralleledby a high sandy esker. Strange tothink of these incredible serpentinehills as former river beds atop glacialice, strange the changes the land hasendured.

14 September. Eastern End of LongPondIt started to rain last night just asTom was putting the f inishingtouches on a cake. The sky grewdarker and darker during the day,there was a ring around the sun, andwe hurried onward with the fear ofbad weather and the dread of beingstuck in a stickless country. We allfelt a pervasive nervousness and un-certainty the empty land instils. Theland feels so incredibly empty de-spite the fact that we must have seenliterally hundreds of caribou. When Ihad spoken, the year before, to Inuitfriends in Nain of my intention tocross the Barrens in September, theyhad told me that I had better be offthe plateau by the middle of themonth, for the small ponds and lakescould freeze up overnight and bringto an end any thoughts of paddling.These memories hastened us on. Wehad hard traveling to Cabot’s LongPond through extremely jumbled ter-rain, erratics and perched boulderseverywhere. Pushing into the windwas disheartening and exhausting.We camped at the eastern end of thepond at the beginning of the nextportage. We hid below a small knollfeeling spooked and exposed.Northern lights silhouetted the hilland the boulders behind the camp.

16 September BarrensThe wind and rain picked up lastnight as Eric and I raced to f inishdinner. There was wood to burn, the

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have descended to a haven, almost asif it was a lost world hidden in theempty fastness of the interior. Gentleforests of birch, alder, and sprucecomfort us. All day we watched thegaps in the mountain wall above uswhere we could see spumes of snow,indicating that the ferocious winds ofthe plateau blew unabated.

23 September, Kogaluk River campA downriver day carried at last to-ward the sea. The current with itswild mountain urgency rushes usalong. I steer without paddling so tokeep our stay among these mountainwalls as long as possible. But theriver yearns for the sea and carries us

bleached ancient remnants of a forestdestroyed by f ire. The wind eats atthe wood and the fire consumes all inurgency and haste. Like f ireworks,the coals are whisked away and senttumbling into the dark empty night.We eat in the tent as the wind makeslife outside unpleasant. A dangerousnight! Wind-driven rain and snow.Before sleep there is the last rethink-ing of each stake placement, thetightening of guy ropes and thestrength of canvas. Awake in the darkof the night suddenly. The wind hasreached a crescendo and it seems thatonly our willpower holds the tentdown. Both Eric and Tom are awake,but we all remain motionless and

silent. All our thoughts are bent in acontest with the wind – to break thatconcentration, even for a moment,would be to risk our one critical linkwith our safety. It seems that thestorm’s fury had summoned us froman uneasy sleep that it might regaleus with its passion and power. It ishard not to think of the wind as anentity, as something that might bereasoned with.

20 September. At the Foot of the HighPortage on the Kogaluk RiverCamped again on moss and leaves,which is quite a change from oursnow-and-ice-covered camps, whichwe left behind on the barrens. We

Wading rapids in the upper section of the Kogaluk.

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swiftly toward the rest that she imag-ines is there. I keep the boat in theswiftest water, we slide past gravelbars and towering banks of sand. Asingle bull caribou – his freshly ex-posed antlers white and flashing inthe morning sun, as are the blades ofour paddles. These miles are so ef-fortless, we travel entranced andsilent. I steal glimpses of the valleybehind us; its rocky walls are theboundaries of my wishes; so much ofwhat I love is here, it is here and hid-den, so there is both a tugging at myconsciousness to stay, but also the re-lentless pull of the water. Rivers leadever on.

27 September. West End of CabotLakeA bit of inclemency: rain all nightand morning, our old associate theindomitable west wind, and a bit ofidleness has kept us encamped on theshallow gravel bar at the lake’s west-ern end. Cabot’s Windy Lake, oftenmy thoughts have strayed here sincethe winter of ’75-’76 when Anne andI first compared Cabot’s sketch mapwith the modern topos. And the yearssince I have often looked at the placeon the Labrador maps that have usu-ally hung on the walls of wherever itwas that I stayed. We are content todally. A fire of whole trees blazes be-

fore me. With the spring waters theKogaluk clears her shores and allthose miles of cut banks and sand-bars give up their horde of fallenspruce and eroded alders to be car-ried downriver and piled like thecorpses in the aftermath of a CivilWar battle or like the broken lancesin a painting by Ucello.I broke from the stillness of ourcamp for several hours of fishing. Icaught three pike, but the big one gotaway. The latter tricked me fairlywith the f inal powerful surge, thatheadlong drive, that big pike resortto. I was not quick enough and themoment’s slack was all the f ish

Portaging across the plateau toward the canyon of the Kogaluk.

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Portaging across the plateau toward the canyon of the Kogaluk.

needed. I make a caribou curry fordinner served with the last of ourrice. Our seventh dinner from the fel-low Tom killed. We dried enough ofthe meat to make a large sack so wehave food to last us as long as wedon’t get pinned down on the coast.The skies clear late, when only Ericand I still linger by the fire. We heapthe trees higher, higher and higher,the orange sparks dancing with thewhite stars in the sky. The northernlights, that spectral river, mirrors ourcourse in its meanderings across theheavens. The green light twists andturns, the cold green light.

1 October, Kogaluk RiverIt is remarkable how unreasonable Ican become! Strange that I find it isso hard to admit even to myself con-sciously that the trip, this adventure,must soon end, that this world oflake-river-lake-portage-lake-rivermust end. So I become unreasonable,realizing it only now in reviewing myfeelings and actions this day. Andpoor Tom, Tom who wanted reallybadly “‘a moving day,”‘ was forcedto cope with an incredible array ofdelaying tactics. He sadly sighed asEric and I muttered thoughts ofcamping here as opposed to there:

“‘You’d think I was dragging youguys down the river with a chain.”‘I guess that these days have been somoment-to-moment and the reality ofother lives outside of our own com-pany seeming so remote that I havejust floated along in the assumptionof the journey’s perpetual motion.It took this day of trying to slow usdown to bring me the thoughts of ahomeward journey. Damn how thisriver races past her shores, I want tocry out “‘Let’s just float it! It’s fastenough,”‘ but Eric and Tom are re-morseless with their paddling(strong, deep, mile-eating strokes).

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The author.

Their silence goads me into paddlingas well. I am so unhappy. So unreal-istically so.

October. Kogaluk River Mouth, nearWolsey BayWe moved down the last of the riverthis morning, arriving at the fallsfrom which we portage down tocoastal waters. And we leave the in-terior behind us. Tom is ready to getout and be on the coast, but he is tol-erant of, or at least resigned to, themoodiness that is in Eric and me aswe begin to confront ourselves withquestions of the future. The immedi-acy of our life, wherein the world isconfined to the small universe of ourtravels, must undergo the transitionto a way of plans as well as resum-ing the ways of a society that doesn’talways understand or seem com-pletely real. We change the splendorand wonder, the magic and the ad-venture of the wild lands for ashadow of their glory. And I wonderhow much of this in ourselves we ex-change, what shadows we become.I was hoping to camp at the river’smouth but Tom and Eric, for differ-ent reasons, were for moving on andcovering the last miles to Voisey Bay.Still they seemed content to f ishawhile and did not seem upset at mywanting to poke about a bit. I leftthem casting out of a rock, the cap-tured f ish tied to the long laces ofTom’s L. L. Bean boots. I rewalkedthe portage trail and found a splendidoverlook from which to photographthe falls.Back at the bottom of the portage trail,Tom has a large brookie, “‘good size,better’n a couple feet long.”‘ He seemsmore resigned to camp and so we do. 1crossed over to the river’s northernshore and climbed up alongside thefalls. It was near dusk then reached thepool below the first fail. I stood en-tranced watching the fail of water.The last light of the day shone on thetops of the spumes, casting them in a

red and golden glow. I ended byclimbing all the way up to the top ofthe falls so that I could stand on thevery edge of the first thunderousdrop-the very end of the river’s life-from whence I could, at the sametime, look upstream over the smoothtranquil waters that had carried us sofar. I wouldn’t have wanted to leavethe river without such a direct leave-taking. I needed the opportunity tolook back over the country throughwhich we had traveled and firmly capthe lid of those memories that I mighthold them through all the years ahead.I needed the chance to say good-bye.So I stood awhile with thoughts of thecountry full in my head.Then, f illed with emotion and re-solve at last, I took leave of the riverand turned to go. A brilliant three-quarters moon, ghostly white in con-trast to the sunset sky, was the coun-try’s mute reply. It was a very cold,clear night.

This story was first published in theAppalachia journal, Winter issue of1986-87. At that time, StephenLoring was a Ph.D. candidate in theAnthropology Department at theUniversity of Massachusetts,Amherst. In the early 1970s, in orderto see the fall goose migration andsomething of the traditional way oflife before the dams were built, hespent three autumns with the Cree ofJames Bay. Since 1975 he has con-ducted archaeological and ethnohis-torical research in Labrador, wherehe has traveled with Indian and Inuithunters. Today, Stephen is MuseumAnthropologist and ArcticArchaeologist at SmithsonianNational Museum of Natural History.He helps Curate and facilitates ac-cess to Smithsonian’s archaeological,ethnohistorical and archival collec-tion pertaining to the indigenouspeoples from North American Arcticand sub-Arctic regions.

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Published by theWilderness CanoeAssociationNastawgan is anAnishinabi word meaning “‘the way or route”‘

CPM #40015547ISSN 1828-1327

The WILDERNESS CANOE ASSOCIATION is a non-profit organization made up of individuals interested inwilderness travel, mainly by canoe and kayak, but also in-cluding backpacking and winter trips on both skis andsnowshoes. The club publishes a quarterly journal,

Nastawgan, to facilitate the exchange of information andideas of interest to wilderness travellers, organizes an ex-tensive program of trips for members, runs a few basicworkshops, and is involved in environmental issues rele-vant to wilderness canoeing.

Events CalendarWilderness and Canoe Symposiumwill take place on 23-24 February 2018.Location remains the same – MonarchPark Collegiate at 1 Hanson Street.Details at www.wcsymposium.comWCAAGM is planned for Saturday, 3rdMarch, 2018. Visit WCA website formore details.

WCA ActivitiesWant to view all club activities, learnmore about our extensive outings pro-gram for members, or organize and posta trip? It’s easy! Visit the Outings sectionof the WCA website:www.wildernesscanoe.ca

For over 40 years, the heart of theWilderness CanoeAssociation has been ourNastawgan journal. EditingNastawgan hasbeen a labour of love for current and past ed-itors including, most recently, Aleks Gusev.However, due to the other commitments, in-cluding running the annual Wilderness &Canoe Symposium,Aleks needs help in pro-ducing the journal. Therefore, we are look-ing for an Assistant Editor to work withAleks towards building the necessary com-petencies to independently handle some as-pects of journal production.

What we expect from the newNastawganAssistant Editor:• Passion for paddling and/or the out-doors

WCA 2018 AGMSaturday, March 3, 2018MEC North York Community Room(784 Sheppard Ave E Toronto)Join us for: Outdoor activities, education,business meetingLook for more details at www.wilder-nesscanoe.caInterested in helping the WCA? Join theBoard! Contact any current board mem-ber for details.

WWF Canada NeedsHelp

World Wildlife Fund Canada (WWFCanada) is looking for help in locatingpaddlers that have good quality high res-olution landscape pictures with or with-out species, which they would use onsocial media and potentially in mediastories. I was given to understand thatWWF doesn't have budget for purchas-ing photos at the moment, so they'relooking for donations. They'll of coursegive a credit to the photographer in anyuse of their photo.The list of rivers:• Liard • Dubawnt •Thelon • Kazan• Horton • Anderson • Taltson• Stikine • Ekwan • BirchIf you are in position to help, please for-ward your images along with detailed de-scription to Rebecca Spring atrspring@wwfcanada.org

Royal Canadian Geographical Society hassupported a range of significant moun-taineering, paddling and related expedi-tions across Canada over the years.Again this year, there is a call by theRCGS Expeditions Committee for propos-als related to significant Canadian expedi-tions, with a deadline of January 21, 2018.Please see http://www.rcgs.org/pro-

grams/expeditions/expeditions_how_to_apply.asp for both the types of grants andsums available, and an on-line applicationform.All grants come with certain reporting ob-ligations, however they are not overly re-strictive.If you have any questions, please forwardthem to muscant@rcgs.org

RCGS Expeditions Committee Grant Deadline

• Good writing and communication skills(ability to spell and delete jargon)• Willingness to network with WCAmembers to source stories and areas ofinterest• Ability to meet deadlines

What we offer the new NastawganEditor:• Opportunity to support and give backto the WCA• Recognition as a valued member of theWCA management team• Opportunity to expand your skills andexpertise (looks good on a resume!)For more information or to discuss thisopportunity, please email:geri.james@bell.net

Exciting Volunteer Opportunity –Nastawgan Assistant Editor

flat out for about an hour is hard enough,but the course is interrupted by 17 ex-hausting portages up and around thedikes through long prairie grass andmuch soft mud. Competitors includeduniversity and lab physicists, graduatestudents, engineers and other staff mem-bers, both men and women. Some hadmore enthusiasm than expertise. In onerace I passed a team going the wrongway desperately trying to turn their canoeback to the right direction. Often peoplegot soaked and muddied along the wayand plunged into the water after the fin-ish line to clean up and cool off.Canadians, of course, were overrepre-

sented. As well as hockey, canoeing is inour DNA, so we were determined to winor at least place highly to avoid embar-rassment. I won two of the races (withbowmen Jim Prentice and Bob Sheperd)and finished second in another four (withMike Shaevitz, Dale Pitman and JimPrentice). However, the outstandingCanadian was my colleague GeorgeLuste, who won often and set an earlyrecord of 45 minutes, 19 seconds in 1976with bowman John Cumalat. That yearthe four of us physicists in the first twocanoes were all from experiment E25.Based on this showing of strength, weasked for more beam time, to no avail asI recall.The 1976 record was finally broken in

1980 by the powerful team of SteveConlan and David Carlson in a racingcanoe with professional paddles. Theyclocked “an astonishing time of 41:17.”As far as I can tell from the Fermilabarchives, this was the last time the racewas held. That year George paddled withB.J. Bjorken and came in sixth.George is a legendary figure in North

American wilderness canoeing circles,having paddled all of the great rivers, andmost of the rest, in northern Canada overhis lifetime, but that is another story. Ifinterested, Google “George Lustecanoe”. Sadly, he died of brain cancer in2015.The only year I beat George was in

NASTAWGANWINTER 2017 13

September 30, 1979, about 1:45 p.m.:SNAP!! @#@#@#@!!! Gerd Hartner, inthe bow of his canoe at the race startingposition, dipped his paddle in the water,gave a mighty first pull and, to his aston-ishment, broke it in half. Hilarity ensuedamong the cheering onlookers.Recovering quickly from the shock, Gerdwas handed a replacement paddle so heand teammate David McFarlane in thestern could start again.This was one of the more bizarre hap-

penings at the once-upon-a-time annualFermilab Canoe Race around the coolingponds of the 4-mile Main Ring particleaccelerator. The race was one of the mostexciting extracurricular competitions inthe history of physics labs and was heldon a weekend in early autumn for a fewyears starting in 1974. The event wasfounded and organized by Larry Allen,an operations specialist, with help fromother employees and the Amateur RadioClub (egad, the dark ages before cellphones) for communications around thering to monitor mishaps. The race was atime trial, with each of about a dozen ca-noes setting off at three-minute intervals.Crowds (not large!) of spectators showedup, pizza and beer were provided after-wards, and trophies were presented to thewinners.It was a grueling experience. Paddling

1979. He could not participate the otheryear I won). He used a racing canoe,which gave him a bit of an advantageover the rest of us in aluminum clunkers,but he handicapped himself by invitingthe new director, Leon Lederman, to behis bowman. Leon got a shoe stuck in themud on one of the portages and spentvaluable time retrieving it, worried heand George might be disqualified if hecame to the finish line only half-shoed.According to FermiNews at the time, heclaimed the difference between his timeand mine was “statistically insignificant.”I suppose we would have to repeat therace many times over to prove himwrong!On that note I encourage Fermilab to

think about restarting this canoe racingtradition, since the Main Ring coolingpond course is unique in the world.Perhaps a separate kayak race could beincluded or even a paddleboard race.How about a kite-surfing race on awindy day? Seeing racers fly overportages would be interesting. The canoeraces were great fun and helped relievesome of the stress of carrying out thegreat physics mission of the laboratory.

John Martin, a former Fermilab userwho collaborated on E25, E531, E516and E691, is a professor emeritus at theUniversity of Toronto. This story was firstpublished in Fermilab Newshttp://news.fnal.gov/2017/11/50th-mem-ories-fermilab-canoe-race/

50th Anniversary Memories:The Fermilab Canoe Race

Story by John Martin

John Cumulat and George Luste won thesecond straight Main Ring Canoe Race in1978. They'd won the last four-mile pad-dle held in 1976. Their 1978 time was49:33.

Satellite view of Fermilab complex

Kipawa can draw some confusion asthere is Lac Kipawa, ZEC Kipawa andthe Town of Kipawa: they are all closelyrelated. Our trip started in the Town,went down the lake a few days and thenheaded into the ZEC for about four daysthen headed back to the Town. ZECstands for Zone d’exploitation contrôlée… or controlled harvesting zone. Yes,they harvest tourist dollars.Kipawa means, “‘it is closed”‘ in

Algonquin. This term comes from themany bays and channels people used totry to get off the lake only to find at theend of the bay, “‘it was closed”‘. TheKipawawini were the “‘people of theclosed lake”‘.Many of the place namesin the region originated from the

14 NASTAWGANWINTER 2017

Our group selected the Kipawa area be-cause of its proximity to Toronto, cleanwater, changing landscapes, routes ofadjustable length, plus moderate chal-lenges of navigation and finding camp-ing sites. Negatives might include theabsence of other canoeists (but notableuse by sport fishermen using motorboats who staying in lodges or cot-tages), some large lakes, poorly or un-marked campsites and portages and noevidence of maintenance on portages.Overall rating of difficulty: Moderate.This trip was announced in the

Wilderness Canoe Association’s (WCA)web site. It described the one-week ven-ture as being suitable for persons will-ing to paddle up to 30 kilometres per

day and prepared to make portage cross-ings, lake to lake, that were not neces-sarily on cut trails.For this report, we’ll divide the arti-

cle into three sections: (1) Kipawa, (2)the participants and lastly, (3) the logis-tics. While many people like to do achronological reporting of day-to-dayactivities my preference is to see canoetrips more as a totality under the threenoted parts.

PART ONE

Kipawa, The LocationThe name Kipawa gets much publicityby having a popular Swift canoe of thisname in the Prospector dimensions.

Reflections on Kipawa RiverWords by Fred Argue

Photos by Gary Ataman and Fred Argue

Hunter’s Point Church

NASTAWGANWINTER 2017 15

Algonquin of Temiscamingue.

The LakeThis body of water is located in Quebecalmost directly north of Toronto, slightlymore than a four-hour drive, and North-West of Ottawa. The nearest town isTemiscamingue on the Ontario-Quebecborder. This region is upstream, off theOttawa River, above the popular riverdestinations of Dumoine, Noire andCoulonge. Lac Kipawa is parallel toTemagami and about the same large sizeand similar with long channels, baysand islands. Pilots say it is shaped likea spider when viewed from the air.People looking for an alternative toAlgonquin Park might consider theKipawa region. The Lake has a shore-line of 1300 km to give an idea of size;mean depth 11.3 m. The lake is home toseveral lodges that seemed to host re-

Left to Right: Fred, Heather, Linda, Gary, Jen and Chuck

Chuck’s fishing adventure

peat guests, primarily fishermen fromnorthern U.S.A. The water quality washigh. To the east of the Kipawa regionyou have Parc La Vérendrye, anothercanoe route centre.

Kipawa, the TownThis is located at the south end of LacKipawa, beside the Algonquin Nation’sKebaowek Reservation. You can findprivate parking for $20 per week, acrossthe street from the public wharf. Andwithin walking distance there was apublic building where we found freewashrooms and hot water showers.The dock is primarily used by

sport f ishermen coming and going intheir 100HP plus boats to the severallocal outf itters … or pourvoiries. Asa canoeist you should know you aresharing the waters and land mostoften with f ishermen and cottagers,

16 NASTAWGANWINTER 2017

not other canoeists. The boaters werealways courteous and slowed or gaveus a wide birth and friendly wave.One day as we were headed into alarge piece of water, with a blackcloud overhead, we stopped at thedock of Kipawa Lodge where we weregiven a greeting of soft drinks, icedwater and an invitation to camp at

their nearby point – an offer wequickly accepted.

Kipawa, The ZECLike Lady Evelyn Park is besideTemagami, this ZEC is beside LacKipawa. It is 2397 km sq. in size. Themission of the administration is to over-see the responsible utilization of the

land and to protect the flora and fauna.This management system is a wise useof decentralization. Who knows best,the locals, or Quebec City bureaucrats?Through permits, logging, camping,fishing, hunting and various sports areregulated. Before entering the Town ofKipawa we stopped at the ZEC officeand registered for camping and fishing.One tent for a week was $15 andChuck’s three-day fishing permit was$80 (family $95). My sinister mindwent to thinking, “‘What if all six of usslept in one tent: the money we couldsave?”‘ We opted for our privacy.Non-residents wishing to fish will

need a 7-day Quebec fishing license,which we purchased for $42.70 whenpassing through Temiscamingue. Priceswere canoeist, not fisherman, friendly.Chuck ended up catching a beautifulwalleye pickerel on Day 6, grilled onthe fire by Linda, and enjoyed by all.One gets the feeling that there are no

“‘Friends of Kipawa”‘ as the portagetrails we used were mostly not main-tained and were unmarked and camp-sites were rarely signed and few boxeswere provided. On one hand you feelvery remote and abandoned, and on theother, the motor boats give the sense ofnearby civilization. The logging indus-try has roads most places giving boatramp access to many lakes. There areseven outfitters located within the ZECwhich add to the sports fishing commu-nity, and in the fall, moose hunters.While Kipawa is located in Quebec,English appeared the more prominentlanguage amongst persons we met. Fiveof the seven outfitters listed on the ZECmap wintered in Ontario.A map of the area is available for $10

from Association Faunique Kipawa at:12, chemin de Penetration, Béarn, QC,J0Z 1G0, Tel. 819-726-2266. On themap you have campsites and portagesmarked and dotted lines suggestingpaths for canoe routes. However, manycampsites are not marked and some thatare marked do not exist so the map hassome shortcomings. The websitewww.zeckipawa.reseauzeccom de-scribes a number of loops for canoetravel: Circuits des Raiders, Aventuriers,Brousse, Cigarette, Sonperes, l’Échelleand Tuk-Tuk. The ZEC Headquartersare at Béarn on Route 391 and an alter-

Campsite #2 on a beautiful beach on Rivière Audoin

Beer, and a rum punch served in a watermelon shell, was our reward that night

NASTAWGANWINTER 2017 17

native access point from ours; the morenorthern Lac Ostaboningue.Because our trip was centred in the

south of the ZEC, we only spent aboutthree of our eight days in the actualZEC. Our path (looking like an imper-fect letter “‘P”‘) took in parts of the es-tablished loops and can be seen in themap provided herewith by Gary. Ourroute represents only a small portion ofthe total water trails available.

PART TWO

The participants were aged: in their50’s, Gary and Heather Ataman, LindaDoran, Chuck Fong, in her 30’s JenniferCook and 76 Fred Argue. We fell intothe family dynamics of Gary andHeather — parents; Chuck, Jen andLinda — the kids; and grandfather —Fred. The same love of family, gemein-schaft, quickly developed in the groupand we thrived in the intimate and trust-ing nature of the group. Jen aptly re-ferred to us as a tribe, clan or family.These were experienced outdoors

persons with many accumulated kilo-metres of backcountry paddling andhiking. The group had several existingconnections amongst the members,Jennifer excepted. Fred had been withGary and Heather on the ChiniguchiRiver Loop in 2012 and several otherWCA ventures such as TurkeyWeekends. Chuck and Linda were bothmembers of the Toronto Outdoor Cluband had tripped together and knew Garythrough that organization. Thus Garywas the common thread. Jennifer camefrom a family of Outdoor Educators andcanoe trippers, was a graduate of CampTawingo and an extensive solo worldtraveler. As a teacher from Iqaluit Jenknows and appreciates the extremes ofremote life, weather and living condi-tions. We were all up to the challengewe knew Gary had planned.We ended up being a group of six be-

cause Gary sent out an urgent email tohis personal contacts list asking for avolunteer to join the trip: Jennifer, anearly registrant, did not have a partner.In response Linda volunteered, thenlater in the same day two more personsanswered the call. Thus, Gary simplyput Linda with Jen and added a thirdboat to the group, Chuck and Fred. Gary

and Heather always paddled together.Each day Jen would make up the pair-ings in the other two boats which cov-ered all combinations: Jen with Fred orChuck, Linda with Fred or Chuck, ortwo same sex boats. The variety gavelots of personal time to get to know oneanother. The established travel adageprevailed, “‘What was said in the canoe,stayed in the canoe.”‘We feel it only appropriate to single

out Gary for special mention. Besideshaving the initiative to propose the trip,he was the competent leader in all as-pects. Never being bossy, he led throughexample in a quiet and efficient manner.In paddling, navigation, organization,camp skills, and reading the moods andstrengths of each person, Gary excelled.He was equally and quietly supported

Linda Cooking Dinner

Apple Crumble for desert!

18 NASTAWGANWINTER 2017

by his partner Heather who was a like-minded and equally seasoned adven-turer. While I was the least able to carrya heavy load, while never asked, Garywas always back on the portage trail toshoulder the load of my extra bag con-taining the last day’s meal.Gary, Heather, Linda and Fred have

already renewed connections at theWCA Fall Meeting and Wine andCheese, and at Christmas we’re havinga reunion when Jen returns from Iqaluitfor a holiday.For me, the most important part of a

trip would be the people. Others chooseroute, meals or weather, but I stick bythe human factor. River or lake, sun-shine or rain, portage or paddle, it is theparticipants that linger in my memory.Gary struck gold in forming our group.Vetting participants is the practise ofmany trip leaders as they know how im-portant the right mix of paddlers is tothe success of their venture. No matterhow good the route, weather and meals,one “‘bad apple”‘ can sour the wholeexpedition. From the educational worlda model is used to sort out skills and in-formation, and then attitudes and be-liefs. These are the four factors uponwhich lessons and decisions are based.Skills and information are more easily

taught and learned and measured. Theyare easy to fix and compensate foramongst group members. It comesdown to the attitudes and beliefs thatmake the difference in how a team per-forms.Most attitudes are measured along a

continuum, and where you fit along thisline is of importance. Some exampleswould be: selfish to selfless, me to we,unreliable to dependable, careless toprecise, closed to open, aloof to inti-mate, thoughtless to caring, …. you getthe idea. In our group, we leaned heav-ily to the right-sided positions.Only more important than one’s atti-

tudes are your beliefs. These are hard todescribe, to discover or to transmit;however, they are of ultimate impor-tance. Some examples of beliefs seen onthis venture would be: the group work-ing together is stronger than the individ-uals; my efforts are best used in helpingothers, rather than dwelling upon my-

Rebecca Ataman proceeding her parents… AGAIN

Hunter’s Point Church

NASTAWGANWINTER 2017 19

self; I’m best served by helping others;things belong to the group, they are notmine; whatever effort people put out,that is their best; each individual hasdignity and the right to their opinion;and, decisions, made after consultationwith the group, are better than directivesmade in isolation. This list could go on,but I think you see that the group wasbonded by sharing same values and be-liefs although our knowledge and skillsdiffered.

PART THREE

The LogisticsTwo cars, three passengers in each,headed from Toronto at 8:00 am to ren-dezvous in North Bay for lunch at theElvis-themed, Fifties Restaurant. It waseasy to find a car on main street withtwo canoes on top. This noon mealwould provide time for introductions.Gary’s car carried two Swift boats, anew 16.5 ft. Prospector one for theAtamans and the Cook Family Kipawacanoe for Jennifer. Fred carried his We-No-Nah Spirit II – all Kevlar ultra lightboats.There were only two testing mo-

ments during the trip, both on the firstday. In Temiskamingue, beside the hugeTembec Forest Products Plant, westopped for gas at an ESSO Station.Linda, who had been quietly noddingoff while Fred and Chuck chatted in thefront, went into the washroom unnoticedby the boys who irresponsibly got backinto the car after filling up the tank andheaded off to get Chuck’s Quebec fish-ing license further into town. It was onlysome time later that Jen noticed Lindawas missing and reported that she hadbeen seen back at the ESSO. SheepishlyFred and Chuck returned to get theircolleague. Linda was quick to forgive,but none of us dared forget her again.The road was paved all the way to

Kipawa Village and the dock. We ar-rived at 4:30 pm and figured it wouldbe an easy paddle to our first night’sdestination, an island 4 km away. Thewaters in the bay in front of the wharfdidn’t seem too bad, but we couldclearly see whitecaps in the open watersahead. As the pairings had formed, Jenand Linda headed out, Fred and Chuckfollowed. It didn’t take long before we

were in the full force of the winds andwaves that swept down the huge lakeand thwarted our progress. We were allstruggling to make headway and it wasa little unnerving seeing the water testthe upper reaches of the gunwales.

Gary and Heather were making slowand steady progress, Fred and Chuckwere falling further behind and Jenniferand Linda were clearly struggling tostay on course. Gary fell back and ad-justed the ladies’ packs to weight down

Actual route taken

Beach Camp #3 on Lac Pommeroy

20 NASTAWGANWINTER 2017

the bow (to lower it) to avoid it beingblown left or right by the oncomingwinds. This worked and we all labouredto make a short trip into a muchtougher haul than we would experiencethroughout the week. At 6:30 pm, land-ing in light drizzle, this crossing pro-vided an auspicious start which wascheered somewhat with a dinner ofsteak, baked potato with salad. We wereall happy with our tarp set-up and ablazing fire to dry out after our wind-blown, waterlogged, crossing.Things only got better. While each

day we had rain, we also had sunshine.We never saw winds comparable to thatfirst day, but it made us aware that wewere wise to have brought extra mealsin case we ever became windbound. Itwas strange how we always slept incomfort. If we went to bed in the rain,we woke up to sun and drying winds. Orif we went to bed with a sunset, wearose to showers. While we got wet, wedon’t recall ever being cold.You cannot count on such things, but

Jen and Linda proved to be our real,every day, every minute sunshine. Theygiggled and shared their mirth with all.They would burst into song any place oron any occasion. Some word wouldcome up … that would trigger a song

connection, and the music would begin.Our equipment was trip appropriate.

Through Gary’s pre-trip planning pre-vented duplication. Our canoes wereKevlar and fast, tents were backcountry,three MEC Guide Tarps were in regularuse. Any chairs were modern, small andlight.We saw little wildlife, probably be-

cause we were too noisy. We saw theusual gulls, ducks, song birds and a fewraptors plus evidence of moose on theportages. Hunting blinds for ducks andmoose provided proof that wildlife wasaround. One special moment in naturewas during a drizzle when we saw a col-lection of seven or eight loons gatheredin a wide circle flapping their wings in aritual dance while making throat callsan event we had never witnessed. Garywas able to video this spectacle event.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xwfT8Wwq7Q0. Searching on the internet,some studies provide evidence that sup-port two hypotheses that the loon gath-erings are centred around familiarityand reconnaissance. https://www.fws.gov/uploadedFiles/Paruk2006.pdfFor cooking we had an axe, saw and

grate, two small gas stoves and Jen’sblack pot set. Two wash basins withsoap, scouring pads and towels, plus

group cooking utensils completed thekitchen. We never needed more thanprovided.Jen organized the meals and assigned

each of us one day. When we discoveredwe had one more day than people a fewmeals were assigned at the last minute.Days one and eight were also coveredby volunteers in Jen’s plan. The foodseemed to be especially delicious. Thisis often the case because we are all sohungry after a day’s paddle. This mightsound strange, but each meal seemed toinclude “‘love”‘ – or at least tenderconsideration and unique character.Linda and Jen had a secret larder of or-ganic or heritage vegetables whichwould be added to leftovers to create aneven better breakfast or lunch for thenext day. Unbelievably, even on the lastday, fresh veggies appeared to supple-ment an otherwise dehydrated blanddish.But, the best part was Gary’s new

kitchen tool, a folding backcountryoven. This had special design featureswhich were discovered at a previousworkshop and ordered for our use.There were not many days when we did-n’t have home baking, and some dayseven competing chefs. Presentation ofmeals seemed important and little treats

Just North of Bridge Crossing the Rivière Audoin

NASTAWGANWINTER 2017 21

like a rum punch served in a water-melon shell, or whiskey sours created tosolve an overstocking of Scotch, justseemed to make things taste better.Gary’s daughter Rebecca provided

useful advice based on three previoustrips in the area, as a camper and coun-sellor at Camp Wapomeo of CanoeLake. At the Hunter’s Point abandonedchurch, on Day 3, we saw Becca’s nameon the wall of passing canoeists’ signa-tures, where we added our names as tra-dition dictates.Hunter’s Point was originally a

Hudson Bay Post and was first calledHunter’s Lodge, where First Nation per-sons traded in furs. The post closed inthe 1880’s, but a small native populationmoved in to occupy the site. Somewhites and métis also established them-selves in the community and opened ageneral store and a post office (1886).

mind. The l’Échelle route was selected.The route was closed by the park be-cause of a few blown-out beaver damsbut we found it still possible to travel.Thoughtfully, Gary made copies ofmaps for each canoe. In rough terms wewere to do a first day of 5 km, a last dayof 10 km, and six days in-between 20-25 km for a total trip of some 145 km.We also had his Garmin inReachExplore + Satellite Communicator andGPS. This gave current topo maps ofour area where waypoints could beadded. Between Rebecca’s recollections(which were very accurate), the ZECmap bought in Kipawa, and informationpicked up on the second to last day froma party of 12 Wapomeo campers inter-secting with us, we had adequate infor-mation. Data we collected on our routewill be made available to other paddlerson the WCA’s www.myccr.com (My

By the turn of the century, 100 peoplelived at the site which included aCatholic mission. A Presbyterian churchwas erected in 1914 followed by theCatholic church (formally named St.Eustache) in 1916. A Catholic schoolwas also built in 1928, when the com-munity peaked at 150. Though the com-munity was gradually abandoned in the1960’s, the 2011 census indicated thatthere were 21 residents.Further into the Algonquin settle-

ment of some thirty homes or cottageswe met a First Nation’s resident on herwharf who gave us a brief history of thearea. Her elderly father watched us fromhis porch and two daughters departed bymotor boat to an Indigenous summercamp across the water on the far shore.For maps, Gary had downloaded

from https://zeckipawa.reseauzec.com/en/cartotheque/autres a route he had in

Heading to Lac Bouleau as the water grasses point the way under our boats

22 NASTAWGANWINTER 2017

Another blown out dam makes for an extra walk in a semi-dried out beaver pond

Canadian Canoe Routes). Having satel-lite communications meant Gary wasable to send, every evening, a note toour emergency contacts to let themknow, “‘There was no emergency.”‘ Ashort retelling of the day and a mark onthe map told loved ones at home of ourprogress.If you want a rough idea of our path

follow this sequence of lakes, startingand ending at the Town of Kipawa. Thefirst and last 20 km were the sameheaded towards Hunter’s Point and out,plus added to this, the l’Échelle Loopthat we did within the ZEC.About 13 km up Lac Kipawa we

headed east into an arm to Pointe Turtleand up into a 5 m wide opening into LacBedout which took us north to TheChurch at Hunter’s Point. This is a must-see stop. The route turns into a water-way, Rivière Audoin. Go into Lac duBouleau, then Lac Pommeroy with a1 km moderate portage into Lac à laTruite.

At the end of the lake there is ablown out beaver dam which starts a se-ries of beaver meadow portages, smallponds, more of the same ending at Lacl’Échelle. Down this lake, and a longerportage across into Lac Pants, some nar-rows into Lac Sheffield where you headwest back towards Kipawa via LacMcLachlin, Lac Grindstone, Lac Hunterand into Lac Kipawa where we entered.All of this does not make much sense,but when you combine this with way-points showing portages, campsites,lunch stops and a map, the route will re-veal itself.Parts are long lakes, parts long shal-

low narrows, some scenic twisting waterbetween lakes and thrown in are someportages of varying lengths, one 1000m, another of 600 m and several more100-300 m, sections over, around, orpast beaver dams, and between lakes.Portages were moderate to rough, butnot a significant problem. We did twocarries with paddlers forwarding loads

when sufficiently tired, and taking abreak on the return to the second pack.Climbing loaded over logs, duckingunder deadfalls, and going through mudand tall grasses all took their toll on ourenergies. No sign of maintenance wasnoted. There were only minor changesin elevation.Upon returning to Kipawa Village

around noon on Saturday August 12 weunloaded canoes, loaded cars, andheaded on foot to the community’s freehot showers. With the same configura-tion of passengers Gary and Fredheaded to North Bay, FiftiesRestaurant, for lunch. Driving southwe stopped at Jen’s cottage road atLittle Doe Lake where we were greetedby her father, Jim, who took a finalpicture of the group. An uneventful tripback to Toronto, a depositing of pas-sengers to their homes, and final hugsand farewells ended our trip, but notour enduring friendships and lastingmemories.

NASTAWGANWINTER 2017 23

For the past twenty years, I’ve had aprized possession on my desk from ca-noeing on The Great Fish River. The tun-dra. I used to be a more avid collector ofartifacts.I brought my finds home: a small ar-

rowhead for hunting birds, a fishinghook made of bone, a petrif ied stickdoll carved for a child and thendropped, or abandoned, at an Inuitcamp, a core sample, and an ivory tog-gle from a parka, a pair of woodensnow goggles. I have lusted after others.I would kill to have the shaman’s coatmade from the skins of common loonsthat sits in the dark, quietly, in thePrince of Wales Museum inYellowknife. Out of the top of the cari-bou hide cap accompanying the coatsticks the beak of a yellow bill loon. Amissionary in the Gary Lake area col-lected it in the 1950s. God bless thoseInuit for remaining in touch with theirtradition that far into the 20th century.I’ve stopped that now. If I see an ob-

ject, I leave it there, even when it’s pre-cious. I feel it’s better on the land than ina museum. I am quieter now about what Ido. I realize the artifacts I brought backwere partly to prove to others, and to my-self, that I had been somewhere special.That I was special. Mountain climbers dothis all the time and hang tiny pictures ofthemselves on top of immense peaks, orconfine a whole range of mountains in a

The ArthrithicTwinge

Words by Greg WentIt happened to me the first time thisyear. Middle two fingers on the lefthand. Could not get them to bend togrip the canoe paddle. I actually had toforce them down over the paddle usingthe right hand. Then after a couple ofminutes of paddling the fingers wouldstraighten right up again. Then I had tobend them back down again into thepaddling grip. This went on all of thefirst day. Luckily, I was paddling in thestern and I don't think any of the bud-dies noticed. At least I'm hoping theydidn't.I thought maybe it was just muscle

and memory patterns realigning. Afterall, it's been a year since the last canoetrip and I’m not in my twenties anymore.So it might take muscle and memory abit longer to refocus.Then at the first night's camp I had the

dream. The bad dream. That it might beover. That I might have overstayed mywelcome as a wilderness canoeist. Thateven though the mind was willing, itneeded an increasingly less able body tobe a full participant in wilderness canoe-ing. Didn't let the buddies know. Decidedto give it a couple of more days of testingto see if the body would come around. Ifit didn't, then this for sure would have tobe my last wilderness canoe trip.The arthrithic twinge continued on

day two. Really starting to worry me.Spent all of yesterday paddling using justtwo fingers and the thumb on the lefthand and trying to maintain some sem-blance of a smooth paddling motion.Paddled more on the right side so I coulduse just a straight pulling motion with theleft hand. Made it work yesterday, butwhat about the rapids coming up?

Day three. Hands able to assume thepaddling position right from the start.Alsoable to stay with it all day. It's going to beOK.At least for one more year. This year.The warning signs are frequent now.

Almost every trip. Time is getting shorter.Though I hope I have a few more tripsleft. You see, I have to get these last tripsin. I have to make sure that I have enoughmemories stored up to carry me throughall the remaining winters of my life.

twelve by fourteen frame. We do thiswith our experiences, don’t we? I prefermemories, as large as the night sky, or assmall as two hands held up.I could not resist this, though. I

walked past it with the wannagan on myback, the tumpline encouraging my neckto bend slightly forward looking close atthe ground, watching my step. There itwas, not unlike the potato I found. Iwalked back to look again, to verify whatI’d intuited in a second, not even puttingthe wannigan down. I was looking at apiece of shit, probably a musk ox, or per-haps a caribou, but more likely a muskox. It was dry, not very large, but whatmade this a discovery was the gooseprint hardened into the top of it. I re-flected: first the musk ox took a dumpand before it dissolved in rain, it dried,yet remained moist enough so that whena goose stepped in it, a big enough gooseto leave an indelible print, there was aperfect cast made of the goose print.Then it dried. And then I found it. I don’tknow how this fits in with the story, but Iread today a line from Emily Dickinson:“The absence of the witch does not in-validate the spell.”Robert Perkins has canoed the Great

Fish River, or the Back River, and itstributaries for 16 summers of his life,often for months at a time, and on hisown. Rob will share his story titled“Hawk Rapid” at the Wilderness andCanoe Symposium in Toronto, 23-24February 2018. Photo of Rob negotiatingHawk Rapid on Back River in hisbeloved canoe “Loon”, taken by DickWinslow in 1988, adorns the cover pageof the excellent book by Bruce Hodginsand Gwyneth Hoyle “Canoeing NorthInto the Unknown”.

The Absence of the WitchBy Robert Perkins

24 NASTAWGANWINTER 2017

1 In Ntesinan: Across the LabradorPlateau, by Stephen Loring

13 50th Anniversary:The Fermilab Canoe Race,by John Martin

14 Reflections on Kipawa River,by Fred Argue

23 Absence of Witch,by Robert Perkins

23 The Arthrithic Twinge,by Greg Went

Editorial Team:Aleks Gusev: Editor-in-ChiefBob Henderson: Resource EditorDave Brown: Text EditorBarb Young: Food EditorAleks Gusev: Photo EditorPeter Jaspert: Layout

…in this issue

Where it is…

Ontario

WCA gratefully acknowledgesthe financial support of theOntario Trillium Foundation inpublishing this Journal

WCA Contacts http://www.wildernesscanoe.caWCA Postal AddressP.O. Box 910682901 Bayview Ave.Toronto, ON M2K 2Y6

BOARD OF DIRECTORSGeri James(Chair)Geri.James@bell.net416-512-6690

Gary AtamanGary.Ataman@safranmbd.com905-683-3100 ext.1286

Arthur McLuhanarthurmcluhan@hotmail.com

Diane Lucaslucasde@yahoo.com905-826-0875

Larry Durstldurst@rogers.com905-415-1152

Bernadette Farleymbernadette.farley@gmail.com416-762-8073

SecretaryBill King45 Hi Mount DriveToronto, ON M2K 1X3416-223-4646lyonrex@rogers.com

WCA OutingsBill Ness194 Placentia Blvd.Toronto, ON M1S 4H4416-321-3005bness@look.ca

EditorAleksandar Gusev8 Valiant RoadEtobicoke, ON M8X 1P4416-236-7079aleks.gusev@gmail.com

TreasurerBarb Youngyoungjdavid@rogers.com

WebmasterAleksandar GusevEtobicoke, ON647-932-2136webmaster@wildernesscanoe.ca

Membership andComputer RecordsEmmy Hendrickxemmy.hendrickx@bell.net

ConservationJeff McCollmccolls@sympatico.ca

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