The next day was the 5th of August 2011. It was the day we crossed the Arctic Circle. Again the sun was relentless. The heat made your head swoon and distorted your vision. We paddled as sedately as possible to conserve energy. The Arctic Circle is 66 degrees 33 minutes north. We switched on the GPS so we knew when we had crossed it. We started a count down.
“Dad….when we cross the Arctic Circle, will it be cold and snowing?” Maya wanted to know. We burst out laughing. The sky remained a brilliant turquoise. The sun was still a burning golden ball.
As we crossed the invisible line we did the tourist thing and snapped pictures of each other.
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| These are the pictures we took crossing the Arctic Circle |
The excitement over, we stopped for lunch.
There came more excitement. All along the Mackenzie River the mud is phenomenal. Sometimes you step out your boat and you sink a few inches and have to wiggle about until first one foot and then the other is free. This time, I got stuck. Getting the lunch stuff out the cooler I had stood just a little too long in the wrong place. The mud slurped over the top of my welly boots. No-one responded to my pleas for help. They were talking about something else. The only thing I could do was climb into the canoe and leave my boots where they were.
I got them out eventually and crawled along the gunwhale until I got to firmer ground. It’s all on video; Mum filmed the whole thing. Apparently it was very entertaining.
The next morning we made an interesting discovery. All the way along we had seen bear tracks but not droppings. This time we found bear poo. It was fairly old, maybe about a week. At this time in the year the berries come out and the bears gorge themselves in preparation for winter. Their favourites are blueberries. This turns their poo blue. It’s actually quite a nice colour, a deep purpley navy blue. Of course we had to take some pictures.
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| The Blue colour didn't come up very well but it really was quite interesting |
That night the weather pattern broke. We landed and set up camp just in time before a huge storm chased us into the tent. The clouds were swollen purple spaceships moving ominously towards us. The air felt heavy and my skin began to itch and tickle. Each flash of lightening was set against the sunset. It flashed pink and illuminated the inside of our tent momentarily. The thunder rumbled louder and longer. Growling at us like an angry tom-cat. You could tell the exact moment the storm passed over our heads. The lightening was so bright that for a second I was blinded. The rain pummelled our tent harder than before and as soon as that lightening flashed the thunder followed but the sound changed. Instead of a deep grumble it sounded as if someone was hitting a kettle drum and we were inside it. It was both hollow and metallic. But soon it passed by and we were able to get some sleep.
After that storm the weather changed. No longer were our days mostly calm and still and hot and stifling. Now the wind was harsher, the temperature dropped slightly each day, there was a dampness in the air; it felt like Scotland.
From here our pace slowed even more. One day, fed up of a constant headwind, we did only six miles.
About ten miles south of the half-way point between Fort Good Hope and Tsiigehtchic, Thunder River, we encountered our first bear in the wild. I say encountered but it wasn’t a great escapade. We just floated past on the river. Maya had seen it first, a little black blob trotting around a headland:
“DAD! DAD! I SAW A BEAR!!!!!” Her shout echoed off the banks
We paddled on and there it was, happily jogging along, sniff a plant here, eat a berry there, scratch the ground up, walk a few paces, run a few paces, back to trotting and ooooo something smells interesting….. He suddenly wheeled around and trotted after us his black nose outstretched and straining with curiosity. He got to the edge of the bank and dipped a paw in the water. I thought he was going to follow us but he came no further. He backed away hesitantly bobbing his head from side to side and you could just hear the argument going on in his head as he weighed up the possibility of danger against the exciting possibilities afforded by something new. I suppose his sensible side won and he trotted away. It was a shame, he was quite cute really.
We saw no other bears on the trip, which is both disappointing and relieving at the same time. I think this is because we were a big group. Four people make more noise and smell stronger than say, just one. For instance, Damien saw about 17 and he was on the water for less time than us. Stefen, who he met and introduced us to, had seen about the same and had even had a bear attack; it ripped his tent and then chased him around his camp so he threw Tupperware boxes at it and eventually it was dissuaded.
At Thunder River the Mackenzie bends and goes south-west for about 35 miles which was a little depressing because we knew we were meant to be going north. It seems the river had decided to take a detour. Perhaps it was a more scenic route in which case I really shouldn’t complain.
On the 12th of August we were paddling close to the shore looking for a campsite. We had been looking for over an hour but the banks were steep on each side and the beaches at too much of an angle to pitch a tent. Studying the map we decided that just around the next corner should have a flatter bit and if not then….well we’d just have to keep on going. The rough throbbing of a motor boat reached us from over the water. As we paddled the boat became visible changing form a dot to a blob to a definite boat shape. Approaching us he cut the engine and steered towards us calling hello.
It turns out that this was Keith Hodson who, every five years, does the Peregrine Falcon survey down the river to count nesting pairs in the summer season. We had seen quite a few and were interested to be told that from when he started some years ago the number of nesting pairs had increased from under 20 to near 80. He pointed out a campsite to us that was round the corner we had been heading for and we “invited him in for coffee” , a strange concept when there was no-where to go in to, to have said coffee. As soon as we hit the beach we put the stove on and brewed up a fresh mess tin of ground coffee to share with him. We talked until the no-see-ems (cousins of the Scottish midge) became too unbearable and he jumped in his boat and chugged off into the sunset. A very interesting man, he is returning to Scotland spring next year having spent some time there earlier this year because he’s looking into tagging and tracking the nesting pairs of falcons. Apparently the further north Peregrines live the further south they migrate. The Mackenzie River pairs migrate to Mexico every year.
This campsite was on the site of a cabin that used to be inhabited all year round by a man called Gabe Andre. It was a lovely spot with flat grassy stretches for the Tipi. In the morning, as I was making the porridge I looked up to find that I was being watched by a very small and furry face.
Sic-Sics are ground squirrels that look like someone squished a chipmunk and dyed it pale ginger. This one sat and watched me cook moving closer every couple of minutes under the pretense of grabbing a flower to munch on. I saw him getting bolder each time and trying less and less to cover up the fact that he was after our food. That porridge must have smelt good. We took lots of pictures of him and a few videos of him munching away and disappearing to pop up a meter or so closer scratching his ear and swivelling his head but as soon as the food was put away he mysteriously vanished.
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| The campsite at Gabe Andre's cabin |
That day we only paddled about ten miles because we were so late getting on the water and when we did we found some lovely people to talk to. It was a bright day with little rain but still cold. As we set off the sun shone down on us and made the water glitter. We had paddled no more than five miles when we saw a white canvas tent and a boat drawn up on the beach. Having truly got into the spirit of the north we paddled over to say hello. There were three gorgeous dogs running around the camp and a woman came out of the tent and walked down the shore to greet us. She gave us green tea and chocolate cake and cherries and her husband came out to join us. This was Alestine and Itai who live in Tsiigehtchic. They had arrived the day before at their fish drying camp and were in the process of setting up. We talked for hours and petted the dogs who were just so sweet, they even had a cat called Boots but he chose to stay in the tent. Having only known us for less than an evening they kindly offered us their house to stay in in Tsiigehtchic. Mouths dropped and eyes widened at the thought of showers and washing machines and flushing toilets. They gave us the key there and then and when we protested they countered with, “well, we won’t be using it will we?” Which you just can’t argue with, it’s so logical. I have to say we were astounded by their generosity and touched too. Oh were we grateful! Something to look forward to, when we finally got there. We thanked them again and again but left them around 8pm to enjoy the peace and quiet of their fishing camp. I looked over my shoulder as we paddled away and watched as they walked, sillhoetted against the evening sun, back up the beach. Behind them a rainbow stretched itself out with breath-taking purity of colour.
The next day we were paddling along when a huge storm cloud loomed behind us. It was heavy blue, filled with rain. We were going to get soaked. We stopped to put on some waterproof jackets and while we were doing this a passing motor boat stopped alongside us.
"You're going to get nailed in about five minutes"
"Yeah we know we're putting on jackets"
"you can take shelter in the tents up there" he said pointing to a cluster of tarps up in the trees.
"Thankyou very much we might just do that"
Anyway we ended up having a brief conversation with the man in the power boat and it turns out he was a friend of Alestine and Itai's, Peter Clark and his neice used to go to my school until last year. It's crazy how small the world can feel sometimes and the connections that can come apparent in the calm before a storm on the Mackenzie River.
The next day we were paddling along when a huge storm cloud loomed behind us. It was heavy blue, filled with rain. We were going to get soaked. We stopped to put on some waterproof jackets and while we were doing this a passing motor boat stopped alongside us.
"You're going to get nailed in about five minutes"
"Yeah we know we're putting on jackets"
"you can take shelter in the tents up there" he said pointing to a cluster of tarps up in the trees.
"Thankyou very much we might just do that"
Anyway we ended up having a brief conversation with the man in the power boat and it turns out he was a friend of Alestine and Itai's, Peter Clark and his neice used to go to my school until last year. It's crazy how small the world can feel sometimes and the connections that can come apparent in the calm before a storm on the Mackenzie River.
The day after that we paddled to the beginning of the Lower Ramparts that lead in a sharp bend to Tsiigehtchic. It was late at night when we made camp but we knew we only had a short 12 mile paddle the next day so we didn't mind too much. And then, as happened just before Tulita, we were storm bound a day's paddle from a settlement. Oh the FRUSTRATION! It was so windy and we had been warned not to go through the Lower Ramparts in significant winds because as the river narrows and goes around the corner it whips up waves that a heavy boat might not be able to handle. A local couple in a power boat dropped in to say hello and said that lots of people in small boats and canoes get windbound frequently and to be cautious. They also told us that there was a lone paddler camped on a sandbar a mile behind us. This was Damien and when we met him in Tsiigehtchic he told us he had seen the glimmer of our fire the night we had first made camp there. Anyway, we took their advice but it was two days before the wind dropped sufficiently. We had a weather report from the Inuvik coastguard that said the weather was set in pretty much until that Friday (this was on a sunday). On Monday evening the wind lessened slightly so we set the alarm early anticipating a lull in the storm would occur early Tuesday morning.
Sure enough, we got up at half five and it was almost calm. We packed up and had a hot chocolate before setting off at about half seven.
The waves were higher than we had expected as the river funnelled to go into the Lower Ramparts. We stopped for a rest and to bail out the boats and then continued on for another couple of hours. The wind was picking up and wind against tide meant we weren't going very fast at all. We stopped just past ten for breakfast (porridge and coffee) and got eaten alive then we paddled on a bit more and it wasn't long before we could see the buildings of Tsiigehtchic. As we got closer the rumble of the ferry reached us. We stopped for a break before crossing the river to land on the beach. As we were crossing a passing squall chased us. The grey mist and fine drizzle just caught us as we reached the far side but were soon gone.
Paddling into the dock Maya and I passed an eagle sitting on a pole in the river. It was so close I could catch it's eye. It looked at us disdainfully out of it's deep black eye, tipped it's head and slowly raised itself into the air and flapped away, huge brown wings beating the air.
We landed just before mum and dad and got out, sinking up to our knees in thick grey mud. We made our way, with great difficulty, to help mum and dad in and began unpacking the boats. It was the last time we would haul our bags and barrels, numerous as they were, out of the yellow canoes and onto the shore. The last time they would be lined up in regimented piles. The last time our hit-the-beach routine would roll itself out in unspoken familiarity. It was hard work tramping in and out the mud sinking and slipping and squelching to and fro but I didn't mind because I knew it was the last time and that made it special, something to be appreciated in a way.
The contents of our boats, all our possessions for these three months, lined up on the shore we took off our dry trousers and waterproof jackets. Now we were in civilisation again I was suddenly aware of how dirty we were. The black mud engrained in my callouses and the sour smell that comes from a distict lack of showers and a lot of hard physical excercise were things I had noticed only occaisionally and with slight amusement until now. Now, when James Cardinal pulled up in his truck and offered us a lift, I was embarrassed and sat gingerly on the edge of the seat incase my rotting state somehow transferred itself to the inside of his vehicle.
An hour later I was showered and squeaky clean. Smelling fresh like flowers (thanks to the handbag perfume I'd kept tucked at the bottom of my bag for two months) I felt confident enough to set foot in the Northern Store so we could stockup.
I must admit that even though the lack of showers and clean clothes for such extended periods got to me a little bit. When a clean T-shirt is such a special treat that you are in a good mood for the rest of the day no matter what, you know something is wrong.
For my friends who know me for my obsessive hair brushing, my paranoia about not smelling nice and my well used phrase " I need to fix my face" it might come as a surprise to you that I have enjoyed three months free of any of this. At first it was hard to let go but then I found that I felt comfortable with how I looked without my make-up. My skin cleared up too. Even the clothes I was wearing I wouldn't have been seen dead in back home but I don't care as much now. I am happy with who I am and the way I look.
There. I said it.
All those years you've been telling me I need to be happier with the way I am and all it took was an 876 mile paddle down a big river in the wilderness to cure me of my insecurity.
This doesn't, however, mean that I now shun make-up and any form of beauty regime just that I recognise it doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things.
But that is by the by. After going to the store we went back to Alestine and Itai's house and bagan cooking up a meal that did not include corned beef or instant mash. Damien, who we had met on the beach and invited for dinner, arrived and Maya and I baked chocolate cupcakes for pudding. It was a very enjoyable evening and the start of a very relaxing and enjoyable week - something we were much in need of. We drank tea and talked for hours, Dad and Damien put the world to rights bit by bit every evening that week and we read a lot of books and ate a lot of food.
So that was the end of our adventure really. The rest of the two weeks since we pulled off the water have been a sort of holiday which is nice. Even though I am now wearing jeans again and I feel much more like Hannah and less like a walking health hazard I do miss being on the river. I'm an indoor girl most of the time but being on the river with nothing but the weather to define how we spent our time afforded us a freedom I will never again experience. I cannot explain to you if you have not experienced true wilderness the peace you will find there both in the land and in yourself. It has, dare I say it, possibly been more instructive than all six years of secondary school I have just completed. The happiness we found together as a family in the yellow canoes and our green tipi have been noted by people we have since met and it is a closness and a contentedness that was formed around campfires and in thunderstorms, on long hot days and on miles and miles of moving water heading to the Beaufort Sea.
It has not been easy all the time in fact barely a day went by without some sort of upset, downer, grump or mishap being experinced by at least one member of our family but these things, without the pressures we have back home, mattered little and were soon forgotten.
Let me leave you with a picture, a snapshot of our little adventure down a big river.
It is the night we make camp before the Lower Ramparts. Tsiigehtchic is only a short day's paddle away but the weather is closing in according to the coastguard. It took ages to set the tent up; the no-see-ems were out and everything had to be checked and double checked incase the storm hit. It is dark because the summer is almost over. The cold of Autumn can be smelt in the air. You are sitting on the only camp chair in front of the camp fire and the heat is burning your shins. You sit, slumped, because you are tired and your body won't hold itself up. It is the heavy tiredness of hard work. It is 1:30am. A log falls out of the fire and sparks fly up - the kettle slips and boiling water sloshes out, hissing, into the flames. You kick it back on, rescue the kettle and settle back down in your seat. Behind you someone is clattering messtins as they wash up in the cold river water in the dark. Tinned cherries are warming in the embers at the edge of the fire. Your stomach grumbles at the thought of something sweet to eat.
The river swells and laps at the shore in a rhythmic shushing. Although it is dark the sky is the pale blue of an almost-night sky because this far north the night is never long or completely dark in the summer. Against this the trees on the high bank make an inky black tattoo, spikey and never-ending, receding into the distance. The moon is full and round, a pearl dropped into the pool of sky, it glows with eerie light. It's reflection spills onto the river as a rippling pattern. A cloud passes over it but the moon shines through turning it pink in the middle and gold around the edges. The wind is soft and chilly on your face but the fire still burns your legs. Eventually you stir yourself out of your daze and stumble woodenly towards the tent. Kicking off your walking boots you crawl over to your sleeping bag. Carefully you climb inside. It is a warm and comfortable cocoon. Your eyes close and you drift off listening to the hush of the waves against the pebbly bank.
And, finally, as all good things do, our journey and this blog have come to an end. Infact, they ended some time ago but I never found the time to write up the final epic installment. Maybe one day you'll find your own adventure, maybe you've found one already; this was ours and sometimes when I'm sitting on my own in my room at Uni I close my eyes and wish I was back there, just for a moment, in our Tipi or on the River in the peace and the simple solitude again. I remember a man we met on the beach at Wrigley saying in a spirit-sodden drawl that "This land, eh, it gets in your soul. She takes a part of your heart and she don't ever give it back". Shortly after this he passed out behind a boat but he was right, I know now that he was right.
lots of love,
Hannah
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Sure enough, we got up at half five and it was almost calm. We packed up and had a hot chocolate before setting off at about half seven.
The waves were higher than we had expected as the river funnelled to go into the Lower Ramparts. We stopped for a rest and to bail out the boats and then continued on for another couple of hours. The wind was picking up and wind against tide meant we weren't going very fast at all. We stopped just past ten for breakfast (porridge and coffee) and got eaten alive then we paddled on a bit more and it wasn't long before we could see the buildings of Tsiigehtchic. As we got closer the rumble of the ferry reached us. We stopped for a break before crossing the river to land on the beach. As we were crossing a passing squall chased us. The grey mist and fine drizzle just caught us as we reached the far side but were soon gone.
Paddling into the dock Maya and I passed an eagle sitting on a pole in the river. It was so close I could catch it's eye. It looked at us disdainfully out of it's deep black eye, tipped it's head and slowly raised itself into the air and flapped away, huge brown wings beating the air.
We landed just before mum and dad and got out, sinking up to our knees in thick grey mud. We made our way, with great difficulty, to help mum and dad in and began unpacking the boats. It was the last time we would haul our bags and barrels, numerous as they were, out of the yellow canoes and onto the shore. The last time they would be lined up in regimented piles. The last time our hit-the-beach routine would roll itself out in unspoken familiarity. It was hard work tramping in and out the mud sinking and slipping and squelching to and fro but I didn't mind because I knew it was the last time and that made it special, something to be appreciated in a way.
The contents of our boats, all our possessions for these three months, lined up on the shore we took off our dry trousers and waterproof jackets. Now we were in civilisation again I was suddenly aware of how dirty we were. The black mud engrained in my callouses and the sour smell that comes from a distict lack of showers and a lot of hard physical excercise were things I had noticed only occaisionally and with slight amusement until now. Now, when James Cardinal pulled up in his truck and offered us a lift, I was embarrassed and sat gingerly on the edge of the seat incase my rotting state somehow transferred itself to the inside of his vehicle.
An hour later I was showered and squeaky clean. Smelling fresh like flowers (thanks to the handbag perfume I'd kept tucked at the bottom of my bag for two months) I felt confident enough to set foot in the Northern Store so we could stockup.
I must admit that even though the lack of showers and clean clothes for such extended periods got to me a little bit. When a clean T-shirt is such a special treat that you are in a good mood for the rest of the day no matter what, you know something is wrong.
For my friends who know me for my obsessive hair brushing, my paranoia about not smelling nice and my well used phrase " I need to fix my face" it might come as a surprise to you that I have enjoyed three months free of any of this. At first it was hard to let go but then I found that I felt comfortable with how I looked without my make-up. My skin cleared up too. Even the clothes I was wearing I wouldn't have been seen dead in back home but I don't care as much now. I am happy with who I am and the way I look.
There. I said it.
All those years you've been telling me I need to be happier with the way I am and all it took was an 876 mile paddle down a big river in the wilderness to cure me of my insecurity.
This doesn't, however, mean that I now shun make-up and any form of beauty regime just that I recognise it doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things.
But that is by the by. After going to the store we went back to Alestine and Itai's house and bagan cooking up a meal that did not include corned beef or instant mash. Damien, who we had met on the beach and invited for dinner, arrived and Maya and I baked chocolate cupcakes for pudding. It was a very enjoyable evening and the start of a very relaxing and enjoyable week - something we were much in need of. We drank tea and talked for hours, Dad and Damien put the world to rights bit by bit every evening that week and we read a lot of books and ate a lot of food.
So that was the end of our adventure really. The rest of the two weeks since we pulled off the water have been a sort of holiday which is nice. Even though I am now wearing jeans again and I feel much more like Hannah and less like a walking health hazard I do miss being on the river. I'm an indoor girl most of the time but being on the river with nothing but the weather to define how we spent our time afforded us a freedom I will never again experience. I cannot explain to you if you have not experienced true wilderness the peace you will find there both in the land and in yourself. It has, dare I say it, possibly been more instructive than all six years of secondary school I have just completed. The happiness we found together as a family in the yellow canoes and our green tipi have been noted by people we have since met and it is a closness and a contentedness that was formed around campfires and in thunderstorms, on long hot days and on miles and miles of moving water heading to the Beaufort Sea.
It has not been easy all the time in fact barely a day went by without some sort of upset, downer, grump or mishap being experinced by at least one member of our family but these things, without the pressures we have back home, mattered little and were soon forgotten.
Let me leave you with a picture, a snapshot of our little adventure down a big river.
It is the night we make camp before the Lower Ramparts. Tsiigehtchic is only a short day's paddle away but the weather is closing in according to the coastguard. It took ages to set the tent up; the no-see-ems were out and everything had to be checked and double checked incase the storm hit. It is dark because the summer is almost over. The cold of Autumn can be smelt in the air. You are sitting on the only camp chair in front of the camp fire and the heat is burning your shins. You sit, slumped, because you are tired and your body won't hold itself up. It is the heavy tiredness of hard work. It is 1:30am. A log falls out of the fire and sparks fly up - the kettle slips and boiling water sloshes out, hissing, into the flames. You kick it back on, rescue the kettle and settle back down in your seat. Behind you someone is clattering messtins as they wash up in the cold river water in the dark. Tinned cherries are warming in the embers at the edge of the fire. Your stomach grumbles at the thought of something sweet to eat.
The river swells and laps at the shore in a rhythmic shushing. Although it is dark the sky is the pale blue of an almost-night sky because this far north the night is never long or completely dark in the summer. Against this the trees on the high bank make an inky black tattoo, spikey and never-ending, receding into the distance. The moon is full and round, a pearl dropped into the pool of sky, it glows with eerie light. It's reflection spills onto the river as a rippling pattern. A cloud passes over it but the moon shines through turning it pink in the middle and gold around the edges. The wind is soft and chilly on your face but the fire still burns your legs. Eventually you stir yourself out of your daze and stumble woodenly towards the tent. Kicking off your walking boots you crawl over to your sleeping bag. Carefully you climb inside. It is a warm and comfortable cocoon. Your eyes close and you drift off listening to the hush of the waves against the pebbly bank.
And, finally, as all good things do, our journey and this blog have come to an end. Infact, they ended some time ago but I never found the time to write up the final epic installment. Maybe one day you'll find your own adventure, maybe you've found one already; this was ours and sometimes when I'm sitting on my own in my room at Uni I close my eyes and wish I was back there, just for a moment, in our Tipi or on the River in the peace and the simple solitude again. I remember a man we met on the beach at Wrigley saying in a spirit-sodden drawl that "This land, eh, it gets in your soul. She takes a part of your heart and she don't ever give it back". Shortly after this he passed out behind a boat but he was right, I know now that he was right.
lots of love,
Hannah
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
