Norman Wells to Tsiigehtchic...and now we're very tired

At the time I’m writing this we have no internet connection to be able to upload a blog so I’m going to copy and paste it up when I can.

We are in Tsiigehtchic (SIG-uh-chick) and have been for the past six days. The band office offers internet service but I would need it for the whole afternoon which isn’t really fair on them. At the moment we are recuperating in a house that has been loaned to us for “a few good days” (more on that later) and are currently pondering the fact that we need to pack up and drive to Inuvik rather than actually doing anything about it.

The view from the house we are staying in....amazing.

It’s strange; as soon as we got off the water down on the beach there we slowed to a crawl and none of us has any energy left at all. The past six days we’ve done nothing but eat extraordinary amounts of food that isn’t dried or tinned, stay up late talking and then sleep until noon, and go for the occasional trip to the shop or the band office or the school. We did go to Fort McPherson  on  Friday though. It is a town of about a thousand people an hour’s drive down the Demster Highway and we were very kindly taken by the Chief of Tsiigehchic who gave up his afternoon to show us around.

The Demster  has no tarmac. It is literally a long, straight dirt track road. If you think about it, the winters here are so cold that a tarmac road would be in constant disrepair so a dirt track road does make a lot of sense and everybody here drives huge trucks anyway. Driving an estate car or our little red VW Fox down the Demster highway would be impossible.

During our stay here we acquired a new member of the family. Damien, from Australia, has been paddling the Mackenzie River solo in an open canoe which didn’t seem so much of a big deal to him as it did to us. Prior to this he walked for five months up through the west side of the US and over the border to Canada. Even though he set off from Hay River three weeks after we set off from Fort Providence he managed to arrive in Tsiigehtchic about five hours before we did. We met him down on the beach and invited him up for dinner and then for breakfast and then dinner again and then he stayed until yesterday when we waved him off as he put in to paddle the last bit to Inuvik. We’ll probably see him there though; Inuvik isn’t that big in the grand scheme of things.

So, that’s our wonderfully lazy week and now I’ll tell you all that happened in between that and Norman Wells. It was the longest stretch of the trip being about 547km (273.5 Nautical miles). It would have been slightly easier, I think, had we been able to stop in Fort Good Hope but as it was everyone was out of town on their way to an annual meeting so there was really nowhere for us to stay. We stopped for a couple of hours to pick up some food and then carried on. This meant that by the time we arrived here in Tsiigehtchic we had been on the water about 19 days with only two rest days and no showers. The bit after Fort Good Hope was the most isolated stretch. We saw no-one for six days straight. Surprisingly, given my absolute fear of the isolation at the start of the trip, I didn’t mind too much. My world had shrunk slightly to include only myself and my family so whether we saw anyone or not really didn’t matter to me. Being in a settlement for such an extended period now I have begun to miss the silence that you find out there. When the water is calm and glassy and the land is gliding slowly past the silence is almost impenetrable. Here, even though it is hardly a noisy place, there are the sounds of cars, dogs, people, the heating switching on, the ferry’s distant rumble and you really miss the hush of the wilderness.

I didn’t always like it.

 At the beginning of the trip, in the first week, I hated the silence. It scared me because I knew there was no-one but us for a very long way. There is a great quote in our guide book that I really identified with back then but now it makes me laugh. I think that this shows how much I’ve changed over the weeks we’ve been here:

                             

                             “One year while flying with my father, we spotted a red life jacket

                              on the shore of Mills Lake, so we landed. A German tourist came

                             running from the shore, through the shallow water towards the plane

                             as we landed. That man he just grabbed on to my Dad and wouldn’t

                             let go. Thought the world had ended. Said “It’s so quiet out here,

                            it hurts my ears.””

                                                  Kim Crook, Fort Providence (2005) (Mackenzie River Guidebook 2011)

Perhaps what took us so long to do that stretch of the river from Norman Wells was the fact that it was the end of a very long trip. Waking up every morning I found it increasingly harder to get up and get on. Everyone did. I felt tired right to my bones, that heaviness that sits on you and presses you down, that makes everything such an effort and I couldn’t shift it. Mum maintained that it was because we often paddled late into the night and got to bed about two of three am but as far as I can see that wasn’t it. We always got eight or more hours sleep which is far more than I was getting at home in the lead up to exams and things yet I felt so much more tired than I had then. I have a theory that it was the constant moving on. We never really stayed more than a day in a place and consequently there was this feeling of never actually being rested. We had been on the move for about two months and we realised it was time to stop. Even though we could have gone on to Inuvik and finished where we said we would the decision to pull out in Tsiigehtchic was the right one.

The last blog, if I remember correctly, ended as we were packing our stuff and leaving the hotel to go food shopping. As it turned out the shopping took longer than expected and by the time we had sorted all the food out and packed it into the barrels it was about quarter past ten. Mary and David who had already done so much for us let us stay in their house. They also gave us a cooler and heaps of food.

With Mary and David who were so kind

The cooler has been very useful; no longer did we have to eat greasy, sweated cheese or eat our bars of chocolate with a spoon. We were also gifted a vase by the manager of Rampart Rentals to thank us for the sheer amount of STUFF we bought from his store. We are determined to get it home to sit proudly in our dining room. To protect it from the water we duct-taped the entire box so it was relatively water-tight and it was strapped carefully on top of mine and Maya’s canoe every day as we set off. When we hit the beach it was always first off and was carried to a safe spot away from where the action was. At night it lived in an empty dry bag that usually held the tent. We had a ceremonious opening of the box the other night and the vase is intact with not so much as a scratch on it. We’ll see how it fares when we hand it over to the freight company….

 When we finally put in at Norman Wells the Coastguard boat that we had been invited on to at Blackwater River was there. Some of the crew were being flown home having finished work for the season. Two of them came out to say hello and wish us luck. It was nice to catch up. We didn’t paddle much more than 13 nautical miles that day. The next day we called in at the cabin of a man called Wilfred who is Mary’s Uncle. She had said we would be more than welcome but he must have gone hunting or something because his boat wasn’t there. We went up and knocked on the door just in case but there was definitely no-one at home. The cabin was very pretty, small and well-kept with the beginnings of a beautiful garden. The view from up there was spectacular and the sun picked out the details of the land in sharp and vivid detail as it stretched before us beyond the smooth and lazy river.

That day was a long one. We continued on through the heat for 26 nautical miles to make up for what we hadn’t done the day before. The river widens out considerably here with a series of islands separating it into different channels and there is virtually no current. It felt like we were wallowing in gloopy treacle as the bulldog flies buzzed incessantly around our heads. At last the river funnelled  and the current picked up ever so slightly. It was late in the evening, maybe ten o’clock, so the sun was starting to drop down and the heat was less intense. Oh how pleased I was when I had to get out a jumper because it was chilly! We were looking for an island that was on the topographical map we had and looked as if there was good camping. We rounded the corner next to the Carcajou ridge and paddled on for a bit in puzzlement. Finally, Dad called over to me,

“Hannah, can you see an island?”

“I was going to ask you that” I replied turning my map this way and that just in case the evening light was playing tricks on us.

“Ah. Well it’s quite possible it doesn’t exist anymore”

“Oh. Ok what’s plan B?”

This quite often happened to us. We either found things that weren’t on the maps or couldn’t find things that were on the maps. The topos  were made in the fifties and sixties by aeroplane survey. A lot can change in fifty to sixty years on such a huge body of moving water. Along the way we constantly saw areas of erosion where huge shoals were collapsing into the river but we also saw new areas of deposition where mud flats and sandbanks were forming new shoals that weren’t on the maps. Sometimes this made navigating a little bit harder because you were thrown off for a second thinking you’d read the map wrong and were in a different place from what you thought you were but, take the time to look around and match what you saw to the map or fire up the GPS if you had to and everything became clear again.

We paddled slowly next to the shore looking for a good spot. The banks were steep on this side and sheer lime stone cliffs on the other. Purely by chance we found what has to be one of my favourite camping spots of the entire trip. The thin beach river left levelled out at one point to provide an almost perfectly flat campsite long and made of soft white sand with hardly any rocks to poke up through our sleeping mats and no mud to clart everything. At the end of the flat section was a huge tree trunk carefully balanced on a massive boulder like some sort of abstract artwork. We had a direct view of the Carcajou ridge from our tent door and we sat and ate our dinner round the campfire staring at the magnificent rock as it dropped into the river. The sunset behind it made it a burning shadow against the cool evening sky.

My favourite campsite...this doesn't do it justice though

A natural work of abstract art

The day after that we paddled to the Mountain River at the start of the Sans Sault Rapids. We thought it unwise to continue and do the rapids that evening but camped in full view of them. While eating our dinner (Cooked by Maya. Not many people would attempt a Bechemel sauce from scratch in a thin mess tin on a camp stove at eleven o’clock at night and succeed in providing a delicious dinner for four hungry, grumpy paddlers, but she did) we were entertained by a Barge powering upstream through the rapids. It was slow going but they did it. As they passed us we waved at the crew on the bridge of the tug boat. They didn’t wave back but gathered to stare, coffee cups in hand, at the crazy people with the yellow boats and the green Tipi jumping up and down on the shore. 

The barge after coming through the rapids

We woke late and it took us ages to pack up camp what with phone calls home and losing things all morning it was late afternoon before we set off for the rapids. We could hear the quiet rush of the water going through the rapids. For all the warnings we had about how many people had died it was a big none-event. I’ve seen bigger and scarier rapids on rivers back home. Dad had bought a nautical chart for the Sans Sault rapids and using this we plotted our course. There is a completely clear channel river left next to the cliffs and if you avoid the sand bars all you get are some bigger than usual waves that aren’t more than half a foot. We had a series of compass bearings that we lined up with and we were fine paddling along those. After that we stopped for lunch and, much more interesting than the rapids, had a debate about if we were eating too much chocolate and did we have enough to get to Fort Good Hope. In the end we decided to ration it. After lunch we got caught in a storm and got drenched in stinging rain. It fell so heavily the noise of it on the surface of the water was deafening. Maya and I drifted sideways for a bit because paddling forward the rain lashed our faces cruelly. And then suddenly it wasn’t raining anymore. Just like that. Someone up there switched it off and it was clear, if a little cooler than it had been.  We got caught in the weather again around eight pm and stopped to eat dinner and take shelter. Then we paddled on for another two hours to a place near Hume River about 25 miles from Fort Good Hope.

You’d think, that from there it would only take a day to get there at a push but you’d be wrong. All along we’d been taking it slowly and on top of this the deep, thick fatigue was beginning to set in. The next day we paddled across the river and did a grand total of about seven miles.  We had a lovely campsite at the Tsintu River. We made camp early and in the morning we were able to wash some of our stinking clothes and refresh ourselves as best we could in the river. It made no difference; I was dirty again by the time we pushed off.  

Sunset at the Tsintu River

That day we did the Ramparts Rapids.  Again we had been warned repeatedly about this bit but with the right charts and a bit of forward planning we made it through unharmed. We plotted a course that took us through the buoyage system for the barges and although we could hear the rapids the water around us hardly rippled. The rapids are at the gateway to a section of the river called the Ramparts. This is about a seven mile stretch of river where the banks sheer cliffs of Limestone a couple of hundred feet high. The sun shining off them turns them soft golden like the top of a crumble pudding.

Approach to the Ramparts

We stopped at the foot of the Rampart cliffs to take some pictures

The Ramparts...beautiful

Exiting the Ramparts we headed towards the white blocks clustered on the far bank. Fort Good Hope was in sight! Sadly we got no showers or any other luxuries like that and stayed only a couple of hours before paddling on. There was really no-where for us to stay as everyone was out of town. We didn’t even get to see inside the famous church. Everyone we have talked to about that church has sucked in their breath, wide-eyed and said “Oh it’s beautiful”. I think we missed out on something big. We did look around the churchyard but even a visit to the store to buy more chocolate rations and teabags couldn’t make up for not seeing inside that Church.

The Church that wasunfortunately  locked

It's a shame we couldn't stay longer

The evening was heavy with heat as we paddled away from the township. I can’t describe how lethargic we felt as we paddled pathetically down the river. I thought I would fall out the Canoe because I couldn’t keep myself upright; the heat just took the energy right out of you.

We finally stopped a few miles downstream of the township on the end of an island. The campsite was perfectly flat and covered in soft green grass. We nicknamed it “Parklands”.

Sunset at Parklands

The next day I got my exam results. I had signed up to have them sent via email and had fixed up with my boyfriend that I would ring him and he would go into my email and tell me them. I got up early and faffed about making tea and tending the fire and organising breakfast and actually doing nothing of any great use until I finally plucked up the courage to ring him. I walked a good distance away from the camp behind a bush and dialled up.

“It’s ok you got into Edinburgh” he told me and the relief made my legs buckle.

After I hung up I looked around me. I looked at the willow bushes and the gelatinous mud and the endless dome of pastel sky and the sunlight skimming the water. A mosquito dive bombed my ear.  I wondered how many people have received their exam results in such an unusual setting and fashion; camped on the banks of the second longest river on the North American continent through the fuzzy, burbling reception of a long distance sat phone call. Not many, I decided.

After I told everyone the good news (“Well you’re getting rid of me for four years at least”) we celebrated in true camp style with a campfire breakfast of porridge and granola, fresh coffee, fried bacon and baked beans. Then, we set off in the stifling heat of midday. It was another hot day when the air is still and the sun is high. I could feel the sweat prickling my skin; it felt like thousands of insects crawling all over me. We stopped to get water at a beautiful stream that tumbled down a cliff over heaps of boulders and through a rich grassy plain. When we stopped for dinner we had a caesar salad to start as a treat and we also had cherry turnover pastries. We paddled on as the air cooled until we found a camp.

Tulita to Norman Wells: longer than expected

True to form I am very much behind with the blog. We have actually been in Norman Wells for about two days and leave sometime this evening but I was so busy trying to type up the float plane blog that I completely mismanaged my time so this one will be a little bit rushed. Anyway, enough excuses, I'm very sorry.

As you might have guessed from my last mention of Tulita we really liked it there. We were welcomed by everyone from Valerie who gave us an impromptue tour to Kim who managed the hotel and went out of her way to help us. She let us store our gear, took it all down to the beach for us and then took us to the village dump so we could see the resident Black bears. Funny how our first glimpse of a Black Bear was in a rubbish dump but at least I know what one looks like now. They were gorgeous: really cute, with glossy coats and a relaxed trundling walk.
While we were in Tulita we were invited to go and meet the chief. We were pointed in the direction of the family support centre where they have a community lunch every friday. I think it's a brilliant idea. We walked in and there were quite a few people still sitting around talking and eating. It was really cosy and friendly and had that community spirit we really liked in Tulita. The hotel we were staying in is actually owned and managed by the community: it isn't a private buisness venture.
The chief was there and we talked with him. He was really welcoming too and a lady who was staying at the hotel was sitting next to him. The conversation was yet another interesting one and I was reminded of what Chuck had said about doing interesting things leading to meeting interesting people. I feel a life motto is being formed here!

We didn't leave Tulita until about half six in the evening and we paddled until about eight or nine when we stopped for dinner. Admittedly we didn't make very fast progress at first. The sun was hot and sucked out all our energy and we were lazy from too much good food that wasn't instant mash. The meal we cooked was actually a good one even if it did have sand in it but we had left over pecan tarts for after which was lovely. We paddled on into the evening. The map stopped shortly after for about five or six miles so we just had to guess where we were. The current picked up and we were cruising along quite nicely at a good six knots when Maya noticed smoke and people on a beach. We decided to do the northern thing and be friendly so we called in to say hi. It turned out they were a party of people from Norman Wells out for a cook-out BBQ and to watch the sunset and the moonrise. Apparently it only takes forty five minutes from there to Norman Wells by jet boat: not that helpful to us paddlers who can only paddle three knots. There were burgers and vegetables and beers and juice which we were kindly offered. The conversation flowed as we watched the sun set and the moon rise behind the same mountain and, having arrived at half ten, it was around half two in the morning before they left for Norman Wells with the offer of a lift to a hotel and somewhere to store the canoes if we needed it.
We decided to camp there that night as we were tired and even though we hadn't done many miles we were still only 25 miles from Norman Wells which is a managable day's paddle. Evenings like this are what characterise our trip I think. When we meet people who are friendly like that we just have to pack in the paddling and stop and enjoy the company because that is, it seems, what the North and the river are about. It isn't about paddling a great distance it is about what we do along the way. One of them had made an interesting point that night. he said that in the north everyone is so easy to talk to because there are so few people. There are only about 32, 000 in an area that covers a third of Canada so to see someone is a special thing and of course you just HAVE  to go and say hi. I think it might be hard when we get back to Britain and people aren't so open all the time.

The next morning we fully intended to get up and sorted and paddle to Norman Wells but the sun was hot and we had no energy. It took us about three hours to have breakfast and wash up. On top of that Dad was feeling decidedly ill, but we don't know why, so we stayed another day putting up a sun shelter to keep a little cooler and stop the cheese melting anymore than it had.

The morning after that we got up at quarter to five. Well, Mum and Dad did, but, seeing the weather coming in as the wind whipped up again, they told us that we weren't going anywhere so we stayed yet another day. This one was punctuated by storms and I did the washing up in the rain water that was dripping off the cooking shelter. It's the cleanest those plates have been in a while. I can't say I minded the storms though. It was a nice change from the sweat filled heat of the day before and we still had lots of goodies from Tulita. Maya  toasted a cinnamon and raison bagel over the camp stove for me and we polished off the rest of the enormous pack of oat cookies.

Finally, the wind died down in the evening and we set our alarms for a 4:30am start. When we woke up we packed up the tents and the cooking shelter, had breakfast, two cups of tea and called various people and were on the water by a respectable half seven. From there we paddled past a group of islands called Halfway Islands which I took to mean we were halfway from Tulita to Norman Wells but that might be incorrect. We stopped and shared a cereal bar and continued until eleven when we pulled over to make lunch. Again we had a feast because the journey from Tulita to Norman Wells was so short we didn't really have to conserve food. We had two types of packet soup and a packet of Ritz crackers with tuna and cheese and spreadable cheese. Full and happy we slept in the sun for a while before continuing on. We were about twelve miles from Norman Wells by this time and making good progress. Having started again at half one we paddled until three, stopped for a chocolate bar and called ahead to someone we had been put in contact with in Norman Wells.

Do you remember the family we met in Hay River who visited us in Fort Simpson? Well Kathleen had organised for her Dad to help us cart our stuff to a hotel and store the rest in his yard which was very kind of them. We warned them we were coming and arranged to meet them at the first docking area at five. We paddled on and were making good progress (lashed together and all paddling we can squeeze an extra knot out of our little boats) until the wind picked up so, as it happens we didn't get to the dock until half five. Greeted by Kathleen's Dad, Dave Marsh and his wife, Mary we were glad to have finally made it despite all the set backs. Mary had snapped some excellent action shots as we came in, you know, wind and waves and frowning faces. They loaded up our personal kit and Mum, Maya and Me into their truck and took us to the Heritage Hotel where we would be staying. Then they went back for Dad, secured the boats and took the rest of our kit to be stored in their shed. They really have been so kind to us and even invited us over for dinner last night. We had a barbeque and they let Maya bake some cookies to take with us on our trip. They also gave us a homemade loaf of bread to take which I am really looking forward to eating.

Yesterday, before dinner at their house, we had been to the Museum which has a mine of information about the Dene people, the Oil trade in the town and the Canol trail which was built in 1943 from here across the Yukon border incase of a Japanese invasion. It piped oil, but was never needed and so was taken down. It must have been heart breaking for the men who spent seven months building it in the most severe conditions of extreme heat, cold, isolation and bug infestation and then it was never needed.
We spent hours in the shop looking at the local crafts too. There are some truly beautiful pieces of clothing from moccasins to mukluks and mittens, delicately beaded and trimmed with the softest furs.

Today we are packing up and, yet again, Mary and Dave have come to the rescue and are letting us use their house to fix the broken zip on our Tipi. We will then go to the Northern Stores to stock up because from here North it becomes a bit more remote and sometimes stores run out of certain foodstuffs we might need. This being so we have to pack for thirty days food to be on the safe side. There are only two more settlments left on our paddle North because we have decided to get out early at Arctic Red River and hitch up the Dempster Highway to Inuvik. Ther next settlement of Fort Good Hope is about nine days away allowing for us being storm bound a couple of times. I think the good weather pattern we had early in the trip has broken and storms will be even more frequent. Mary has put us in touch with her brother who says we can camp on his lawn and store our canoes there too so at least we know we have a place to stay.

I must say I will be sad to leave partly because the people we met here have been so lovely and partly because the food at the hotel is amazing. I had a very juicy steak and fries and onion rings and garlic toast the first night we were here and for breakfast there is cereal, fruit (I had strawberries!) and pastries. This trip has increased my appetite a lot. Which is probably a good thing though when I get home I'll have to actually start doing some excercise othwise the consequences will be disasterous.
We have to leave the hotel now, litrally, the others are packing the truck as I write and I have no more time to upload photos and no way of getting another internet connection before we go. To make up for it I promise that there will be a picture entry, when I can make one, covering Wrigley to Norman Wells.
So, that's all for just now and I'll try and update the blog in Fort Good Hope but I doubt I'll be able to find an internet connection so don't be alarmed if this is the last one for quite some weeks. Hope your summer is going as swimmingly as ours.
Lots of Love,
Hannah

Our day in a Float Plane: part II

I'm back with part two. Are you sitting comfortably? Good. Then I shall begin. Now where was I? Ah we were just coming up to Virginia  Falls, about to see up-close what was one of the seven wonders of the world.

Our guide Pam had entertained us so well on our Nahanni National Park walk that I had almost forgotten the main reason we were there. We continued on the trail as it narrowed and lost it's carefully built wooden walkway. It seemed somehow fitting to approach the falls scrambling over rocks in the trail, slipping on the mud and dodging the odd branch: there was a bigger sense of adventure. The trees obscured our view but I could hear the rumble of the water as it crashed over the edge. At last we rounded the corner and saw a bench at the view point. I still couldn't see much but as I moved as close to the edge as I dared the true, terrifying beauty of the falls became apparent.

There is a a thin plate of rock that rises, sharply vertical, out of the edge of the falls. The water tumbles either side of it, white and frothy. Like a riot crowd, it is wild and uncontrolable. The sheer volume of water that rushes, thunderous, past that slab of rock is enourmous. The noise makes you heart skip with extra beats, makes your lungs rattle slightly as you breath. Close your eyes and it could be a jet taking off. It is the noise of raw power.

The water plummets down in white, candyfloss mist and some of it hits a ledge that is hidden from view. It shoots back up before drifting down again. The water that runs past the far side of the rock is slower and there is less of it. I looked and saw an entire tree balanced precariously on a spit of rock as the water poured down either side of it.



The falls themselves with the huge thin rock in the middle



The strange thing is that, turn your head to the right and look downstream, and the water is flat and thick like treacle as it meanders on it way. There is none of the urgency of the falls, only the sun sparkling lethargically on the surface of the river as it turns the corner. I turned my head left and right, left and right and tried to get the whole thing in view-the rush and the calm-but it wouldn't fit in my scope of vision. It seemed a meaningful thing, as if the falls were just too wonderous a thing for me to be able to bend what I could see into something I could understand.



The river continues as if the falls had never happened



What I am struggling with in this blog is how to describe the water. It's amazing how the same substance can take on so many different characteristics yet still remain the same. In the space of a few hundred meters, as the river runs, it can take on a different sound, a different texture and different pattern of movement and then just as quickly it can change back.

It has taken me way too long to write this bit. I kept on deleting everything to re-write it and now I'm running out of time so I should probably move on.

After we had visited the falls we took off again, this time for our detour to Rabbit Kettle lake. Flying over lakes and rivers and past moutains we never got bored of the scenery that was on offer. It wasn't a long flight to the lake and soon I saw a cabin below us and we circled and came in to land. We were greeted by a lady called Beth who also worked for the national Park like Pam. She and her collegue, Justin were posted there for ten days. All park employees are apparently employed on a rotational basis so they spend a certain amount of time in each place with in the park and a certain amount of time is alloted as days off.
Rabbit Kettle lake was a beautiful place to be posted for ten days. As soon as we stepped off the plane I noticed three different colours of butterflies flapping about. Yellow and blue and orange. An eagle soared overhead, riding the currents of air that swirled him round. The view from their window was beautiful. There were mountains in the distance and lake was a soft blue colour. So used to the silt and scum of the Mackenzie River, I was amazed to see such clear water. It was like looking through blue topaz: you could see with clarity right to the bottom but everything took on a pure, blue tint. I wanted to jump in there and then but restrained myself because, I reasoned, I would be incredibly chilly.

Yellow butterflies as we came off the plane

We were invited in to their cabin, which was very cosy, and served delicious french coffee. We also ate our lunch here: a feast of sandwiches and fruit and homemade cookies provided by Mackenzie Rest Inn. For a surprise visit we were warmly welcomed and it was a lovely detour, much appreciated.

From there we flew on to Glacier Lake. I know that the falls were once one of the seven wonders of the world and yes, they were truly magnificent  but Glacier Lake was my favourite part of the tour. I just thought it was the most spectacular flight I have ever taken or indeed will ever take.

The view of Rabbit Kettle Lake from the cabin window

The approach to where we actually ground the float plane ashore was long - the entire length of the lake. I was sitting upfront next to the pilot and I craned my neck to see as we landed. We were flying towards an enormous slate mountain, sheer and stately grey against the white of the blocks of cloud. The mountains on either side were green and seemed to frame it with their richness of colour. We flew along the lake directly towards it through a corridor of steep green hills. Once landed it dwarfed us, standing cold and proud. The beach we landed on was a slate beach. There were lots of smooth, flat black stones; perfect for skimming. We sat on the black beach and had a skimming contest. Dad won with something stupid like 16 bounces. Running my hands through the fine, black sand I was surprised at how warm it was: it still held the heat of the mid-day sun now long gone behind the clouds. It felt beautifully soft.



The slate mountain framed in green. I am standing where the glacier meltwater stream comes out



A close up: because it was really something to see



The lake itself is fed by glacier meltwater that runs off the mountains. The stream ran by the little beach we were on. The water was perfectly clear. No tint to it at all. If Rabbit Kettle was like blue topaz then Glacier Lake was like looking at liquid diamonds. It ran over black stones shallow and bubbling happily. The Lake itself was a milky beige colour. Where the two waters met there was the most extraordinary colour change. A bright, thin triangle of turquoise reached into the lake. I have never seen anything like it before the difference in colour was so stark and so bright as if someone had painted it there. I plunged my hand into the seam of the waters and felt the tingle of icy glacier water. It is so sharp, like no cold you will ever feel. It is fresh and cuts right to your bones. Even when you take your hand out the cold lingers on for some minutes afterwards.

The colour change in the water seemed too perfect to be real. Unfortunately the camera did not do it justice. In reality the colours were bolder and the sections more defined but you get the idea

We left Rabbit Kettle Lake with the intention of heading towards a place called Little Doctor Lake to complete our tour. We flew over more mountains back the way we had come. It was about a forty five minute flight and we got some beautiful pictures of all the different types of mountain:

There were ones that looked like they were on different planets

Ones that looked like the ones at home

And ones that still had snow on them

As we were flying over these mountains the sky to our left began to darken. The weather which had remained so good for us was finally closing in. The storm moved across in front of us and I could see the pale haze where the rain was falling heavily from the swollen clouds. It got bumpy with the turbulent air from the storm and soon we were surrounded on both sides by rain but the channel we were flying through remained clear.

This is what I could see out my window. It was the same but darker on the other side

Dave made the decision not to land at Little Doctor Lake as, even if we did manage to land, we might not have managed to take off again so we headed back to Fort Simpson. I have to say I didn't mind that much because what we had seen that day had been wonderful and we'd had the bonus of Rabbit Kettle Lake. All in all it was a fantastic trip that we had all enjoyed immensely. I don't think we'll forget it; It really was the trip of a life time.

We landed at the float plane dock in Fort Simpson just as the weather hit. The wind was blowing so strongly that we had trouble docking as the wind blew the plane further out. We jumped out and said thankyou to Dave for an amazing day and hurried up the road to the shelter of the Mackenzie Rest Inn. And that was the end of our float plane tour. I can't believe I've finally got that up after just over three weeks. It took me long enough didn't it. Anyway, I hope my descriptions pay tribute to the beautiful places we went to even though I don't think any amount of words or pictures can truly capture the spirit of what we saw. Just think, Dave gets to do that every day...Dad is very jealous indeed!

Thankyou to everyone who follows the blog. I looked at the stats for the first time yesterday and was amazed to discover that we have had almost 1500 page views since we started it. So nice to know that people are keeping in touch and we really appreciate it. See you soon,
Hannah

Up, Up and Away: Our day in a Float Plane

Having found a reasonable internet connection I can now recount to you the wonder that was our float plane tour with Simpson Airways complete with pictures.

As I have mentioned before the float plane dock was right outside where we were staying at the Mackenzie Rest Inn. So, after being fed an almighty breakfast of cereal, eggs, bacon and toast we wandered down to the dock about half nine.

Our transport for the day

The pilot and another employee were getting the plane ready for takeoff, refueling etc. He introduced himself as Dave and I'm not quite sure what happened but somehow we ended up booking ourselves on a longer eight hour tour that took us not just to Virginia Falls but then on to a place called Glacier Lake.

Anyway, we all piled in to the plane which looked quite small from outside. I was worried about how we would all fit in such a small aircraft but, like Mary Poppins' carpet bag, it was deceptively roomy.

As we taxied downstream I was surprised how solid a surface the water felt underneath us. Suddenly, Dave remembered a parcel of food that had to be dropped off at a cabin in the mountains. Deciding to take a slight detour and give us an extra treat he returned to pick it up. Now we had the added bonus of a trip to Rabbit Kettle Lake to look forward to.

At last we took off, the plane gracefully lifting off the smooth path of the river, and I was able to look back down the river a good fifteen miles or so and see what we had paddled just three days before. It was vast but a plane is much quicker than two heavily laden canoes and in a matter of seconds we had turned and left it behind. I felt a tinge of frustration: that had taken us the best part of a day to travel.

We carried on inland away from the river heading for the world famous Nahanni National Park where the Virginia Waterfall is situated. To get there we had to fly through a gap in the Nahanni Range. Dave pointed it out to us: a blueish jagged line far on the horizon. It was about a half hour journey to them so we sat back, relaxed and enjoyed the view.

From the plane we got the best view of the surrounding landscape. The land always takes on a different character when seen from the air. It seems at once vast and small. You can see it stretching out in every direction but the trees and the lakes are so small and dainty. The ground is mostly flat and covered in vegetation. Sometimes it was covered in small shrubs that stuck up, bristling, sometimes the ground was soft with marsh, it looked smooth like felt. It reminded me of the moose hair tufting traditional crafts we had seen at the open sky festival: the stark contrast between rough and smooth.

The rough and the smooth

The Pilot dipped the plane wings to the right and his voice crackled over our headsets:
"There's a nice rainbow over there for you"
And indeed there was. A beautiful rainbow with clear colours arched from beneath the white clouds beside us to touch the textured ground.
We carried on flying over land that was much the same as before. A repeating pattern as on printed fabrics. I followed the shadow of our aircraft as it skimmed playfully over silver lakes, murky lakes, little lakes. The long, straight scars of old seismic survey lines ran through everything disturbing the perfect disorder that nature had arranged itself into.
But then, at last, after so long without so much as a tiny hill to break the landscape....mountains. Huge, great, big grandfather mountains. They crouched solidly with their blankets of trees pulled up to their chins. Their deeply carved faces watched placidly as we flew past. Once we passed over the Nahanni Range we carried on further into mountain country. The mountains were ribboned with streams and dried up river beds. One river bed was so thick with pale, soft silt that it reminded me of the inside of a milky way.

Grandfather mountains and the milky-way river

We carried on flying past mountains up through a system of three canyons that led to the Virginia Falls. We passed over hotsprings where the water was a milky, mint green, sweeping bends in the Nahanni River where the water rushed up against the sheer sides, white and foamy, and flat muddy stretches where the ribbon of river was slashed and shredded into different channels. The mountains varied too. Sometimes they were completely covered in tall, spiked trees but thinly so that they looked not so blanket like but more like the quivering quills of a porcupine. Sometimes the mountains were bare of trees but alive with the vibrant colour of yellow moss and the reddish tinge of the rock (or perhaps that was my tinted sunglasses).

And then Dave's voice came over the headsets again, in crackling bursts, to prepare us for our first glimpse of Virginia Falls: once one of the seven wonders of the world. Cameras ready we waited eagerly as he tipped the plane to allow us a better look. I was on the wrong side to take a good photo so put down my camera and simply looked. From my seat, three thousand feet up, I could see the spray from the crashing water as if it were as solid as the mountains that surrounded it. The falls were a heart-stopping drop into a canyon of white oblivion. I doubt there could be a scarier funfair ride in all the world than if you went over the edge of that. Having said that, the fun of the fun fair is being able to say you did it. You wouldn't be alive to say you went over the edge of Virginia Falls: it is twice as high as Niagra Falls.

This picture best shows the scale of the Falls

The falls disappeared from sight as we turned and began our descent to the visitor centre where we would take a walk of about a kilometer to the falls to experience the thunderous beauty as close as possible. We landed calmly on the Nahanni River and taxied down the thick and lazy waters to the float plane dock.
There, we were met by Pam who was to be our guide on our walk to the falls. We paid the entrance fee to the park which was virtually nothing when you consider that it goes towards the upkeep of an area the size of Scotland that is filled to bursting with plants and animals and geological specimins that are deemed to be some of the most unique in the world. They have an extensive walk-way around the Virginia Falls observation centre that has purpose built camping areas spawning off it. There is a food platform in the trees to keep food away from bears, outhouses and a communal campfire area all built from wood. It was like a little community nestled in the heart of the forest. The campers who stay there are mostly paddlers who are doing the Nahanni River and have to portage round the falls but, because the park is co-managed between the Government and the Dene Indians, there are also weeks where traditional skills are passed on to the younger generations of first nations children, much like the rights of passage camp at Fort Providence.
As we walked Pam kept up a rich narrative of our surroundings, pointing out plants like Labrador Tea and the Mackenzie Orchid. Showing us what Bears like to eat, what Moose like to eat and so on.

The Mackenzie Orchid

Labrador tea - used by the Dene for medicinal purposes and for drinking

 

She told us about the Dene attachment to the area. They used to spend the winter in the mountains, hunting and trapping in small family groups. When spring came they travelled down the Nahanni River into the Liard River and then onto the Mackenzie River - Deh Cho. Of course when the Europeans came to "discover" this huge landscape, being of much greater intelligence than the savage Dene they decided to travel UPstream against the current instead of downstream as the Dene did. Brave? Yes. An amazing feat of exploration? Yes. But clever? No not really.

Such was the harmony of the first nations people with the land that if, for whatever reason, they had to cross the river on their journey they stopped and constructed a boat out of the nearest tree and a moose hide. When they had crossed the river they simply abandoned the boat and it disintegrated (or as they say "went back to the land"). It is a testimony to them and their nature-friendly way of life that there are virtually no archeological artefacts to document their traditions because it all went back to the land. Every bone tool, birch bark pot and moose skin canoe.

We were getting close to the falls now and I was learning so much I had almost forgotten that that was why we were there. We were next to the rapids that precede the falls. The water tosses and boils, shifts and churns it's way forward. The white mist begins here. Pam told us that the Dene believe that the spirits of those who have gone over the falls live in the mist to protect those who stray too close to the rapids. I looked at the refracted light, the mini rainbows in the soft gauze of fine water droplets, heard the whispering rush of the river rapids over rocks and I could understand where this belief came from.

The rapids before the falls. See the spirits on the right hand side?

I'll leave you to digest this episode whilst I write up the rest of our float plane adventure in part 2 and then write up our short journey from Tulita to Norman Wells. Hope all is well with everyone. Been doing some maths - which isn't my strong point but I'm pretty sure I'm right - and it appears that we are exactly half way through our trip in terms of time. It's gone quite quickly don't you think? About six weeks since we left home and six weeks until we get home. We've done 513 statute miles so far and we have 340 to go. A managable distance all things considered.
Lots of love,
Hannah

Fort Simpson to Tulita: dirt, thunderstorms and birthday cake

I'm going to start this blog with a brief overview of our trip so far in figures. This might help put our journey into context. So here we go:

Set off: 19th June from Fort Providence
Arrived in Tulita: 21st July (100 miles from Arctic Circle)
Days on water (paddling): 23
Days off water: 8 (4 stormbound, 4 stopovers)
Total miles paddled: 370 nautical/473 statute

Total miles to go (until Arctic Red River): 311 nautical

Estimated arrival in Arctic Red River: August 22nd (assuming 3 days for stop overs, 6 days for bad weather)

Paddling days left: 21 days
Average Distance per day: 15 nautical
Worst record: 2.5 nautical

Best record: 36.5 nautical

 So there you have it. Our little adventure boiled down to facts and figures. Sitting here looking at the list I have just typed is strangely heartening. It seems much more managable now I know where we are in the grand scheme of things. Well, I can't really elaborate any more on that collection of numbers so I will, instead, tell you all about our journey from Fort Simpson to Tulita.

It took us 16 days as it is about 244.5 nautical miles. We set off late afternoon on the 5th of July having been food shopping and repacked the food barrels and personal kit. Very used to the home comforts provided by our generous hosts at the Mackenzie Rest Inn I was not looking forward to getting on the water again. They provide Elizabeth Arden bath robes in every room...I would be wearing the same clothes for the rest of the week.
 You can see my problem.
Dave (the Pilot from Simpson Airways) and his friend were kind enough to save us carrying all our gear down to the float plane dock where we were going to launch and instead we piled it all in their truck and were driven down. They helped us offload it all, which saved my poor arms carrying those weighty food barrels, and stayed to wave us off. Reg from the B and B came to say goodbye too. I don't know why but I was more grateful for the goodbyes than anything else these people had done for us. After a bit of reflection on this I decided it was because when you are heading out into the wilderness and you might not see another person for days on end it's nice to know you won't be easily forgotten. If people take the time to come and say goodbye or wave you off then that link with other people lasts just that little bit longer before you are absorbed into the little bubble that is you and your paddling companions and the endless river.

I have to say that once we were on the water I was glad of it. The current was relatively swift and we were in good spirits after our restful weekend. It was sunny and I sang as we paddled along. For some reason the song that always pops into my head as I paddle is that one from "Breakfast at Tiffany's". You know, "Moon River":
                                               Moon River,
                                               Wider than a mile.
                                         etc etc
                                               Two drifters off to see the world,
                                               There's such a lot of world to see

There are bits in between but those are the bits that are on repeat in my head. We had paddled about five or six miles and Fort Simpson was no longer visible when we heard thunder rumble in the distance. We stopped to put our waterproof tops on and fortify ourselves with trail mix (I swear I never want to eat another mouthful of that stuff ever again) and continued on. It got a bit bumpy and chilly after that but it was alright and we finished the day with a good 15 nautical miles between us and Fort Simpson.
It's hard to give you an accurate account of our progress in the days that followed because really the days all roll into one. One campsite is similar to another, one bend in the river the same, maybe, as the one before. But I can give you the highlights, the bits that really stick in my memory.
There was the day we paddled past the ferry to Wrigley. In winter the road continues over the frozen river, in summer there is a ferry. We stopped to put our rubbish in the bin there and ended up having coffee and a chat with Dave (no, a different one this time) who drove it and then with some Rangers who'd come from Tulita and what had intended to be a five minute trip to the bin ended up being a very pleasant couple of hours riding backwards and forwards on the ferry. We then paddled on and got no more than five miles away before we stopped for a snack and ended up sitting out a minor thunderstorm. We were joined by a party of three paddlers (one canoe, one kayak) from Minnesota, USA. Chuck, his son Richard and Richard's girlfriend Alana. Oh, and Cody the dog who was wearing his little yellow anorak. We chatted for another hour and a bit sharing horror stories of bugs and mud and then, deeming the weather to be better, we paddled our separate ways....only to end up camping on the same beach. A very enjoyable night was spent in the company of people who liked the outdoors, had travelled the world and had a lot of very interesting conversation between the three of them.

Cody the dog in his coat. His anorak was cuter. It was yellow and it had a hood

The next morning we were late out of camp because, yet again we were chatting and having exchanged emails we said our reluctant goodbyes. I'm ashamed to say I did think for a second that we could hide Cody the dog in a barrel and take him with us because he really was too cute but my morality won over thank goodness.
The next few days were punctuated by thunderstorms that were a merciful relief from the heat of the sun. At a campsite a few miles past Camsell bend, where the river starts to go north, we were woken in the middle of the night by a disturbance outside. I didn't see it, being at the back of the tent and without my glasses, but according to Dad and Mum a Wolf chased a young and very frightened Moose out of the trees and onto the beach. It lunged at it's prey and missed it by an inch as the terrified animal launched itself into the river and floated swiftly off (the current at that point was about 6 or 7 knots). Dad said he didn't know what had happened at first because it was the half light that passes for night time here. He thought that there were two moose and one had been stranded on the shore. The dark, hunched shape sat panting with exertion and frustration before straightening up and turning towards the tent. He said that it's dog-like appearance became more apparent as it turned and he realised it was a wolf. Mum described it as a breath-takingly magic moment seeing such a majestic creature up close. It eyed them coolly and disappeared back into the trees, silent and pissed off.
After that, the weather improved and we had a series of blisteringly hot days with temperatures over thirty from ten in the morning to ten at night. This weather began at the same wolf campsite which was situated next to a beautiful stream where the water was sweet and fresh. We had a half day of rest where we washed, as best we could, ourselves, our clothes and our hair. The water was so cold on my head I got a brain freeze as if I had eaten ice cream but it was refreshing in the heat of the day. Again we donned bikinis because it was too hot for anything else and even so we roasted slowly. I'm still peeling sun burn and that was two weeks ago and I was wearing factor fifty. We paddled late into the night that night, enjoying the perfect stillness that made the river like a mirror and marveling at the heat. We paddled in our bikinis and burned to a crisp until the sun went down at half eleven.

The view from our Wolf Campsite on one of the hottest days we had

The proof of our midnight visitor...we think

A few days after that we arrived in Wrigley. We had camped about four miles before it and were entertained at breakfast by a beaver swimming determinedly upstream against a very strong current. It was so close to the shore that you could see it's little ears sticking up, shaped like little chocolate drops. It was sleek and mover smoothly through the water, bent to the cave of the wave it was creating. A couple of times it disppeared only to reappear downstream and beging it's journey back up again. It landed further up the shore from us too but ignored us not even glancing our way. We, of course, were enraptured. Standing as still as we could, moving as quietly as possible. I don't think it would have made a difference if we had jumped up and down and shouted, he really was indifferent to us. Finally after about twenty minutes he slapped his tail and dived down and we didn't see him again.

That was also the day the zip on the tent broke. The zip to the inner of our Tipi no longer closes which is ok if there are no bugs to bother us even if it is a bit chilly but we are going to try to find someone in Norman Wells who has a sewing machine to sew another one on. We could do it by hand but it would take hours as it is a very long zip. Having patched up the zip as best we could we paddled onto Wrigley. Unfortunately we were unable to stay and to see the settlement but we had an interesting conversation with some brothers on the beach. They had been raised in the bush until they were about twelve, until the fur trade dried up, and then they settled in a settlement as their parents wanted them to go to school.

A couple of days after that we became windbound at Johnson River for an extra day. We were waiting until it blew through when a coastguard ship passed. We checked in with them for safety and thought no more of it. After the wind died down we paddled into the night (bearing in mind it doesn't get to be darker than a bright twilight) until Blackwater River about 17 miles north. True to it's name the water of the Blackwater River as it met the Mackenzie was black as ink. We then paddled a couple of miles down the coast searching for a good camping spot. When we found one we landed and, for the first time in a week, were much troubled by mosquitos as we set up camp. We realised soon after landing that we were about a quarter of a mile away from where the coastguard ship we had seen was moored. We could see it white and pristeen just around the corner from us. The next day was as windy as the day a Johnson River. We sat and tried to wait it out as the wind screamed past our Tipi. One of the crew members from the coastguard ship passed by onhis way back from fishing and stopped to chat. I was asleep at this point, knowing that naps are important if we are going to paddle during the night again, so I don't know how it occured but we ended up being invited down to the ship "say hi".
So at about half seven we made our way down the beach, following the wolf tracks, the bob-cat tracks and the pin-toed porcupine prints as we went, and were welcomed warmly onto the "Dumit". We were given a tour of the galley and fed cake and orange juice; the engine room (Dad loved that); and the bridge which has stunning views being three walls of windows. Then it was back to the galley where we were given yet more chocolate and banana cake (not ashamed to say I had three slices) which made a nice change from instant mash, and also coffee with PROPER milk out a carton, not dried. We talked to various members of the crew who were around and they all seemed pretty excited about having visitors. We also got to use the internet quickly which was nice. We left about half past ten in the evening, full up on cake and cookies and grateful for the conversation and the hospitality we had been shown. The wind, however, still had not died down sufficiently to paddle and so we made the decision that, after eating dinner and packing up as best we could, we would get up early at 4 am and continue on to try to make up for the miles we had lost.
And so that's what we did. We had a cup of tea, packed the personal kit and the tent and then loaded the boats. Being so early we were a little sluggish and didn't get on the water until half six but by half nine we had about twelve miles under our belts. Maya and I begged Mum and Dad to let us stop for breakfast which we did. I fully intended to help cook but as soon as I had laid out the mat that we sit on I just don't know what came over me and I curled up and went to sleep. By the time we had eaten and had a nap it was twelve befor we were on the water again. We paddled until three and then stopped for a sort of lunch/dinner. We ate and slept again, getting on the water at half five and carrying on until about nine when we stopped to set up camp. By the end of that day we had made up the miles we had lost on our windbound day at Blackwater and set our record of 36.5 nautical miles. I don't think that will happen again though.
The next day we did a respectable 23 miles and in the process passed the half way point from where we started at Fort Providence to where we will finish at Arctic Red River. This point is called Old Fort Point and I was very glad when we passed it because now what we have left to paddle seems more managable. We paddled on a further seven miles or so to Seagull Island where, seeing swollen, purple clouds loomingin the distance, we began to look for a camp. Dad had a hunch that the storm would set in for a few days instead of blowing over in an hour as they had been so he was very picky about where we camped. It took an hour and a half of searching before we found somewhere and even then it wasn't ideal. It was next to a stream but it wasn't good drinking water, the ground was relatively soft so the pegs for the tent went in ok but it was stony  so we had a bit of difficulty. We were also close to some tall trees incase the lightning which accompanied the great drum-rolls of thunder decided to strike but the ground was uneven making for sloping sleeping areas. All in all it wasn't bad and we were so tired, it being about half ten at night, that we didn't want to go on searching so we set up camp to the melody of the rain hitting the river and the crashes of percussion thunder. The occasional flash of lightning served as pyrotechnic effects. This was the 18th of July and it was Mum's birthday in a few hours. At midnight I took her a birthday meal of instant mash and a tin of tuna in the relative warmth of the tent. I promised myself we would make more of an effort once we had had a sleep.
When we woke up the next day the wind was shrieking all around us. The rain pelted our poor Tipi incessently. Dad and I got up around ten to make cups of tea and cook cinnamon and raison porrige. We were joined by Mum and Maya during a lull in the rain but the wind was so strong our meal went cold in a matter of minutes. We shooed Mum off to the tent to keep warm and relax with her book and set about trying to make her birthday a little bit more enjoyable.
We had a Betty Crocker Chocolate cake mix and a tub of Vanilla Cream Frosting that Maya and Dad had bought in Fort Simpson for this purpose. However, we had intended to cook it over a fire for better results that with the stove...you cannot light a fire in driving horizontal rain and a wind of force 5 gusting 6. We discussed at great length how to devise a make-shift oven to stop the cake burning with the concentration of heat you get from a stove. Eventually we settled on an idea that Dad had.
We put some water in a large cooking pot and brought it to a rolling boil. We mixed the cake mix (albeit with dried egg powder) and poured half into another cooking pot of about 6" diameter and 6" depth which we had greased and put the lid on. This we placed inside the big cooking pot with the boiling water and put the lid on that. We had effectively created an oven that would spread the heat to cook the cake all the way through. Huddled under the cooking shelter we waited. I left about an hour later to play cards with Mum (I won) and Dad and Maya waited further hour until the cake was cooked right through and risen beautifully. They took it out the water pot and put it inside a barrel to cool without getting wet. When it was cool we iced the top and decorated it with dried apricots for want of anything else. We had with coffee after a camp dinner of macaroni, tinned tomato sauce and cheese. I have to say we were proud of our little achievement and pleased that Mum enjoyed it. I think it turned out to be a nice birthday under the circumstances. We had a card too and a belgian chocolate bar we had saved that hadn't melted quite as badly as the rest of our chocolate so the thought was there!
We were storm-bound the next day too and, if possible, it was even worse than the day before. I stayed in bed until about half eight in the evening when I got up to ice the cake that Maya had made with the left over cake mix. I washed up the coffee cups from supper and collapsed the food shelter but apart from that I was thoroughly unhelpful. I will try better next time I promise.
The next day was thursday 21st of July and we were determined to get to Tulita. It had been a tantalising 17 nautical miles away for the past three days and we couldn't stand not having a shower any longer. The storm had died down but we woke with a shock when Mum realised that a storm surge had caused the river to rise to within 6" of our tent. It was a mad scramble to pack up the tent and the kit before it was engulfed but we succeeded and watched the water rise to cover the space from the shelter of the cooking area further up the hill. We rang ahead to the Tulita Hotel and managed to get a couple of rooms booked for that night and the next with the help of Cecil from the band office. We set off around 3pm and made good time, arriving at about half seven. We were given a lift up to the hotel and a tour of the town by a very kind Valerie. Tulita is a lovely little hamlet. The Hotel is opposite the Northern Stores and the band office and there is a community congregation area in the centre of this circle of buildings, rather like a village green.
That first shower was amazing. I scrubbed and scrubbed and I still couldn't get all the dirt off my hands but it didn't matter; I FELT clean and I certainly didn't smell anymore. I don't know whether you have even been so dirty that there are permanent gray streaks down you arms and face and your elbows take on a black tint. I don't know if you have ever been so dirty that if you rub your hand firmly along you skin the film of filth -of sweat and mud and old suncream and insect repellant - breaks up into tiny, greasy black balls that roll down your arm. And I don't know if you have ever been so dirty that your nails are black for days on end but that is how dirty we have been for the past two weeks. The shower was heaven.
We were also able to wash all our clothes which reeked. This is partly due to our canoeing gear. Gortex dry trousers, whilst being useful when faced with the Mackenzie mud do not breathe well. We ended up emitting a rather pungent and vinegary smell that clung to the trousers we wore under the dry trousers. It was repulsive. Thankfully that smell has been banished for a while but I am sure it will return once we spend more than about four days on the water.
We cooked a meal in the communal kitchenette (hotels up here are generally self-catering) and for the first time in days I ate a meal without the shiver-making crunch of lumps of grit in my rice.
Yesterday we went shopping (!!!) and I ate myself stupid. We had brunch after we came back from the store and I had a fried egg, two rashers of bacon, two toasted cinnamon and raison bagels with nutella, a slice of hot buttered toast, a bowl of cereal and two cups of tea with proper milk. A very happy Hannah indeed. I then sat down to write this blog entry and the one about the float plane tour and upload pictures and consumed god knows how many oat cookies. I didn't get the blogs finished as you may have guessed even though I was writing for hours. I just didn't realise how much we had done. For dinner we had Ceasar salad to start, then roast chicken legs in gravy with veg and fries and then treacle and pecan tarts with custard. And more cups of tea. Simply having the variety of food, the tastes, the textures, a meal that isn't cold as soon as it's cooked and that doesn't contain sand is a pleasure. I have truely come to appreciate the sheer amount of THINGS our way of life allows us to have. I am pleased to say that I will go home a happier, wiser more contented person. I find it interesting I have let go of a lot of the things that worried me at home. Most notably my life plan. I had planned to be successful and working myself happily to death by the time I was thirty. Whatever I was going to end up doing I was going to put my all into and be the best. Now I simply don't care. Where would that get me? Lonely and disillusioned I'm pretty sure. I have learnt to enjoy myself. To enjoy the sun on my back, the food I am given and to make the most of every situation because nothing ever goes according to plan. I know now that what means more to me than any career are the people I will meet who will become my friends and the people who are already my friends, my family and my boyfriend. Chuck who we met after the Wrigley ferry said an interesting thing to us. He said that if you do interesting things you will meet interesting people and I think this is true. University no longer seems to have the importance it did. It is still important but less in the way of being successful and getting on in life and more for the things I will learn and discover and the people I will meet. If this trip has given me anything it is a fresh perspective on who I am and what my life is about. I am lucky. Some people go their entire lives and never understand the things I have come to understand. I see my life spreading out before me, empty and huge like the bowl of sky we paddle under and I know I will live it until it is full to the brim. It might be hard at times but I think that, overall it will be a happy one and everything I do will be worth it.
Enough of philosophy and revelation for now. I musn't bore you with things you might already have know for yourselves. We leave this afternoon and I have yet to add pictures to the blogs. Next stop is Norman Wells about 82km or three days paddling so a nice relaxing stretch with swift current and food barrels stocked with all kinds of goodies like caesar salad kits and oat cookies. Sorry about the lack of pictures again. The internet is very slow here. It took over half an hour to upload the ones I did. This is also why I haven't posted the float plane blog. It is written but I can't do it justice without the pictures. Take care all of you back home.
Lots of love,

Hannah