Norman Wells to Tsiigehtchic cont.

The next day was the 5^th 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.

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.

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 12^th 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.

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 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

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