For one of the best day-long kayaking trips on Minnesota’s north shore of Lake Superior, North America’s largest inland sea, visit Tettegouche State Park. The trip begins on the Baptism River, heads out along the open coast of Superior, and brings you up against 200-foot tall palisades and through sea caves. Because of the limited landings, rebounding waves, and cold water, I recommend this trip for experienced sea kayakers only. If you lack experience consider hiring a guide.

The Kayaking Route

Enter Tettegouche State Park and park near the bridge. You’ll need to carry your kayaks and equipment down the stairs to the beach at the river’s mouth. (Sometime in 2010-2011, the state park will open a new easier kayak access in the old MN DOT parking lot.) This is a long carry, so plan extra time. It typically takes 30 minutes to get everything down to the beach.

Launch your sea kayak from the mouth of the Baptism River in Tettegouche State Park. Expect to see sometimes large (overhead) standing waves as you launch out through the mouth. This beach is typically steep, so watch the waves on the lake closely. If they build, you could experience steep dumping waves on your return.

Depending on your whims, head southwest to Palisade Head or northeast to Shovel Point. Both directions bring you along towering palisades popular with rock climbers. Towards Shovel Point, if you hug the shoreline, you’ll pass through a large sea arch. Then you’re off towards the walls of Shovel Point. Be careful in southerly or easterly winds, because rebounding waves will make travel more difficult. After paddling along the cliff face of Shovel Point, swing around the point, which is notorious for large confused waves, and paddle towards Crystal Bay. Once in Crystal Bay, paddle to the northeast end of the beach and pass through a large cave that turns 90 degrees.

The route from Tettegouche State Park to Palisade Head passes along lower cliffs and cobblestone beaches. The walk-in campground at the park is accessible from the beach and offers a pit toilet and a nice place to eat lunch. Once you arrive at the cliffs of Palisade Head paddle along them entering into a few small caves. At the southwestern end of the cliffs, you’ll find a large sea arch and hidden up against the cliffs a narrow slot canyon-like passage.

A third leg of the trip for ambitious day trippers is to head northeast along the coast past Crystal Bay. The shoreline rewards you with sea stacks, rock islands, and two caves–one of which extends about 30 or 40 feet into the rock of the cliff.

Warning

Weather changes quickly on Lake Superior. When the unstable weather is combined with the typically cold (under 55F) water, the risk is high. The limited landing sites, steep cliff walls, and land features sticking out into the lake can amplify the waves. Only attempt this trip if you are an experienced paddler or if you are with a local experienced kayaking guide.

Map

View Kayaking Tettegouche State Park in a larger map

More Images

A guest post by Scott Schuldt of canoepost.blogspot.com.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009 – You Can Tell

I woke up early this morning. It was dark and I was in bed, but I was already in my canoe. Fall is here. It will be unusually warm today, maybe 15 or 20 degrees above normal. The thermometer will say summer. The simplest and easiest measurement will lead one astray, as simple and easy information often does, in all things. It is fall and while at the scientific level there are dozens of measurements that say so, it is the qualitative that tells me so. The light has changed. Gone is the harsh washed out scenery of summer days when my photographs were all about timing and the tricks of nature; early light or dramatic clouds that filter rays and cast shadows. The fall light brings deep rich tones and contrasts. In fall, my photographs are about composition first, and keeping the shots with good light. The air has changed as well. The nights are longer, cooler and damper and day seems to struggle to return summer’s warmth. The longer nights bring unplanned but orchestrated smells and flavors. It’s not of showy flowers, but of the hidden deepness that sustains life. Summer air was tinned spices while fall is fresh cardamom seeds crushed this very second under my rolling pin. Winter will change all that, deadening the spices, but it will bring its own beauty in an even trade. Observations – the lily pads are browning at the edges. They show a summer’s wear with chunks missing and deep tears. A flock of 100 coots has returned to the bay. Cormorants are sitting on the new dirtbergs that have hit the surface in mid-bay. I spot two green backed herons, some great blue herons, wood ducks, and two horned grebes.

About the View from the Canoe Project

‘The View from the Canoe’ is an art project that has followed a two-year long evolution that started with my getting back into canoeing.  Seattle is primarily a sea kayak area, but even after 20 years, I just never connected with kayaks in the way that I do with canoes.  In 2008, I bought a used canoe and a few months later started blogging my 3 to 4 day a week trips in and around Seattle, writing my observations of the natural changes throughout the year and reflections on how people see and use the water, both in the present and in the past.  Recently, I started recording my better writings in my own voice, which lead to adding photographs, which lead to taking video and recording background sound effects.  Still a work in progress, The View from the Canoe may end up being a short documentary film, art video or “book on DVD”.  As often happens with an art project, I am just along for the ride.

On the surface, the project documents and reflects on nature and man’s use and abuse of water.  Underlying that, the work also shows how I have managed to find a sense of wilderness while in the midst of a major urban area.  Most of the writing happens in the canoe, as does the photography, film and sound effect work.

Scott Schuldt’s Bio –

Scott Schuldt is a Seattle based artist working in content- and concept-driven art (non-fiction, detailed and often narrative).  Born and raised in Minnesota and schooled in engineering, Scott dropped the engineering career in 2005 to pursue artwork on a full time basis.  His primary medium is hand-sewn beadwork, but has increasingly moved towards working with whatever medium will get the story across.  ‘The View from the Canoe’ is his first step into writing and film work.

The View from the Canoe Blog is found at- canoepost.blogspot.com

Scott’s website – www.scottschuldt.com

“There is no bad weather, only the wrong gear.” -Minnesota Proverb

Winter shorelines feature ice formations, ice caves, and the air is crystal clear which allows you to see for miles. On a blue-sky winter day, I feel there’s no other place I’d rather be than on the water paddling. With the proper gear and precautions, winter needn’t be a reason to stay off the water. Luckily, for me I live on the north shore of Lake Superior, and its shores remain ice-free for most of the winter. Some winters, we have only a few weeks of ice, and during some, we have months of ice. If you have open water, as long as the air temperature remains above 15 degrees Fahrenheit, kayaking remains pleasant with the right gear–below 15°F water freezes so quickly on your kayak and gear freezes that it isn’t as fun.

Dressing for Water Temperature

To properly dress for winter kayaking, you must account for heat loss through conduction, convection, evaporation, and radiant heat. The old kayaking adage that you must dress for immersion becomes even more important. Not only is the air cold, but the water is cold, and through convection the cold air and water–which works 25 times faster than air–seeks to draw the heat out of your body. The water’s surface contacts the hull of your boat and through-the-hull conduction robs your body heat by drawing it away. Because you’re exercising and in and near water, evaporation from water and sweat cools you down. And your body always radiates heat.

In addition to the four forms of heat loss, you must manage the risk of becoming immersed in cold winter water. On Lake Superior, according to the NOAA Great Lakes Coastal Forecasting System surface temperatures in January ranges from 34°F to 38°F. If you fall into that cold of water without protection, you have somewhere between 10 and 20 minutes of time to reënter your kayak, while your body retreats into shell/core compensation, before you lose strength and dexterity. You may also suffer from cold shock, which is a hyperventilation-like and gasp reaction, typically lasting one to three minutes. During cold shock, you could inhale water and drown.

Consider the following clothing items mandatory for winter paddling:

• A drysuit, like my favorite Kokatat’s Gore-Tex Meridian, and plenty of insulation will keep you warm while paddling and gain you extra time if you become immersed into the water. The insulation under the drysuit forms dead pockets of air, which helps prevent convection. Despite the drysuit’s breathability, it helps trap radiant heat emitted from you and reduces evaporative heat loss.
• A lifevest keeps you afloat and helps keep your mouth above water if you suffer from cold shock. It also helps you save energy by relieving the need to tread water. A trick related to keeping your mouth above water is shouting “capsized swimmer” the second you come up from a swim. This forces water away from your mouth and prevents you from inhaling water.
• A neoprene hood, like NRS’s Mystery Storm Hood or a diver’s hood, helps prevent cold shock during immersion, limits convection, evaporation, and radiant heat loss. On days were the risk of immersion is low, a stocking cap should be considered.
• Neoprene gloves or mittens, like NRS’s Reactor Gloves or Toaster Mittens, protect your hands from the cold and keep them functioning.
• Warm socks and neoprene boots, like Kokatat’s Nomad Paddling Boots, keep your toes toasty while in the kayak and when getting out near shore.
• For comfort, consider adding heel pads and a seat pad to help fight through-the-hull conduction.
• Also bring: Extra clothing, equipment, a bothy, a thermos of hot water, first aid, emergency kit, a way to start a fire and anything else needed for an emergency, like a ditch kit.

Items to Monitor While Winter Kayaking

Besides watching for the normal things you would when kayaking in the other seasons, like the wind, weather, and waves, while winter kayaking you should watch items for ice build-up.

• Deck ice builds up quickly from splashes and drips from your paddle. So anything you keep on deck, like a bilge pump and paddle float will quickly and solidly freeze to your kayak. As your deck bungee cords freeze, they lose elasticity and become useless–a good reason to consider traditional Greenland decklines and sliders.
• Your sprayskirt and grab handle may become encased in ice and freeze to the kayak making them hard or impossible to remove. A grab handle frozen to the deck may make it impossible to perform a wet exit if needed. Continually check these items and break the ice off of them to keep them flexible and working.
• Pack ice moves with the current and wind. This can block access to open water and block access to shore. Although, not impossible to move through, it makes it difficult, to say the least, to get your kayak where you want it.
• The shoreline will be icy. Prepare to slip. Sometimes the shoreline becomes covered with high shelves of ice that make it hard or impossible to land a kayak, scramble over the ice, and come ashore.
• Hypothermia. Know the signs, mental status change and shivers, and watch for them in yourself and in your paddling partners.

Skills and Risk

Because of the cold, winter paddling is risky. If you go, you should have the skills to handle the conditions you expect, you should bring a friend, dress properly, be ready for the worst, and have a reliable roll in case the worst happens. Consider winter paddling only on days that are well within your and your partner’s skill levels. Always approach winter paddling with a conservative risk management plan, because there is little room for error when the water is cold and the air is cold. It’s easy to die out there.

New Report on Winter Paddling

Fox 21 News out of Duluth, MN did a piece on winter kayaking. Watch it here.

Picture of Winter Paddling

Photo: Lena Conlan

Tim Smith, the owner and founder of Jack Mountain Bushcraft School, often gives a presentation about wilderness survival at Canoecopia. He also teaches bushcraft and wilderness survival at his school. I’ve attended several of his Canoecopia presentations.

Basically, during the presentation, he talks about wilderness survival, discusses making fire, what to have in your survival kit, and a survival plan.  These skills are essential to anyone heading into the woods (Also, check out my article: Nessmuking’s Core Philosophy). His main point is this:

• Survival = Maintaining body temp, getting eight hours of sleep a day, and staying hydrated.

If you can carry out those three activities, there’s a good chance that you’ll survive 40 days.

Survival Plan

His basic strategy aligns with what many in the search and rescue field advise: stay in one location, sit, get fire, and wait to be rescued. During the presentation he broke down his survival plan or his plan to show you “what’s going to kill you first”:

1. First Aid (If you survive 30 minutes after the injury, you have a 65% chance to make it 3 days).
2. Fire lighting (no fire then insulate).
3. Make a shelter.
4. Gather purified water.
5. Signal when the rescuers get near (three short whistle blasts).

In an article on his website, he elaborates further by stating NEVER forget matches, a sleeping bag, a shelter, a way to purify water, and food. The goal is to stay out of situations that would need a survival plan, and if you find yourself in a situation, make sure that you’re prepared to wait for rescue and you have the skills to carry-out that wait–essentially, practice the old British army adage: prior planning and preparation prevents piss-poor performance.

Survival kit

During the presentation, he stated that your survival kit needs stuff to address sleep, hydration, and maintaining body temp. If it doesn’t do these then leave it at home. Your kit should reflect your level of training and have items specific to the activity or application. Make the kit small enough so you carry it with you on your person, because if it’s downstream in a runaway pack you can’t use it. It should specifically include a knife and fire makers.

Important items for survival:

• Warm clothing.
• Fire-making skills and equipment, like matches.
• Knife: sturdy fixed blade, carbon steel, 25 degree angled blade, deep sheath, good steel. It helps during fire-making.
• Pocket-sized first aid kit. It must have a way to deal with knife and axe cuts if you carry a knife or axe. Include steri-strips, band-aids, duct tape, and small magnifying lens.
• Signaling devices: whistle, signaling mirror, and signal fires.
• Navigation equipment and skills: map, compass.
• 30′ string or cordage (know slippery knots!!!).
• Other tools to think about bringing because they make things easier:
  • Shelter components
  • big pad
  • axe
  • saw
  • metal pot

Survival School Training

Smith also talked about something not preached about hard enough: that the skills that help you survive are built through Practice! Practice! Practice! Reading a book or website isn’t enough. You must get out and practice fire starting, shelter building, etc…  in a safe location before you need to use the skill in the woods and in an emergency.

He says this accomplishes a couple of things that help you during a survival situation:

• Memorizing makes rapid progress during an event.
• Rapid progress helps regain a sense of control.
• A sense of control helps boost confidence.
• Acting quickly takes advantage of adrenaline.

Favorite Quote

“It takes four nights to own a shelter.” Important to think about for those who po-po a tarp after only using it one night.

Wilderness Survival Resources

• Jack Mountain Bushcraft School on Ning
• Bushcraft: Outdoor Skills & Wilderness Survival by Mors Kochanski: A classic book for the northern Boreal forests.
• Jack Mountain Bushcraft Student Handbook
• Realistic Wilderness Survival by Tim Smith
• Jack Mountain Bushcraft School

Experts believe fifth-century Vikings placed a dolmen—a large stone perched upon three small rocks—somewhere in the Boundary Waters.

Join us while we hunt for the Viking dolmen.

Kelso River Boundary Waters Route

Lakes Used: Sawbill Lake, Kelso River, Kelso Lake, Kelso River, Kelso Lake, Alton Lake, Sawbill Lake
Length: 1 to 2 days
Distance: 9 to 10 miles
Elevator Pitch: A short scenic day trip, that works as an overnight. Paddle along varied terrain including birch forests, bogs, small and large lakes. The highlights include many large beaver lodges and the mysterious Viking dolmen.
Description: Start at the campground on Sawbill Lake. If you need a canoe, rent one from Sawbill Outfitters. Head north, passing the narrows into the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness (BWCA). Follow the western shore until the bay half-way up Sawbill Lake. Portage into the Kelso River.

The Kelso River is a narrow passage through a bog. Watch for beaver. Along the south and western shoreline look at the edges of the bog to find pitcher plants. Follow the river to Kelso Lake. Near the end of the lake are two campsites–both offer good tent pads and nice scenery. The furtherest north site offers more privacy.

To find the dolmen, continue paddling north along the Kelso River. Before you reach Lajenida Lake, you’ll see the dolmen on the eastern shoreline. It’s easy to miss, so keep your eyes peeled. Many people attached different legends to the dolmen–some of them are: it’s a Viking marker; it marks an ancient copper mine; it was built by bored U.S. Forest Service workers; or it is a glacier erratic. Some say the dolmen had runes–now gone–carved into it. Please, respect the dolmen. Opposite the dolmen is a trail that leads to the old Kelso Mountain fire tower.

After investigating and wondering about the dolmen, paddle south. Kelso Lake forks and you’ll want to take the western fork to a short portage into Alton Lake. Hug the eastern shore until you find the portage back into Sawbill Lake. Then paddle back to the campground.

Boundary Waters Route Map

View Kelso River Loop: Viking Dolmen in a larger map

If you’re into mysterious places in the Boundary Waters, check out Magic on the Rocks. It’s a good read about pictographs in the BWCA.

Typical campsite on Lake Nipigon.

Lake Nipigon should be one of the premier kayaking destinations in North America. It’s remote, it’s wilderness, and it’s studded with 100s of islands to explore. It has big open water crossings, black sand beaches, towering palisades, and it can get rough and challenging. In 2008, Tim Russell and I took a week long trip to the lake. The following notes are from the research that we did (mainly Tim’s work). Originally, this research appeared on a wiki. It’s still there, but this will be a more permanent location.

About Lake Nipigon

From Wikipedia:

Lake Nipigon (French : lac Nipigon) is the largest lake entirely within the boundaries of the Canadian province of Ontario and is sometimes described as the sixth Great Lake. Lying 260 metres (853 ft) above sea level, the lake drains into the Nipigon River and thence into Nipigon Bay of Lake Superior. The lake and river are the largest tributaries of Lake Superior. It lies about 120 kilometres (75 mi) northeast of the city of Thunder Bay, Ontario.

Lake Nipigon has a total area (including islands within the lake) of 4,848 square kilometres (1,872 sq mi) — compared to 3,150 square kilometres (1,216 sq mi) for Lake of the Woods. The largest islands are Caribou Island, Geikie Island, Katatota Island, Kelvin Island, Logan Island, Murchison Island, Murray Island, and Shakespeare Island. Maximum depth is 165 metres (540 ft).

The lake is noted for its towering cliffs and unusual green-black sand beaches composed of the fine particles of a dark green mineral known as pyroxene. The lake basin provides an important habitat for woodland caribou.

Map

View Larger Map

Crown Land Camping Permits

Kayaker heading south along the eastern shoreline of Lake Nipigon.

• Crown Land Camping Permits are required for non-residents of Ontario. They run $10/night/person. Pick them up anywhere fishing licenses are sold. At the Pigeon River Border Crossing you can pick them up at the visitor center.

General Links

• Planning Discusion: A great thread with lots of info that we should steal for our planning.
• Dog Sledding on Nip: Interesting winter perspective.
• Signature Site Info: Lots and Lots of info.
• http://www.myccr.com/SectionForums/viewtopic.php?t=27566&highlight=lake+nipigon
• http://www.myccr.com/SectionForums/viewtopic.php?t=16363&highlight=lake+nipigon
• http://www.myccr.com/SectionForums/viewtopic.php?t=3158&highlight=lake+nipigon
• http://128.255.228.51/LakeNipigon/Day_0.htm Details of a trip done by the Minneapolis SKOAC a few years ago

Geology

A summary of the geological diversity of the lake is at at: (the link above from parks ontario is much more detailed)

• [http://www.greatlakeswiki.org/index.php/Geology_of_Lake_Nipigon]

History

A nice historical summary is at the Great Lakes Wiki:

• [http://www.greatlakeswiki.org/index.php/History_of_Lake_Nipigon]

A detailed version of the early vists by Father Allouez in the 17th century

• http://www.umanitoba.ca/colleges/st_pauls/ccha/Back%20Issues/CCHA1956/Nelligan.pdf

Flora and Fauna

• Black Bears: We’ll need some hanging systems depending on number of people.
• American White pelican (3 of 5 nesting colonies in Ontario are here)
• Woodland Caribou on north shoreline
• SKOAC reports more birds wildlife in Gully Bay near Snake islands an Pike Bay islands than in other parts they visited.

From wikipedia:

The French Jesuit Claude Allouez celebrated the first mass beside the Nipigon River May 29, 1667. He visited the village of the Nipissing Indians who had fled there during the Iroquois onslaught of 1649-50. In the Jesuit Relations the lake is called lac Alimibeg, and was subsequently known as Alemipigon or Alepigon. In the 19th century it was frequently spelled as Lake Nepigon.

In 1683 Daniel Greysolon, Sieur du Lhut established a fur trading post on Lake Nipigon named Fort Tourette after his brother, Claude Greysolon, Sieur de la Tourette. The Alexis Hubert Jaillot map of 1685 (Partie de la Nouvelle-France) suggests that this fort was somewhere in Ombabika Bay at the northeast end of the lake where the Ombabika river and Little Jackfish river (Kabasakkandagaming) empty. (A copy of this map may be viewed at Brock University Map Library) The post remained active to the end of the French regime as part of the pays d’en haut.

On 17 April 1744, the Count de Maurepas, Minister of the Marine, informed the Canadian officials that Jean de La Porte was to be given the “fur ferme” (i.e. the profits) of Lac Alemipigon from that year forward as a reward for his services in New France.

After the Treaty of Paris (1763), the area passed into the hands of the British, and the Hudson’s Bay Company expanded its trading area to include the Lake. Although it was considered to be within British North America, it was not until 1850 that the watershed draining into Lake Superior was ceded formally by the Ojibwe Indians to the Province of Canada (see Robinson Treaty, 1850, also known as the Robinson Superior Treaty). A four square mile reservation was set aside on Gull River near Lake Nipigon on both sides of the river for the Chief Mishe-muckqua. In 1871 Lake Nipigon was included in the new Thunder Bay District, Ontario.

The Township of Nipigon was incorporated in 1908. The Municipality of Greenstone (pop 5662) was incorporated in 2001 and includes Orient Bay, MacDiarmid, Beardmore, Nakina, Longlac, Caramat, Jellicoe and Geraldton.

In 1943 Canada and the United States agreed to the Ogoki diversion which diverts water into Lake Superior that would normally flow into James Bay and thence into Hudson Bay. The diversion connects the upper portion of the Ogoki River to Lake Nipigon. This water was diverted to support three hydroelectric plants on the Nipigon River. The diversion is governed by the International Lake Superior Board of Control which was established in 1914 by the International Joint Commission.

Lake Nipigon Provincial Park is located on the east side of Lake Nipigon. In 1999 the park boundary was amended to reduce the park area from 14.58 to 9.18 square kilometres (3,603 to 2,268 acres). The area was deregulated and transferred to the Government of Canada for a reserve for the Sand Point First Nation.

* Douglas, R., ed. Nipigon to Winnipeg : a canoe voyage through Western Ontario by Edward Umfreville in 1784, with extracts from the writings of other early travellers through the region. Ottawa : Commercial Printing, 1929.

Viking grave

According to Hjalmar R. Holand a viking grave was found near Beardmore at Lake Nipigon.

Planning

Bryan Hansel at a kayaking campsite southwest of the Virgin Islands, Lake Nipigon.

Canadian Coast Guard requires safety equipment for Canoes and Kayaks.

Canoes, Kayaks, Rowboats and Rowing Shells – (under 6M in Length)

1. One Canadian-approved personal floatation device or lifejacket of appropriate size for each person on board.
2. One buoyant heaving line of not less than 15 m in length.
3. One manual propelling device OR an anchor with not less than 15 m of cable, rope or chain in any combination.
4. One bailer or one manual water pimp fitted with or accompanied by sufficient hose to enable a person using the pump to pump water from the bilge of the vessel over the side of the vessel.
5. A sound signaling device or a sound signaling appliance.
6. Navigation lights that meet the applicable standards set out in the Collision Regulations if the pleasure craft is operated after sunset and sunrise or in periods of restricted visibility.

From Canadian Vessel Training

Local Towns

• Beardmore
• Lake Nipigon

Interesting Features

• Light Houses
  • The Virgins Light (Located on Lighthouse Island just North of Big Virgin Island) 49 deg 29’02″.20 , 88 deg 13’13″.00 W
  • South Point Ombabika Light (on the south end of Ombabika Island at the mouth of Ombabika Bay) 50 deg 07’15″.00 N, 88 deg 15’00″.00 W
  • Observation Monument (located on Smoothrock Point at the north end of Humboldt Bay)49 deg 59’17″.80 N, 88 deg 13’45″.00 W
  • McKeller Island Light (approximate position) 49 deg 58’01″.84 N, 88 deg 15’12″.72 W
  • Russell Island Light (at the south entrance to Humboldt Bay)49 deg 54’01″.78 N, 88 deg 12’18″.92 W
• Rivers
  • The Mouth of the Onaman River is located approximately at 49 deg 58’11″.81 N and 88 deg 0’09″.46 W
• Geology
  • Black Sand Beaches reported particularly good near Champlain Point (source – Wilderness Adventures)
  • Sheer Clifts – 550 ft – reportedly at inner Barn Island (source Wilderness Adventures)
  • Ojibwa’s sacred Undercliff Mtn – on paddle from Ehco point to Jackfish island (source Wilderness Adventures)
  • Grand Cap channel/St Paul Island SKOAC report presents as particular spectacular

• Settlements
  • Omabablike River was once part ot the fur trading route between hudson bay and superior – speculation that there might be remains or ruins (source is in the whaler thread)
  • Dog island known of being an oupost for the old fur trade (5531753 16 367690) (source SKOAC)
  • Cregies Harbor – two wharfs UMT 5492921 16 404213) two warfs and a hidden small fishing camp(source SKOAC)
  • McKinonnom islands – ice fishing hut (5500338 16 378702) (source SKOAC)

Possible Camp Sites

Watching the moon rise on Lake Nipigon.

• Gull Bay at Nazoteka Point (source Wilderness Adventures)
• West bay (source Wilderness Adventures) (SKOAC notes site at 5528160 16 358831) and a tiny cove with good protection and raspberries at 5506604 16 420834)
• Jackfish island (source Wilderness Adventures) east side – sandy beach and good grassy area (553XXXX 16 370886) (source SKOAC)
• Beadmore Parkdoes not take reservations (source SKOAC)
• Eight Mile Island 2hrs from Beadmore with sandy beach UTM 5491733 16 415564 (source SKOAC)
• Colters harbor in the Asseff Islands man made camp site with plywood tables (UTM 5499765 16 401787) (source SKOAC)
• Beach on way from Asseff to Kings head (5504192 16 398077) (source SKOAC)
• Luck Island toward Paupuskeese Mountain (5501964 16 393685) and (5500899 16 384167) (source SKOAC)
• Ursel islands large sandy spit, tables for cooking and swimming beach (5500660 16 382428) (source SKOAC)
• Lamont Island & Little Caribout islands – no landing sites
• Caribou Island harbor at the north side of the eastern spit of entrance (5503290 16 367112) flat grassy area sutable for several tents (source SKOAC)
• Lynx Islands – long narrow beach area (5509242 16 361662) (source SKOAC)
• Dog Island – no beach but protected area to land a kayak, noted for birds and old fur trade camp (5531753 16 367690) (source SKOAC)
• Inner Barn island campsite at (5541480 16 363144) not suitable for landing try instead up the Wabinosh River (5546095 16 360229) (source SKOAC)
• Geike Island – camp in a liitle bay NE corner (5544446 16 383456) long narrow beach (source SKOAC)
• Vennor Island – has a camp sites reminestent of Georgian Bay (5547571 16 392823) and (5547601 16 393237) (source SKOAC)
• North Bay Point – lovely long beach (5556848 16 402309) (source SKOAC)
• Ombabika Bay- shletered cove with nice sandy beach (5546858 16 413822) (source SKOAC)
• Ombabika Bay along South Peninsula – few landing places one for a break (5541307 16 413277) and one for landing (5539725 16 413475) (source SKOAC)
• Magnet island – few opportunites naroow beach with spring is at (5537697 16 413288) (source SKOAC)
• Iron Range Bluff to Russell Island narrow beach 95530953 16 418459) (source SKOAC)
• Russell island towrd Livingstone Point – small Georgian bay type Island with gentle slopes (5528657 16 415370) (source SKOAC)
• Bean bay islands (5527343 16 420805) lunch spot (source SKOAC)
• Mungo Point (5515820 16 417863) nice camp site (source SKOAC)
• Mosquito Creek Cove – (5514516 16 478738) (source SKOAC)
• High Hill Harbour: 36.365N/07.437W
• Campsite near Assef Island in Colter’s Harbor: 38.637N/21.662W
• Luck Island: 40.727N/26.610W
• The Virgins: 28.832N/13.652W
• Bonner Lake: 26.208N/16.351W
• The Cove: 36.540N/22.372W
• Gross Cap Channel: 38.744N/36.579W
• Burnt Point: 39.057N/44.368W
• Two Mountain Harbour: 34.214N/44.514W
• Base of Grand Bay:30.835N/52.274W
• Chief Bay: 32.417N/WEST 89 degrees 01.001
• Black Sturgeon Bay Campsite 30.474N/58.503W

Possible Launch Take-Out Sites

• Gull Bay (source Wilderness Adventures)
• Macdairmid on SE shore (source classically whaler discussion thread)
• Popular Point, high hill harbour, Orient Bay, Pijitawabik Bay and South bay access loacations are promoted by the provice Ecologiacal land use Strategy; Humboldt Bay and Ombabika bay are not being promoted.
• Beadmore – boat ramp 49.605913, -88.122904

Maps

• Chart #6050 “Plans in Lake Nipigon” $20 USD from West Marine (1-800-262-8464). (Tim is ordering one thru the local dealer in Seabrook)
• Lake Nip Signature Site Map from Chaltrek (807-577-8848). (Tim and Bryan own this map.)
• Topographical map set to provide bearings (available from Wabakimi (1-807-767-2022).
• Canadian Topo Maps – have tyvek.
• Mapsource Topographical Maps of Canada

More

Interesting accounts of early travels through the area- Nipigon to Winnipeg: A canoe voyage through Western Ontario by Edward Umfreville 1929 Reprinted on line at [http://freepages.genealogy.rootsweb.ancestry.com/~wjmartin/nipigon.htm]

These books may also be interesting but I have not found a library or online source for them:

• Journey up the Nipigon River: From the diary of Hiram Worcester Slack, summer of 1887 by Hiram Worcester Slack 1975
• Rival canoe boys, or, With pack and paddle on the Nipigon by St. George Rathborne 1902

Weather

• Prevailing winds summer, autumn winter: west to north-west
• Prevailing winds spring: north
• Open water winds velocities during open water season often exceeds 18 miles/hr 30 km/hr
• Mean July temperature: 59 F/15 C
• Average summer duration: June 10 to September 5

Emergency Contacts

Example Trip Plan

Kayaker surfing on a 1' wind wave making a crossing to Lone Island on Lake Nipigon.

Maps

• Nipigon – 052H
• Grand Bay – 052H10
• Shakespeare Island – 052H09

Mileage Covered and Other Stats

• 68 Miles total
• 4 Significant Crossings
  • 5.75 Miles (Grant Point to Cedar Island)
  • 2.75 Miles (Shakespeare Island to Lake Nip Conservation Reserve)
  • 5 Miles (Grand Cape to Paupushase Mountain)
  • 3.5 Mile plus 6 Mile or 7.5 Mile on last day to Bish Bay.
• One island circumnavigations
  • Shakespeare Island

Day-by-Day

Day One: Sunday

• Start: Poplar Lodge Ramp
• End: Grant Point Campsite
• Total Distance: 4.5 miles
• Escape Plan: Mainland, back to put-in, secondary boat ramp
• Crossings: None
• Hazards: Waves, breaking waves,
• Features: 2 mile sand beach
• History:
• Estimated Time on Water: 2 hours

Day Two: Monday

• End: Eagle Nest Islands
• Total Distance: 14 miles
• Escape Plan: Back to Grant Point, protection of islands. Secondary campsites on Shakespeare Island.
• Crossings: 5.75 mile from Eight Mile Island to Cedar Island
• Hazards: Long crossing. Will attempt in early morning when wind is calmer.
• Features: Many islands
• History:
• Estimated Time on Water: 5 hours

Day Three: Tuesday

• End: Ursel Islands
• Total Distance: 12 miles
• Escape Plan: Head to shore.
• Crossings: 2.75 mile from Dockrey Islands to mainland.
• Hazards:
• Features: Places to explore around the islands. This day is also sacrificial to wind and storm days.
• History:
• Estimated Time on Water: 4 hours

Day Four: Wednesday

• End: Luck Island
• Total Distance: 11 miles, plus lots to explore on Shakespeare Island
• Escape Plan: Head to shore.
• Crossings: 5 miles from Grand Cape to Paupusheose Mountain.
• Hazards: Open water, could be very confused water due to channel
• Features: Interesting named mountain. We may have to climb it if it looks to give a good view.
• History:
• Estimated Time on Water: 4 hours, plus exploration time.

Day Five: Thursday

• End: Asseff Island
• Total Distance: 8 miles
• Escape Plan: Head to protected place along route
• Crossings: None
• Hazards:
• Features: This is a short day allowing us to explore the east coast and island chains of Shakespeare Island. It also gains us a circumnavigation of Shakespeare Island. Could be a cool island lake to check out also.
• History:
• Estimated Time on Water: 3 hours

Day Six: Friday

• End: Bish Bay
• Total Distance: 13.5 miles
• Escape Plan: Skip crossings and head back to Grant Point via a 6 mile crossing.
• Crossings: 3.5 plus a 6 mile or one 7.5 mile crossing.
• Hazards: Open water crossings.
• Features: Open water, small island, good navigation challenges
• History:
• Estimated Time on Water: 5 hours

Day Seven: Saturday

• End: Poplar Lodge Boat Ramp
• Total Distance: 5 miles
• Escape Plan: Paddle
• Crossings: None
• Hazards: Shore, Waves
• Features: Last day. Can explore this day or head to beach for surf after paddling.
• History:
• Estimated Time on Water: 3 hours

This interview appeared on WTIP and The Roadhouse with Buck Benson and Bob Carter. The interview is covering my (Bryan’s) Around the Great Lake Expedition 2009.

Click Here to Listen: Around the Great Lakes on the Roadhouse with Buck and Bob [22mb, mp3]

Learn more about the Around the Great Lake Expedition 2009.

Robert N. Pruden

When I began this long journey on June 01, 2002, I did not expect to have the experiences that I encountered. My intension was to enjoy the benefits of the Saskatchewan Watershed quietly pushing myself through deep introspection and absent-minded doddling while enjoying my photography hobby. I wanted to write about a living river that I expected to be teeming with life in all of its natural forms. I found and experienced more than I thought that river had to offer. Within ten minutes of the start of my 2002 attempt at this journey and only a few kilometres along the way, the river almost took my life after I plunged into a class 6 rapid located within a gorge. It broke my kayak and stripped my person of anything not securely attached.

During 2003, I successfully completed the first leg of this journey, which began at the Saskatchewan Crossing in the Alberta Rockies and ended at North Battleford, Saskatchewan, and ran a distance of 1000-kms. My expectations for this journey were fulfilled. During this leg of the trip, I also experienced death, not my own, but that of some unknown victim of a heinous crime. That discovery resulted in the fulfillment of another lifelong desire: to ride in a helicopter: that ride lasted 5-hours.

During my 2004 attempt at continuing my journey, which I planned to paddle from North Battleford to Grand Rapids, Manitoba, severe weather and major equipment failures drove me off the river. This leg of my trip lasted only 1½ days after I stopped just under the Borden Bridge, near Borden Saskatchewan. I paddled just over 180-kms. I listened to my heart, felt the bad karma emitting from my surroundings and bailed. Better to live another day and try again at some later date.

During 2005, I had hoped to carry on with my trip but my life went to hell in a hand basket. During the month of May, I was laid off from my job as a senior chemical technologist after 23 years of service. Soon afterward, my marriage fell apart and by November I was on my own living a life I least expected to experience. I lost everything, including my children. I was also struggling to start up a home renovation company with the knowledge that although I was a good renovator, I was not a good businessman. I soon learned while renovating that I had little time to build kayaks or to go out and enjoy paddling. I developed a chronic shoulder pain that worsened after a year of renovating.

During February of 2007, I managed to land a job working in a different laboratory and gradually brought my renovation career to an end. Once I settled into the new job and my divorce was finalized, I started planning to get back on the water to continue my river trip. I set my put-in date for June 01, 2008. I allowed nothing and no one to deter me from getting back on the water. This leg of my river trip would take me approximately 860-kms from the Borden Bridge to Grand Rapids, Manitoba, where the waters of the Saskatchewan Watershed drop into the north end of Lake Winnipeg through the Grand Rapids Hydro Electric Dam. Successful completion of this leg of the journey would mean that the total distance that I paddled along the river from start to finish would be roughly 2000-kms. It would also signify the end of my journey along the Saskatchewan Watershed.

Three Major Worries

I had three major worries regarding this section of the river trip. The first one was Tobin Lake. I would be paddling along the length of it, which provides for a lot of fetch for wind speed to build uninterrupted. Wave and wind could make my life a living hell or keep me pinned to the shores until conditions improved. The second concern was the myriad channels found below the Campbell Dam at the northeast end of Tobin Lake. The river divides into almost two-dozen channels along its winding route toward the 54th parallel. If I choose the wrong channel, I could either end up in a bog far from my chosen course or I could add days of extra paddling while I follow two separate channels that reach higher above the 54th parallel than I was expecting to go. The third and last concern was Cedar Lake. It is a shallow lake with a huge fetch: 100-kms from north to south and 120-kms long from west to east, with little to slow the winds down. I learned prior to launching that 3-4 people drown on that lake each year, that storms can whip the lake into a frenzy in short order, and that the fens and bogs shift the access channels so that even the aboriginal fishermen who fish the lake can get lost for days. If anything went wrong after I passed the dam, I could easily disappear and never be found. Well, ok, someone would eventually find the VJ and maybe my bones, assuming wildlife didn’t drag them off for a late night snack. For this reason, I carried my driver’s license with me. I also knew that if I did disappear, the VJ Guardian Spirit, my Waters Dancing Lightning 17, would help to ID my remains or at least indicate where I went down.

My preparations for this journey were very thorough. I planned to end the trip after 11 days. I gave myself 19 days in case I became lost or injured. I carried enough provisions for 30 days and beefed up my wilderness first aid kit to include antiseptics, topical anaesthetics, sutures, a wide variety of bandages, Advil and Tylenol. I had clothing for either very hot weather or very cold weather. I brought no rifle but had a good supply of bear bangers, rescue flares and my last resort weapon of choice: a military fighting knife with an 8″ long double-edged razor sharp knife. My mom and friend, Manju, would drop me off on June 01 at the Borden Bridge, and then meet me at Winnipeg, Manitoba, on June 18.

Despite my anxieties regarding this trip, I slept quite well the night before the launch. We had scouted the river the prior evening and found water levels to be high and fast: conditions looked good to go. I was worried that my lower back could be a problem. I managed just one training run prior to launch day because the VJ was in dry dock for much needed repairs to get her ready for the trip. During that 3-½ hr practice run, I experienced excruciating lower back pain, which only my chiropractor, Joan, could remedy. My solution to this potential problem was to build a wedge from 4 layers of ½-inch closed-cell foam, which would fit in the space behind my lower back and provide improved support. I also cut 6 layers of rectangular shaped ¼-inch foam to layer more support behind my back if needed. Joan did express her concerns that I was not fit enough to start such a long journey. She knows my body well and knew that I had lost muscle tone and had gained roughly 20-lbs over the previous year. I assured her that I knew my body well enough to know that if I started out slowly, it would strengthen quickly. In the end, I was right, but her assessment kept me honest with myself. Thank you for that, Joan.

On Launch Day

On launch day, while I prepared the VJ to go, two locals chatted with mom, Manju and me. They were as excited about the trip as I was, as were everyone else I met along my way to Grand Rapids. After easing myself into the VJ, I shoved her from the shoreline and began my journey. The weather was perfect with a bright sunny sky, no clouds to speak of and gentle winds. The muddy water grabbed the VJ and thrust her rapidly along its course. I looked back to wave good-bye and then turned to give my attention to the fast arriving bend in the river. What would I find around it, I wondered to myself…soon, I would know. I felt freedom for what it truly means: an experience of complete self-dependency, thought and wanderlust. For the next 11 days, no one would be the boss of me. I would live by my wits and my preparations would be my only judge. From this point on I expected no problems until I entered the Cumberland Delta, what Bryan Sarauer called “the largest freshwater delta in the world and a major navigational challenge.” He also mentioned Codette Lake, which I had no idea about, especially the Francois-Finlay Hydro Dam that created it beside Nipawin, Saskatchewan, which I had to portage around unexpectedly: my map did not refer to the dam.

The first three days of river travel passed by uneventfully. I stopped occasionally to chat with local folks along the riverbanks who were out to enjoy the fine weather that I had been experiencing. I photographed the river valley every 4-kms and zoomed my 70-300mm lens on any wildlife I spotted. Clear blue skies and the songs of songbirds were my constant companions. I camped on sand bars and always chose to paddle through the narrower channels of the river so that I could be closest to any wildlife I might encounter. My daily routine was to wake up with the sun, be on the water by no later than 0600h, paddle until one hour before sunset, then sleep like a log. After day 1, I had paddled 55-kms, a good start. After day 2, I had paddled 77-kms, looking even better but my shoulders were hurting badly because I was pushing them a little harder than I should have. After day 3, I had paddled 140-kms but that distance also included the last 30-kms of the North Saskatchewan River, which flows quite fast. I was getting stronger by the day, eating well, despite not having cooked anything hot to this point. I depended on pemmican, power bars, dried fruit bars, Gatorade and water filtered directly from the river for nourishment. There was, of course, my daily can of Guinness, my end-of-the-day reward for being out there in the wilds of northern Canada. Remember folks, it ain’t just a dark draft: it’s a meal in a can.

During day 3, I encountered class 1-2 rapids as the North Saskatchewan River raced through a series of 90 degree turns on its way to meet the South Saskatchewan River at a place called The Forks. At the Forks, I anticipated churning waters and standing waves: I met only gentle boils and slowly rotating whirlpools that moved with the current. From there, the river gradually widened and remained gentle flowing. Eventually, I would learn that the river becomes more like a very long lake due to the Francois-Finlay Hydro Dam at Nipawin.

The North Saskatchewan and Saskatchewan Rivers are tamed rivers, dammed at enough locations to generate electricity and minimize the risk of flooding. They still flood from time to time but nothing like they did during the time when my ggggggrandfather, John Peter Pruden. The following brief is borrowed from the Manitoba Historical Society on John Peter Pruden:

John Peter Pruden (1778-1868)

Fur trader.

John Peter Pruden was born at Edmonton, Middlesex, England about 1778. He had two wives, the first Nancy, a native woman by whom he had several sons and daughters, the second, Anne Armstrong, governess to a Mr. Macallum, whom he married on 4 December 1839 at Red River Settlement.

He entered the Hudson’s Bay Company service as an apprentice in 1791, and sailed in the Company vessel Sea Horse to York Factory, where he was stationed until 1795. From then until 1808 he served on the Saskatchewan River at various posts. He spent the winter of 1808-9 in Britain. He returned to take charge of Carlton House in 1809-10, where he remained for four years as inland master in the Saskatchewan River District. After the union of the Hudson’s Bay Company and the North West Company he was appointed Chief Trader. He was in charge of Norway House from 1825 until his retirement in 1837, having been promoted to the rank of Chief Factor in 1833.

After his retirement from the Hudson’s Bay Company he resided in the Red River Settlement. He was appointed to the Council of Assiniboia taking the oath of office and attending his first session on 3 July 1843. He was made a member of the Board of Works on 19 June 1844, subsequently being appointed chairman on 28 June 1847. In the Red River census of 1843 he is recorded as having considerable property, namely 25 acres.

Pruden died at Red River on 30 May 1868.

More information: John Peter Pruden, Dictionary of Canadian Biography IX, 648-49.

John Peter would have got to Fort Edmonton through the only available route: the North Saskatchewan and Saskatchewan, and Hayes Rivers. He would have travelled in a York Boat, a design capable of carrying 5 tons of furs and supplies and propelled forward by hearty, powerful, hard-living, Metis voyageur oarsmen who spoke only the Metis language, michif. My journey has echoes of John Peter’s journey.

The dam at Nipawin caused me no end of grief. When I arrived there, marker buoys warned me not to go any further toward the dam. I couldn’t see past the dam so I didn’t know where the river began again. I wasted time paddling back and forth across the river before I eventually determined that I would have to make a portage. I was swearing by now for the complete lack of information in-situ, to guide paddlers to a portage route. I chose to haul the kayak, fully loaded, up a slope to the west of the dam, then drag her along the side of a gravel road to where it looked like I might be able to find a decent put-in site. The portage distance was about 600 meters. I clipped my rescue rope, which had large biners tied to each end, to the bow hand toggle and dragged her to the new put-in. The hex-boron nitride (HBN) coating that I applied to the hull worked wonders for me. It caused the VJ to slide easily over the gravel. I didn’t feel much of the weight of her roughly 150-lbs with all the gear in stowage. When I checked the hull later on, damage was minimal with only light scrapes and scratches.

I decided prior to starting the trip that I would use a voice recorder in lieu of a writing journal to keep a record of my thoughts during this trip. The voice files that I recorded during the Nipawin portage are a testament to my frustrations. I believe I may have invented a few new swear words. If you were to listen to this recording, you can hear my hard breathing, my swearing and my relief once the VJ was floating on water again. My reward for that struggle was an early can of Guinness.

In Powerboat Country and Drunken Boaters

From Nipawin to Tobin Lake, the river deepens and widens considerably. I was now in powerboat country so I had to keep my eyes open for drunken boaters and anyone else who might not see me on the water. I consider this stretch of river to be the umbilical cord of Tobin Lake. If you look at a map, that is exactly what it looks like and, of course, this stretch of river is where Tobin Lake gets its water. The Francois-Finlay Dam prevents silt from going any further north from here so the waters of Tobin Lake are clear and green. Fine weather still blessed me up to Tobin Lake. To shorten paddling distances along the shores of Tobin Lake, I had plotted several open water crossings that ran from point to point. During one of these crossings I encountered my first dose of nasty weather. Clouds had been building over my chosen route and I was heading straight under them. As I paddled under them they let loose a torrent of huge rain drops that hammered the surface of the lake. Amongst the large droplets of rain were pea-sized hailstones. The hail pelted me only for a short while but the rain fell for almost one hour. I came to label this weather system “the dragon on my back”. My dry top, spray skirt and wide-brimmed Filson hat kept me fairly dry. The dry top leaked a little water because its rubberized inner coating had started to peel away, a condition I did not discover until after the trip began. Still, I was warm and comfortable during the onslaught of water and ice so I kept paddling until the storm dissipated.

I paddled for three more hours before landing at the Wilderness Ministries Bible Camp on the north shore of the lake. There, I met Ron and Donalda, the wonderful couple, who spent the last 15 years of their lives building up the camp to the great site it is today. I was offered a hot shower, food, coffee and lots of chat. I listened to their stories and they heard mine: a fair exchange. We chatted until midnight, well past Ron’s usual hour for bedtime. My campsite for that night was high and dry within the evergreen forest that engulfs the bible camp. That night I strolled to the beach with Guinness in hand to look at the stars and ponder the journey I had so far completed: I was happy to be me and to be where I was at that moment. I listened to a whippoorwill sing its night song during the evening. I was so pleased with Ron and Donalda’s generosity and love that I stayed for a few hours the next morning to help Ron erect a tarpaulin tent structure that he planned to use as a sheltered outdoor workshop.

The run from the bible camp to the Campbell Dam was idyllic. I made a major open water crossing of several miles through oily-smooth waters that reflected the partly cloudy skies to perfection. Warm humidity rose off the surface of the lake and streamed toward the skies. I breathed this moist air deeply with relaxed breaths. I kept an eye on the cloud formations and movements to ensure that I didn’t get caught in a sudden storm. If the waves were to kick up suddenly while I was so exposed I could be in serious trouble. I eventually became fairly dozy as I made my way to the dam. I photographed anything that moved.

I encountered a major stroke of luck when I arrived at the Campbell Dam. Two Sask Power employees just happened by as I strolled up to the dam. I flagged them down and begged a ride to the put-in point. It was a few miles along a graveled road in the area where the spillway reunited the waters of Tobin Lake with the river valley. I regaled the guys with my kayaking stories while we drove the fully loaded VJ to her new paddling destination. I thanked them for the help by offering them a few packages of pemmican. They were as thrilled as I was.

At the spillway, two kind folks, a man and a woman who must have been in their late 50′s met me. They were sitting on lawn chairs on the lush grasses near the spillway when they saw us drive down with the kayak loaded across the sidewalls of the pickup truck. When I turned to look at them walking toward me, I saw them, the spillway, the way the sun shone, the trees, the river, and the grasses around us: the whole scene was familiar to me. I had a very eerie feeling that I had been there before and met these two people before, except that I have never been this far north in Saskatchewan before. Later after I had completed the journey, I asked my mom if dad had ever taken me there. She replied that he fished at Tobin Lake once during a tournament but I had not come along. I recognized the area and have seen these two folks before. My memory did not fail me – it was in a dream that I first experienced this place and met these people. I dreamed of this place long before I came here, exactly as I saw it now.

I spoke easily with the two folks as I prepped the VJ for the water. We spoke about my trip and my thoughts about being out there on my own. They thought it was an awesome experience and wished me well. I knew I would be fine. When it was time for me to launch, the man insisted that he wanted to help me move the VJ. I had to drag her over lush grass only a few feet before the ground fell toward the river. I really didn’t need his help but I sensed that he wanted to touch the kayak in order to share in my experience. I let him grab the stern hand toggle rather redundantly and I eased the VJ down to the river. After I launched, I got out my camera and snapped off a parting image quite deliberately because of my eerie sense of deja-vous. I think, some day this image will help me figure out just what happened at the spillway.

As the VJ slipped downstream, I pondered my feelings about this experience and remembered the second part of the name of my kayak: Guardian Spirit. Strangely, with a clear mind and heart, I realized that those two interested folks could have been meant to be there at that point in time to ensure that I got through and left on my way safe and sound. I knew that with those two, if I had needed anything at all, they would have helped me without hesitation. This was a powerful feeling that came from within my soul. I am not a man inclined to mysterious thoughts and beliefs, but even as I write this I still believe what I have written. The feeling of being protected would stay with me for the remainder of my journey.

My greatest fear of this area was finding the river below the dam a mere trickle from its former glory. Certainly, below the dam that is exactly what it looks like. No water runs onto the riverbed below the dam and the river bottom is full of lush vegetation with puddles of water dotting the landscape. At the put-in point below the spillway, the river regains its glory. It is verdant and teeming with life. From here on, my next struggle would be to find my way amongst the many channels it melds into to get to Cumberland House, located at the south end of Cumberland Lake.

I would discover that the river from this point on is dotted with hunting lodges and trappers cabins used by the native hunters and fishermen. I stopped by one such lodge, primarily because of the large Metis flag waving atop a pole and also because the immaculate varnished log houses of the site were situated on a beautifully kept section of the riverbank. There, I met Nathan, an older Cree native with bad teeth, arthritic issues and a love of quiet, simple chat. The lodge comprised of a log house for a kitchen area, another log structure for sleeping quarters for the owners family, a sauna, and several outbuildings that served as bunk houses for paying clientele.

I followed Nathan around as he did a few chores then we retired to the kitchen to enjoy a cup of tea while we chatted. I noticed a bannock resting on the countertop. Nathan offered me as much as I wanted. Oddly enough, just two hours ago I was wishing that I could sink my teeth into some bannock. This trip of mine was beginning to seem filled with strange coincidences.

I learned from Nathan that a metis man named Solomon Carrier owned the lodge. Turns out that Solomon was once a world champion C-1 canoe racer. I would learn that Solomon is a active living legend amongst native communities in northern Saskatchewan and Manitoba. I saw a picture of Solomon racing a C-2 canoe with another man hanging on a wall and Wowie!, I have never seen musculature such as I saw in that picture. It was easy to see how he could have been a world champion in any sport he might have chosen to compete in.

I left Nathan resting on a chair perched on the porch of the kitchen cabin. Quietly, he asked me if I could be coming back to visit him. I hesitated then said I would find a way. Nathan indicated that there was a highway on the other side of the river from where the lodge is situated. I suggested that I could use the kayak to cross the river and drop in for a visit. That is one visit that I am sure I would enjoy very much. Nathan is a good man and we enjoyed meeting each other.

The Myriad Channels

From here on, I depended heavily on frequent GPS checks correlated with checks on my aeronautical map. The river began to divide into its myriad channels. I knew that one wrong turn could lead to potential disaster. Local advice indicated that I should stick with the main channel at all times. I knew from my map that my shortest route, the so-called “new channel” was an offshoot from the apparent main channel. If I missed my turn then I would have two other main channels to pick from that flowed higher above the 54th parallel than I wanted to go. Those routes are very remote and would add extra days of paddling but they did both turn toward Cumberland House much further on. By the map, if I made any wrong turns on either of those channels, then I would find myself mired in bog way off course and lost till I could find my way out. Cell phones do not work up there and I am not sure if my ICOM could help me up there.

Shortly after leaving Nathan at the lodge, I had my first bear encounter. I was roughly 8 feet from the riverbank kind of idling my way along in a semi-dreamy state when I heard a sudden crashing sound in the forest to the right. I turned just in time to see the rump of a large black bear disappear into the bush. I was already yanking back the spray skirt to get at my camera when I spotted the bears rump so I knew that I had lost my shot at getting a photograph. As luck would have it, while I pondered my bad luck at missing a photo op with a bear, I spotted a mink romping along the top of the riverbank. I managed to get two photos of it before it too, disappeared into the thick brush.

Twice this day I made choices regarding channels that nagged at me. In both situations my gut feeling was to turn back and carry on along the channel that I had turned from. By obeying my instinctive senses I spared myself the risk of ending up nowhere fast. According to my map, those two channels ended in bogs. Because of the lack of finer details on my map and the fact that that those two channels occurred closer by other channels, I couldn’t accurately pinpoint just exactly where I was. I had to paddle along for a time to judge my position properly. By the end of the day I had made the new channel and settled in for the night.

Once I reached the new channel, I would be making my run for Cumberland House. Cumberland House is the oldest permanent settlement in Saskatchewan and the crossroads on the fur trade highway through the interior being located on the Saskatchewan River at the junction with the Sturgeon-Weir River allowing access to the Churchill River, which in turn allowed access all the way to the Arctic Ocean (with a teeny little 19km portage). The Hudson Bay Company established it’s first trading post inland from the Hudson Bay there in 1774. (Quoted from Bryan’s commentary at Guillemot Kayaks, kayak forum, June 11, 2008). There, I hoped to stop by the village and buy a burger and fries. I had been craving them for some time and the idea that I was close caused my mouth and mind to drool constantly. Local fishermen informed me that I could get such a meal at two of the local stores.

The run to Cumberland House was nothing short of tough once I got close to the south end of Cumberland Lake. The gusting winds had picked up speed and were constantly driving me into the weeds. I struggled to take pictures but the kayak was swept toward my subjects, which then flew off to a new spot. Wave action increased as I struggled to further my cause. When I figured it was my time to head toward the delta where the waters of Cumberland Lake flow into the Saskatchewan River, I turned into the wind. I was seriously worried that I could capsize because the waves were getting larger, peaking at two feet with short periods and increasing in size the further north I moved. Many times they washed over the decks and filled the spray skirt with water. I spotted a fishing boat that turned into a sheltered area so I followed it in to get advice from the locals. They were surprised to see me out there and told me what I wanted to know. Stick to the south shore and then turn up a small river that moved with a slow current from Cumberland Lake to the Saskatchewan River. They warned me that if I stayed on the Saskatchewan River past the river from Cumberland Lake then I would encounter a major rapid, which they indicated was dangerous and unrunable. I followed their advice but came to an area where I was unsure where to turn. I opted to creep ahead along the Saskatchewan River until I heard that all too familiar roar of water tumbling heavily over a rapid. Memories of my nasty run over the rapids at the Rocky Mountains flooded back into my mind and I immediately tucked tail and headed back to the area I was unsure about earlier. The locals I met there indicated that this was the river I needed to take to Cumberland House. The river seemed to me to be more of a man-made channel because it was too uniform in width.

I endured a three-hour upstream paddle to finally get to the House. I immediately set up camp at the starting line for Cumberland House’s canoe race site, the very site where Solomon Carrier got his beginning as a world Champion C-1 canoe racer. As soon as I was done setting up camp, I began walking toward the town center in search of my burger and fries. A car stopped almost as soon as I stepped on the road and a couple of women offered me a ride to the local restaurant, which was not more than one kilometer away. What a friendly town this was. I told her what I was doing there and she told me about the town. She offered to drive me back to camp after I was done my meal. I asked her how she would know I was done my meal. She laughed and said Cumberland House is a very small town indeed. At the restaurant, I met up with a man named Sid Carrier. Turns out that he was related to Solomon Carrier and even raced canoes for a time himself. Sid offered to help me move my camp from the south shore of the lake to the river, a 5-mile drive. He wanted to do it that evening because he didn’t want to get up at 0500h to help me, my usual time for getting out of the sack. He suggested that after he had his meal, he would meet me at my camp and get me moved.

I ordered my burger and fries then used the washroom. When I got out my burger was on the table. I moved to sprinkle salt on the fries when suddenly the lid flew off. I stopped the flow of salt before any serious damage was done to my meal. I pulled the lid out of the gravy and held it upon my fingertip and called the server over. He cursed the kids who played that old game while I was chuckling out loud. That was the first time I had been caught by such an old ruse. Of course, I checked the peppershaker and sure enough, the lid was loose. I spoke with the server about my trip as I ate. He moved from China to Cumberland House with his family and parents to find a better life. The family operated the store cum restaurant. We enjoyed our mutual chat and soon it was time for me to head back to my camp.

I opted to walk back since the kind woman who offered to drive me back was not there yet. As I walked along the main road back to camp, I was warmly greeted by families out for pleasure walks. I watched children scramble around the town playing games and shouting out loud at each other just I had done when I was their age. I felt very much at home walking back to camp and thought that I would love to live in such a village if I could find a way to earn a living. Just before I reached my camp two young girls stopped to ask me about my kayak and trip. They asked me if I was ever scared at times. I replied that I was just a little scared at times but that I had confidence in what I was doing. I told them that because I was a big strong man I was able to figure out what to do when things got bad. They looked at me with large googly eyes while they smiled at my description of myself. Sid drove up and I raced over to the camp to load my stuff onto the back of his truck. For a second time, I found wonderful luck when a major portage was needed. I hoped my luck would continue.

To Cedar Lake

I launched early in the morning before anyone at Cumberland House was awake. From there on, I was eager to reach Cedar Lake. The river here is very similar to the river in the Edmonton region less the deep valley found in Edmonton. In fact, the river rarely changed character once I was beyond Prince Albert, Saskatchewan. The one difference that I started to notice in the Cumberland Lake region was the increasing presence of bogs along the shores and beyond. Marsh birds became ever present. Terns became my constant companions. Tall yellow fenegue grasses, reaching heights of almost 8 feet lined the shore in some places. I knew I was getting close to Cedar Lake. I met and spoke with local fishermen often enough. While floating along we chatted about the river, Cedar Lake and my journey. I was warned once again about a man who attempted to cross Cedar Lake in a 12 foot fishing boat during 2007: he never made it. He was found drowned. Apparently, he attempted the crossing without a life jacket. I always kept mine handy on top of the deck, just in case, and used it any time I was unsure of conditions.

About three hours before I set up camp for the night, I met a group of hunters led by a Metis guide. They had just arrived at their campsite and were setting up tents and equipment. They hollered across the river and invited me to stop for a beer, an offer I could not turn down. They spotted me earlier working my way downstream and said that they were impressed with how far I had come. We introduced ourselves to each other, but I cannot remember their names and did not record them on my voice recorder. They demanded that I drink their beer and told me to put my can of Guinness down. I obeyed instantly. They peppered me with questions about the kayak and the journey. They couldn’t fathom how I could survive in the wilderness for such a long time with such a skinny little boat. I explained where all my gear and provisions were stowed. Once done, they understood me well. After an hour of visiting I had to leave to carry on with the trip. I wanted to reach the entry to Cedar Lake by nightfall. They insisted that I take a spare can of beer with me for the road: I did not refuse the offer. They informed me that if I paddled far enough, there was a ranger station with three rangers staying the night there on the last big island before Cedar Lake. The guide was sure they would let me camp on the nice lawn if I made it that far. I made every effort to track down the station.

One hour before nightfall I found myself at what I thought was the ranger station. I spotted a young man standing on a dock smoking a cigarette. He spotted me and waited while I raced with powerful strokes across the river to meet up with him. I greeted him well and asked if he could offer up a patch of grass for me to camp on. He offered me better. A whole crew of students came out to see what the commotion was and invited me up to the kitchen tent. There were seven graduate students in all, doing a variety of studies at the Summerberry Marsh, a conservation project sponsored by Ducks Unlimited. They were pumped to have a visitor as interesting as I was because of my long river journey. Apparently they were kind of bored with each other so I was a refreshing break in the routine for them. We plied each other with stories of their research and my river adventures. One of the boys was lusting after a Guinness when I confessed to carrying a small stock with me. I went to the kayak and brought one for him. They all had a share. I also plied them pemmican since none of them had ever tasted it before but had heard of it. We chatted until almost midnight then the crowd started to thin. One student had to get up at 0400h and offered to wake me. I told him that was too early for me and that I had a nice internal clock that woke me up at 0500h each morning. That said, we all turned in for the night. I was offered a hot shower and a bunkhouse to use for the night. It wasn’t mosquito proof so I set up my tent without the fly inside the house.

I arose early in the morning and was on the water by 0600h. The students were all still sleeping so I moved quietly while I prepped the VJ for my first day on Cedar Lake. I had about 20-kms to paddle before reaching the end of the Saskatchewan River, which actually entered the lake near the center of the western portion of the lake. My intention was to use the main channel to enter the lake, which is the branch that runs straight into the central part of the northwest section of the lake. Instead, I found that I had turned right when I should have stayed left so I entered the lake via the rightmost channel. That was a turn of events that would annoy me to no end.

When I left the river and entered the body of the lake, I was dismayed to discover that the lake was so shallow that the VJ bottomed out. I looked around and saw very choppy shallows that extended for hundreds of meters. The water was a beige/brown color because of all the silt that was being stirred up by the winds, which were growing in strength due to the uninterrupted fetch of that part of the lake. I broke my paddle into its two halves and used them to pole the kayak roughly 300-400 meters to deeper water. Once I reached deeper waters, I reconnected the paddle halves and began what would become a very tough slog to reach Poplar Point. I could see the point in the distance: it was far away but seemed to be near the main body of the rest of Cedar Lake. Wind and wave constantly turned the VJ in a northwest direction but I needed to run her in a southwest direction. In the end, I reached my destination but only after roughly 4-hours of shoulder-burning effort. When I reached the point, I exited the kayak to take a break and stretch my legs.

From the point I turned to what I thought was the most favorable spot to access the main body of the lake. I did another smaller open water crossing only to discover that the entire northwest corner of Cedar Lake was locked in by fen and bog. I remembered reading stories about how the local aboriginal fishermen sometimes got lost for two days because of shifting channels throughout the boggy sections of the lake. At this point, I was tired and wanted only to find a way out of this situation. I swore to the skies out loud and bitched to no one in particular about what a ridiculous lake this was. How the hell could I come so far only to find myself trapped in such a frustrating condition? All I saw from one end of this portion of the lake to the other was a long line of fenegue grasses growing on mud banks. I used my 300mm zoom lens to scout out a channel but I could see nothing at all that might serve as a way out. First I paddled one way, and then I changed my mind and moved in another direction. I searched for the hint of a possible escape route but found none. I could see the deeper blue water on the other side in the far distance but I could not find a way through the fen. I was almost in tears with frustration as I scoured the sides of this barrier to find a way through.

I had been heading west when I decided to change my direction again. I turned east and moved closer to the shore of this great annoyance. Within 5 minutes of making this decision my frustrations were eased by what looked like a channel…a possible escape route. Originally, I saw it only as a tiny bay but because I was closer and looking at it from a different angle, I saw that it was actually a winding water-filled pathway that wandered toward the deeper waters on the other side. I moved the VJ along this route and sure enough, it was winding through the 200-meter bog toward the main body of the lake. I was not more than 20-meters from the open water when the channel became too shallow to paddle through. I shouted out new swear words that were swallowed by the wind for no one to hear except gods and geese who didn’t care. Marsh birds seemed to flutter up with each battery of words I offered up. I broke my paddle and tried to pole my way closer toward the blue water but they immediately sank more than a foot into sucking mud. I knew then that I could not disembark and pull the VJ through. The mud was most likely deep enough to swallow my body into eternity and now it held the VJ with its sticky sucking grip. My heart was pounding after making such an effort to move forward. I drank deep gulps from my Gatorade bottle as I pondered my worsening situation. It was with deep regret that I started to shove the VJ back from where I came from. I had decided to paddle out of the shallow and possibly waste the rest of the day trying to find a way out. I knew from my aeronautical map that I probably wouldn’t find a way out.

As I moved the VJ backward, hard-fought inch by hard-fought inch, the mud finally released its grip on the hull and she slipped easily back into the deeper waters of the channel. It was then that I spotted an opening along the shore that I saw earlier. There was a short length of mud there that I could park the VJ along in order to get out and stretch my legs and do some hard thinking. I got out and studied my surroundings. While I was doing that my feet were slowly sinking into the mud so I stepped onto a mat of dead duck weed. I noticed that my feet didn’t sink. I was only about 75-meters from the open water at this point: I couldn’t see that before from the kayak while she was afloat. I made the decision to portage her across the matted carpet of duckweed.

I clipped my rescue rope to the bow hand toggle and heaved her up onto the mud. The effort caused my feet to sink quickly so I knew that with quick steps, I could probably make it to the open water as long as my feet used the dead fall for support. Several times I had to step onto the areas with no deadfall and my legs sunk to the knees but I yanked them out as quickly as they sunk and kept moving forward. Momentum was the key here. In short order I was almost hip deep but at the edge of the open water. I maneuvered the VJ near some deadfall and stepped onto the mat while leaning on the VJ. With almost gymnastic maneuvers I got each foot into the cockpit then aggressively slipped my butt onto the seat while jamming my legs quickly into position. I was so happy at this point that now my tears were for joy.

From then on, I would be making long open water crossings until I got to my campsite for the night. I cared not one whit for the hard paddling I had to do during the crossing. I knew that I was very fortunate to be where I was now, paddling through clear bluish waters toward a good nights sleep. While I did the crossing, I opened my daily ration of Guinness and enjoyed that light-headed feeling of hard won freedom.

The next day after such a struggle I would carry on earning my mileage in a hard won manner. There were only gentle winds that tenth day of my journey, but because of the 100-km long fetch, the wave action was challenging. I tried to stick close to shore but one annoying characteristic of Cedar Lake is the amazingly shallow shoreline dotted with rocky points and outcroppings that can be encountered even 400-meters from shore. To paddle far enough from shore to avoid the rocks, you had to deal with the waves. Often I dealt with one-foot chop, which was no real problem, it just slowed my progress but I did not mind that. It was the sets of three two-foot waves with a wave period of six-feet or less that made life difficult. They hammered the VJ and caused me to strain my shoulders for hours on end. The bow would rise over the first wave then drop and crash into the bottom of the middle wave, then rise over the final wave.

On Cedar Lake, you either try to follow the shoreline and add days to your paddling adventure of you make open water crossings and deal with the waves. Since the shoreline has little to offer except monotonous, flood damaged shores that resulted from the Grand Rapids Dam, the open water crossings are more fun even if they are at time, difficult. I was not interested in pushing huge miles each day just to put miles behind me to set records for daily distance, I was pushing a little to make sure I met Ken at the put-out point so that we could paddle Black Island on Lake Winnipeg. Paddling Black Island is very a very beautiful experience that I wanted to relive.

12 Miles and a Microwave Tower

My destination for today was Easterville, an aboriginal community populated by the Chemawawin First Nations. I was under the impression that I was a couple of hours from reaching the village: I was wrong. Three Chemawawin fishermen who stopped by to offer food and a tow (for some strange reason), explained that I had a 12-mile open water paddle to reach it. I looked to where they pointed and could just barely see the microwave tower at Easterville. After convincing them that I had plenty of food and did not want a tow, we parted ways with friendly waves. I gritted my teeth emotionlessly and pointed the bow of the VJ in the direction of the microwave tower.

That crossing took me 6-hours because of wind and wave action. I encountered only one short period of time when the waves eased up just a little. I was often amazed that there were any waves at all with such a gentle wind. At one point I swore out loud because with almost no wind, there just shouldn’t be any wavcs but they were hammering me as usual. I was getting tired of being spun parallel to the waves.

Once I had the jetty at Easterville in my sights, I used longer more powerful paddling strokes to end my marathon crossing. The closer I got to the jetty, the harder the wind blew. I was not more than 400-meters from its shelter but only inching my way forward with powerful strokes because the winds were increasing in force so much. I had to cinch up my hat string to ensure that the wind didn’t steal it from me. I valuve that hat as much as a video addict values his/her favorite game. When I finally found safe haven behind the jetty the VJ simply shot toward the edge of the shoreline as if she was shot out of a sling shot. I pulled her out of the water and sat down on a large rock to rest my tired body.

Once I was rested, I walked over to a pickup truck where several locals were chatting. They had been watching me and wondered who I was. I introduced myself and asked where I could get a burger and fries. I learned that the buger joint didn’t open until 5 pm, so I was out of luck. I walked over to the reserve office and used a washroom. There, I spoke with a few locals before heading back to the VJ. I stopped by the local grocery store and bought a pathetic excuse for a submarine sandwich, which was more bun than sandwich and contained a few awful fatty slices of salami or something. Still, it tasted good so I gobbled it up, knowing that I would suffer heartburn later on. I suffered through the heartburn for two hours afterward but I drank water and toughed it out. I paddled on until I reached waters sheltered by a high rocky and relaxed into rhythmic easy strokes until I found my last campsite for this journey.

My final campsite was situated on top of a large flat of limestone that faced Grand Rapids. I could see the microwave tower for the town but that was not my final destination. I wanted to land on one of the many dikes that line the shores just before the Grand Rapids dam. I chose that spot because from my map, it looked like the best place to land. I could care less that I stopped just a couple of kilometers from Grand Rapids because as far as I was concerned, I will have arrived at the end of my journey along the Saskatchewan Watershed. I explored the campsite and photgraphed whatever looked interesting. After I finished a celebratory can of Guinness, I hit the rocks and slept a dreamless sleep.

The next day I expected, or hoped, that I would be able to paddle through glassy flat waters to the put-out point. I used my ICOM VHF radio for the first time ever and learned that the weather report was favorable for the Grand Rapids area. The first hour was picture perfect. I was on the water by 0500h and was totally relaxed: that feeling would be short-lived. Cedar Lake is a restless lake and after the first hour of paddling, I was back to shoulder wrenching strokes to keep the bow aimed at my final destination.

Two hours later, I came to a rocky island populated with thousands of gulls. I landed and stepped out to answer the call of nature. That done, I walked carefully along the shore and discovered that the island was one large nesting area for the gulls. I photographed a few of the nest sites while agitated birds flew around me as thick as a cloud of hungry mosquitos. Once I was satisfied with my photography, I launched the VJ to give the birds back their peace. From there I would make a final open water crossing to reach the dike of my dreams.

Even close to the dikes, the lake would not let me rest. It tried to drive me into the limestone shores but I continued to refuse it with passion. As I turned into the cove near my landing point the waves eased and disappeared: I was home free. My spirit relaxed as I paddled along the cove to choose my exit from this lake that I learned to hate. It gave me no rest and tried to drown me with its waves.

Once I selected my exit point, I moved the VJ carefully into a small slot where I could safely exit her. I used my rescue rope to drag her fully loaded to the top of the dike, scraping her new coats of varnish but not caring one whit. I was off the water and my sea legs knew it. They wobbled and left me unbalanced as I worked the VJ up the steep side of the dike. Once she was atop the dike, I opened a can of Guinness and relaxed while I waited for Ken to find me. I waited for 4-hours and thoroughly enjoyed myself by indulging in photographing local flora. I did spot a bear track but couldn’t tell how fresh it was because it had been raining recently. I decided to load up a bear banger just in case and strapped on my big knife. Once done, I enjoyed a long walk along the dike and breathed the hot air of the early afternoon. It was hot out. I was tempted to go jump in the lake but I was too tired of the lake to care much more about being wet again.

When Ken Found Me

When Ken found me I was sitting in the back of a pickup truck driven by two workers I managed to flag down. I had begged a ride to the highway that I knew Ken would use to find me. I figured on shortening his search for me in that wild part of Manitoba. As luck would have it, Ken was on top of the dike nearby. I spotted him and the drivers not only stopped to let me off but unloaded all my stuff beside Ken’s car. Ken’s grin was huge when he spotted me. Once the workers had left, Ken opened a couple of bottles of locally made stout, which we enjoyed while we relaxed. Ken also offered me the requested double-double from Tim’s. Ahh, so nice to be back on dry land!

Of the places I paddled through during this journey, I would highly recommend that section of river with all the channels below the Campbell Dam at Tobin Lake. It is absolutely beautiful down there. The different channels offer some excellent close-to-shore paddling with plenty of opportunities for photgraphing wildlife or just watching it as you pass by. With an aeronautical map and GPS, you should be able to find your way to Cumberland House, where you can stay and do some seriously good fishing or just hang about and meet the friendly locals. There are fishing guides all over the place so you can fish from your kayak or fish from their larger boats. Birders will have fun identifying the myriad marsh birds and other land-based birds. Eagles are plenty to be seen as are hawks, owls and other birds of prey.

The east end of Cedar Lake is also a wonderful place to be but only if the winds aren’t churing out those damned wave sets. There are islands to explore and plenty of locals to help you when asked. I am sure that the northern shores of Cedar Lake would be a good place to kayak as well since the fetch would be next to nill over there. My bet is that a good week out, week in journey along the north shore would be rewarding.

I had only two failures during this journey. The first was losing my strobe light when I put my life jacket on in preparation for running a few class 2 rapids along the last few kilometers of the North Saskatchewan River. I was depending on it in case of emergency during my open water crossings. The strobe was to signal to possible rescuers where I was in case I was disabled and still on the open water at night. I had 6 hand fired rescue flares on standby so I was not too worried at the loss. The second failure was with my Swiss Gear self-inflating bedroll that I bought for the trip. It blew a seam on the fifth day and could not be repaired. I still slept comfortably for the rest of the trip.

I hope you enjoyed reading this trip report as much as I enjoyed doing the trip.

Robert N Pruden

June 27, 2008

Adam backed off the rock ledge looked over his shoulder, pushed off, gathered speed, and jumped off. I watched him soar through the air, land the leap, fall forward, and I shouted, “Are you okay?” He was fine, but his binding wasn’t. It seemed like we were on the precipice of an unfolding adventure.

Adam Harju repairs his skis binding with a twig.

One and a half kilometers downhill from our topside car and three point eight kilometers from our downside car wasn’t the best place to break a binding and to make matters slightly more dire, we weren’t on a groomed cross country ski trail — we were on the Cascade River (opens in a new window) skiing down the snow covered ice. On the ice, having a ski spread the pressure of body weight across a larger surface than just a foot makes the travel safer and not to mention faster. We started the ski mid-afternoon. Somehow, we’d have to fix the binding before continuing downriver, and somehow we’d have to get off the river before dark when navigating the pressure ridges, open water, and crevasses would become very difficult.

The Cascade River in northern Minnesota flows a little over 20 miles and eventually exits into Lake Superior. The most dramatic section of the river is the last three miles in which the river drops over 900 feet. This is also the easiest section to access with access starting from a parking lot near the bridge on County Road 45. When Adam’s binding burst, we had dropped down only about 180 of those 900 feet.

Skiing down the Cascade River, MN.

Skiing down the Cascade River allows the skier to enter a realm not often seen. Because although trails follow the river on both sides, the trails run along the ridges high above on the canyon walls, and about the only other sport that gives the type of access to the river as skiing does is whitewater kayaking. To kayak this section of the river requires an expert-level whitewater kayaking skills and lots of guts. So not many people actually see the steep cliff waves, caves carved out of the granite rock by 1000s of years of erosion, or the twisted white cedar trees just hanging on inside of the steep canyon. The walls of the river’s canyon seem to close in on you; they seem to lock out the outside world and cradle you in another existence where your only concerns are enjoying the quick drops and flat sections between. When skiing down the river, even the blue sky above seems far away. And even further away is the notion of actually getting help.

Adam Harju just does the triple set of waterfalls on the Cascade River, MN.

Without outside help, we’d have to figure out a solution on our own for Adam’s broken binding. I quickly tallied the emergency gear in my backpack. I had several foot long zip ties, duct tape, thread, and a med kit. The zip ties might have worked in a pinch, but Adam had a different idea. He asked me to grab a small stick. I found one among some downed and dead trees swept into the canyon wall by the spring and fall flood waters. He inserted the stick between the wires of his broken tele binding and twisted the wire like a tourniquet, then he used a bit of string to tie the stick into place. He tried a few kicks. It held, and we continued on down the river.

That little stick held for the rest of the 900 feet and three point eight kilometers of the ski. Not only was the ski fun, but we had an adventure solved with a little Midwestern ingenuity. Not bad for an afternoon ski on a steep Midwestern river.

Tahe Reval sea kayak in Georgian Bay.

It was the third day of our four day trip to Georgian Bay and we still hadn’t reached our goal, the lighthouses on the Bustard Rocks. After two days of being wind bound in our tents, the gale force winds abruptly stopped in the afternoon and Steve Hauptli (Boulder, CO) and I broke camp packing our rain saturated gear into their stuff sacks and then fitting those bags carefully into our kayaks to ensure enough room. We were loaded by three and paddling away from the mainland north of Dead Island, where we had camped, on the way to the Bustard Islands.

Crossing to Dead Island in the fog, Georgian Bay.

The gale force winds that had pinned us down for two days had come from the north, and because we were close to the north shore of the bay, the open water was relatively calm. But the further we got from the mainland and the closer to the islands, the more waves there were. By the time we reached the Bustards, our kayaks were rising and falling in some nice and fun one foot waves. Every once in awhile, I’d look over to Steve and just see his shoulders above a wave.

In kayaking, we have a few simple rules to help judge the height of waves. The first is that if a wave hides your friend’s kayak from view, then you’re paddling in one foot waves. The second is that if you can only see your friend’s head as he drops into the trough of the wave, you’re paddling in two foot waves. If you lose sight of your partners, then the waves are, at least, three feet high. Anything bigger and you might as well stop counting at that point and just paddle. For the short paddle from Dead Island to the Bustards, we had up to a foot and a half foot waves.

Rock features just north of Dead Island, Georgian Bay

Steve had never paddled a kayak in wind waves, so I asked him, “How do you feel in the waves?”

“Okay,” he said.

At the first chance we had to get into some shelter, we ducked between some islands and paddled in the calm. It was late afternoon, and I wanted a view of the lighthouse, so, at least, I could say that we saw our goal, so we paddled around the western side of the island until we got a view and then we started the search for campsites. Most of the islands in the 30,000 Island portion of Georgian Bay, in which rest the Bustards, are smoothly worn rocks. These rocks are granite and have been worn to a rounded shape by the glaciers that had previously covered the area. The islands look like oblong turtle shells rising out of the water. Finding a flat spot to put a tent is a challenge and requires one paddler to get out of his kayak, scout the island for tent sites and when he fails in finding a site, it’s off to the next island. The key word is fail, because there are few flat tent sites.

Steve Hauptli paddles in the Bustard Islands, ON

It was just seven in the evening, when we split up to try and find a site quickly before dark. After ten minutes of searching, I heard a whistle blow. Steve found one of the best campsites that I’ve ever stayed at. Room enough for five tents, a kitchen area, and the perfectly protected launching site. We quickly set up camp and with the shifting wind, our saturated gear dried almost instantly.

“Let’s paddle out to the lighthouses and come back in the dark,” said Steve.

I agreed, grabbed my camera, headlamp, and pushed off in my kayak. From our campsite, we wove through a twisted maze of bald rock islands just sticking shoulder high out of the water. The sun was low in the sky and it was getting dark. The wind had shifted from the south, and was blowing at a good clip across the entire 70 plus mile fetch of Georgian Bay. The instant we came around the last of the small rocks, Steve, who was in front, disappeared up to his shoulders in the waves.

Snow Peak tarp in Georgian Bay.

We had just over a half of a mile to paddle in the open water to get to the lighthouse. I was catching a wave here and there and getting little surfs off of them and just generally having fun when I looked up to just see Steve’s head above a wave. As he rose to the top of the wave, his kayak was twitching a bit and he was trying to set up for a brace with his paddle, but it looked like he couldn’t decide which side to brace on. Then in an instant, he was off at a racing speed looking determined to get to our goal of the Bustard Rock Lighthouses.

Night picture of a campsite on the Bustard Islands, ON

I watched him for a bit and looked up at the sky. The sun was setting as a red glow spreading out across the clouds. Then I started paddling as fast as I could. Up and down in the waves until I was within shouting distance.

“How do you feel about paddling two foot waves in the dark?” I shouted.

“I don’t,” said Steve.

“Want to turn around?”

“Yes.”

Steve Hauptli dressed for the day prepares breakfast.

We turned around and got back to the one foot waves behind the shelter of the rock maze. I looked back at the lighthouses, and the sun was under the horizon but the glow in the sky looked brighter than any neon sign and it filled the sky right behind the main lighthouse, which was now flashing our direction. It would have made the perfect picture.

We ate in the dark and went to bed. My heart sinking with the last of the fading glow, because I knew we wouldn’t have time to get to the lighthouses in the morning.

Bustard Island Lighthouses, ON

The morning woke me early with sunshine reflecting from the water into my tent. Steve was up shortly and we talked a bit about how hard our day would be to get back to Byng Inlet, our take-out point. Even if we took a 4 mile open water crossing to try and save distance, we would have to paddle 21 miles. We decided to paddle out to the lighthouse anyway. The water was calm. The lighting golden and we spent an hour exploring the houses until we decided to get back on the water.

Kayaks near the Bustard Island lighthouses.

During that hour, the wind picked up and by the time we got to the start of our crossing, some five miles away from the lighthouses, the waves were boat high. Steve and I both felt up to it and we launched off with the wind behind us. An hour of easy paddling later, waves from behind pushing us, we landed to take a break.

“Waves feeling better?” I asked.

“Yep,” said Steve.

After our break, we paddled the rest of the way along the unprotected edge of the islands back to our take-out. The waves crashed against the rocks on our left and nudged our boats up and down. Despite being wind bound for almost two days, we had made our goal, and Steve had gotten used to paddling in waves. Not bad for a four day trip.

THE END

Bustard Island Details

Our trip was a four days long, which is just enough time to wet your mind and make your heart desire a longer stay. For a more enjoyable trip to the Bustard Islands from Byng Inlet plan on seven days. Seven days leaves much more time to relax and explore, and you’ll want to explore.

Put-In

Georgian Cottages and Camping located at the mouth of the Magnetewan River, Byng Inlet, Georgian Bay, Ontario is a ideal location for starting your trip. They have a sand beach to launch from and places to camp the night before and after your trip. They do charge a fee to park your car. Spring 2007 Rates: $5/day Parking, $10/day/person Camping, $2/kayak Launch, and $3/shower.

Campsites

I hate to give away locations of great campsites, but here is the UTM data for our two campsites: 17 515157E, 5083053N and the best one 17 506229E, 5080836N. Both NAD27 UTM.

Useful Hints

• Tie two foot cords to each stake-out point on your tent and tarp. Use rocks to stake out the tent.
• Keel Strips are good.
• Keep a versitile lens on your camera: 18-200VR.
• Bring Mosquito Coils to burn under your tarp at night.
• Rain days require a Crazy Creek chair, a good book, and a MP3 player.

How to Speak Canadian for the American

It’s English right? So what could be hard about it? Here are a few hints to help you understand what the Canadians are talking about. Forget about understanding their street signs.

• Loonies and Toonies are Canadian for $1 and $2 coins.
• It’s common to add “ehh?” to the end of every statement. Don’t answer the question.
• Beer = Labatts
• Hoser is the worst insult you can give.
• Hockey is a game played on the ice by guys who strap blades to their feet and slide around. Hockey is everywhere, talked about all the time, and even appears on $5 bills. Throw it into every conversation you have.
• At border crossings, don’t worry if you can’t understand a thing they are saying, just say “What?” alot and soon they’ll get sick of you and let you cross.