Up to Wilson at 3:30 am in camp 9 on June 26, but I definitely could sleep longer. The sky at 4:45 am only looks somewhat promising. To launch the canoe I am gentle getting it into the water, carrying it on its side. There is at least two days travel to reach my cached Clipper canoe and I hope the Grumman does not leak badly. I also hope the Clipper is still where I left it almost a year ago, even more important now after the damage to the Grumman. If I have to canoe the Grumman all the way back, I might be in for a tough trip. That the canoe might not be there has been in my thoughts the whole time. A more unlikely possible problem would be that the canoe is damaged from a falling tree, or by an animal (moose, caribou, bear, beaver, porcupine), or from forest fire.
A bald eagle watches me, as I watch him, as I canoe downstream.
Several families of ducklings, mostly goldeneyes, skitter ahead of me with mothers faking injury to draw me away. Each mother flies away once she figures she has led me far enough away from her brood.
There are three beaver lodges along shore within 100 metres of each other, attesting to the plenitude of food with the luxuriant growth of birch after the last forest fire.
When I reach the river outlet into the next very large lake, part of the Churchill River itself, it is easy to see the remnants of the temporary hydroelectric power plant that existed here to power the main plant constructed on the Churchill in 1928. There are many rusted bolts driven into the rock. I land the canoe very carefully to protect the patched bow, backing the stern as usual to land, trying three places before stopping at one farther upstream that will not require dragging the canoe over rocks. When I unload the canoe there is only a small amount of water inside so I am hopeful the patch has been effective.
It looks like canoeists may have portaged down this steep precarious rock face leading over large deep wide open holes where it would be easy to fall. I opt to cut an 150 metre portage through the bush to the right. Forty-five minutes of work makes the portage safer and the return trip much easier. There is lots of fireweed and I pick two servings on my way back.
As I leave the portage, more remnants of the power plant can be seen at the smaller waterfall on the left. Canoeing at times against a strong headwind depending on my direction of travel, I must keep track of landmarks as I use map and compass for proper headings. It would be easy to take a wrong course on this very large lake.
When I reach the tip of this peninsula, I face a very strong headwind and consider whether I wish to continue. As soon as I reach the tip, it looks like a good campsite. Canoeing hard against the wind past the next two small rock points, I decide I should definitely stop, and return to the first. From my journal: "I think the gods are telling me to stop here and I give them thanks for a good day. Behind me, the sky is very black and ominous, an obvious rainstorm slowly approaching. I check that there is a good tent site and flag the spot inland about 50 metres which will need a trail cut." Today I travelled 10 km including the 150 metre portage.
I am near where David Thompson, the world's greatest land geographer, travelled, wintering in 1795. I often imagine what the country was like then, over 200 years ago, when this area was populated by indigenous peoples and travel was by birchbark canoe.
I am near where David Thompson, the world's greatest land geographer, travelled, wintering in 1795. I often imagine what the country was like then, over 200 years ago, when this area was populated by indigenous peoples and travel was by birchbark canoe.
The rain is approaching so I cover the unloaded gear under the large tarp. A welcome surprise is that there is very little water in the canoe.
The canoe gets pulled into the bush and some gear is stored underneath. Note the bend in the canoe keel from the mishap in the rapids.
I erect the small tarp in the bush about 10 metres from the tent site just as it starts to rain. The shelter is up before the heavy rain starts and I wait out the storm.
In a few minutes I am able to work outside. I clear a trail from shore to the small tarp, get the tent site cleared and levelled, and the nylon tent up with gear from the large tarp stowed inside.
At the edge of the bush, I erect the large tarp shelter. Note I use large rocks to anchor the lower rope.
The next day I take down the large tarp because it is too exposed and being whipped by a very strong wind. I move it inland where I previously had the small tarp. The bush here is quite mature, trees aging out and falling down. There are some large spruce trees up to half a metre in diameter. The undergrowth is thick with stair-step moss, small spruce, alder and down trees. I was fortunate to find tent and tarp sites that could be cleared.
On the second day, because of the very bothersome mosquitoes I use the bug tent for the first time this year, a godsend. After a welcome bath, I can relax, have lunch and catch up on my journal ... after killing six mosquitoes inside with my fly swatter. At suppertime the mosquitoes are even worse, so I am in the bug tent again. This time I kill 20 mosquitoes that had been sheltered under the tarp and made their way in when the door was open to put in supper gear. The fly swatter is a necessary tool, otherwise it is too difficult to kill mosquitoes in tents. A gale force wind comes up, blowing in another rainstorm.
There is a good spot to build a fireplace near the shore. Note where I limbed the dead moss-covered branches from the spruce tree to prevent them from being ignited by the fire.
The next day the wind is so strong towards the first fireplace that I have to move to a new one on the opposite side of the point. It is nicely sheltered but in the direct sunshine. Interestingly on the shady side there are lots of pesky mosquitoes, even with the wind, but none at the new spot. If I was travelling today with that strong tailwind I would make very good time.
About 500 metres from camp is a cluster of boulders in the lake where gulls and two pelicans rest all the time.
At 8:45 pm on the second day, after rain on and off all day and strong winds, the weather calms and the sun breaks through the clouds at sundown. With no wind now I can hear all the mosquitoes outside the bug tent. When I walk to the lakeshore, two pelicans swoop by just overhead looking to land in my bay, both as surprised as I. Time for bed.