Day 25

Once the sounds of the trains died off, later into the night, we actually slept rather well. We awoke, early, however, to more train noises. We packed up, got out, had our breakfast on the platform, and waited. Tanamakoon and Wanapitei both showed up coming off the Missinaibi and Mattagami, respectively - both rivers flow into the Moose, and so directly into Moosonee. We talked with both for awhile, and I realized that the leader of the Wanapitei trip was a girl I knew from school and had run into on day 1 of tripper training. We all were on the same ride to Cochrane, and we passed both groups in our van on the road back to Kandalore. We hauled ass into the night, pulling in at exactly 10:07. Good time from 3:45 leaving Cochrane, considering a small detour in North Bay. Our adventure has finally come to an end. PS - my spare battery ran out 2 days before the end of the trip, so no shots of Attawapiskat or the plane/trainride home. I'd like to take up golf so I could give a swift drive to the nuts of the guy that designed that cheap imitation I suckered myself into. . .

Day 24

We rose with the sun this morning. 6:30 our time. The tide was rapidly on its way out, and so we rushed to finish breakfast and get on the water. We paddled out and rafted up. We spun slowly till we faced the rising sun, quietly drifting. Bill read us a poem his father used to read to him on trips when he and his brother were boys. The poem is about living each day to the fullest and so living a full life. It is appropriately called The Salutation to the Dawn. We broke apart and paddled on, the 7 k to Attawapiskat. As soon as we pulled up amongst the flags and tipis, a man drove down in a pick up truck. He introduced himself as Joseph, the organizer of Cree fest – which was the reason for the flags and tipis nestled along the shores of the reserve. It is a festival for the coastal communities of Hudson and James bay. Joseph offered us his assistance, and we gladly accepted. We loaded our gear into the truck. Mackie and I rode with Joseph as Bill and the boys portaged the boats. We dropped off our things at the airstrip -a small collection of building with a gravel airfield, and we turned back for more. Joseph took Mackie anf I to an in that he runs, and offered the group coffee and some chairs to sit on. We kindly told him we’d take him up on it. He drove us back to the take out where we picked up the remaining 3 boats, perched them precariously sideways across the flatbed, 3 paddles propped up the back of the tailgate to keep them from sliding off. Locals stared as joseph slowly inched along the grave; roads of the 2800 person First Nation reserve. I was amazed the boats didn’t fall off, especially since they almost clipped a few telephone poles as he drove along. After we dropped them off we thanked him and left. After a bit of hanging out, checking out the airstrip, we headed to the inn for coffee and tv. We sat and relaxed, and Joseph headed to the store. We wrote him a thank you note and left. Finally, at the airstrip, our cargo plane arrived. We loaded it up and waited, and a couple of long hours later our Dash-8 finally arrived. We excitedly took off, and the view was stunning. Endless greenery for hundreds of miles. Roadless and marshy in every direction, right to the horizon. As we flew over the Attawapiskat, majestic in it’s width as it wound into the endless ocean, we could spot that morning’s campsite. At the mouth of the river we could see the large island which was part of Nunavut territory. On our way to Moosonee, where we reside now, we flew over two other explorer rivers: the Albany and the Missinaibi. We finally touched down in Moosone, and we cabbed it to the train station. After a couple of trips to the local Northern, and standing in the cold rain on the platform, waiting for the crowd to clear after the arrival of our train, we ate our dinner. Our train is finally free. After some sweet talking with security, we scored ourselves our very own boxcar. So here we are, tents pitched in a train, sleeping inside our boxcar. We’re laughing our asses off because we’d figured it would be a quiet night in here, but we’ve never heard so many train noises in our life, as freight train after freight train rumble through the station honking horns, ringing bells, switching tracks, coupling and uncoupling locomotives. Good luck to us getting a good sleep for our day off. Oh – also I forgot my earplugs: idiot.

Day 23

Our last full day has come to an end. Of our total 750 km trip we have 7 k left. About an hour and 15 mins of paddling. Bill and I both have mixed feelings about leaving. We paddled the day in half a daze – everything holding a sort of ceremonious reverence in its finality. We likened the experience to breaking up with a significant other before you’re ready. We knew we’d soon be free of our long days of responsibility, but we wanted only to spend a few more days in our little bubble. Our stomachs turned as we paddled under some high tension lines, the first sign of human impact we’ve seen for awhile. It’s hard not to get sentimental after this much time out. The solitude was broken by a brief raisin and coconut bit fight, in which various campers got pelted with fistfuls of gorp. We pulled into a site about 7 k from the reserve around 4:30, and it is a splendid place. The river here is affected strongly by tides, the level causing an entire set of rapids to cyclically disappear and reappear upstream of our campsite, along with some small islands and a great section of shoreline in front of our campsite. We pulled up the boats nice and high here to avoid the rising water. We’ve calculated high tide to be around 6:00, so that’s perfect fro the morning. We’ll ride the tide to our destination. It’s strange to think that James Bay, part of Hundson Bay, gateway to the arctic, is only 15 k away from here. I am excited to see the ocean from the air tomorrow. In the evening today we crouched around the fire ad ceremoniously made our explorer bracelets. Ours are special, for they are made from the rope which we used for rigging our tarp. The rope that held up through some of the wildest storms, and over 50 k of the fastest sailing I have ever done, on or off a sailboat. We have paddled 750 k, tomorrow we board a plane, fly to moosonee, take the polar bear express south to Cohcrane, and drive home. We are almost on the road home. We will have a short, deep sleep on our last night in the backcountry.

Day 22

The squalls of piercing sun, cols, wind, and unannounced drizzle plagued us all day today, but we laughed it off. We actually ran some ledgy and technical sets today, and I had a ball, as I was in the bow of Mackie’s boay. My traps throbbed from not getting the usual ret of the J between forward strokes – but the bow has its rewards in technical lines of whitewater, of which there were plently today in the low water. Once we got tired we sailed for 10 or so K, dropping through some more class I’s and bouncing over some rocks, laughing all the way in the face of danger, something we seem to be doing a lot of these days. We pulled off on a nice point with less bugs than the usual quota, though still murderous by Southern Ontario standards. We enjoyed a delicious meal with a strange stir fry I dreamt, followed by cinnamon and vanilla pudding for desert. We sat happily, thinking about our last days together on this ancient beast of a river. It’s strange to know, as Bill mentioned, that in 24 hours we’ll be camped only a few k from the town of Attawapiskat, where a plane will be waiting for us on the airstrip. I don’t think we are ready for the culture shock that awaits us, not just at camp, but in the cities for the boys, and for us on our upcoming days off and changeover. I’m laying on my stomach, listening to the occasionally bird, breeze, and distant gurgle of the river. Bill is dozing with his book on his chest, and each in our own way we each are enjoying the tranquility as the late northern sun filters through the white screen walls of our tent. I stare into the silence and contemplate trains, planes, and automobiles. I don’t want to leave.

Day 21

We had no idea what was around the corner from the campsite this morning. Bill thought of preparing the Tea Bisc for cinnamon rolls the night before – genius idea, so instead of a 3 hour ordeal, cinnamon rolls are one of the fastest meals possible. On the water by 9:40 we rounded the corner under dark skies with interspersed patches of blue. As we came about, the shorelines in front of us slid apart to reveal limestone crags of a completely different character from what we were used to. Giant limestone flower pot islands presented themselves with channels of whitewater between. As we paddled through, in awe of our surroundings, it began to grey over and drizzle a it. The rain only added to the enchantment. We felt like we were in The Never Ending Story, some of the island were grey humps, like the back of a giant tortoise, moss and short trees bristling only along the top. We stopped at the first one we reached and were blown away. We clambered around the sides, exploring tunnels into the rock. One side of the island was made up of perfectly whole imprints of shells, each the size of my palm. It looked like an expensive stone wall. Mackie and I scaled a crack up to the top to enjoy the view. We got back into our boats and continued. The dragging we expected became only fun sets, the river restricted y the strange rock into the channels, rather than being allowed to pan out over gravel and sand. The weather cleared and closed in repeatedly throughout the day. We passed rock formations of all kinds, brittle walls, giant pancaked slabs, layers bent into tortuous folds, all containing a universe of fossils from ancient ocean beds, and all untouched and pristine. We stopped at one island with a huge cave and I crawled to its end, 15 ft in. Each of the bows exchanged my headlamp and had a look. I did a little more free climbing up to the top and ended up about 20 ft up. It didn’t take much convincing to get me to jump in from there, the sun being out and all. The scenery here has become absolutely stunning. These flowerpot islands form micro canyons, each wall a unique world of art. We feel privileged to be some of the few to have seen it. The day has bee filled with highlights. Tom, Matt and I at lunch built a small tribute to this northern river; an inuksuk on a rocky bar in the middle of a panoramic section of river. I took shots (we named him inuk, meaning person in inuktitut) and I hope he lasts. Also, on a whim, we paddled up to a spot where a commonly high bank of the river seemed to have nothing on top of it. Having an urge to see a wide open space we pulled off, ran up, and discovered a vast burn site, populated with only moss ad dead tree trunks, needly grey spires pointing toward a stormy sky. The boys ran in all directions to wreak havoc toppling dead trees, and it was strange to see them from so far away, on such a flat plane, in what used to be a forest. We will be sad to leave scenes like this on the river.

Day 20

Today was sunny but strikingly cold. The cooler weather allowed us to go for longer without tiring so easily. The river has been braiding into channels around islands widening out and exposing gravel banks of white limestone. They looked in stark contrast against the electric clue water around them, the sky reflecting a cold blue in the river surface. Sand cliffs, gravel banks and bars, and spruce trees under endless skies give this section of the river a very northern quality, like it might be in the Northwest Territories or Alberta somewhere. We would our way through the channels, often getting out to drag our boats along. Wide rivers make for shallow beds. Each night in bed we go over the maps, evaluating our plans for progress. We just figured out a large section of potential dragging for tomorrow may be a CI rapid. Let’s hope it’s true. By the way, the above pic is worth clicking. It's a panoramic shot that shows the sheer magnitude of this river.

Day 19

Today was maniacal. We woke up at our piece of shit campsite with a huge drainage problem. The sky was confused. Grey clouds flying overhead, white clouds both high and low, fluffy and thin up above, with the occasional splash of blue sky in between. The pressure was on its way down, and after the boys cooked us red river while I had a good search for a necklace worthy piece of limestone to match Mackie and bill’s, we were off. Wind turned into headwind, and though we’d planned to cover 50 some odd k, things were getting tough. We spotted an old hunting camp and ran ashore. It was a collection of gutted log buildings, full of junk and construction equipment. We happily looted the remains. I found: 1 pair military 500x zoom field glasses – 1 whetstone – a few hundred ft of flagging tape – a carpenter’s kife. Bill found: Some pants, some measuring tape, a level and a can opener that works. Mackie found: A ridiculous hood which he wears as a hat – a collapsible camping chair.

We paddled on, the headwinds almost making us windbound as we rounded a point. We took a break there and admired the incredible fossils of giant snails, and I found my stone – which I know wear on my neck. Feeling sentimental, I picked up a pieace of the chalk that is all over here, and wrote Attawapiskat ’06 on a rock and photographed it. Good for a slide show. After rounding the point it was sidewinds. We paddled far enough to set an angle for possible sailing, and we pitched our sail. We have never gone so fast in canoes in our lives. A storm was blowing in behind us, urging our assembly forth. Standing waves forced between our bows big enough to splash in and fill our boats up. The sterns dipped deep into the water as the boys strained to pull the sail back against the wind. Once the wind got so strong that the sail collapsed and the sudden deceleration caused our wake to catch up with us and almost wash over our sterns into our canoes. Once we got going again we hit a speed record. Mackie’s boat which was the lightest today, was planning. Only the bow and stern were in water, the centre of the boat was above the water, over am air space. As the sky grew darker we saw canyon walls pop up from the river banks. We sailed through swifts, the powerful sail tearing us over rocks as we rumbled through shallow sections just trying to keep the whole assembly straight. On the horizon lightning began to fork out of a black sky, so we began to scan the banks for a break in the cliffs to camp on. We spotted an exposed section of river bed and leapt at the opportunity. We set up quickly, cooked dinner and ate it under the tarp as the circling lightning all around us drew in tighter. Just as we began to think about initiating our lightning drill the wind picked up and we noticed a white wall of water sliding ominously toward ys from the west, obscuring everything it its path of sheets and sheets of rain. Lightning crashed and the wind violently picked up one of our 75 lbs prospectors and flipped it like a leaf, over and over into the water where it landed upright and began to float downstream. Mackie darted out from under the tarp in the chaos, and we all wavered our eyes, moving left to right, in apprehensive expectation watchng Mackie chase the boat and try to drag it back as the wall of violent white closed the gap rapidly. Mackie dragged it up., wedged it on some rocks just as the wall hit. We could barely see him running toward us, back to shelter. We sat out the next few strikes together, the 12 of us huddled, hoping it would all safely pass. Minutes later it did. A few more zaps here and there, and the sky cleared behind us, casting the sun onto white cliffs before a black sky. Day 19 – infamous day of insanity.

Day 18

Another inferno. The sun blinded us all day as we pushed for 60 km in the heat. We are all more tanned on our right side than our left from paddling eastward for the last 3 weeks. We had good current, save for some dragging. After the first 40l we decided we’d maybe go 10 more before camp. After Mackie and Bill (who were paddling in the same boat) rammed Bryan’s boat (a camper), a huge splash fight erupted. 15 minutes later 2 boats were tipped, 5 campers were swimming, and the rest of us ferried to shore to empty our boats (where a campsite was immediately chosen). The site is brutal for black flies as it is tall grass interspersed with puddles. Bill and I like to say this site has a bit of a drainage problem. Today the boys spotted multiple sturgeon lurking beneath the surface of the river. The first one made the guys in the last boat yelp with surprise . They told us it was half as long as their boat – amazing. The final days of our trip are drawing near. Every night we sit in the tent, counting the km’s to the next site and to the end, just to be sure we’re on schedule. Let’s hope we can keep our pace through the braided channels ahead. The sun is swinging low along the horizon.

Day 17

I put the fly on right before bed as a rebuttle to a dark sky. It rained on us and today was grey and cold, which was a nice change. Huge wide sections of river with steep horizon lines welcomed us. Endless swifts stretching before us, contained by 90 ft limestone cliffs, which erupted suddenly out of the river banks as we paddled along. They are the tallest thing we’ve seen all month. Even in the rain we were curious enough to go up and see them close. For the rest of the day bits of the escarpment would rise up on one bank or another, as the smooth bedrock of the same material slipped by beneath us for 44k. Near the end the sun came out to dry everything for a couple of hours, and now it is drizzling again. No matter, the pressure is 991 and rising, so it should be nice tomorrow. This river has shown us such diversity, and the landscape is changing so fast. It is a magnificent experience to traverse this territory under canoe power. My little Canadian flag duct taped to the back of my boat from day 1 – Canada day, still blows strong and proud day after day.

Day 16

We’ve reached our limestone goal. Today the shores transitioned slowly to having the occasional slab of white stone right into full out sand and limestone banks. Sections of the river had their beds completely paved with solid limestone, causing the water to look a bright, ruddy red. The river took us, winding down and down through a northern landscape that looked like another world. We could see the sky in all directions further than at any previous point in the trip. After 38k we finally found a nice grassy plateau with a nice view of this broad river, shouldered with shingle banks and sand cliffs. We sat on the rocks, relaxing, talking over dinner – enjoying out location. Bill, Mackie and I are retiring early, appreciating the refuge from the sun, no fly on our tent, after a punishingly hot day. It may rain on us, but at this point we welcome it.

Day 15

We are exhausted. Today the sun was bright and hot as we put 41 k behind us. We are all feeling a bit sick as the fish was not as fresh as we’d thought. The nausea I was feeling in the cabin last night, along with the noise of creaking floorboards and bugs caused me to lose a fair amount of sleep. We were like zombies today, but we toughed it out. The river rejoined its other half after Pym island, where we stayed. And it has reformed its old conveyor belt personality. We had a blast in the tent tonight, laughing our asses off about our kinds and their antics, and about the events of the day – such as Jake tying ropes to a tent and flying it like a kite in the stiff winds. We are hapy to get to bed early and sleep our exhaustion off. In the next couple of days we should paddle off the Canadian Shield onto bedrock of limestone.

Day 14

Today we were saved by Moses. He came up the river by boat, offered us bread and endless fish, prophesied a great storm, and left us with shelter. This morning as we crouched by our fire, cooking our cinnamon rolls, we heard a boat pull up. An old native man with aviators and a mesh back hat sauntered up the steps toward us. He had a big smile on his face and a loaf of bread in his hands. He told us his name was Moses, and that we were welcome to anything in the cabin. Our spirits were through the rood. Moses took me into the cabin, showed me the slices of massive sturgeon that would feed us tonight. He walked outside and turned the generator on, smiled, and left. HE returned with his grandkids and all day the boys played Frisbee and haki sack with them. We lazed under the tall spruce trees, read books, cooked lunch, and listened to Johnny Cash (Moses had brought a stereo out to us, the level of technology was escalating). After everyone had left we took our tents down, planning to sleep in the cabin at night, in lieu of the impending storm. We cooked up a feast. Bill did 3 giant slabs on the bbq, all different recipes. I took 2 slabs, beat some fresh eggs, got some flour out and ground up some of the bread Moses had given us. I’d set it over the fire to dry earlier in the day. I breaded and fried the fish, Bill cooked some rice, peas and corn, and we ate like kings. We are now sitting inside, content, watching Castaway. This is a legendary pit day by all standards. To close off the night, the owner of this place (apparently funded and build by DeBeers 5 years ago) came by with his wife. He was offended that I wouldn’t have a beer with him, but we managed to laugh the situation off. He kept asking if it wasn’t also against policy to be sitting in a log cabin watching movies on trip. We conceded that it probably wasn’t. Tomorrow we are in reach (39 k) of the next cabin owned by this man, and he as offered it up to us, we may take it.

Day 13

Heat and bugs. Today we pushed in what must have been 30+ and humid sun. Somehow blackflies found us and followed us all day, no matter how far out on the river we were. We cranked a grueling 51 k all the way to a cabin which we had seen pictures and heard about. We pulled into the last stretch, hot and beat, to see kids swimming in the river. A strange sight. Our hearts sank as our dreams of a private evapourated in the sun. We pulled up and a first nations woman stepped out, greeting us. After a short conversation about how far we’d come she invited us to stay on her grass, and we gratefully accepted. We have received the okay to stay an extra night, so before we push to the end we’ll take a day off here. We’re sleeping with no fly due to the heat, hoping for no rain.

Day 12

Today, hot and exhausted, 30 k into our afternoon we neared the confluence of the north and south channels. We are now on the Attawapiskat proper. To celebrate we got out on a point right on the confluence and sacrificed the watermelon. Nick did a fantastic job as tripper today that we let him have the first swing at it. I managed a photo that I’m proud of, taken at the exact moment of contact. We continued on the river, which is absolutely massive by the standards I’m used to. It is about 250m wide on average, with fast flowing current its whole width. We have an ambitious plan to cover 45k tomorrow, make it to a beautiful hunt cabin, and possibly have a pit day there. We pulled off today and are staying in a reasonable sparse section of forest. It is by no means a site where anyone has ever stayed, and so is covered with moss, fallen logs, and rosebushes and saplings. Bill and I went to town with our machetes upon our arrival, and now we’re in our tents, our only complaints the humidity and the deer flies, both of which will be gone soon.

Day 11

The day broke today and we were inside a cloud. The fog was too thick to see across the lake, and the wind was stiff and cold. We ate and set off, and by noon the sun would be out and the cold forgotten. We picked our way through the rapids of the South Channel, scouting carefully and expecting the worst. The map reported CIII+ and CIV rapids (yikes) – but they turned out to be downlcassed in the low current like previous sets. We had a blast in the hot, clear air, bouncing over huge wavetrains and hitting sharp eddies. Spirits were up as we admired bald eagles and ospreys circling above. We covered 25 km, not bad considering the whitewater. It is the halfway point on our trip, and when it is over it will be sorely missed. Bill brought a watermelon along with we will sacrifice at the confluence of the north and south Channels of this river, the true headwaters of the attawapiskat. The current is already fast here, and we are stoked to see what happens when the rivers join. There is something so satisfying about working your way this deep into the backcountry on your own power. It is even better with 2 other experienced trippers on the same wavelength. It is an exciting prospect that over 500 km is left. The river will carry us.

Day 10

Today was our last day of lakes for the rest of the trip. We woke up to a beautiful clear sky, the smoke having blown out days ago. The sun burned away the cold and we set off. We made good progress and encountered some brief confusion of map reading brought on by myself. The cabins we see have become fewer and far between, and bald eagles have become proportionately more common. We saw about 6 today. Our campers cooked us delicious lunch and dinner today, and it’s nice to see things start to roll smoothly. We sailed the last 5 k today, and we have become proficient at sailing at angles to the wind. About 45 degrees – an impressive thing for a raft of canoes. We hit our campsite early and the boys had time to relax, prepare dinner, and get into survival stuff a bit. We’re camped on the end of lake Attawapiskat. We can hear our first set from where we lie, drifting into sleep – just behind the vouces of some of the guys who are still awake. We’re camped on a point just at the head of the South Channel – we are excited for the uncertainty of tomorrow. I will fall asleep with the funniest picture in my head: Tom – bearded and shirtless, flowing pony tail – fighting an invisible enemy with a pole as he tiptoes on a fallen birch trunk which he uses as a balancing beam. His training is nearly complete.

Day 9

Today began frigid. It was 11 C in our tent when we awoke, and that was with the sun shining on it. The air felt like midnight in autumn. Somehow the pressure has shot up 2o points over night. A cold sunny morning with north winds made us slow off the site though we hurried to make progress. Apprehensively we pressed on to Neskantaga First Nation, knowing we may be out of luck, it being Sunday. Directly after we pulled in, a nearly toothless, smiling native man pulled up in his van and asked about our trip. He told us the Northern was closed, but he kindly roused the owner of a local convenience store from her breakfast to open her place for us. Bill and I set off through the desolate settlement. Shacks and mobile homes with siding and aluminum roofing, converted to houses, flanked the gravel roads. The town was asleep save for a couple of young boys on bikes, and a mother carrying a child on her back. The woman who ran the store pulled in, smiling, as we sauntered up. We walked inside. We picked up some ground beef and various treats for ourselves and the guys. Good things for day 9. I saw a machete I liked and immediately decided on it, as I had been wanting one for awhile. A souvenir from my first visit to a Canadian first nations reserve. We set off and hours later pulled into Landsdowne House, the old location of Neskantaga before it moved. We had lunch on a grass field and explored the deserted lace that was apparently still used for mass, ceremonies, funerals, barbecues, etc. Pressing on, we’d found the headwinds and waves we’d been battling cut out completely, giving way to a calm, warm day. We pulled into a beach, and we have been relaxing all afternoon. Tom caught a good sized pike which we cleaned and fried as an hors d’oeuvre. Delicious. The sky is clear horizon to horizon, and the lake is like blue glass in an orange sunset. We’ve opted to take the south channel of he Attawapiskat which starts at the end of this massive lake. It is much shorter and could save us a lot of time, but the sets that are marked there are massive. We know they were marked in high water, and he have low water. So far each set has been 1-2 classes below the marked value, so in the true spirit of adventure the South Channel it will be. I sit here, perched on my rock over the shore, thinking about how tranquil this trip has been, how time virtually stops when you live this life. It’s only day 9, but many of us feel like it has already ended. We do try to live in the moment as much as we can, but time flies. I will turn in tonight, the low sun swinging along the horizon, and we’ll be listening to the echoes of the boys laughing and breaking sticks resonating across the lake.

Day 8

We woke up to thunder this morning, and the buggiest tent I’ve ever seen. We looked at each other, laughed, and basically rolled over, waiting for the storm to passed. We got up late, cooked our red river, and in a little false break in the weather, we set off to make progress with the hope of hitting Neskantaga, the first nations reserve that has a Northern grocery store where we hope to pick up some food. Lightning forced us to shore for 45 minutes and we set off again. Low pressure warned that the breaking clouds were temporary. Sure enough, 5k later, after we’d pulled off for lunch, thunder kept us on shore. We sat down to wait it out on shore and suddenly noticed black clouds sweeping toward us from the horizon. They were moving quickly, as though they had the intention of hitting us like a freight train. It’s always a little unsettling when you can see something that big, that far away, moving that quickly. We set to work on a tarp, watching the impending doom with sidelong glances as we worked. The storm approached, low grey clouds pulled by overhead, only 50 ft above. Downdrafts could be seen, along with quickly revolving, funnel-like shapes clearly made out between. The clouds rushed in, roiling and pulling in their wake freezing cold air and a violent wind. A wall of rain rushed across the lake and pelted our tarp like hail for 15 minutes. All we could do was laugh as Bill and I leaned into some poles we’d set up to keep the tarp up. I’ve never seen such an abrupt change in windspeed and temperature. After the squall subsided we paddled through tiny lakes. Low grey clouds pulled through and dusted uswith rain. Every potential campsite we inspected was covered in trash and shotgun shells, presumably from the First Nations residents that lived nearby. We are camped at one such site. We set to work on fire and dinner, and after a monumental peanut curry we are settled in and happy. As we talk in the tent we can see our breath swirling around us. The temperature has dropped so low. It’s still drizzling now, but the pressure is slowly rising – hopefully a good sign. Tomorrow is Sunday and we worry that the Northern will be closed. No problem, it’s not a necessity. Tomorrow we hit Lake Attawapiskat – and if we pull of a 35k crossing we’ll be well ahead in our schedule. Here’s hoping for warm weather.

Ps - these two pictures were taken about 20 minutes apart, from the same spot, notice the trees in common on the left horizon, one's just zoomed in. The weather has lost its marbles completely.

Day 7

Today was epic. We awoke on our beach, packed up and set off in no big hurry into the wind along a strange esker. The esker protruded out into the lake, forming a peninsula of sand and gravel. We pulled up on it and ran up the spine of the strange formation. A white gravel ridge poking out of a flat landscape so abruptly is eye catching indeed. The map shows it’s actually hundreds of km’s long, it dives underwater and pops back up other maps, including the one on which we are camping, within about 700 m of our planned campsite. We spent 15 minutes looking at rocks and screeing down the slopes toward shore. When we finished exploring we got back in our boats and pushed on. As soon as I rounded the point where the esker dipped under water Mackie yelled upwind to me “We’re sailing!” and gave me a huge grin and a thumbs up. Excitedly I rafted up and the bpys immediately got to work tying the boats together. We now have a routine where we always have quick access to a pre-rigged tarp. We can rig a whole sail in under a minute and a half. We sailed 4k quickly and broke for lunch. Bill prepared the hummus he’d made that morning and I ran ashore to gather some poles for makeshifts masts. We ate, paddles as a raft to adjust our angle to the wind so we could sail the next channel, pitched the sail with poles, and raced through the channel and across the lake ahead, navigating through passages and around islands without breaking stride. We brought out the GPS and it clocked us at a max speed of 8 km/h – incredibly fast in loaded canoes on open water. We had a wake and 3 huge standing waves in tow behind us, and for a few minutes a couple of us lay on our stomachs, chins resting on our stern decks, watching the horizon roll away from us in our wake. Sam and Nick actually had time get a game of chess going as we progressed at well above top paddling speed. What a spectacular day to sail 19 of 25 km and skid right up onto the shore of your campsite under wind power. As we rolled in a storm was on our heels, blowing us ahead. The rain persisted through dinner, but now all is calm. The pressure has dropped significantly, so we’re not out of the woods yet.

Day 6

Somewhere something is burning. We awoke today to a brown, smog like haze covering our sky, casting orange light onto everything. Slowly realized that a smoky haze such as this could only be the result of a forest fire. After all, the wind had changed direction the night before, it could have blown it all in from somewhere (we guessed Manitoba) judging by wind direction. It may have also explained the blood red sun the night before. All day the sun has been weak, though there were barely any clouds. We loaded our boats on the sand spit, rigged our sail and set off. The wind picked up, stronger and stronger as we sailed out onto the open space of Ozhiski lake, and soon we were tearing across the lake. We covered 7k sailing. A native man and his wife came up to see what the orange tarp speeding across the lake was all about. They pulled up in a crash boat and talked with us for awhile. We kept paddling and covered the rest of our 30k in whitewater. Some sets were continuous for 4 km, impressive. We cut over to another sand beach and are enjoying our surroundings. The beach was bare when we arrived, save for 2 sets of wolf tracks and some bear tracks. Beautiful. As the sun began it’s perpetual descent we wrestled in the sand, played golf and cricket, and Bill hit rocks with sticks: baseball style. We contemplated possible routes for the north/south Channels of the Attawapiskat. The north channel is safer but longer with lake navigation. Considering the low water we’ve had, and the precedent of all the rapid ratings on the map being a class higher than reality, we think the continuous III’s and IV’s may be downgraded to runnable levels on the South Channel. Also the route saves 20k. . . We all immediately dropped what we were doing and had the most silent waking moment of our trip as we watched a curious beaver pull a wake across the glassy orange water. He came and did a few loops in our little bay to check out the sticks bill threw into the water. Tomorrow is a lake day, so time to get some rest.