Voyageurs 1955:

The Churchill River

In the summer of 1955, Sigurd Olson and the Voyageurs made a 500-mile canoe trip along the Churchill River in the wilds of Saskatchewan. Sigurd later recounted the expedition in his 1961 book, The Lonely Land. In the decades since then, many other canoeists have retraced their steps. The diary reprinted below was recorded by Denis Coolican, president of the Canadian Bank Note Company. It was his first canoe trip with the Voyageurs, and it was originally published in the Ottawa, Ontario Evening Journal. Joining Denis and Sigurd Olson on this trip were Omond Solandt, a doctor who planned Canad's national defense research; Major General Elliot Rodger, vice chief of general staff of the Canadian Army; Antonius "Tony" Lovink, the Netherlands ambassador to Canada; and Eric Morse, national director of the Association of Canadian Clubs.

After the date heading for each entry in the diary, I have provided a link to a GIF map image, so you can follow their journey along the map. There are a total of five map images.

You also may want to look at the photo page for this trip, which contains four photos.

Saturday, July 23, Lac Ile a la Crosse:
[see map 1]

Some 24 hours of elapsed time after we left Uplands Airport we are on a sand point on the north side of Lac Ile a la Crosse. We have paddled almost eight miles since leaving the Hudson's Bay Company house at Ile a la Crosse where Mrs. Budgell had given us coffee. On our way up the lake we have twice looked on water as far as we could see. Once to the left up the Athabasca route and now as we round the sand point we can see the whole length of Lac Ile a la Crosse.

Fish, small ones, jumped constantly all around. The sky blue, the sun warm, a little breeze. Indian houses here and there along the shore and twice pelicans fishing in shallow water.

The canoes were towed to the Hudson's Bay Company outpost by outboard from the settlement. Then came Cpl. Nelson of the RCMP with Mrs. Nelson.

We had landed on an airstrip cut from the woods behind the HB Co. house and were immediately met by Budgell who had taken over the post only a few days before.

It was a great relief to have arrived. Though the staff work had been excellent. The SGA Anson with Pilot Fletcher took only 1 1/4 hours for the 180 miles from PA [Prince Albert] to Ile a la Crosse. CPA had brought us in to Prince Albert in time for lunch with the mayor. Sig had been on the plane at PA and we had even got some sleep on the North Star from Toronto. But in spite of all these things working out perfectly, it was good to load the canoes at 3:30 p.m. MST, paddle for two hours, swim, drink, put up tents, eat a cold supper, organize the packs and go to bed 3,000 miles and 27 hours from Uplands Airport.

Sunday, July 24, Lake Shagwenaw:
[see map 1]

We have paddled about 38 miles today leaving our campsite on Lac Ile a la Crosse at 7:15 a.m. after picking enough raspberries for lunch and arriving at the Indian settlement of Pastuanak at about 5:45 p.m.

Lac Ile a la Crosse goes north and south for about 40 miles and there was a south wind for better than half the day. at two o'clock the south wind died and the north breeze began to come up. All were relieved to reach the outlet at 5 p.m. and let the north breeze and current drift us slowly while we secured loose gear before shooting the rapids to Pastuanak. The water here is two feet above normal so the rapids were a change but no problem.

On the way up the lake we had had a following breeze, made good time, had a pleasant campsite, eaten wild raspberries, seen many pelicans of which two put on the most remarkable exhibition of serene wing to wing, motionless formation gliding while they investigated us, before going away unimpressed, to resume their fishing. We had seen stiff spruce begin to appear among the amorphous aspen and birch as we approached the shield; in spite of these ordinarily thrilling and interesting things we were tired of the long lake. Maybe we were just tired. But not so tired as to be willing to camp near the Indian settlement with its barking dogs and civilized activity to mar our peace of mind. We searched for another 1 1/2 hours, finally finding a rocky point, the only rock along a shoreline of weeds and swamp on Shagwenaw. We stopped, pitched tents, cooked dinner, drank and watched the sunset in a cool north breeze. To be by 9:30.

Monday, July 25, Dipper Lake:
[see map 1]

Left campsite on Lake Shagwenaw at 7:55 a.m. and found a similar one on Dipper Lake at 6:15 p.m. Having thus spent about 10 hours going 26 miles on our route and an additional three miles getting back on our route from the Shagwenaw campsite.

Against a north wind for the first two hours up what is an extended area of the lake. Clear and cool.

First portage at second part of Drum Rapids taking about 25 minutes from unloading above to loading below. Shot the Leaf Rapids where all canoes hit at least one rock and cracked ribs. We were in the lead and bounced heavily on a rock which fortunately was round and smooth. Had it been jagged the trip probably would have ended. Dipper Rapids were of course portaged. For most of the day the wind and current have been with us and so has the weather.

Until Dipper Lake the shores have been marshy, campsites few; duck of all kinds; mallards, red heads, terns, yellow legs, plovers, blue bills, pelicans. Portages have been well cleared and easy. This seems to be a well-traveled route.

Rapids have been a little more than exciting. Above them we hold a meeting while the experts decide how they are to be handled. (Everyone but me is an expert.) Then we set out. Just before they are reached the Bourgeois [Sigurd Olson] stands up in the rear and sets his course, as often as not, different from the agreed approach, and down we go, bouncing, drifting, pulling and being sprayed. At times frightening, always exhilarating the rapids particularly and in fact the whole trip.

Up till now the day's run has left little time after chores and before bed because campsites have been hard to find. The day was prolonged today by two hours to get out of the swamp and into rock country but it was still a problem to choose between three possible ones. It took the best part of an hour. It is not 9 p.m. and we're turning in.

Tuesday, July 26, Dipper Lake:
[see map 1]

This seems to be the beginning of the pre-Cambrian shield. Our campsite, the one we used last night and where we still are today is on pre-Cambrian rock decorated here and there with bright orange lichen. We are on the west side of an island, sheltered from a strong east wind that has put angry white caps on the waves.

Eric is not up to scratch and Omond has prescribed rest. What with the wind and Eric's abnormal temperature and the fact that we had done 65 miles in two days, the Bourgeois was led to decide to stay here for the day. We could have reached the lee of the lake's east shore before the wind got up to its present strength but for one canoe being missing this morning. It had been carried up some 12 feet from the water and turned bottom up on a shelf in the rock parallel to the shore. This morning it was gone. It was seen through the glasses on the island about 1 1/4 miles due west. We paddled over in the high wind and waves to find it safely wedged in bushes that protected it from the rocky shore, with two of its three paddles still in it. The paddle was found floating near our island some time later by Elliott who at the time was looking for a place to fish. Examining the bottom of the canoe after retrieving it, it seems that the wind coming over the island had lifted it from its resting place, bounced it once on the rocky shore, launched it right side up and drifted it for more than a mile. When found it was dry inside and unharmed.

Fishing is remarkably good here. Almost every second cast brings a pike. Six were for fish chowder at lunch and the remainder thrown back. There will be pickerel fillets for supper.

Today and yesterday have been good days. Part of the adventure of a canoe trip is the knowledge that your comfort, pleasure, safety and even survival depend on doing small things well. These two days have shown, too, that there is nothing that puts a tired crew in good humor so easily as a tot of rum before supper.

PS: Tony caught 32 pike and 3 pickerel. All the pike were thrown back. Omond and Sig went over to the Indian village which they found deserted; everyone had gone fire fighting.

Wednesday, July 27, Crooked Rapids:
[see map 1]

Up late--about 7 a.m.--to find the wind still blowing and Eric's temperature normal. After breakfast (porridge, french toast, back bacon and coffee) the Bourgeois decided that we should leave. We left at 9:45, just as it started raining. At 5:30 p.m. we started making camp between the first and second parts of Crooked Rapids. It has been quite a day!

I slipped into the water as we were loading. It didn't matter much because it was raining and we were to face a very strong southeast wind on the lake for two miles. Reaching the outlet we unloaded and emptied. Then in the continuing rain we paddled against the wind for another hour. We reached lake Primeau about 1 p.m. and found a comfortable lunch site after travelling another hour.

About once or twice each day we see Indians traveling with outboard motors. Today we saw two such. Then we were overtaken by a boat with a priest in the bow and an Indian at the motor. Father Moraud approached with his grey beard and his soutane both flying in the breeze and we all stopped to talk. When we asked him about currents and rapids he would sometimes consult his driver in Indian and then speak to us in French or English. He has been up here for 40 years, is from Quebec City, is a brother of the late Senator Moraud and knew my mother and her sisters as friends of his brother.

Just as the canoes were repacked after lunch we were caught in one of the worst thunderstorms I remember. Father Moraud just then passed on his way back and asked us to delay a day and spend the night with him. We regretted, and standing in the prow of his boat, in the rain storm, he bowed from his waist. It rained for two hours and stopped just before we reached Crooked Rapids. Getting the food wet is a continual worry and one of the principal reasons for not wanting to upset in rapids. There are, of course, other reasons too!

By the time we reached the rapids the rain had stopped. We could not find the long portage so Sig and I shot the first part of the first rapids and just before it was too late Sig decided not to shoot the second part. We made the left side just in time then pushed the canoe through bushes hip deep in water to below the main drop.

We shot the tail end and unloaded at a flat rock between the first and second Crooked Rapids where we have had supper and are drying out. Tony is fishing and has already caught a very large pike and a pickerel for breakfast. The wind has shifted to the west. There is a beautiful sunset and tomorrow should be dry.

This is the first campsite where we have noticed either mosquitoes or black flies; probably because we are near rapids.

Thursday, July 28, Haultain River:
[see map 1]

Up late at 7 a.m. to a breakfast of fresh pickerel and pike, porridge, bread and jam. A reconnaissance led the Bourgeois to decide on crossing the river, portaging around the first drop and perhaps around the remainder, which we did, cutting our way through for 100 yards. Then some pushed the canoe along the shore and those coming later paddled down.

Next we came to and portaged the first part of Knee Rapids. Well marked and easy, three-quarters of a mile. The second part we shot without difficulty and then on to Knee Lake. The sky cleared, a southwest wind came up and our clothes dried. Crossed Knee Lake to Beatty Bay with the wind astern. Passed our 100 mile mark and visited the Indian village at the end of the bay. Took pictures, visited the church (neat and spotless with new paint) which explained the state of the khaki trousers under Father Moraud's soutane. Then down the river with the current hard against the southwest wind to a rocky campsite. A swim, shave, drink, dinner and a visit from a family of Indians (grandparents and son's family) in a large grey canoe with squared stern and 10 h.p. outboard.

The only time one has to ruminate on a trip like this is when paddling. The weather and wind is reflected in how much sleeping is done at lunch, which lasts about 45 minutes. If the wind is against and work hard, conversation is meagre and sleeping general. We go to bed no later than 9 p.m. and are ready to get up by 5 a.m. No one has any trouble getting to sleep.

Friday, July 29, Cowpack Island, Snake Lake:
[see map 1]

At 5 p.m. we reached a campsite on an island short of Cowpack Island in Snake Lake after about 37 miles paddling, portaging and rapid shooting from our campsite of last night on the Haultain river. I shall put down the facts in case I am too sleepy to do anything more. We were up at 4:30 a.m. and on our way at 6 after a breakfast of fresh pickerel fish cakes.

Down the Haultain river helped by a fast current through a marshy estuary (with ducks rising on all sides from the reeds or swimming ahead with 12 to 15 ducklings) and paddling into Dreger Lake, Sandy Lake, shooting part of the Snake Rapids, portaging the remainder, then up MacDonald Bay into Snake Lake for about five miles.

Saw old Indian paintings on a rock in MacDonald Bay. Red pigment is hematite and does not fade. Figures could not be identified.

Saw bear tracks on the beach on Sandy Lake just before Snake Rapids. The Indians who visited us last night had killed a bear in the vicinity.

Native info. about rapids unreliable due to this year's high water and because they always seem to travel in large 22-25 foot canoes with outboards on a squared stern. The only paddling Indians we have seen were children. They had a bearskin rug on the bottom.

The country, the lakes, the storms and the current are all on a large scale. Snake Lake is more than 36 miles long, MacDonald Bay is 15. The woods are burnt over periodically and in this region the trees are recent. The campsite looks northwest. I am facing a sunset and just to the right can see a thunderstorm over the hills. when the sun disappears I am going to bed for the Bourgeois has set 6 a.m. as the starting time for tomorrow. There are two pickerel for breakfast caught by Elliott and Tony, while I have been writing and they have thrown back at least 10 pike.

Saturday, July 30, Black Bear Island Lake:
[see map 1]

A strong north wind blew rain into all the tents which had been pitched facing the setting sun. Rain continued until 6 a.m. so the day started late with back bacon, the last of our eggs and pickerel steaks and we did not get away until 9:30.

The wind has been with us all the way down Snake Lake, the weather has cleared and I am writing this at lunch near the entrance to Sand Fly Lake. Sandy Lake had three beaches. We saw a snake at our campsite on Snake Lake. Hope this next one is not too aptly named. We have been remarkable free of insects so far.

Yesterday we had one of the minor adventures in Snake Rapids that make the trip exciting as well as exhilarating. Our information about rapids is gathered from untalkative natives who travel in large canoes with outboards. When discussing rapids they know little about how things might go with canoes like ours which they call small. Nor do they make much distinction between "fast water" and "rapids."

Our information about Snake Rapids was no better than usual, although the map did show a two mile portage not mentioned by any of the Indians.

Sig and I got into the fast water before the first part of the rapids and no one considered the long portage. We kept close to the right bank as each Indian had instructed. However the rivers and lakes are two feet higher than usual so that shortly after starting down with large white water on my left, I felt the canoe stick on a rock which in a normal year would have been uncovered and part of the shore. Sig got out, pulled us off and jumped in again ready to steer before the current took us over. Undamaged but chastened we approached the next part gingerly, landed on the island dividing the chute, found a little-used portage, broke away poplars and cleared out fallen trees then picked our way heavily laden with packs and canoes over rocks and through bush to a spot just below the main drop and were then gently washed down the river into MacDonald Bay to buck the north wind for four miles or more.

Tonight we are on the most westerly part of Black Bear Island Lake, one week and 165 miles from the start. We have since lunch crossed Sand Fly Lake with a strong following wind, a lake on the large scale with rocky islands, and made two portages around Needle Rapids. It's a crisp evening, the sun is down and I'm too ready for bed to write the story of our visit to Hanson and Anderson on Belanger Point in Snake Lake--or how it takes an hour each night to choose a campsite or who has which chores to do and when and how he does them.

Sunday, July 31, Black Bear Island Lake:
[see map 2]

Away at 8:30 took pictures as we left and delayed 15 minutes. Approached Silent Rapids cautiously as we had no information. Passed through most easily on the left hand side. Took pictures and discussed the three possible routes through Black Bear Island lake, a lake which seems to have more islands than water. Decided on middle course. Helped by a good current in narrow parts and by southwest breeze in long stretches. Magnificent lake, high rocky shores, with spruce and jack pine--a welcome change after the burnt over country we had seen before. Saw an eagle this morning and the usual assortment of ducks, terns, etc., as well as the usual graceful easy soaring pelicans. They are most common here though seldom mentioned as a Canadian bird.

This has been the least populated part of the trip so far. Usually we have seen at least two Indians or dwellings. Yesterday we visited Hanson and Anderson on Snake Lake. They were cutting hay about two miles from their Winter house with all their relatives, friends and children, about 20 in all. We gave the children chocolate and took pictures. They were the most communicative natives we have talked to so far.

Examined two more Indian paintings on the rocks, one just after Silent Rapids and the other at the narrows just before the open part of Black Bear Island Lake.

The second rapids we shot were easy.

Most pleasant day but in a sense not so exhilarating as those on which we have had to fight winds, cut through woods or overcome unforeseen difficulties just to keep going and reasonably comfortable. It's not so much fun when it's too easy.

Monday, August 1, Rock Trout Portage:
[see map 2]

Today we did just a little less than 20 miles on our course. It started out as a grey day with a northeast wind and we set out at 7:15 a.m. We expect to be at Stanley in the next two days when staples will be replenished so breakfast was a little less exciting though just as welcome as usual.

It took three hours to reach Birch Rapids, dodging behind islands to avoid the northeast wind. Elliott and Eric found the portage on the right close to the rapids. The remaining four of us explored possibilities farther removed. It was a well cleared gentle portage. Like most, there are two parts to Birch Rapids. The second seemed possible for shooting though we had no info about portages or how to run them.

Elliott and Eric, both experienced canoeists are in the same canoe. They are light and have good freeboard. Omond and Tony are in the other, both heavier and Omond more experienced than Tony. In the third is Sig and me. Sig the most experienced of all and I the neophyte. We approached first and stayed near the brink balanced by the current pushing down and the wind pushing up. We were undecided, Elliott and Eric explored closer, chose a course, started over, bobbed up and down, turned their canoe out successfully. It looked a bit adventurous for me, and Sig, sensing my feelings, agreed to look at the alternative to the left of the island. It took the drop in two steps, both being run to the left and passable only because of the high waters, with large whirlpools and a right angle turn between the steps.

Then we came to Trout Lake, a clearing sky, and a wind now veered to south and then southwest. We dodged behind islands, paddled into the lee of high shores, consulted about courses and finally stopped for lunch and a sleep on a rock half way up the lake.

After lunch we paddled for two hours to the southernmost outlet and held a consultation, the Bourgeois deciding that since the rapids were unnamed, portages unmarked and our information nil it would be unwise to try this course. Most were delighted with the decision and it was cheerfully accepted by all. We paddled another four miles to the northern outlet, found a little-used portage, struggled up a bank to a path and after a quarter mile put in between the two rapids on the opposite shore.

Tony, Elliott and Omond have caught monumental pike after two casts each. The longest is 36" and the shortest 32"--fish cakes for breakfast.

During the last two days it has been noticeable that the mainland has been burnt over and the islands, which are in profusion, have been untouched and are covered with straight spruce and stately jack pine.

Now and again Sig, who is sensitive to these sounds hears big game in the woods and I do now too. We have twice seen evidence of bear. At the end of our ninth day (eight days paddling) we're 208 miles along our course cleaning fish at Trout Portage.

Tuesday, August 2, Devil Lake:
[see map 2]

We have done 20 miles today, leaving our campsite below Rock Trout Portage at 7:20 a.m. and arriving at the southern end of Devil Lake after 11 hours, about 230-232 miles along our course.

Shot Rock Trout portage, first below our campsite. We had studied it the night before. Elliott and Eric went first and were in the white water a little longer than comfortable. The rest of us on Elliott's signal turned left as soon as we were over the drop.

Of the remaining six rapids before Dead Lake we portaged two and ran four. In each case the three men paddling in the stern went ashore and surveyed the rapids before deciding to shoot or portage. The portages were short and little used. On the whole, they were more bothersome than difficult. I slipped into the water with a pack on as we were loading but was pulled out before the pack got wet.

The second rapids we shot were exciting because there was some question of whether or not they could be safely run. The Bourgeois decided and he and I led off, went down serenely as usual for the first part, then as we reached the apex of the V we began to bounce and dodge white water so that, as we were told afterwards, we could not be seen below the gunwales most of the time.

Reaching Dead Lake we found that the southwest wind that had favored us all morning had raised waves with white caps, larger than any we had yet faced or run before. Here we were a little doubtful that we could paddle down wind but again the Bourgeois decided and we did the fastest and most thrilling six miles easterly through Dead Lake that we yet have managed. It took a little more than an hour.

The waves were so high that had we ever been caught broadside we'd have overturned, 35 miles from the nearest habitation on a waterway on which we had seen nothing but pelicans, eagles, terns and mallards for two days or more.

After lunch we had a one mile and then a half mile portage around the Devil and Little Devil Rapids. Then for a short distance we waded and dragged the canoe after us through the second part of Little Devil, and then the Bourgeois, after deliberation, examination on the spot and viewing through the glasses (done in reverse order) decided on our present campsite, with a rising full moon in the southeast and a setting sun in the northwest.

I am always surprised by the comparative ease of finding portages. After a few days I seem to have become as adept as any of the others in spotting a possible opening among the bushes which often grow along the shores at the head of a rapids.

And when the portage is well travelled, (by that I mean the path is easily seen and the brush to some extent pushed back), I get the feeling of a busy city street with many comings and goings even though we have seen no one for a few days.

Two days ago we had the first warm day in three. Everyone stripped. The next day and today noses are burnt on the right side, and even hands and ears are sore. I am wearing a glove, so is Eric who also had a band aid on his nose, and Omond puts the peak of his cap over his right ear.

Wednesday, August 3, Stanley, Sask.:
[see map 2]

Up late and left camp on Devil Lake at 7:20 a.m. after breakfast of pickerel and fishcakes. Carried over Otter Rapids Portage, well marked but comparatively long, paddled Otter Lake with a favoring westerly wind, carried Stony Mountain and Mountain Portages and finally paddled into and down Mountain Lake, one of the most beautiful we have seen, to Stanley, our reprovisioning point and the 250 mile mark.

While yesterday in Trout and Dead Lake, the islands carried jack pine and spruce and the shores, having been burnt over were poplar, today in Otter and Mountain Lakes both shore and islands carry straight dark spruce.

Today as we approached within 15 miles of the settlement, Indian huts were on almost every island with fish nets and smoking racks and dogs; the portages were broad avenues, and we met a family of Indians in two canoes with outboards, and took pictures. I felt that we were in a populated area.

Shooting-Up-Rock passed and photographed on our left. Indian hunting expeditions passing here would shoot their arrows up the rock from jack pine bows. If the arrows failed to reach the top it was an omen of failure for the expedition and they turned back, often to starve. The first missionary from England, waited on the rock, broke the arrows, told the expedition, which later proved successful, to continue and thus broke the superstition. He established the striking white church which still stands on the point opposite the reservation, preserved as an historic site by the Saskatchewan Government and used whenever a minister appears. Canon Taylor, visiting when we arrived, had held services with 90-95 Indians present (about all the church will hold) in spite of many families being away on the fishing grounds.

Spent 1 1/2 hours at Hudson's Bay Company post reprovisioning and mailing. We camped about 1 1/2 miles farther down just before sunset after 24 miles.

At the Hudson's Bay post saw three square sterned canoes for outboards of the kind used by Indians priced at $300 to $350. Every Indian family seems to have at least one and while I have not seen any of this year's outboards, I have seen some recent ones with detached gas tanks.

The route we have followed was once travelled by the exploring fur traders who opened the country and made the Churchill a principal trade route. there is nothing in the 260 odd miles we have so far covered to mark their achievement or the passages they used although the latter must be used today much as they were in 1775-1778 when the Frobishers and Peter Pond first came this way.

Thursday, August 4, Drinking Lake:
[see map 2]

Started by portaging Stanley Rapids, then through Drop Lake where we passed a uranium mine to Nistowiak Lake and stopped at the Falls at the mouth of the Montreal river.

A 40-foot drop from a lake into a deep rocky gorge with water so green and clear that at the top where the water first comes over, the rocks beneath can be seen as through a green glass window. There is a spray being thrown up almost continuously and the water does not lose its effervescence till it leaves the gorge. A bulldozer has been through where the portage once was and the sense of wilderness and remoteness that seems to have been with us ever since leaving Ile a la Crosse was lost when we found two arrow-shaped white signs with green lettering saying Lake and Falls. One could almost see tourists in high heels taking snapshots.

The next two lakes are Drinking Lake and Keg Lake. Portaged around the falls into Drinking. It being sunny with a good breeze stopped early after 13 miles to do 12 days' washing.

This is the first day we have not seen pelicans.

Found later that one of us had a letter to the manager of the radium mine and regretted not having gone in especially as the mine had fishing lodges at the falls where we portaged and had lunch. This, and the inability to spend the night with Father Moraud are our only regrets so far.

THE DAILY ROUTINE

Perhaps I should tell about our daily routine.

We carry no lights except flash lights for emergency. Everything must be done by daylight so we try to get up by the sun and generally we manage to go to bed shortly after sundown. Watches are on standard time.

Reaching a campsite, the Bourgeois and Elliott unpack the food, while I find rocks for the fireplace and wood. With the fire going the Bourgeois and Elliott set about cooking dinner. Tony sets up the tent for the Bourgeois and himself. Eric puts up his tent and builds the only sanitary convenience one has in the wilds, while Omond and I after cutting poplar tent poles, put up the three-man Baker tent. There is of course quite likely to be a difference of opinion on which is the most level site and which way the opening should face.

All during this the Bourgeois has been cooking and Omond has slipped away to mix rum with whatever fruit flavoring, spices or water he can find. Everything has taken about 90 minutes and all is ready to sit down on the rocks to cocktails, dinner and sunset.

During spare moments Eric may have written up the log, noted the portage routes, and studied our history books to tell us about the present area's past, Omond will have discussed the next day's navigation with the Bourgeois, I will have written the diary. Everything is done quickly. After 25-35 miles paddling and portaging it is after 6 p.m. before a campsite is found, 7:30 when dinner is ready, 8:00 eaten, 8:30 cleaned up and 9 p.m. bed.

Breakfast, washing up, stowing the packs and getting into the canoes takes two hours. For breakfast is a heavy meal, porridge or corn meal, bacon, bread and eggs when we have just left a provisioning stop, otherwise fish, marmalade and coffee.

Lunch is cold and takes an hour from landing to setting off. Cheese, reconstituted fruit drink, sausage, cold bacon, jam, dry biscuit or rye vita and a 30 minute rest. Daily schedule of the party depended much on the weather, the distance we had covered the day before and the distance we expected to do.

We went to bed at or slightly before sunset in sleeping bags on air mattresses and were ready to get up at any time around sunrise. Only twice did we do so at 4:30. Generally it was half past five.

All decisions were made by the Bourgeois, the leader of the party, a term used by the Voyageurs for the trader they served and paddled.

Our Bourgeois, Sig Olson was different in that he provided, besides direction, cooking, superb paddling especially in rapids and an unsurpassed knowledge of how to live comfortably and eat well on your own resources.

Paddling: we would go for an hour and then have a five minute rest (or "pipe" in the voyageurs language). "Pipes" became longer as the days progressed and we found ourselves ahead of schedule.

Friday, August 5, Trade Lake:
[see map 3]

Tonight we are almost 290 miles on our way on an island at the east end of Trade Lake. Refiguring mileage last night found ourselves less advanced than we thought; so because it is wise to keep a day ahead for contingencies such as sickness or being wind bound we were up early and away at 6:45 a.m.

Reached the beginning of Keg Lake and following instructions from Indian we met yesterday, turned left into a narrow fast stream that goes around the top of the western half of the lake. There were two rapids, the first we shot and the second we portaged with a short carry on the left.

Rain kept us paddling without stops and so with the current we went through the remained of Keg Lake before lunch.

Birds have reappeared as we have got farther from Stanley. Our friends, the pelicans, are with us again and ducks rise on both sides as we pass.

Drenched by a thunderstorm on Trade Lake. Visited Indian fishing camp, pitched our tents farther on. Three-quarters of an hour later Harry Moody, a friend of Elliott's, arrived from Frog Portage driven in a canoe with an outboard by an Indian, William MacKenzie and his wife, Angelique. He had been expecting us from Hudson's Bay Company radio reports and set out to visit us when moccasin telegraph reported that we had "turned over our canoes and lit a fire."

Harry Moody lives at Frog Portage in the Summer collecting bits of history of the early voyageurs and Chippewyan fireplaces. He invited us to visit him tomorrow. He talked for half an hour about the history of this part of the country and corrected some of our misconceptions.

This is our last full day on the Churchill river. Tomorrow, at Frog Lake, we get into waters that lead to the Saskatchewan. We are drying out from the rain.

Saturday, August 6, Wood Lake:
[see map 3]

Left late after drying out clothes in west breeze and bright sun. Some shaved, some have grown beards which protect chin, etc., from sunburn. There are several sunburned noses.

Leisurely paddle to Harry Moody's camp at Frog Portage to see his excavations of the fireplace which he believes was part of the house built by Louis Primeau for the Frobishers. Told us the story of the "Mannegishi": little men with 12 fingers and no noses, who according to the Indians, are responsible for the pictographs on rocks and who live among the rocks near rapids. Showed us bits of pottery, 25 shilling flour token, clay-pipe bowls, flintlocks, beaver hooks, buffalo spears. Told the story of Eskimo Jack who took his family down the river systems to the Gulf of Mexico and up the East Coast to Montreal, finally retiring to the barrens and dying with Eskimo skulls around his house. He had tamed caribou and with them plowed his field at Frog Portage.

Saw Churchill water flowing into the Sturgeon-Weir river. Carried over the short portage (they are all short when I carry packs instead of canoe), paddled through swampy head water, small lakes and finally into Wood Lake, like Mountain Lake, one of the most beautiful we have seen. Two islands, stiff with spruce changing color from purple to green as clouds passed before the sun seemed to fill the lake and were replaced as we paddled by others behind them.

Did 20 miles in bright sunshine--there is talk among the voyageurs about going to Cumberland House instead of Flin Flon.

Good campsite chosen by the usual method but in less than the customary time.

Sunday, August 7, Mirond Lake:
[see map 3]

Started with a swim and a leisurely paddle out of Wood Lake to the Three Rapids portage, each a small one, with a wooden marine railway. Before Medicine Rapids, which we shot to an audience of Harry Moody and his Indians, William and Angelique MacKenzie, we saw the pictograph before which the offerings were placed for the Mannegishi. Our offering, a colored photograph, obviously was not acceptable for the "little men without noses who live in the rocks of the rapids" pulled Omond and me onto the side of a rock which fortunately neither stopped nor harmed us.

A swim at lunch, a mistaken course putting us a mile out of our way, and gentle paddling brought us to Pelican Narrows' settlement just before the Bishop arrived to walk up a flag bedecked path to the church at 3:15. We reprovisioned with delicacies like oranges and pineapple juice. Here was confirmed our airplane reservations and decided to extend our trip to Cumberland House, a somewhat unexpected decision by the Bourgeois since it requires constant paddling at 25 miles per day. So we set out onto Mirond Lake, still as a millpond and 13 miles long. We camped on an island 6-7 miles down near the east shore and set our watches ahead to Central Standard Time.

Monday, August 8, Maligne Lake:
[see map 4]

Awakened early and away at 6:50 taking refuge behind islands from a brisk south breeze and reaching the Corneille portage at the bottom of the lake at 9 o'clock. There was fast water going into the portage and a small rapids with one or two very large white horses at the bottom of the portage. No one had warned us of the second. All canoes took a little water.

At Dog Rapids, we let ourselves down at the right through the willows without getting out of the canoes, and came into the Sturgeon-Weir river proper to face a disappointingly strong south wind. Lunch we ate on an island about three miles below the 55th parallel at the bottom of a small rapids that we shot easily on the right.

Fifty-sixth parallel was our farthest north. We have been coming south and southeast for the last three days at the rate of about 20 miles per day.

Sturgeon-Weir so far is a majestic river. High rock banks covered with jack pine and spruce, about a quarter of a mile wide and going south for at least 10 miles to what was found to be Birch Rapids and Portage.

We carried over the portage about a quarter mile, Tony falling without hurting himself on a slippery footing as he raised the canoe.

The south wind dropped and a thunderstorm, Western variety, with hail and uncomfortably close lightning caught us just before Maligne Lake where we camped near the outlet after passing through fast water on the right of the island at the constriction of the lake.

Yesterday and today we have seen orange lichen reflecting the afternoon sun; the pelicans have flown, six of them in perfect V formation gliding to a landing about a quarter mile from our campsite; we have seen a huge hawk. It had refused to budge even when the noise of our paddles roused three ducks nearby. Close to our campsite there is unmistakable evidence of moose grazing in the weeds and indication of moose fighting in the poplar. It took a little more than an hour to find a campsite.

We still intend to paddle to Cumberland House following the fur-trader route to their supply depot, and then being ferried either by power boat or airplane to The Pas on Saturday. It will take an average of 25 miles per day and has given purpose to the last week of our trip which otherwise might have become a very gentle paddle and quiet camping trip.

Tuesday, August 9, Amisk Lake:
[see map 4]

It is now 8 p.m. and we are camped on the east point of MacKenzie Bay on the south shore of Amisk Lake having done about 30 miles today and reached the 390th mile of the trip. The day started dismally with a strong south wind that brought heavy rain just as the fire was lit for breakfast. We cooked in the rain and ate in our rain clothes in the tent, a wet and sorry looking lot. The rain stopped at 8:30 and the wind shifted to west. We were away by nine with the wind and current, about two m.p.h. at its best, helping all day. Scattered showers with intermittent sunshine and strong wind. Four portages, Leaf, Scoop, Snake and Spruce. Met Saskatchewan conservation officer named Salt on Scoop. He had been on the lookout for us and gave information about river and rapids below Amisk Lake. Also discussed fish industry and reason for grading white fish and how it is collected by airplane and brought to filleting plants at Pelican Narrows, etc.

After Scoop the river shows patches of swamp, the banks become less high and there is much evidence of beaver as well as the usual profusion of all kinds of water fowl with their young.

Snake was one of the longest portages and we found there the remains of a broken canoe lying at the down-stream end of the portage. It told no story.

Passed Indian cemetery on the north bank in Amisk Lake reservation.

All the way down we passed many lobbed pines marking the course at its many turns.

At 6:15 we reached the mouth of the river and the red cliffs of the south shore of Beaver or Amisk Lake reflecting the setting sun. We did three miles before a strong wind and were delighted to find a campsite with little or no deliberation about an hour later.

ABOUT PORTAGES

I have been meaning to write about portages.

It is a saying among the Indians that no one was ever drowned on a portage. But no Indian will ever portage one step farther than necessity and convenience require; and the Indians are quite right.

Portages start as close to a rapids as it is possible to get; and if at all possible, where a canoe can be loaded or unloaded conveniently without getting wet feet. Generally they were not hard to find when local information or the map had led us to look on the proper side.

Because all portages are hard work and the surest place to find mosquitoes and flies--near rapids and through woods--a well traveled portage is a sure indication that the rapids are safer to photograph than paddle. (In borderline cases it always seemed to me better to have portaged and regretted not shooting the rapids that to have passed up the portage and wished one hadn't.)

The first canoe to find the entrance unloads as fast as it can. The bowman, out first, pulls up the canoe so that his partner can get out dry shod and hold the canoe alongside, lift the packs and paddles and have them taken by the bowman a few steps to the side of the landing. The canoe is then pulled up, well out of the way. All this is done briskly so that the others, holding on to nearby willows against the current or keeping their place by paddling at a discreet distance from the entrance to the rapids won't have to wait too long.

Loose gear like map cases, fishing rods and the drinking cup is tied in and the canoe hoisted on to shoulders. Many can do this alone but it is a knack I never learned. I always backed in, like a horse being hitched to a wagon, and while the canoe was held up at one end for me, balanced it on my shoulders and set off after the man carrying the packs. Sig, the expert, had the canoe up before you counted the paddles and was off before you had the packs up.

Packs were carried two at a time; using the carrying straps around the shoulders for the first, and the other heaved on top of the first and held in balance there with one hand. Our minimum was 10 packs, so that some always made two trips. The second trip was with a light load and no portage was more than three-quarters of a mile.

A canoe is a cumbersome thing to carry and even with padded yokes such as ours and weighing less than 100 pounds they sat heavily and hard on the shoulders. It could get most annoyingly entangled in bushes and trees as one attempted to round a corner and swat a tickling fly. I heard no one on the party say he enjoyed carrying the canoe more than one-quarter of a mile. Yet always they were carried by one man.

Packs on the other hand can be comfortable and manageable even when their weight is greater than the canoe as it generally was after leaving a Hudson's Bay Co. post. We took turns carrying the canoes and sometimes on the longer or more difficult ones, divided the job, each doing part way.

Often it was good to get out of the canoe, stretch one's legs, flex the muscles and walk to the other end of the rapids. But portaging isn't what makes the trip attractive and a canoe isn't built to be carried.

Wednesday, August 10, Goose Creek:
[see map 5]

Up a few minutes after the sun and away to an early start at 6:50 a.m. and ran before a strong west wind to entrance of the Sturgeon-Weir river past Warburton Bay, entering the river at about nine o'clock. The limestone cliffs on the south shore of the lake are covered with orange lichen, giving them the reddish color that was so bright in yesterday's setting sun.

The sky today is so clear that we can see the smoke from the Flin Flon smelter stretching in a thin white line for 20-30 miles down the east side of the lake, one of the largest we have travelled. The waves are the highest since Dead Lake, making the crossing fast but exciting.

This part of the Sturgeon-Weir goes from Amisk to Namew Lake. We portaged the first rapids past Flin Floners' picnic tables and on into the woods. Of the next three steps we ran the first and last, carrying around the middle. Since then the river has been very fast with exciting but shootable rapids every 20 minutes to half hour until we reached the rapids just before Goose Creek where we portaged and camped near flat limestone slabs at the foot of the rapids, a site that has been so used for hundreds of years.

On the way down we surprised a cow moose feeding on the weeds at the foot of a rapids, saw a flock of Canada geese, a powerful bird but slow to get off the water, and many evidences of beaver as well as two eagles and some pelicans.

We are now well off the pre-Cambrian shield but still in well-wooded country. There could be little more thrilling than the red sunrise on this very large Amisk Lake. Sig has added that in his long experience he has never had more exhilarating canoeing than we have had today with its sustained excitement. Once, when a wave came in as we went down a rapids, I thought excitement was a serious understatement of what I felt.

We have done 465 miles.

Thursday, August 11, Namew Lake:
[see map 5]

Up late and did not get away until 8:30. It is our second last day with only 32 miles to go.

Down the Sturgeon-Weir from Goose river to the lake is almost continuous rapids or fast water. It took slightly less than an hour to do the five miles to the Sturgeon Landing. As we rounded the last bend we were greeted by a herd of cows and our canoe (Omond and I) grazed a rock on the last ledge. The others, drawing less water, got over without touching.

The rapids have been a great thrill especially in the last few days on the Sturgeon-Weir. Dangerous if misjudged or if attention wanders but when handled with caution as we have done everywhere they are as good sport as there is.

On Namew Lake we faced a strong southwest head wind. We made for the south shore in bright sunshine and took about three hours for five miles. The waves were about as high as a canoe can take. My seat broke one of its supports as we slapped down from a big one.

After this hard morning we had our first hot lunch of the trip on the limestone shore.

Stopped at the mouth of the river to see the burnt-out Indian school, an agricultural school, of which many barns and the cemetery as well as two tall brick chimneys standing in wilderness remain as a landmark.

The southwest wind, moderating after lunch, is noticeably hot. We have not felt this kind of almost oppressive heat since the first day up Lake Ile a la Crosse.

We turned south through the gut between the upper and lower parts of Namew Lake, looking in vain for a campsite. Omond and I, for exercise in a reasonably calm sea, set out ahead of the others for half an hour at a pace of our own choosing that reflected the conditioning of three weeks' active and good life. We had paddled for 10 hours when we unloaded our canoes.

We have camped on a limestone shore about 17 miles from Cumberland House which we hope to reach tomorrow afternoon early.

The water is warmer than any so far and all, including Omond, who is generally reluctant, have swum for pleasure rather than hygiene.

We pitched camp among wild-life tracks but the sound of an occasional outboard has confirmed that we are close to a trading post.

Friday, August 12, Cumberland House:
[see map 5]

Up late this morning. Yesterday's warm strong south wind that had been expected to leave rain left it elsewhere for we heard distant thunder during the night. Set out in warm clear calm weather after readings by Eric from MacKenzie's diary. Paddled briskly through the narrows into the lower part of Namew (Indian for Sturgeon) Lake, then through Whitey Narrows into Cross Lake. Water has become murkier as we approach Cumberland Lake and get nearer the Saskatchewan, and the shore has changed from limestone to willows growing, as we found when we stopped for lunch, in a sandy muck. By 1 p.m. after a hasty meal on an oppressively hot point we were in sight of Cumberland House. Arrived at 3 p.m., met by gathering on the wharf of McEwan, the Hudson's Bay Company man, the RCMP constable Bradley, and Shaw, the Saskatchewan Government agent. About 50 Indians and children who had been swimming in the river gathered too.

McEwan had the canoes returned to the Hudson's Bay Company as soon as they were unloaded without appearing to look at them. Without leaving us, he put us up in the Hudson's Bay Company staff house, showed us over the post, told us his estimate of the canoes, a very accurate one, gave us a very good dinner and took us visiting in the evening. We made our contribution to the hospitality.

The truck, we had first seen it as we approached from the lake and noted it as the first sign of our return from the self-sufficient life in the woods, took us, the McEwans and the nurse on our round of visits and brought us home safely at 10:30.

Saturday, August 13, The Pas:

Up at 5:30 to a distant chorus of howling Indian dogs, breakfast with the McEwans, a two-mile truck ride to Pemmican Portage and a five-hour ride down the Saskatchewan in two square ended canoes with 10 h.p. outboards doing about 18 m.p.h. Arrived at The Pas about noon to be met by Ben Grimmelt, of Flin Flon, and Chapman, of the Royal Bank in The Pas and one or two photographers. [Note: The story made front page news with five large photos in the Toronto Daily Star on August 15, with a headline that focused as much on the age of the canoeists as it did on the historic nature of their trip: "6 Men, Crowding 50 End 500 Mile Trip on Voyageurs' Trail." TV cameras were also present to record their arrival at The Pas.]

SUMMING UP

So there it all was. Almost exactly 500 miles, 20 full days and 20 portages. It has been a wonderful trip, with good companions, constant physical activity and remoteness from telephones and our ordinary lives: the ideal holiday.

There has been the satisfaction of living outside and depending on our resources for comfort and safety, where small things are the difference between a good night's rest and an uncomfortable ordeal.

We have had the added fillip of following the historic route of the explorer-fur traders and those who first travelled across the continent to the Pacific ocean. We have probably worked harder than the explorer George Simpson when, paddled by six or eight voyageurs, he passed this way, but less hard by far than his men whom he roused at 2:30 a.m. and pushed over the same distance in about eight days. We have all felt embarrassed at being unfamiliar with the historical importance of this part of our country. Maybe Davy Crockett had a cousin up here who could help. [Note for those not old enough to remember: at this time Davy Crockett was a wildly popular character in the United States because of a TV show starring Fess Parker. All self-respecting boys convinced their parents to buy them coonskin caps.]

We have noticed too that you can travel the whole route probably walking over the same rocks as Peter Pond, the Frobishers and Alexander MacKenzie, perhaps even sleeping on the same campsites without ever seeing anything along the way to tell, or remind you of it.

Incidentally, in the whole route we met more than one hundred Indians, and only three white men, not counting the whites at several trading posts. We came to realize that Saskatchewan is not just wheat and prairies and sloughs, it is also forests and rivers and lakes surrounded by hills.

We have seen game birds in profusion and pelicans that I did not realize lived in Canada. We have passed beaver huts and a radium mine, and for "troubles" I had only a festering finger caused by a pine needle. (Omond Solandt said "soak it in hot water, dish-water will do.")

Sig Olson, our most experienced paddler, has said that this is as good as any canoe country has ever travelled. Would I go again? Most certainly!