Hello York Factory: Goodbye Hayes River

Thursday August 14, 2025 Day 11

In my morning tent, I punched my clothes into the dry bag dedicated to them. I could barely fit that one last wet item into my small bag. It was like baking bread—punch it down, squeeze the air out of the bag. As I dissembled the tent for the eleventh time, I had a wishful moment. I considered this might be my last time in this big, beautiful, blue tent.

I was down to my last unused set of underwear. I reapplied my damp long underwear. My quick-dry pants and pullover hoodie shirt were entering their 11th day of wear. Before we started the day’s paddle, I packed my even smaller, quick-access bag with my favorite puffy. The rest are the clothes that I would continue to need and wear. And they will continue to be on me until we arrive in Winnipeg on the late afternoon of August 17th. Fourteen days of no shower and no clean clothes. Who could ask for anything more?

Our night at Polar Bear ready obviously worked. We were all alive and ready to head farther into the heart of darkness. This just doesn’t seem like polar bear territory. We headed deeper into the boreal forest or taiga. But I pictured polar bears on the tundra, floating on an iceberg of which there are none. However, I don’t want to be complacent and jinx myself and others.

Our campsites, of late, have been just above gravel bars. The gravel bars were above slick rock. As if a reminder of day two, I once again end up on my tailbone. I jumped up trying to look in full control. All seemed well.

As we got closer to the Hudson Bay, our beautiful trumpeter swans were replaced by tundra swans. Tundra swans don’t trumpet. Trumpeting is amazing. As a mother of a former teenager who actually practiced. I can appreciate what it would be like to have a bevy of student trumpeters.

We speculated that loons would be tundra loons. But fact checking unearthed that these loons were Pacific Loons, the species that populate Elkhorn Slough in the Monterey Bay in the winter near our home there. The loon that is common to the BWCA is the Common Loon.

The boreal forest here is dominated by spruce, trembling aspens and tamarack. Every mile farther north we go, the trees lose height,

All of us began the day’s journey with the knowledge that we had to complete this section today, or we’d suffer the consequences. There were a number of factors that played into our deadline. One was the tide. We needed to arrive after 4:30. That was high tide. With a 14 foot tide, we didn’t want to come in without water up to the dock.

This was an important consideration, so paddle, paddle, paddle . . .

It started as a good looking day. We had a strong current, some following seas, NO rain and NO wind.

We were surprised by a large mammal rolling in front and then behind us. As it got ever closer, we recognized it as a bearded seal. This saltwater creature reminded us that once we’re on the Hudson Bay that water is connected to the Arctic Ocean.

Sometimes when you’re running with the wind, you cannot see or feel your progress. Your landmarks aren’t profound enough, or you’re not traveling near a shore.

Garrett announced to me and pointed. “See right there, right in front of us that’s the Hudson Bay. We saw it then way in the distance. I could tell it was getting closer. Soon you heard the wind. Waves were building. We headed into a tempest. It was like a williwaw hit us. Blasting us from the front, it wasn’t an ambush, it was a full frontal slap. Wind, waves, rain.

My muscles strained with every stoke. I repeated to myself. “Paddle like you mean it.” The wind was in my face. Icy water. Icy rain. The waves were high. Whitecaps mounted. I felt the enormity of the situation with every stroke.

One hour in, we reached the floating platform dock. I didn’t know how I did it, but I deposited my body on the platform. I flopped up using what felt like flippers. I lay there as sea lion.

I could barely stand up on my sea-legs. We were faced with the task of lugging the boats and all our gear up and up the endless stairway. My body reacted again with uncontrollable shivers. I realized everyone was facing the cold, yet they were helping. Karen told me to get up the stairs behind a row of canoes to try to break the cold wind. Then I spotted a two guys coming toward us on a 4- wheeler. They ushered us to a compound which was encircled by an electrified wire fence. This was polar bear protection.

Two bunk houses were inside the confines of the fence. The first house was for the workers who were restoring the items of historical value to York Factory. The other bunkhouse was for people like us who paddle in and need to spend time waiting for a boat or plane to get them back to the start.

They got help to get the stuff up. When they saw us out in the water, they just couldn’t believe we were there in our little canoes. This storm could have made some fine pictures but no one was taking pictures. We were just damn happy to be alive in one piece.

The generosity of the twenty or so people who were living and or working there was amazing. They came to get us, to come for dinner, in a small trailer they pulled behind a 4-wheeler. They were already hosting about 15 people who were eating holding their plates or sitting at tables eating and playing games or music, talking and enjoying the evening. Paul the resident at the house gave me a pair of his sweats because my pants were wet saying, “They won’t fit but they have a draw string. I’ll throw your wet clothes in the dryer.”

How long had it been since I was warm and dry? He started to feed us. Every one could have as many pork chops and/or burgers as they wanted. He served them and kept asking if they wanted more. Finding out I was a vegetarian, he made a cheese platter for me. A young woman came over and sat at my feet. “Your feet are wet. Let me take off your wet socks. I’ll put them in the dryer. Now I’m going to put these warm fuzzy socks on you. Keep them, they are yours.

Throughout the evening we heard talk of the Norwegian who was coming tomorrow. He was trekking with two dogs and was arriving from Severn, Ontario.

My bunk bed was a welcome addition to the numbers of creature comforts I had been enjoying since I flopped off the canoe. I woke in the night to the howling of a wolf. I realized it wasn’t a wolf. It must have been a dog.