We were anxious to leave the lake. Having a river current power us was quite enticing, Despite the warning signs for the coming dam, we simply turned a corner into a cove. We would have to portage our gear and canoe up and down a steep rocky hill, but it was short. As Johan was packing his gear, a girl about his size/age came up behind him. He didn’t see her. She was all in pink. Finally he noticed her. He took the flower and thanked her a couple times. She ran off.

The river was braided. The map warned that paddling was not recommended in this area because of rechanneling. The river would widen. The stream would narrow every corner moved, so we couldn’t pick out the line. After an afternoon circling, Anne suggested we look for place to set up our tents. There were three huge rocks. The bird rock in the back had some trees that I would call the Briar patch. We were caught and snagged frequently by the thorny vegetation.

Anne and Johan went for a swim. Johan’s shoe got pulled off by the muck, never to be seen again. Rough campsite. This was literal a shitty environment. The birds even left for the night.

We optimistically look forward to a better day tomorrow.

It’s easy to leave the campsite when it actually is a campsite. This morning, birds were bright and we were happy to greet them. The grass was relatively dry. The humidity felt low, so we avoided needing the comedy of trying to dry our tents, sleeping bags and gear. We could organize our belongings on a picnic table. We didn’t need to start our morning on hands and knees gathering, folding and stuffing. Also we had the comfort and luxury of an outhouse. Finally we packed our boat and stepped into it from a dock.

8:00 AM We were on the lake. Johan wanted his grandmother to count his strokes. He soon strove for 100, 200, 500, 1000, 2000.

I had no need to keep track of such heroic endeavors. I watched the houses on shore grow from occasional cottages to shoulder to shoulder near-mansions. The lawns went from a little parched to carefully mowed grass. Signs increased from private property, to keep off , to something about prosecution, and then I saw the ridiculous banner proclaiming that everything Trump said was true.

I turned toward Johan who had exhausted himself and wanted to take a nap. I wondered how did we get to this point in history making it possible for a 9 year old to inherit a failing country?

We began to slow. Johan couldn’t make himself paddle. Anne pulled off to let him rest. We ate a little lunch. There were a number of recreational vehicles in the water. Ski boats, jet boats. Pontoons. None of them human propelled, except for us.

Losing full power from Johan, we would not make it to the dam. This will be another day with no current to assist us. Where could we land our boat? We were near two islands. Anne decided the far island was better. Scouting it made me think it was impossible or at least unwise.

She (I guess we) rammed the bow into the island. The sharp wedge steadied the boat long enough to wrestle the three heavy packs out. Our passage into the island seemed impossible. The shore was non-existent. It was ringed with trees. We had to negotiate slippery rocks and the three heavy packs. We must get around them and drag them up. The island was heavily forested. Somehow, I can’t even speculate how, we got all of our packs up and into the forest. Johan fell a couple of times. That was par for him. He seems indestructible.

We wedged the canoe into a slot and pitched the tent. Jetboil food went down quickly . We were off to sleep in time to hear two deer huff at us. This was their home.

In the sunshine and backyard dew of morning, Anne and I pack up our tents with the neighbor’s dog barking loudly and madly looking over its shoulder. “Come on, hurry up,” the dog barks toward his people. It was clear he wanted his people to checkout what was going on. Desperation was upon him. I sensed he felt ‘these women smell much too old to be in tents playing on the ground.’ Something is wrong.

At 7:59 AM we stood outdoors next to Anne’s truck with the connected trailer and canoe. Our packed up gear was inside the truck. Three minutes pasted eight, Anne’s daughter, Rachel and Anne’s grandson, Johan, pulled next to our rig. The dog barked excitedly.

Too bad his people slept through this. It was a quickly orchestrated transition. Nine-year-old Johan is coming with us. His mom will return to St. Paul where they live.

So we had introductions, and more gear to fit into the packed truck. Rachel’s car stayed there until she returned in the evening when she exchanged vehicles again.

Soon we were headed for a tiny dot on the map which seemed to be a puddle. After all it was late in the season of perpetual drought. We headed toward an unknown entrance into the river.

We drove from a town of a couple of people to a bridge we weren’t supposed to enter. On the map in red it said: PADDLING IS NOT RECOMMENDED!

We moved from that area to farm roads. Our first mile was stopped by numerous private property signage adorned with handsome pictures pistols.

We drove up stream to more reasonable paddling on the Little Minnesota River. It, too, warned of private property on many fences throughout this farmland. But it was carefully navigated by Rachel bumping the trailer and canoe along the gravel roads.

Finally we found a tall gassy trail leading to an area about four feet above the water. Soon we floated and paddled in the water of the little Minnesota River. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Lots of shallow sandy traps. But strong women can push hard.

It was tedious work yet we were mostly moving. And then we entered Big Stone Lake a good size lake with South Dakota on the right and Minnesota on the left. A few minutes paddle and the sky exploded with birds. Hundreds of cormorants, pelicans, grebes, heron, gulls, shore birds and on and on for the rest of the trip. And no people.

Johan was a good paddler and interested in and knowledgeable about nature. Houses stared to come into view. Then, boats came to fish. Anne noticed a boat ramp on the SD side. We pulled up and found a campsite with two picnic tables.

All the new experience jitters disolved.

This is going to be another Big adventure with Anne, last year’s partner to Hudson Bay. We had been talking about paddling the Minnesota River earlier but after Terry’s fall from our roof, I felt uncomfortable leaving him. I felt I would be galavanting while my husband was laid up. Then I caught him not obeying doctors orders.

So tomorrow Anne, her 9 year old grandson and me are off to paddle for 7 days and see how far we can get.

Now we’re camping in the back yard of a friend of Anne’s, Deb II, in Rosemount MN. Tomorrow we’re off to start paddling the Little Minnesota River in South Dakota where we’ll face many downed trees in what sounds like a absolutely miserable way to spend the morning.

I’ll let you know.

August 16, 2025 Day 13

We got the good news that Clint and Griz would make it in on their super fast boat that will carry us, our canoes, and gear to a pickup point on the Nelson River. We can’t boat all the way to Gillum because Manitoba Hydro, the electric company, has a long series of dams and they frequently withhold water. This leads to low water for river travel and many exposed rocks and boulders. This causes the company to be in disfavor with some of the citizens of this province. One of there tactics is to hold back water. This is not my country, so I get to remain apolitical. Which is a sweet position to be in. For the people who need to make plans around the water level it’s tricky. Luckily we’re only one day late on our target arrival. Apparently Clint is a strategic genius.

We ready ourselves for escape. We still have some oatmeal for breakfast and we gather snacks for lunch. This is an unexpected additional day and the pickings are slim. We all learned, we can go with less.

Until 4:00 PM, we are left with the incredible green, green pastures of York Factory. They lay before us, beckoning. This is not a party, but rather a Saturday in the park. Polar bears?Where? None of us consider them. Everybody is laidback and peaceful. Our York Factory Family joins us. Little do we know that when our boat arrives, we’re back on a time schedule.

The boat is spotted. It only takes 20 minutes to load the boat with 11 people, four canoes and all our gear.

Engines started, two huge roaring suckers. Hold on to your seats. We hammered over huge waves. The day was then all pewter, both the sky and water. It was dang cold. About half way into our four hour ride, HOLY CRAP as if to greet us, there, just off port was this huge polar bear. He made a dismissive growl. Instantly all my bravado about not thinking about polar bears was erased. Fear takes its proper space in me. All along this creature was lurking.

Our boat continued on the Nelson River albeit calmer than the Hudson Bay, but still pewter cold. Our guide, Garrett, spotted the van backed down a hill waiting for us. Our pilot cut the boat’s engine and in short order we were handing our canoes and gear down, boarding the canoes and paddling over and around boulders.

We drove up the dirt road and made a left onto a gravel road. Daryl, our driver, asked if anyone remembered the murder case from 2019. The Canadians remembered. It involved three murders in British Columbia. A couple and a professor were murdered. The crimes were miles apart and unrelated and considered random. The killers were male, one was 18, and the other 19. There was a huge manhunt that brought the investigation to Manitoba. It turns out, one of the guys we met at York Factory, was at the corner where we just made the left. He spotted a huge murder of crows. (A murder of crows is what you call a flock of crows). This murder led the way to the murderers who had shot themselves.

I think this puts animals, such as the polar bears, in there proper perspective. They don’t commit senseless acts of murder.

It was a two hour drive to Gillum. We would be staying in the park there. They had a big event going on where it was possible to win $78,000. So people were in town. We pitched our tents on the dewy grass. It was a cold night. We had no public toilets.

Griz will pick us up driving the same van with our stuff already loaded. At 4:00 AM the train will come in and wake us with their half hour of screeching noises. How quaint is that?

On a sad note . .

Missing Norwegian trekker found dead near York Factory in northern Manitoba. Skjottelvik left Fort Severn, Ontario. He had been on foot since July 25 with two dogs and planned to arrive in York Factory, Manitoba on Aug. 15 — a distance of more than 300 kilometres along the shore of Hudson Bay. He didn’t show up, but one of his dogs did, police said.

Police believe the man was swept away while attempting to cross the Hayes River on his way to York Factory, and they said the man’s body was discovered just to the south, near where his parka washed up on shore Friday. 

The ground in the area where the search took place is boggy and so soft at points that people would often sink to their knees or waist while trying to travel on it. 

The area along the Hudson Bay shoreline is also known to be populated by polar bears and wolves, and to have fluctuating water levels because of the tide coming in and going out from Hudson Bay.

Anne and I speculate that our group probably crossed paths with him as we were coming into York Factory. Anne had heard that the other dog made it back to Severn Ontario a distance of 300 kilometers.

Wolf prints

Friday, August 15, 2025 Day 12

I woke up happy to be alive. I was in a warm bed. And, more importantly, I remembered it was a bunk bed. I didn’t forget that the top bed was precariously close to my body, so I would need to roll out of bed. Twelve consecutive nights of different campsites and I woke up each morning remembering where I was. The night I got home and was in bed with my husband, I was confused about him and the whole situation.

The room was quiet all night. Maybe because I was dead to the world. At this point, we had nothing to fear. There were eight of us and maybe eight more workers in the next bunk house. Several workers had shot guns. Garrett had a shot gun. We were inside an electrified fence. We hadn’t seen a polar bear or signs of one. Nevertheless, we were told to stick together with someone carrying a gun.

I had read a steady stream of polar bear vs man stories in preparation for this trip. I should have been comforted that none of the stories were polar bear vs woman.

I should have read woman vs nature stories. Or woman surviving drowning stories. When I think of drowning, I remind myself that this is the most common cause of death in the wilderness.

Seriously, how do you prepare for this? My first concern was how long can I hold my breath? It’s less than 30 seconds. So I practiced holding my breath. My mind and lungs were convinced I was suffering from anoxia after 45 seconds, so I had to breathe. They say drowning is a peaceful way to die, but the panicking is horrible.

Lying peacefully in the warm down sleeping bag Josh had given me, I recalled yesterday. What happened? High seas. Big waves. Cold wet conditions. Forty to fifty MPH winds. We paddled furiously for one hour. Relentless exertion.

Once safe on land, the group never talked about it. I had no nightmares. Yet I knew it wouldn’t have taken much to overturn our boats. Any one of those waves could have landed the wrong way. But all of us knew the risks.

The employees who were so good to us came by in the morning. I asked about the howling. They said it was a dog who had showed up. They sent the dog’s picture to the girlfriend of the Norwegian trekker thinking that was the only possibility. Where would another dog come from? She corroborated that he was Togo one of the two dogs he was traveling with since he left Severn, Ontario.

The trekker must be near. It seemed so unbelievable that he could make it, when he was hiking this impassable beach route. All of us were so excited to meet him. We wanted to see the reunion of man and dog.

The famous boat captain, Clint and his sidekick, Griz as expected were unable to get into York Factory until tomorrow. He was facing 60 mph winds. One perk for us was that it gave the trekker another day to get into York Factory.

This day turned out nice. Sunny and pretty. We had the tour of the grave yard that was being restored, making sure the bodies were correctly labeled and buried. Then we had the grand tour of factory. A large building with many iterations over the years. And now they are trying to restore it keeping historic significance at the forefront. With the tide out, we were able to beach comb. We could take our findings home.

We had an opportunity to have our paddles branded, with the historic York Factory brand. I thought that was nice.

As we were loving the super nice weather and keeping an eye on the beach in hopes the Norwegian and his dog arrive, a helicopter started to fly overhead.

They were called to start a search for the missing hiker and his dog. We were all saddened but hopeful.

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.

August 13, 2025 Day 10

Wake at 4:00 with little sleep. It’s just too Cold for something as friendly as sleep. The sound of a powerful, angry river would startle me awake.

Once up, our spirits lifted by the appearance of the sun and then waned when a bottom heavy dark cloud passed overhead. We all remained cold encased in wet clothes with no chance of experiencing dry ones. Actually, I had no real reason to complain. We had no wind and no rain. The currents and ripples pushed our broad shouldered river forward. It was the best of all possible worlds.

The average number of people on this river on any given day is three. This quiet unpeopled place at that moment was my best of all possible worlds. No WiFi. No communication from that outside world. No incident light. No mechanical sounds. Everything eight people need in four open canoes.

We start to get the feel of joining the ocean. Maybe salt water is in the air. Maybe it was the expansiveness of the Hayes River. This will be the last night we share on the Hayes. Tomorrow we’ll be in the Hudson Bay at York Factory.

York Factory is a Canadian National Historic Site that was a settlement and Hudson’s Bay Company (HBC) factory (trading post) on the southwestern shore of Hudson Bay in northeastern Manitoba, Canada, at the mouth of the Hayes River, approximately 200 kilometres (120 miles) south-southeast of Churchill.

When Anne and I had talked before the trip, she said she was sure we’d see polar bears. I’ve been on many backpacking trips when I thought a lot about bears black and grisly. And mountain lions that we caught on our game cam and that killed our neighbor’s dog right in front of them. I could be pretty jumpy about bears and mountain lions.

On this trip maybe I had been too tired at night. Or maybe it was because we spent more time on the shore than the woods. But now that I’ve worried for months about polar bears and we are officially in their territory, it’s the last thing on my mind.

I still have the wind and rain to fret over. People in the wilderness don’t die of animal attacks. They die of their own stupidity. Drowning and falling.

Before we set up camp, Garrett fired a Bear Banger and shot his shotgun across the rivers. We were instructed that morning not to use anything scented. And to put all scented items in a barrel. We had to erect our tents in a row with a few feet between them.

I slept fine. I got up in the night to pee and never looked for the white bear.

8/12/2025 Day 9

This is the Peak of the Perseid meteor shower. This whole trip, we’ve had a lot of ambient night light. I have no idea why. This morning I woke to pee during a brief period of reprieve from rain. The moon was rising and all was silent and breathtaking. No bear worries. No snoring. I felt this was a harbinger of our trip’s end.

And then, the rain picked up outside the tent. The wind gusted at top speed. We were supposed to get an early start. This drove me deep into my sleeping bag.

Today we no longer need our helmets. Busy, roiling, rocky waters are behind us. We only have three more days and a lot of ground to cover. If we miss our rendezvous with the fast boat, we won’t be able to leave for 5 more days. At 6:00 AM the rain stopped. Folks left their storm shelter and streamed (all eight of us) to breakfast.

We were in the water by 8:00. The wind was incredible. The temperature was in the single digits. Rain resumed. We pulled over periodically for a break. Pulling the paddle against the wind is grueling. Pain builds, stabbing the neck. Oh god, I need a shower!

I need a tooth brush! I lost mine again. Lord have mercy on my soul! Really, come on!

Shortly into the morning, the Fox River flows into the Hayes. Our width expands and the current picks up speed.

We’re supposed to go 60K today, but we’ll end up with only 40 because the group is in despair. We left the action of the rapids for the the action of freezing to death. Bully for us!

Just after lunch, the God River flows into the Hayes. Our broad shoulders plow toward Hudson Bay.

The Hudson Bay is a large body of saltwater in northeastern Canada, covering an area of about 475,000 square miles. It is named after explorer Henry Hudson, who mapped its eastern coast in 1610, and is considered part of the Arctic Ocean. This is the size of three Californias.

We later find from Garrett’s wife’s message that the winds were gusting to 60K.

We found a gravel bar to pull up in. There were thickets of brush and grasses, and other various tangles which we needed to effectively tromp down to and pitch our tents. All the dense lowland growth, leave little room for big creatures and the big foot print they need for all the stuff they drag along. Humans. The trampled down path is impassible. The ingress and egress is less functional. I’m stuck. No leaving without taking your tent down first.

Time for the polar bear rules. Most assuredly we won’t see a polar bear here. But staring tomorrow, we never travel alone.

August 11/2025. Day 8

We head into the lowlands with no helmets or rapids to contend with. We have miles and miles of eskers: stratified sand hills formed within ice-walled tunnels by streams that flowed within and under glaciers.

By the end of the day, we’ll have paddled 50K. Our longest paddle. After paddling for hours, those eskers have turned to the sandy beaches with tall grasses. The paddlers on one canoe saw a wolverine. Something I hanker to see. Wolf and moose tracks are fresh but not a peek of either animal. There are so many piles of moose poop, we sleep on it and sit on it.

We see ducks pulling the broken wing fake to distract predators from their ducklings. Bald eagles sit high overhead. This day we saw a quick break in the clouds, but the smoke returned and a black cloud followed us to our camp. After trampling down the tall grasses to capture a small plot for our tents, our amazing guides had yet another delicious meal waiting so we could eat before the bottom heavy cloud opened, just as we were finishing washing the last dish.

What a day. We go to bed with full bellies and tired muscles.

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The German’s Boat

8/11/2015 Day 8

This is a story I planned to tell earlier when we found the canoe and learned about its story.

In 2017, two German friends decided to buy a canoe online and paddle the Hayes River. They picked up the canoe at the Winnipeg Airport. They were flying in from Germany uncertain of what they had purchased and clueless about what they needed for such a adventure. The seller ended up driving them and the canoe to Norway House, the start of the trip. After paddling more than 200 miles. They crashed their canoe on a rock and destroyed it.

They would have to self rescue, so were forced to trek about 100 miles to the nearest highway outside of the town of Gillam, Manitoba.

Wolf Wagner, 25, and John Hoentsch, 26, spent 11 days slogging through boggy terrain with no means of communication to ask for help.

There were no trails just bogs and muskeg.

They became uncertain they would survive.

They were barraged by insects, muck, hunger and doubt. Yet eleven days later, they reached Gillam.