August 10, 2025 Day 7

I wake in the sate of Damp. Pooling water in the tent means wet clothes. I took my clothes and clothes line down sometime during the night. Correctly thinking the misty conditions will make things worse. It’s hard to stake the tent out if there is no lo room. Hence, the corner with my clothes . . .

4:30 AM Good Morning! I guess we’re all in the same condition. At least my sleeping bag remains dry. My sleeping outfit is dry. That includes my base layer, sweater, wool socks, tuque. My sleeping pad hasn’t been dry for days. I cover my head delaying the inevitable.

I start the chili day with asking my body to warm and dry my wet outfit. I spit in the eye of human comfort. At least it’s not raining. Padding makes me comfortable. By 11:00 AM and three hours of paddling, we stop for a break. In three minutes I’m shivering uncontrollably. I can’t stop.

Garrett gives me a cup of hot tea and makes me drink it. Warm from the inside first. Shortly back in the canoes again, Anne and Gord suggested we eat lunch. Lunch is snack food that we stand over and ravenously grab. I’m not an aggressive eater. So I circled to stay warm- buzzard style.

The day is gray and foggy. We’d been paddling through different microclimates. Coming ever closer to the low-lands. Soon we will start seeing eskers. A long, narrow, steep-sided ridge of coarse sand and gravel deposited by a stream flowing in or under a melting sheet of glacial ice.

We’ve started to see more wildlife on shores. A black bear with two cubs. The heads of otters swimming near. Graceful swans. At one point, we paddle underneath a bald eagle, in Canada, a great eagle. It was perched on a low branch. Clearly honing in on its prey. On seeing us, it effected its best hypnotic stink-eye. Effectively chilling.

That beautiful moss is now infused with moose scat and deep prints. Not once do I consider any of the wild animals a threat. We camp near a waterfall we scout to paddle in the morning. All night the roar of the falls haunts my sleep.

Tomorrow we enter the low lands.

Saturday, August 9, 2025 Day 6

If you had talked to me during the past year, you know my priority was to get white-water paddling training and experience. I couldn’t find any where for lessons near Ely or back in CA. I spent hours watching instructions on YouTube. I understand a lot of the principles and practices of how to maneuver your body and the paddles. It’s like learning to ski by YouTube. For me it’s not only knowing the moves and doing the movements, it’s being fast enough that the movements can make a difference (the right direction difference. Is nice)

As we leave Swampy Lake behind, and are instructed again to always wear our helmets, I get serious. I think we all do. Overall, we’re a pretty serious bunch.

As Swampy Lake narrows, we pick up speed and we’re back to the Hayes. When you don’t know the river or your partner for the day, it’s difficult. We’re in tandem canoes. We have different roles to play. You both will pay the consequences for the other’s mistakes.

I was assuming, correctly, I’d be paddling with Garrett because I’ll always be the weakest and he’ll always be the strongest. I believed because of the wide disparity in our skills, I made his job harder if not more dangerous. My feeling didn’t do much for my ego, but it did a lot for my sense of security.

We passed through a number of riffles and swifts adorned with rocks and slabs and boulders. Garrett and I danced around danger. All that was required of me was to paddle. I would silently chant “paddle like you mean it, no hands on gunnel.” When the canoe is squirreling under you, your body heaving one way and boat the opposite way, you automatically grab for something. I mostly extinguished that gunnel-grabbing instinct. At one point I actually did a draw which pulled us to the right of a big rock. Garrett acknowledged it was a good move. But I saw the problem that could arise. If I had been one beat late on taking that draw the boat would turn too late and run into the rock on the right. I felt skittish to try again. There was no debriefing. We were all supposed to be ready for wind, weather and waves.

We continued the pattern of eddying out just after the rapid to turn and watch the others follow each other. The number one problem was getting stuck on a rock requiring the stern paddler to jump out of the back of the canoe and push the boat off the rock from the back. I watched in awe of my fellow paddler’s confidence and ingenuity to tackle their situation. We were carry twelve days of food and gear for eight people. I was reminded this wasn’t training with an empty canoe. This was the real thing, and we were up against a strict deadline.

This waiting and watching takes time. But it’s time we have because this is group travel. Garrett doesn’t give pointers. He praises. And tells them why he chose his route. Of course, this is not a strict science. There are many choices for every run. It couldn’t be thrilling sans the unknown danger.

At one of the tricky runs, the two most experienced paddlers came down last. And in an instant they over turned. A quick blink of the eye and when I looked up all I saw was the bottom of the red canoe up. The male paddler was trying to right the canoe. The female was farther down the river. She started to do the side stroke. And inched over to the shore.

The guy had the pushed the canoe near shore. He and others were putting the gear back in place. Most everything was clipped to the boat and safe. Some miscellaneous items were free. Others paddled down stream to recover the items. Most everything was rescued. We immediately resumed paddling to stay warm.

Garrett was good at doing patchwork portages. He could find a work-around the bigger falls. This time, we dipped the bow of our empty canoe almost straight down off a crack in a narrow ledge. Both of the paddlers grasped the stern leaning back, trying not to drop the canoe while carefully lowering them until they reached the water and slid to rest in a little pocket wedged between the rocks. The paddlers, Garrett and I, demonstrated. Once the boat was perpendicular to the water, yet held by rocks, we scrambled down and hopped in the canoe. We pushed and hopped our hips me pushing paddles on rocks until we dislodged. Garrett pointed us right into the face of the crashing falls. It seemed we were heading for . . . We turned out and road the smooth line down and turn to watch the other three canoes wrestle successfully with this crazy plan.

After some fun runs, we headed in for a rest. The sun came out, and we appreciated the beauty of this area. Coming in behind a spit of land, we could spot Mount Baldy. At 2,730 feet, it’s the highest point in Manitoba. It looked tall, green, and grassy. A nice feature that would peak at us for the next day. We soaked in the sun promising dry clothes. We were struck with joy. Garrett pointed out we were at the northern most point of the Canadian Shield. And then clouds moved in.

The day continued cold, wet, rain. Just as we were approaching our campsite. The same couple dumped again. It was a quick rescue and hop across the river to a slab of rock just big enough to set up a tight camp. We all hung up wet clothes.

Try to dry out

Friday, August 8, 2025 Day 5

I woke shortly after falling asleep. It was cold. I believed it to be in the high 30s but l had no metrics to prove it. I couldn’t sleep. I got up to Velcro the end vent flaps closed on my tent. I know wisdom says not to zip the side doors shut because it promotes humidity, but I couldn’t tolerate the swirling of frigid fog. So I zipped up.

I broke open some hand and toe warmers, put pants and a sweater over my Smart-wool long underwear, started to wiggle my way into my emergency space blanket, pulled on my bright orange, don’t-shoot-me (worn during hunting season) tuque (Canadian word for stocking cap, and I zipped the sleeping bag over my head. Before I dozed off, I heard what sounded like someone canon-balling into the water. Then I heard it once again, hmmm. And a again. Still, I dozed, but woke briefly to register the ah ha! Those were beavers.

Up at 4:00 still warm and ready to journal under my headlamp. This was my time. The same time and hour as at home. Today I worried about wildlife. We had seen nothing. No mammals. I think we were hyper-focused on possible rocks, rapids, fog or smoke.

If we had something to investigate, it needed to grab our close-up view, like our close bonding with spiders. At night, when we turned the canoes on their sides, spiders crawled under. I’m sure they believed the canoes were something like fallen trees from a derecho. They served their function as Home sweet home for them. Evidently spiders are not forward thinkers. They were still lounging when we overturned the canoes. We paid them no attention. We had a river to run. After settling into our paddling rhythm, some of us started to notice these encampments of arachnids.

I’m sure we were their first close encounter with humans. They looked shy and embarrassed to land in this place they couldn’t comprehend. They gathered in front of my feet. As I paddled, they worked, actually crawled to get off the floor and make progress toward something that looked more like their preferred environment. Grass. Trees. Sand. Anything other than this moving trap. After hours of work, they found themselves still at the bottom, in a deep hole. Oh well, they will be turned over in the canoe tonight.

Hallelujah no smoke. And no instant worries of rapids. We started Swampy Lake aptly named. Without current we were anxious for swifter water. But we could breathe, just breathe.

Thursday August 7, 2025 Day 4

Smog woke with us, and confirmed we still lived in a gray world. A loon’s lone call echoed in the gray. Is it a portent of a changed day? Although our trip hadn’t been fraught with anguish and danger, it had more than its fair share of discomfort, smoke, drab skies, chilly temperature and damp conditions.

But today, we would become River Runners at the start line. All of us were excited and a bit trepidatious. The loon called again. It was so singular. The air was heavy with an insular stillness. That loon, that one lone loon, held a message for the day. Because we all knew this stillness would be ruffled.

After breakfast each morning, if we chose, we could smudge with the group. Led by Allison, we gathered in a circle with the smoke from sage burning in an abalone shell. It’s an act of peace and calming. It sets a tone. It feels like respect for each other, self, nature.

Next we find a paddle partner for the day. Today I was assigned my partner. It was Garrett which is no surprise to pair the strongest with the weakest. I felt like I dodged a bullet instead of sweating them. I was not alone. One other participant felt insecure with white water and was partnered with the other guide Allison.

An hour or so into the paddle the water narrowed, and we tasted the current. We were in the river, not just any river it was the Hayes River. Lovely, eh? And powered by nature. We felt it.

This is a page of my Hap Map

Before we reach our initiation point—the point of no return—we break for lunch, a great tension reliever.

I could only speak for myself, but not having a clue of what to expect, builds tension. We were nearing the rapids. As we closed in l could see the edge of the river just dropped. Look like the water rolled straight down. It appeared to be like Curtain Falls in the Boundary waters of Minnesota. The one where two men lost their lives last year. N

I’ sure l’m over reacting. We all pull around the corner from the rapids. We walk up to a point where we can look down. We are not going to try that ledge Garrett told us. We walked back and started to carry everything. Quickly the four canoes and a few tons of gear were portaged around that first falls. Everyone grabbed a helmet. Heading into the Danger Zone.

Next Garrett told all of us we needed to kneel on the pads and sit back on the seat. I wrote on my application that I couldn’t do this but I guess he didn’t believe it. I told them during our zoom meeting. They said they would work around it.

“Why can’t you?” He wanted to know.

“I’ve tried since my ACL repair in 1996 to bend it like that, but to no avail.”

Oh, well just stay in your seat. Like there was some other choice.

We all scout a bit. Some confer with Garrett, but it’s clear to me, he’ll call the shots. The river is really low. So it’s bony. Lots of rocks.

Because Garrett was the leader and I was in the bow, I went first. He told me to paddle hard. Never stop. When in doubt, paddle.

We had no problem going through the first rapid. We eddied out to watch the others come through. All flawless.

On the next rapid, we bobbled, and I grabbed the gunnel. I was quickly reprimanded. I never did that again. But I made notes of those who did.

Day 3 August 6, 2025

We were still on the lake but the thought of getting closer to the river and the rapids is looming. I’ve been studying my Hap Wilson’s Wilderness Manitoba Rivers book. It shows and tells the features of each wild river in the province. I copied the five pages that pertain to the Hayes River from Knee Lake to York Landing on the Hudson Bay in Manitoba Canada. I put the five page map in a plastic cover to easily access it as I proceed down the river. From day one, I realized I wouldn’t be looking at the map as we move through this water. I had a job to do. Paddle!

Despite Hap’s book being 27 years old, it gave me pertinent, if not up-to-date information on the river. What I focused on now was our first set of rapids. Sometime tomorrow we will encounter heavy swifts, rocky features, big holes, strong flow, hard upstream, class II technical rapids, bump and grind, fun and games. No worries.

Because today the lake was still my home. Smoke once again greeted me. Today it gave me a horse voice. All my belongings smelled of smoke which is much more pleasant than the odor of a well-exercised unwashed body. My bowl of oatmeal seemed meager. The coffee that followed was skimpy. But that wouldn’t cross my mine once the paddling started.

Today I was paddling with Gord, a nice soft-spoken man from Winnipeg. He said he was uncomfortable with his abilities so had taken white-water classes with Wild Loon as had Karen and Nigel. I tried to get training in CA and MN but l couldn’t work anything out.

With the smoke thickening, the other shore of the lake remained illusive. It had the haunting beautiful of hanging over an edge of stillness of an unknown waterfall drop at each paddle stroke. The morning was completely calm except for our paddle strokes. We could have been in complete silence. In Gordon Hempton’s book, One Square Inch of Silence, he warns that Natural silence is disappearing. If we could all stop paddling and we would remain silent, we’d feel this soundless soundscape. This one square inch of silence.

As we leave the morning behind, the smoke blows away and the wind picks up. The wind angles around until the waves meet us broadside. We tack into the wind. The canoes endure their injuries better at the front than side. Broadside is the worst side.

I purchased a new wooden paddle from Garrett to have branded with the logo of York Factory when we landed there at the end of our trip. This paddle was heavier than mine at home. This meant, I had that heavy Paddle-or-die feeling. Also, my tailbone was quite painful to sit on. I was happy to have the day end at 4:00 on a long beach.

Past the beach, I found land to stake out my claim. It was in front of a bramble thicket. I left my tent on the beach in the crook of this site. I took a walk with the BoS (Bag of Shame) and found a game trail. From the prolific scat I determined, I was in the company of moose.

On the return to my site, I realized how slim the site was. I only had enough room for the tent. But I had to stake or (peg) as the Canadians say, the back and one side by tying them on the low bushes. All my movements were painful and hence slower than usual. The tent was up and staked out in front. I was reaching out the door on my knees and WHAM this hurricane of a wind collapsed the tent around me. I remained holding still to keep tent from blowing away.

Or course I thought this must be a derecho. I knew it would stop without doing damage to anything that wasn’t in its direct line. I figured everyone was safe and I would be safe shortly. Then I was surprised when somebody grabbed me. I screamed. And I heard a voice say “I didn’t know you were in there. We’re gonna tie up your tent.”

“Thank you.”

I lay there for a while.

I hear Garrett’s voice announce. “It’s time to eat.” He said,

“Now?” I asked.

“Yes it’s time to eat. It’s ready. Already. Yes you need to come! OK?”

Oh my, I realized I was a wreck. I didn’t even feel like walking to get something to eat. It was really hard to move with a bruised tailbone. I straightened right out of the tent. Telling myself, stand up, look confident and un injured.

It was drizzling. Near to me someone said, we’re in here. They had erected a tarp. It was warm and cozy and people let me sit on their little chairs. Sit here please. Someone said. I said to myself, do not knock over the folding tripod chair. Sit on your injured spot and don’t lean back.

They had spaghetti. I put my face in the cup and just ate without looking at anyone, I was starving. Even though the food was covered in sand and it was gritty, it tasted great and I ate the end of the pot.

Then we started singing songs. And it turned out that Anne was a choir director. Karin had sung in musicals. And Allison knew songs from her music camps. We harmonized and sang in rounds. A nice night. After the derecho.

Day 2 Tuesday 9/5/2025

With tents scattered wide and far, the morning seemed to roll out tentatively. Where should we be now? I typically get up at 4:00 AM and write in my journal under the light of my head lamp. And while thinking, I’m putting things away in one of the little bags carefully labeled but still able to elude me as to its content. I seem to have misplaced my toothbrush, paste, floss all together or separately at least once a day. While camping nightly over several weeks you develop your own routines—your rhythm of the road, or in this case rhythm of the river. What do I do next and at what time do I need to do it. This trip will challenge my idea of my rhythm because I almost never travel with a group.

First I need to know, the timing of the waking. Somewhere in the routine, we should learn the rules for pooping. Some time ago, my friend Laurie and I were setting up our tent on the JMT when a guy asked us “Where does a guy poop around here?” That is one of the questions. Here’s the answer for our situation: The Red Bag which I called the “Bag of Shame. It contained a garden trowel, lots of TP and hand sanitizer. I see it as the planchette of the Ouija Board. Push it in front of you and drop your head as you move. The way is cleared, and basically, you are guided to the right spot. And, if asked, the planchette will answer your ontological questions with a yes, no, or Goodbye.

At 9:00 AM I think we’re still maintaining a leisurely schedule, but it was just me. I was lagging. I had the farthest distance to my site. I arrived at the shore with my tent which turned out to be the last one stuffed in tent dry bag.

Painfully hooked on one of my shoulders was my Duluth-type dry bag. Garrett looked at it and suggested I might want to “clean it up a bit.” The bag would be snapped into a canoe along with the barrels and all the gear. Nothing would be left untethered, except the paddlers and paddles. If you dumped your canoe, the gear needed to stay with the canoe and you should also. Always remember, there is no way to give up and go home.

It was time to pair up in a canoe for the day and decide who will be stern and who will be in the bow for the day. Karen asked me to pair with her saying she wanted to know me. This made me feel comfortable and good.

I had only paddled once before on a river (the Yukon River) which had no rapids. Our group started on a Knee Lake, good sized lake but no comparison to Lake Laberge of the Yukon. This lake was infamous for being the stage for the cremation of Sam MaGee “the queerest they ever did see.” According to the 1907 Robert Service poem. Lake Laberge can make for a long paddle if you’re fighting a headwind and waves. When Terry and I crossed Lake Laberge we heard stories of many difficult passings many which left the paddlers wind and wave bound. These two ventures are very different. First, as remote as the Yukon may be, we saw plenty of paddlers. And a road passed near us everyday. That would not happen in this case.

As the day moved on, we picked up wind and waves. I wondered if this would shorten our day. We were on a tight schedule. Because if we didn’t make it to York Factory by the 14th we wouldn’t make our boat connection and might need to stay at York Factory for 4 more days.

We did land early but it was owing more to the 29K distance to the next camp than to the weather. As we were unloading, I walked over to the other side of the boat to help unload. As soon as I put my foot on the slick rock, I was down on my back landing on my tailbone. I took a little time getting up. But I like to assess the problem. I believed I’d be uncomfortable for a few days. I made sure I pitched my tent close in. it was a slow go affair. And I had wanted to go faster than last night. Unfortunately, the path up the hill had roots, rocks, and a sandy slide. I wondered if l’d have time to eat and indeed I had another delicious meal. But it was beautiful.

We shared the day with one another and no others.

Monday, August 4, 2025. Day 1

We left our suite in the Best Economic Lodge in Thompson, Manitoba at 8:30 AM. I was hoping to get some double shot canned coffee for my serious caffeine need. Walmart was open. They were located near the mall that blasted operatic voices through the air of these local shopping vendors. My sense is that the merchants were profiling the audience of opera lovers as people who are hungry to buy and loathe to steal. But I have no data on this.

On August 4th, Anne and I set out for the Hudson Bay. This trip was one year in the making for me. But for Anne, it was only a small portion of her journey that would end her multi-year expedition from the start at the Mississippi River at the Gulf of Mexico to Hudson Bay Canada. That means over many years she paddled the whole Mississippi River, the Red River, Lake Winnipeg and now she’s finishing the Hayes River. This is a huge feat.

It was extremely smoky that morning. Neither Anne nor I wanted to be in the way of the firefighters, but we had time to head out toward the fire just to collect data for our safety and those of our other paddling compatriots. Actually they are not our compatriots. No matter what I might think, I’m not Canadian, and they are damn proud of that.

We arrived in first place at the airport. The female and male thirty something guides arrived next. Of course, they are darling and provincial, and have the cute accents.

Then a couple of sixty something guys arrived independently of one another. Only two more participants left to meet. If this had been a clear day, we’d be in the air on the way. But the smoke was still with us.

The other participants, an old guy, my age, from Newfoundland and a Sixtyish woman who lives in Manitoba. They came together by train from Winnipeg, which is about nine hours straight above Winnipeg. But for some reason the train lollygags along through Saskatchewan until it takes about 30 hours to get to Thompson.

I know that everyone has more experience than I do. In fact, I have no white water experience. But at least we are all seniors.

Finally we were going to chance it. Anne and I were in the first group. The canoes were choked into the fuselage of the plane, along with hundreds of pounds of gear. This left just a single row for passengers in the Cessna 208 Caravan. Ooo, air sickness nudges some. The pilot told us this was his first time flying to Lake Knee. Fear and sickness at Knee Lake. The sky was kinda clear for a fair while until it turned opaque. The pilot admitted he didn’t know where the runway was. But then he fell through the hole in the clouds and fell softly on to the Air Strip.

The plane ride to the lake which included loading and unloading is two hours. The pilot had to do this twice. So it was eight hours for the pilot and six for us. But all assembled at the dock about 6:00 PM. We were primed to paddle the couple of kilometers.

We were off. Seven PM we leave dock at knee lodge where they had a landing strip and let us use it. It was only a 4K paddle to a gorgeous beach and campsite with dispersed sites. What could be more perfect than the near full moon working the rungs up the sky with me sinking into the biggest moss and liken bed of my life?

July 29, 2025

It’s an hour drive from Ely to Cook. I arrive at the US Forest Service office at 10:00 just as Anne pulls in. She jumps out of her truck. We load her backpack and Duluth pack next to mine. We head north.

About a year ago, I walked into this same office with Terry. Anne was at work. We were looking at maps and asking her questions. Terry asked if it was possible to paddle from Rainy Lake to Hudson Bay. She told us of her trip three weeks earlier. She and two long-time friends and fellow paddlers were on their last leg of a three year expedition paddling up from Minnesota to Hudson Bay. Just past the village of Oxford House, while paddling through a rapid, they crashed into a rock tipping the canoe, losing gear (including their Garmin locator) and suffering injury. Anne had broken ribs. Yet they pulled the canoe with its remaining gear back to Oxford House. Tough women, eh?

By the time Terry and I left, Anne and I had made plans to finish her route. During this year and several iterations of this plan, we are on our way starting with a five day trip to Churchill, Manitoba.

Our first stop on the auto trip was the French Canadian town of Saint Jean Batiste. By the way, Anne’s partners on the Hudson Bound trip were both named Deb. When they were paddling up the Red River they arrived at the village and this guy named Ulysse pronounced (you liss) played the role of a town greeter. Anne was still connected to him and he and his wife had volunteered to host us for the night.

I didn’t feel like a stranger for long. They were welcoming and soon seemed familiar.

A great start.

Sunday July 13, 2025 (Bear Head Lake State Park Minnesota

I’m sitting at a table at the trail center in Bear Head State Park. It’s a great place to spread your materials out, separate from mosquitos, use a flush toilet and be alone. When I finish here, l’ll test out the beach and perhaps next time I’ll remember my swimsuit.

It’s such a peaceful place. But my long awaited Big Trip is nearing. And I’m studying maps of the 30 some rapids, rocks, eddies and possible portages.

Trying not to Panic? It’s two weeks and Two days until Anne and I leave for Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada. I’ve been working on my accent and have memorized Oh Canada. I probably will get the maple leaf tattoo. But I fear my CA plates will give me away.

On the 29th of July we drive to Anne’s cousin’s house and then the next day we drive up to Thompson, Manitoba. The end of the road. There are only a few roads in this province. We board a train at 4:00 PM for a 16 hour train trip to Churchill, the town famous for its polar bears and beluga whales. A couple days later, we return to Thompson. On August 4th we fly with a group of 8 people and 4 canoes to Oxford House, Manitoba which is a Bunibonibee Cree Nation village.

By the end of the day, we will have paddled to our first campsite on the Hayes River heading to York Factory on the Hudson Bay.

July 11, 2025

Up in the loft the house seems tree-branch level. Terry asked me to walk by the the house to see if it’s visible from the road. Of courses it is. It’s peeking through the trees.

Earlier on in the building process we had a casualty. A red-eyed vireo was nesting inches away on an extended branch. The eggs hatched and Terry was proud to announce the arrival of his little peepers. In a rainstorm, one of the huge tarps that need to be deployed too often, lashed the nest and the whole family was lost. Terry morns, but continues.

The house is a a little over 1000 sq feet not counting the loft or the garage. But it looks the size of a Amazon warehouse. For now that is.

Terry started out working with Steve, his brother from Oklahoma. This week brother Les from Idaho joined them. They are tireless. I still don’t know how Terry understands how to do this. And Steve can catch a mistake or a problem. They all work well together.

This project is unfathomable to me. All the details in the right order. How many details are there?