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?

June 26, 2025

When I bought my solo canoe, almost two years ago, my goal was to do solo overnights. With decent weather forecasted and not being needed with our home building, the time had come.

I made the decision the day before I put in to the water. Living in the small room in the garage everything was in various tubs. Many items in the “Deb’s Backpacking” tub were inside their little light zipper bags that have never been culled. Hence I ended up packing duplicates like the three toiletries bags all containing the same items. You can image how helpful that was when at the end of a hard paddling day you’re trying to find thing,

I had announced my paddling intention. Terry wrote down the directions I gave him for my route. I would paddle on four different bodies of water starting with Little Long Lake connected to Burntside Lake by the only portage of the trip. Next I’d paddle into the Dead River which flows from Burntside and into Twin Lakes. I had my eye on a Twin Lake campsite for a couple of years. Finally, I was going to make it.

I got up at five and thought I would be on my way about seven but all the gear was a mess. So I frantically got things together by walking in circles and asking “What am I doing? why don’t I have a checklist?” Finally I threw all the gear I had on the bed, into two backpacks deciding that I’d figure it out when I got to the campsite. Not my best thinking.

I made PB&Js and grabbed a small container of leftover mac&cheese from the fridge. Since I couldn’t find a canister of gas for our Jetboil, I couldn’t cook. It was only one night. What the heck? If I had to layover owing to storms, I would not starve. I could pretend l was a contestant on the survival show Alone for probably ten days.

My walking in circles and lack of a checklist could not be remedied. It was too late. I threw everything I had on the bed into the backpacks. Now I was pressed with a 10:30 start time. I asked Terry to watch me put the canoe on the car and put the straps and ropes on to hold it down. I mostly had everything wrong. Glad I asked and he helped.

Once on the dock at the access to Little Long by myself, I realized I had no plan for loading my small super light canoe. How do I balance this tippy boat? I wrestled with my every decision until I made myself get in and take off. It was a small lake and a calm day after all.

At the portage I managed disembarking without spilling myself or the contents of the boat. I looked at the time and realized, if I didn’t pick up my pace, I’d be setting up my tent in the dark. I strapped on both backpacks one on the front the other on the back. Luckily the portage was short, but it had a fallen tree across the path. This obstacle was high enough that I had to take off the packs and straddle the branch.

Next how would I get the canoe off my head and over this obstacle? As I approached it with canoe overhead, I decided to walk up to the branch and drop the canoe’s nose to reach the ground on the other side of the tree and leave it sitting there while I crawled, boat free, over the branch and then crawled back under the canoe. Then I repositioned it on my shoulders. Success!

On the other side of the trail, I found a warm sand beach with easy loading for take off again.

I was paddling on beautiful Burntside lake. This is a large lake but I was only paddling a corner of it. It could turn up some big waves, but on this day the sun was shining and the water was still. It was warm and the water felt warm. I had yet to see another paddler. From this point to the camp I could not get out of the canoe. I could not stand, could not change my position, could not pee.

When I turned into the Dead River, it was the kind of peace and quiet that makes you feel still and shadowed with absolute calm. The “river” is a pathway without the rushing of a river or a creek. The path cuts through the lily pads that inch into high grasses and eventually tall trees. I decided to eat one of my PB&Js. I rested my paddle along side me. And it slipped into the water. My only paddle unreachable. I looked at the tangle of lily pads and assured myself I could not stand on them. I tried paddling with my hands. Nope. Then I grabbed the device I screw onto the canoe for padding to portage. Yup. I back paddled right to it. Not once did I feel uncalm.

By the time I entered the lake my paddling was slow and painful. My legs were stiff and painful. But the coming evening was so quiet and warm and soon the log steps to the campsite were in view. The boat drifted into the shallows. I could stand. It took me four hours of sitting but I arrived.

No one, no other person was on that lake. Just me.

Sunday, June 22, 2025

Thursday, I was invited to lunch at Anne’s cabin. She lives over an hour away. This is the first time I’ve been to this neck of the woods. I carefully followed her directions to the landing where she was waiting to pick me up and boat me to the island she lives on. I didn’t know what to expect of the lake, the island, the cabin nor her. I had only met her briefly twice before and that was last summer.

Terry and I were at one of Superior National Forest Service Visitor Centers. We were looking at one of their big maps and wondering aloud if it was possible to paddle from Rainy Lake in MN to Hudson Bay in Manitoba Canada.

Anne heard the question and told us that she had just come from the final leg of a paddling trip with two friend Deb and Deb. They were paddling from Itasca MN to Hudson Bay, which is a long paddle approximately 2,400 miles. They only had one leg left of this voyage when they hit a rock going through a rapid. The boat flipped, they dumped and all sustained injuries. Anna broke some ribs. Their only option was to return home and finish the paddle the following year 2025. One of the Debs was not going to continue.

“Would I be interested?”

Now, a year later, here I am speeding with Anne on her boat toward a cabin on an island on a gorgeous summer day. Wow what a place and day. In the past year we have developed a plan via text, email, zoom and phone for the paddle trip. The second Deb had also resigned. So it was just the two of us. We would be paddling for 14 days from Oxford House Manitoba to York Factory, Hudson Bay on the Hayes River. We would drive to Thompson Manitoba because it’s the end of the road. Then catch a fight to Oxford House.

During the past year, Anne found a guide service, Wild Loon, in Winnipeg that was making the same trip. We signed up. We will be joining six other paddlers and two guides.

This makes it seem much safer, but I have not paddled any whitewater. And we will have many rapids to navigate. I’ve got work ahead. We’re leaving on Aug 4th.

June 18, 2025

It ‘s hard to believe the progress of building our home in Ely MN. Terry and his brother Steve have worked from breakfast to supper every day for three weeks.

A couple days ago they anticipated our four-inch deluge and flew through every job trying to seal the frame up to protect all their work.  Even I was out with Terry in the dark bailing water out of the boat that had been left at the wrong angle. More rain is predicted for several days.

May 14, 2025

“Get behind me, Woman. It’s become an invasion”

That was Terry’s morning, but mine was all about eyedrops. Instructions read: Add your three important eye drops to the left eye. Time them exactly three minutes apart. Have someone drive you to the surgery center.

“Terry, it’s time to go.” He put the gun down

and we were on your way.

Fifteen quick miles and we turn into the parking lot. I order, “Slow down and let me read this to you. I have instructions here. Go around to the back, look for the black sandwich board sign, and call the number on the board. Or you can knock three times on the door.”

There was no need for either. A nurse was waiting to get me in and out of my second cataract surgery in 40 minutes. Race is On. Ten minutes to start and IV give five more eyedrops. Then drop some Versed in the IV. The bed is pushed next door, my head is taped still, and I’m told not to blink, and it’s over.

The nurse calls Terry. He makes it back to the center in 16 minutes. We take second.

Terry says it’s our lucky day. We might stop the rat invasion today. “We? Don’t count me in, I think the rat is cute”. From Terry: “Hey, those are wood rats eating the birdseed, and multiplying!” My fancy gun is only a pellet gun, and I’m shooting through an open window!”