June 29th: The HOL

June 29, 2008; Day 22

Parent River
GPS Coordinates: 65 deg., 5 min. North; 114 deg., 24 min. West

Author: Nina

You've heard about Meg's memories of 2005, Beth's summer vacation and Emily's wildlife encounters. Now it is my turn. I'm here to tell you about something a good deal less pleasant. That something is the HOL. The HOL is our name for the traditional Dene route that connects the Emile River with Grenville Lake, the Coppermine Watershed, and the Barrons. For us, the HOL involves three days of portaging with a day of piling across Mesa Lake thrown in. It's an apt name both because it is short for the height of land that divides two watersheds and because the correct pronunciation of the HOL is a mix between "haul" and "howl," as in the howling of your back muscles as you haul your gear from one river system to another, which, in short, sums up the majority of this past week.

The first rule of the HOL is you do not complain about the HOL. It doesn't matter if you're walking through muskeg or foot sucking mud, crawling up a cliff or crossing a boulder field; don't say a word, just keep walking. It doesn't matter if the caribou trail you're following descends into a tangle of willows; take a beating and keep walking. It doesn't matter if the black flies' rising clouds greet you on each portage; zip your bug jacket, muster a smile and get walking.

The second rule of the HOL is you do not complain about the HOL. Yes, your thirty days worth of food forces you to take three trips on each portage turning every mile into five. Yes, your one day of paddling on Mesa Lake will be against a headwind so stiff your progress is reduced to a slow crawl. Yes, every portage will seem uphill both ways. What did you expect? It's the HOL.

The third and final rule of the HOL is to remember that for all of the hauling and suppressed howling, the HOL is worth it. As we paddled out onto the sun silvered waters of Grenville Lake, a fast hill rose behind us, rinsing away the aches and blisters and leaving us on the verge of a new stage of our expedition. The HOL has given us an opportunity to learn more about the history of this land. We have with us an archeological report that details the Dogrib use of the Ts'etino Hoteh -- the sea of far away portage -- between the Emile River and Mesa Lake. There is also a rich oral history surrounding the portage out of Mesa Lake to the north. Here, in the 1820's, a treaty was negotiated between the Yellowknife and Dogrib Dene that ended a decade long war. These stories and others gave a new depth to the lands we traversed.

The HOL has also brought us to the Coppermine Watershed and waters flowing north. Grenville is the headwaters of the Parent River, a tributary of the Coppermine. For the first day and a half, it's mostly meant the occasional waiting and dragging. But after our two weeks of climbing the Emile, the fact that this waiting and dragging is downstream makes all the difference. This afternoon, we finally reached some run-able whitewater, most of it a thin narrow chute of turning water. As Emily and I plunged down it, after carefully scouting, of course, I was reminded of a bobsled track or a water slide, albeit, one with a little bit more of a roar than usual.

And finally the HOL has brought us out of the trees and onto the tundra. Ours is now a world of green hills and sandy eskers fading to blue on the horizon. Without trees to give it scale, it is hard to tell whether the far shore is miles or meters distant. Our days seem short and artificially circumscribed compared to the sun's wide flung arc. Each night as we sleep, cradled by a carpet of cloudberry blossoms and Labrador pea, a prolonged sunset fades into sunrise with little to distinguish them.

So we continue north through this eerie and beautiful land, happy, healthy and more often than not, doubled over in laughter. But even as we give thanks for each moment of this experience, our thoughts are often with those farther to the south. Two days ago on Grenville Lake, we encountered a raft of ice. This 20 square feet or so reminded us of the Manito-wish trips on the Dubawnt River and the summer of 2005 when we saw so much ice, where the lakes seem as clear and blue as those you have encountered so far.

Also, to Rick Stirr, we will be thinking of you tomorrow. Happy Birthday! And finally, we got around to painting names on our boats. They have been christened "Stan" and "The Jenny," the two very special people down south who they are named after. Thanks so much for helping us get here.