Borealis Paddling Expedition

Live from the Rae River

2008-08-25T12:17:00.000-07:00

Click here to listen to an August 6 interview with the BPE live from the Rae River.

2008 Expedition Pictures

2008-08-25T10:38:00.001-07:00

Here's a small sample of pictures from the summer. We plan to post a more complete online slideshow sometime this fall.

Looking upstream on the Emile River.

An early morning on Basler Lake.

Ice along the Emile River

A wolverine on the banks of the Emile.

Preparing to begin our first watershed crossing.

Exhaustion at the end of a long day of portaging.

Portaging from Mesa to Grenville along the traditional Dene Route.

Arctic twilight on an unnamed lake south of Grenville.

Beth and Nina run some of our first whitewater on the Parent River.

Bog rosemary, one of many tundra wildflowers that bloom during the short summer months.

Hiking along an esker on the Parent River.

Emily fishing next to a set of whitewater on the Coppermine River.

On the Coppermine River. From left: Meg, Beth Nina, Emily.

Emily portaging around Rocky Defile on the Coppermine River.

Lining up a canyon section on the Kendall River.

Caribou on the shores of the Dismal Lakes.

More caribou from the Bluenose herd, part of which migrated through our camp on the Dismal Lakes.

Ursus aviation out of Yellowknife brought in Karen and a resupply of food on Day 45.

Five again at last. From left: Meg, Emily, Nina, Karen and Beth.

Heading north, away from the Dismal Lakes and toward the Rae River.

A grizzly watches our progress from shore.

Dragging along an unnamed creek during our 10-day watershed crossing.

Camped next to an unexpected falls during our watershed crossing.

Evening on an unnamed lake between the Richardson and the Rae rivers.

Our final portage into the Rae River.

Heading downstream on the Rae River.

The Rae River.

Our last night on the Rae River.

The inuit community of Kugluktuk, formerly Coppermine, on Coronation Gulf.

Back on the road and heading south.

We're Back!

2008-08-25T10:30:00.000-07:00

After many exciting adventures on the road we made it back to northern Wisconsin on August 13 just in time to hug our friends and family, throw together a quick slideshow of pictures, and attend the 90th anniversary celebrations at Manito-wish.

Stay tuned for pictures from the field...

August 10th: Considering Adventure

2008-08-11T19:55:00.000-07:00

August 11, 2008

Peace River, Alberta

Author: Meg

"Adventure is a inconvenience rightly considered. An inconvenience is an adventure wrongly considered." -- G. K. Chesterton

As I stare ahead at a vacant, gravel parking lot, somewhat of a basin amongst three Northern Alberta automotive shops, I wonder if any quote could more appropriately describe the BPE approach to adventure, to life, that is. We are one flight and one day's drive south of the Arctic Ocean and the adventures are still finding us. Although we've spent four days without a topo map in hand, we still operate under the premise that each and every obstacle is part of the greater journey. So when our beloved GMC Safari released a foreign smell and a questionable sound after yesterday's 12 hours of driving, the BPE was ready on the scene. We immediately pulled the vehicle to the side of the two-lane road -- still too far to be on the main Alberta atlas -- and began an extensive investigation. Five different descriptions of the foul smell were offered. Five pair of eyes and ears scoured beneath the open hood, searching for the source and solution to the problem. Fluid levels were deemed "not great, but good enough," by the three with experience driving a car completely out of oil. One even looked under the vehicle's body while another asked if she was searching to entangled Canadian roadkill. The assertion behind our speculations might have suggested we were onto something, but compared to our canoes, the broken GMC before us might as well have been a spaceship. We eventually called for a tow from our satellite phone in our usual, overly-inquisitive, overly-informative, overly-chatty manner. Two hours later, we convinced the industrious truck driver of few words to pack all 5 of us into his two passenger cab for the 40 kilometer drive to town. Although he refused our offers to help push buttons on the dash, we managed to crack a few laughs out of him--not the first Canadian we have surprised with our humor and energy amidst the rather precarious situations.
My time awaiting the van's recovery will be well spent describing the final leg of our paddling trip. Karen's last update left us a day into our exploration of the Rae River -- a most interesting point in our timeline. It wasn't until we reached the Rae, or possibly somewhere within the 50 miles approaching it, that we felt really out there (maybe this necessitates 2 really's). Really, really out there. Each elevation line climbed and river bend paddled, were followed with ponderings of those that had come before us and a strong speculation that there had been very few. We were left to our map and ourselves--and there is only so much a topo map will tell you. The story unfolds by discovering the sheer drops of the waterfalls between the elevation lines and the runnable lines amongst the map's whitewater slashes. We followed no suggestions from previous canoeists, no readings from traditional travel. The Rae River is difficult to reach by canoe/foot, as we have described, it lacks a large headwater lake for planes to land on, and the waterfall near its drainage into the ocean impedes the upstream travel of motorboats. The river is only 80 miles long, so it seems logical that for many, the challenge of getting to the Rae would outweigh the time actually spent on it. All in all, it is really, really remote. The knowledge of this seemed to amplify every minute we spent on it. If the 50 mile watershed was the crux of our itinerary, then the Rae was the reward for making that move. We were pleasantly suprized by the multitude of boat-scoutable sets of whitewater (we ran almost everything, even with fairly low waterlevels), the talus-covered cliffs that were unlike any we had yet seen, and the tundra ridgelines in the distance that ran all the way to the point where the water became silty, then brackish, then ocean.
What an unusual feeling it was to reach the ocean that sun-swept morning. We chose a particular kind of challenge with this route, one with inherent possibilities of failure and waves of uncertainty, but we found a way to live it with joy, one day at a time. There was never a question of whether we were right or wrongly considering an inconvenience, for adventure is seemingly only measured by attitude. We learned all that we could from the silence of the still evenings, as well as from the roars of the whitewater. The nights of rocky tent spots didn't make us miss our beds, but rather relish in the nights of flat ground. The bugs made us love the breeze and the cold of the breeze made us love our down jackets. The lesson was simple, and it was everywhere: life, no matter where, is what you make of it. It is not whether the glass is half full or half empty, is is how psyched you are to drink it. This was our chosen vacation, our temporary promised lands, and could easily be another's agony.
Before my ramblings run any further, I must attempt to describe our days in Kugluktuk, the small, predominantly Inuit community, we paddled into and flew out of. The town of 1400 people is situation on a hill of the Coronation Gulf coastline, just west of the Coppermine River. We instantly felt a sense of ease and kindness upon our arrival. Our boats hadn't yet touched the sand by the time the curious children had gathered and we had become a bit of a spectacle. Minutes after talking fish with the kids, we were greeted by a men's canoe trip from Menogyn (a Minnesotan wilderness program somewhat similar to Manito-wish), It was a great coincidence to be in Kugluktuk on the same day and we loved hearing about the lower section of the Coppermine, which we didn't get to run. Great job again, Guys. Literally moments after they left for their departing plane (we still had not moved from our boats), Alister, the local Justice of the Peace, gave us a town tour in his old, blue pickup truck, Dolly Parton joining us on the radio. The tour lasted about 6 minutes and was immediately followed by a welcoming from a couple of the RCMP officers. We decided that, at least in our experiences, RCMP must stand not for Royal Canadian Mounted Police, but for Ridiculously Cool, generous folks that we love to hang out with. By the afternoon's end, we drank more than our share of cop coffee and visited with the entire office at great length. No trouble transitioning to new people -- just bring the caffeine. We camped on an ocean front site, cooked up our ritual of Ed Abby - inspired bacon 'n eggs, and slept under a sky that was just a bit darker than that of the night before.
Our sacred coffee sipping was interrupted by Elliot and Dimitri, two of the RCMP officers, inviting us to join their morning of Arctic Char fishing. If I can say one thing about the BPE, it is that we jump to any invitation for a boat ride... or a plane ride... or a truck ride for that matter. We were stoked. The 7 of us, along with Elliot's lady-killer, German Shephard, Tundra, loaded the boat and headed out to sea. We stopped 7 miles out at an island that felt nearly tropical, as the sun lit up the turquoise water. Elliot and Dimitri fished while we took Tundra to find a sneak route to climb to the top of the the nearly shear cliff. We were having such a great time sharing stories and the enjoying the unusually exceptional weather, that we opted to stay out and hit up another hot fishing spot. We headed back to town at the end of the afternoon with our dinner of 4 sizable Arctic Char and one Saltwater Whitefish. We cooked up 3 Char over an open fire and an amazing day's recollections.
Our time in Kugluktuk was cut short by pressing commitments at home, but was so rich, nonetheless. Countless people stopped by our camp to say "Hello," ask where we came from, introduce the grandchildren on their backs or the back of their ATVs, offer to sell us their soapstone carvings, say "Hello" again, tell us about their farthest venture south, or inquire about buying our gear that we hadn't actually put up for sale. They were all intrigued to hear that we had come from the Rae, as canoeists that reach Kugluktuk usually do so via the Coppermine. They are a soft-spoken, easy-paced people whose smiles, squints, and eyebrows do much of their taking for them. To the people of Kugluktuk, we that you for your hospitality and kindness. We couldn't have chosen more wonderful community to complete our journey. To our new friends on the ocean, Elliot, Dimitri, Isabel, Nicole, and of course, the Great Mule of Kugluktuk, we can't express how much we appreciated all of your generosity and enjoyed our time with you. You absolutely struck the bitter from our summer's bittersweet ending.
A final thank you before I wrap this entry up: TO OUR SPONSORS. As with our 2005 expedition, we were fortunate to receive some very substantial sponsorships that were crucial to our ability to do this trip. We felt confident that we were outfitted with the absolute top-of-the-line gear and were as comfortable as 5 could possibly be in the Arctic. Please check out the sponsor page on our website for more details about what we use and don't hesitate to contact us with questions about our gear and food. We would love to share our thoughts and experiences.
This is the last update from the field, but we will soon be posting photos from the trip and a listing dates and venues of future presentations. We hope you have enjoyed following along a bit our our journey. Know we have been sending the energy of the barrenlands, tundra, and Arctic right back at 'cha, all summer long. Here's to all the inconveniences, yours and ours, rightly considered.

August 3rd: They Said This Was a Paddling Trip

2008-08-04T20:28:00.001-07:00

August 3rd, 2008; Day 57

Rae River
GPS Coordinates: 67 deg. 55 min. North; 116 deg. 13 min. West

Author: Karen

Today we did spend the whole day paddling. Yes, that's right, we had arrived at the Rae River, our final river, our destination river. The Rae has been more than we expected and more than we ever hoped for. We have enjoyed the downstream current and the fun runable whitewater. We have made a conscious effort to slow down to explore the high cliffs and the rolling green tundra in between.

Let me take you back for a moment to the title of the update and reflect on the last week of the trip. A portaging or paddling trip - this is the question. Our routine across the watershed crossing, starting at the Dismal Lakes and ending at the Rae River, has been anything but an ordinary paddling trip. Typically we begin each day with a significant portage out of our camp towards a clear portion of Boulder Creek to paddle. At this point we would create our day's adventure by choosing one of three options, none of which included more than ten minutes of paddling.

1. Pushing and dragging through boulder fields. This option resulted in great belly laughs from creative pushing and dragging techniques. This option did not always fair well for our boats.

2. Portaging across a bend in the river to cut off an extremely bouldery section. This gave us great satisfaction in making forward progress.

3. This was a special treat: placing our paddles in the water, for some appreciated forward motion.

All in all, the watershed was grand and gave us the opportunity to explore and log some tundra that has rarely been seen in the summer months. One special gift during this watershed occurred on Wednesday evening while rounding a corner of Boulder Creek. We stumbled across the most beautiful waterfall. The 20 meter drop was significant to say the least. With the black midnight rock framing the falls, it made for a magnificent location for pictures and a chilly swim. We spent a good deal of time admiring its beauty and recognize it as a reward for the 50-3/4 miles of dragging and portaging. As our first day on the Rae comes to a close, already each mile feels worth 100% of our collective and individual efforts.

As I'm reflecting on gifts, let me acknowledge one more: having the opportunity to join this expedition crew the last leg of the trip. Joining late on lengthy expeditions is not always easy as I'm sure many of you understand. With the support and blessings from my YMCA work and the creative logistics, we have been able to make this connection happen.

The transition between the fast-paced North Carolina summer camp and the Arctic tundra has been seamless, at least on my end. Knowing that I have done all I could to finish off the first summer adventure has allowed me to embrace this new adventure. From the moment I arrived in the float plane, just eleven days ago, I have not once felt like a new member of this expedition. Quick to fill me in on new and improved systems in camp and the many stories from challenges to tears of laughter, I have not felt like I have missed much. I can't imagine joining a more inclusive expedition group. This was the right place for each of us and the right time to be exploring. We could not ask for a greater gift than to be doing something we love.

July 27th: Welcome to the Jungle

2008-07-29T20:37:00.000-07:00

July 27th, 2008; Day 50

Boulder Creek
GPS: 67 deg. 39.5 min. North; 116 deg. 46 min. West

Author: Nina

First an apologetic preamble: a full accounting of the events of the past week requires far more time and narrative skills than I currently possess. In addition to the usual rigors of the day, I was up most of last night on Griz Watch - but more on that later. Let's begin at the beginning. Monday morning by all accounts can be a bit challenging, especially before one has had one's morning coffee. Last Monday morning I woke to an eerily still calm at our campsite on the north shore of the northernmost of the Dismal Lakes. As I lay looking at the seams of the tent above me, I heard a strange sound - a woof of air. As usual, when the weather is decent, we were sleeping with our tent fly wide open, so by craning my head I could look out the door at our packs - all seemed normal. I listened to Emily slumbering peacefully beside me - could she have made that noise? Doubtful. I lifted my head to look out the front door of the tent only to find myself staring at the head and shoulders of a large grizzly bear, who was curiously sniffing around the front vestibule. I could see the mud caked in his tawny fur and the twitch of his black nose.

I woke Emily with a whisper and we laid perfectly still for a few minutes. The bear moved silently, the only sound was the expirations of his breath (the woofing sound I had heard) as he made his way around the side of the tent and out of sight. The bear circled our tent and laid down on top of our food packs, scratching himself against our gear and sticking his snout into our lunch pack.

Armed with our bear spray, Emily and I were able to wake Meg and Beth and make our way over to their tent. Meg fired off a few rounds of our shot gun into the air and after a brief moment of hesitation, the bear decided that our lunch wasn't that interesting after all and ambled away down the shoreline. Half clothed and shivering in the morning light, we watched him go.

Tuesday mornings by all accounts are a good deal more enjoyable. In our case, I was at least able to make a cup of coffee before the excitement began. Still at the same campsite, on the shores of the Dismal Lakes, Emily and I looked up from our coffee to see a group of six caribou silhouetted against the ridgeline. I ran after them with a camera as Emily woke Meg and Beth. As I crested the hill, I found myself face to face with a young male caribou, surprised, but apparently unafraid of me. It took me a moment to realize why. In the valley behind him, the tundra was swarming with caribou.

They were crossing the creek by which we were camped and climbing the hillside in waves. During the lulls between groups, we were able to sneak out into the midst of their path. Meg and I found ourselves crouched together in a patch of cotton grass as the herd literally engulfed us. On every side, large bucks with many pronged racks and those with young calves slowly progressed through the valley stopping now and then to graze. The air filled with the sound of their chewing, the bleat of the calves, and the sharp click of their hooves against the rocks.

At one point, Meg and I watched as a group of five magnificent bucks grazed on a stand of willows not 15 feet in front of us. As with the rest of the herd, they seemed unconcerned with our presence unless we moved suddenly, all except for one. From the midst of the willows a young calf with big black eyes stepped forward curiously. He planted his feet wide and eyed us skeptically, sniffing the air as if to say to the older deer: "Um guys, I'm not so sure about this . . ."

Our best guess is that 2,000 caribou passed our stand in the two hours that we sat and watched them, and it continued long after we finally decided to head back to camp. By the time we returned to our tents, we were so pulsed with energy and excitement that not even the news that our resupply plane was still grounded in Yellowknife due to bad weather could dampen our spirits.

The plane finally arrived on Wednesday evening. When Karen stepped out, she was the first person we had seen outside of our group of four in over a month. We stayed up late into the night celebrating her arrival with a huge dinner of bacon, eggs and fresh fruit, pouring over the mail she brought from our friends and family, and listening to news of the outside world.

So it was that on Thursday morning we were finally ready to leave the Dismal Lakes and the Coppermine watershed behind and head north across the tundra toward the Rae River. We have often called the watershed into the Rae the "crux of this expedition" - the most challenging move that makes the rest of the route possible. But it is not just a means to an end. It is also a unique opportunity to leave the bigger waterways behind and cross into a region that is even more remote than any we have known. From the north shore of the Dismals, we portaged through a series of unnamed lakes that skirt around the eastern edge of a group of bleak, snow-flecked mountains. From there we crossed the height of land and began to follow a tiny creek that flows north along the edge of these mountains towards the Richardson River.

This creek is just a tiny thread of blue on our map and we've been pleasantly surprised by the amount of water in it, which is to say, we haven't had to portage the entire distance. We've named the creek "Boulder Creek," both after a certain lake in northern Wisconsin that is near and dear to our hearts and after its tendency to disappear amongst the vast field of boulders just after you decide it is worth putting your canoe into the water and trying to paddle.

We make our way as best we can, portaging when necessary, wading the boats when possible, and even on occasion moving a particularly inconveniently placed boulder out of our way. Our progress is painstakingly slow, but steady, and every time we see a tiny trickle of water joining Boulder Creek from a drainage to the east or the west, we cheer.

Having Karen here makes all the difference in the world. She's brought an infusion of energy and strength to the group and crucially tips the balance so that we need only make two trips on each portage instead of three, as we had to do during our first watershed crossing. We pass the time telling Karen stories from the first 45 days, laughing at each other's ridiculous antics, and watching the wildlife. Oh yes, the show did not stop on the Dismal Lakes. As we have made our way north, we've encountered many more groups of caribou, stragglers trying to catch up with the main herd, as well as wolves with a similar objective, another grizzly, two pairs of nesting peregrine falcons, and a solitary musk ox with whom we shared the the shoreline of a tiny lake for an evening. These animals appear and disappear into the tundra without warning, as curious about us as we are about them.

Our wildlife week culminated last night with yet another encounter. Late in the evening as I stared at the edge of Boulder Creek brushing my teeth, I realized that one of those boulders I was staring at upstream, was staring back at me. Yet, another grizzly – this one truly enormous, with an almost white head and shoulders. He was clearly aware of our presence, but unconcerned. Apparently, unbeknownst to us, we had occupied prime siksik (ground squirrel) hunting grounds, and as he walked he dug up series of burrows slowly moving closer to our camp.

The noise of our shotgun and a couple of flares were enough to keep him from crossing the creek into our camp, but not enough to convince him to leave the area. Nor were we able to move out of his way given the boulder choked stretch of creek before us.

Thus began Griz Watch - a very long night, during which the bear patrolled his side of the creek, digging up siksik holes, scratching his back by rolling around on the ground, and occasionally, to our great annoyance, taking a nap. We took shifts keeping watch beneath the tundra tarp, ready with a gun and the flares in case he decided to cross the creek. It was a cold, clear night, and as we watched the cantaloupe colored sunset moved across the northern horizon into a rose tinted dawn. Mist rose off the creek and floated through our camp in silver sheets. Sometime around 6:00 a.m., the bear finally tired of keeping us awake and wandered over the ridge to explore other hunting grounds to the west.

This evening, as our 50th day out here draws to a close and we all anticipate a good night's sleep, we are grateful as always for our safety, for the strength and comfort of our companions, and for the incredible opportunity we have to explore these lands. Although Boulder Creek may be narrow and rock strewn at our feet, we know both that these waters are leading us toward our greater destination to the north and that our days here, however momentous or tedious, are to be cherished in their own right.

July 20th: Things Are Going to Change, I Can Feel It

2008-07-22T19:18:00.000-07:00

July 20^th, 2008; Day 43

The Dismal Lakes
GPS: 67 deg.; 25 min. north; 117 deg. 0 min. west

Author: Emily

Picture yourself on a Saturday night, laying out the clothes, gear, and food you will need for a big race the next morning. Feel free to pick any race of your choosing: a foot race, a bike race, or perhaps the ultimate wheelbarrow racing championship. Whatever your choice of racing would be, it is an event you have trained for with dedication and passion. You have put in the time, read the training guides, and studied the race course. The past few days you have been tapering, resting your body and getting mentally prepared, only going for easy jogs or spins in the wheelbarrow. Now you have everything packed and are as ready as you're going to be. Despite all of your excellent preparation, you are a little nervous. You know that at some point during the race tomorrow you will be in pain, at some point you might doubt your capability, but that ultimately, you will get caught up in the race day momentum, laugh, and take pride in having poured yourself into your effort. I believe a great musical artist once said "Lose yourself in the music, the moment, you own it, you better never let it go."

One more important detail. This is the first time you have ever attempted a race of this type and have almost no idea of what to expect. Perhaps you and your friends decided it would be fun to try something new. As you set the alarm to wake up early the next morning, you feel a mixture of excitement, nervous anticipation, and a little confusion at why you and your friends thought this was such a good idea after all.

Wow! If you made it through that long, imaginative journey, you may have recognized an attempt at an analogy for this paddling trip. Let me explain the parallels.

Tonight we are camped on the Dismal Lakes at the point from which we will begin our Watershed to the Rae River. We have literally taken our last paddling strokes on big open water and will likely be portaging out of this campsite. Somewhere way back last fall, each of us let ourselves get caught up in the collective energy of this group and ever since we have been working to get ourselves here, to a place called the Dismal Lakes and try our hand at what for us is exploration in its truest sense. We have done what research we could about this area; we have trained our muscles to paddle and portage, and have made detailed measurements of mileage from one small lake to another to a stream to another stream and eventually to the Rae River. We have almost everything we need and are almost fully prepared to set the alarms, get up in the morning, and give it all we've got.

Essentially our last week has been a week of tapering. Since we left Rocky Defile, where Beth wrote her last update, we paddled just a touch further down the Coppermine and then turned up the Kendall, leaving behind all the logs we had been following from other previous trips and setting out on our own terms. The Kendall is a small but sizeable river flowing out of the Dismal for a brief 15 miles before joining the Coppermine. Despite the short distance, we spent 2 ½ days moving steadily up river, never portaging once, but spending our days, wading our boats upstream in waist deep water, tracking our boats from shore with ropes, as we stumbled through the willows, and occasionally paddling hard to make miles against the current. The best thing about the Kendall was that it spat us out into a gorgeous expanse of tundra that ended our flirtation with the tree line for good. The Dismal Lakes are anything but what their name implies. They are: dramatic elevation, bright purples of lupine and yellows of cinquefoils, cold open waters, constantly changing skies and tundra. Yes, we're back in it to stay and loving it. The rest of our tapering period on the Dismals has been spent packing, resting, organizing, hiking and eating, so, in effect, we're ready to do this, just waiting for one major thing.

Entertain the pre-race analogy one more time and imagine that you've managed to make it through all your training without one key piece of gear. Perhaps it has been back ordered for the last month and a half, but that it is supposed to arrive by priority mail just a few hours before the race. Say that piece of gear you are missing are these extra special, one of a kind running shoes that make you go twice as fast. Well, in the real world, those one of kind shoes translate into our dear friend and fifth pack, Karen Stanley. Having been with us in spirit for all of our training so far, Karen is flying into us for real with our resupply in a day and a half (or tomorrow), just in time to race with us, just in time to give us a new boost of energy and enthusiasm to make the next big push. So my friends, in this trip of many different chapters, part one is coming to a close and part two is just beginning. Our group of four will become five, we will leave the lakes behind in search of new rivers, and we will soak up the energy of the land that surrounds us.

July 13th: I Followed You Big River When You Called

2008-07-14T19:22:00.000-07:00

July 13th, 2008; Day 36

Rocky Defile Rapids, The Coppermine River, Nunavut

Author: Beth

Well, we have spent the last week on the Coppermine River following its course as it descends towards the Arctic Ocean. The Coppermine is a river well known to those who travel in the Canadian Arctic -- one of the big names, and I feel a bit intimidated to try and do it justice with words. It is unlike any of the other rivers I have paddled up here. After Rocknest Lake, not far from the headwaters, there are no more lakes to interrupt the current, as the river flows steadily north, with only the pace of the current and the land around it changing.

The first couple of days on the river were filled with fun whitewater -- almost all of it runnable, with swift current in between. The banks of the river were rocky in places or lined with bright white sand bluffs, and the shore rushed past as we flew down river. The weather was very kind to us for the first few days, too: warm and sunny, not very common up here, and we had a few days that really felt like a typical summer vacation. Mid-week we reached a great milestone of our trip, crossing the Arctic Circle. At 66 deg. 30 min. north, it marks the latitude at which the sun stays up for 24 hours for at least one day each year. Coincidentally, just about the time we crossed the Circle, the clouds rolled in, the temperature dropped, and we were treated to a couple days of typical Arctic weather -- cold wind out of the north, spitting rain. This may sound miserable, and it could be if you let it, but bad weather tends to bring out the funniest in my trip mates (so we think). Our most recent strategy for staying warm is to practice our telemark ski turns (basically deep knee lunges) on our breaks. Nina and Emily teach Meg and me the technique as we laugh at ourselves tripping over rocky uneven shores.

The change in weather coincided with another change in the Coppermine, too. We began the 80 mile stretch of river with no rapids. There is still current, however, and it is still strong at times, but when the wind is in your face, it can be difficult to make headway. This stretch of river flows through a large river valley. The terrain feels at once both mountainous and expansive, with a wide valley surrounded by large rocky hills, sometimes forested and sometimes open tundra with occasional pockets of snow remaining. Often we felt like we could see the river going down hill and we were just sliding down with it. The bright reds and yellows of our clothing and canoes pop against the deep blues and greens of a landscape and the grey of the sky. We look very small and very bright, which I love for some reason.

Today we woke to sunny skies and yet another change in the Coppermine. The river banks closed in and the river picked up speed. We ran a few rapids this morning, then continued somewhat cautiously knowing that we were approaching a large rapid known as Rocky Defile. The river took a bend to the left and as we came around the corner, it looked like the earth had been picked up and cracked in half to allow the river through. Two hundred foot cliffs rose into the air on both sides of the rushing waters, a breathtaking thing to see. We decided to portage the rapid -- the waves in the canyon were huge. On the portage trail is a monument to two canoeists who drowned in this rapid in the early 1970s. It was a powerful experience to stand and look at the gorge, the incredible rapid, and the monument overlooking it. A mixture of awe and sadness filled me. But I felt at the same time acutely alive and so fortunate to be able to be standing exactly where I was, taking it all in.

Tonight we are camped at a small sandy beach below the rapid and tomorrow we will turn off the Coppermine to go up the Kendall River. I am a little sad to be leaving this big river. The rest of the Coppermine between here and the ocean is supposed to be incredible too, but there are other rivers to explore; always more rivers to explore.

July 6th: To the Little Rivers Who Don't Always Make the Headlines

2008-07-08T20:38:00.000-07:00

July 6th, 2008; Day 29

The Coppermine River

Author: Meg

To most people, northern canoe expeditions bring visions of rivers cutting through old glacial features with whitewater and still watered streams running like a freight train to the Arctic Ocean or Hudson Bay. If you're familiar with Northern Canada, names like the Elk/Thelon, Kazan, and the Back might even come to mind. We refer to this renowned collection as the BIG 10 - that is, the rivers that make all the headlines. As I sit alongside an unruly, barreling stretch of rapids on the Coppermine River, an elite member of the BIG 10, I'm inclined to pay homage to the little rivers that brought us here; the lesser known, but no less in character: the Parent. Just over a week ago, we left the waterways that dump into Great Slave Lake and joined the downstream travel toward the Arctic Ocean. The Parent River would bridge the 40-50 mile gap before reaching the Coppermine. We didn't have specific expectations for this section of our route simply because there isn't much information to base them off of. It was a stretch to rekindle our style and communication as tandem whitewater partners, and enjoy the change of downstream current. The Parent River must have smelled our nonchalance as it was anything but a mere bridge to the Coppermine. First, the water. In three words: tight, technical, and bouldery. We run in 17 foot, fully loaded, low riding canoes. Stick that in a fast boisterous boulder garden, and the moves get a little tricky. I recall running a long winding set with Emily last week, all the while yelling "Good! You're on your line! Great! Good! Now move right! Great! There's the triangle rock! Okay, now, go! Oh shoot! Oops! Sorry! I didn't see that! Okay we're cool! Wait! Oops! Sorry! Didn't see that one either! Shoot! Great! We're good! Awesome! Okay! Nice job!" After congratulating each other for a set well run, we looked back to what resembled the fountain ripples a small boy would float his toy sailboat in at the park. That's the Parent River: small hydraulics, but it makes you yell.

If we weren't lucky enough to find a way we could run our boats down a set of whitewater, our second option was to line them from land. We LOVE lining our boats. It's an incredibly graceful practice of standing on shore, one person holding a rope attached to the bow and the other one holding a rope from the stern. The objective is to walk the boat alongside the rapids, letting the current pull the boat as the liners steer a path. As you hop from rock to rock, easing the boat over curlers and in and out of eddies, the technique resembles that of a skilled fly fisherman – balanced and fluid. On the Parent, however, two things stood in our way of embodying such balance and fluidity: the multitude of boulders and the inch of slimy lichen that covered them. Don't get me wrong -- we had our moments of grace. But after the 8^th, 9^th, or 12^th hour of unwedging stuck boats, bush whacking willowed shores, and all that slimy rock hopping, we began to resemble not a fly fisherman, but rather just some guy, slow and stumbling, without a rod, trying to catch a greyling with his hands. That's the Parent River: you can line, but you can't stay dry.

When paddling or lining a set of whitewater wasn’t possible, the third option would naturally be portaging. But in case you didn't read Nina's update about the HOL last week and the 23 portages we did on the Emile River, you can safely bet we'll come up with some awfully creative ways to get down the river before we'd opt to portage. So we dragged it down a lot. Yes, fully loaded, barge-like canoes. We yanked them up and over all kinds of obstacles. When the water gets too deep to stand, we'd hold onto the gunwales and ride a bit with the current. Sometimes we'd be surprised to see that both the bow and stern person were riding at the same time, and that therefore no one actually had control of the boat. We even revisited a technique we used during our 2005 expedition to maneuver amongst ice. When there's adequate water and current to keep the boat moving, but enough obstructions that an occasional foot was needed to pry or help pull, we'd sit on top of the bow and stern deck plates, paddles in hand, riding the canoe more like a horse. I attribute my expert display of running the end of a rather large set in this position to growing up with draft horses. Thats the Parent River: you can get down, but you have to use your head and damage your gear a little.

The Parent River held many more surprises than just the work of the water. It was nestled in extraordinary tundraed stretches of rocky cliffed walls, sandy beach pits, and eskers, oh the eskers. These running ridges of glacial deposits make-over open expanses and offer the bird's eye view to the fortunate and wise who choose to climb their peaks. From the top of an esker, we saw the edge of the tree line which we had descended back into for the time being. The meeting of the open tundra in the army of black and white spruce trees will have to be described in a later update. It's far too complex of an occurrence for this tired canoeist. The roar of the Coppermine River is still filling my ears, likely suggesting that I stop reflecting on the waters of yesterday and start thinking about tomorrow. The Coppermine's whitewater is a little bigger. And by a little bigger, I mean it's like a moving lake with very few options and waves measuring in feet. More to come on these adventures next week, but for tonight (its midnight and the sun is just near setting), here's to the little rivers who don't always make the headlines.

June 29th: The HOL

2008-07-01T19:27:00.000-07:00

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.

Pictures from the Roadshow, pt 1

2008-06-26T18:57:00.000-07:00

1. The trip begins with Nina, Meg, and Emily

2. Gas Station in Minnesota

3. Meg and Emily at the Canadian Superstore in Regina, Saskatchewan

4. Meg and Emily at the Canadian Superstore in Regina, Saskatchewan

5. Emily sleeps

6. Meg drives strong

7. Nina writes letters

8. Heading north on the Mackenzie Highway

9. Rainbow outside High Level, Alberta

10. Rainbow outside High Level, Alberta

11. Crossing into the Northwest Territories

12. Crossing into the Northwest Territories

13. Driving late

14. The Hay River

15. Falls on the Hay River

16. Stopped for a break between the Hay River and Fort Providence

17. Charging the sat. phone with the solar roll

18. The Mackenzie River ferry crossing

19. The Mackenzie River ferry crossing

20. Looking out toward Great Slave Lake

21. On the ferry

Pictures from the Roadshow, pt 2

2008-06-25T06:09:00.000-07:00

22. Driving north toward Yellowknife

23. Wood Bison

24. Visitors Center in Yellowknife

25. Beth arrives at the Yellowknife Airport

26. Beth arrives at the Yellowknife Airport

27. Our last meal at the Wildcat Cafe (oldest restaurant in Yellowknife)

28. Our last meal at the Wildcat Cafe

29. Repacking at our campsite outside yellowknife

30. Putting in our tie-in system

31. Tieing down the boats, one last time

32. Packing up our resupply at Ursus Air

33. Karen and our food will be flying in on the smaller plane

34. The Maul Lunar Rocket that will be bringing in our resupply

35. The hanger at Ursus Air

36. Working out logistics with Blair and Jay

37. Meg with her new Nikon D-80

38-43. Assorted pictures of us starting out at Rae on Marian Lake

June 22nd: Up the Emile

2008-06-23T21:42:00.000-07:00

June 22^nd, 2008; Day 15

Emile River, "Sand All Around Lake” (as known by the Dogrib Dene)
GPS Coordinates: 64 deg., 47 min. North; 115 deg., 27 min. West

Author: Emily

This morning I woke at 5:00 a.m. to a loud splashing sound right next to me. Our tents were pitched about 20 feet back from a sandy beach at a wider opening of the Emile River. I sat up abruptly in my sleeping bag, making enough noise to startle the large bull moose walking along the shore between our tents and the water. We stared at each other for a moment through the tent screen -- me in awe of the large mammal in such close proximity and the moose likely in awe of the strangers along his beach. He turned around and went in search of a less crowded place and I fell back asleep.

During the last week, this river has surprised each of us with its stunning rocky ridges and amazing wildlife sightings – an unexpected gift. Yesterday we watched a wolverine for a solid five minutes while he continuously galloped up the river bank and back down along the shore line as if searching for something he lost – way more involved in his own business than with his audience. The day before we paddled up to the beginning of a portage and found a snowfield where we had expected a spring creek. The snow had compacted into layers of ice flowing out between two cliff bands and gave the feel of a glacier – so much so that while sitting in our boats, where the blue ice met the water, a good five feet above our heads, it was easy to imagine ourselves in Greenland, rather than in the Boreal Forest of the Northwest Territories.

Our travel up the Emile has been slow, yet steady and deliberate. Progress up river is earned in traversing each portage three times with our heavy loads; it teaches a patience and satisfaction of truly being where you are, not looking too far ahead. Tomorrow we are planning to rest, stretch, eat more food from our packs, and prepare for the height of land portages which will transition us off the Emile and toward a new chapter in the trip. Not only will we be portaging into a new river system in which we will actually be traveling with the current, we also will be shifting out of the tree line and into the tundra for awhile. The familiarity of life out here as a small group makes it easy to forget that we are far enough north to emerge into tundra, yet the height of the sun in the sky each night and the chilling wind blowing across the lakes reminds us otherwise. We celebrated the summer solstice last night with twizzlers and multiple toasts to the Emile River, to portage trails through the Muskeg, and to wonderful wildlife. (Nina and I have checked 25 bird species off the list I picked up at the Visitor Center in Yellowknife.)

Our thoughts and best wishes go out to the six expeditions from Manito-wish starting out on trail in the past week. May your bellies be full, your laughter be strong, and your horizons be clear. We are thinking of you.

June 15th: My Summer Vacation

2008-06-16T19:49:00.000-07:00

June 15^th, 2008; Day 8

Basler Lake on the Emile River
GPS Coordinates: 63 deg. 50 min. north; 116 deg. 3 min. west

Author: Beth

Well, today was day eight of my summer vacation. Hard to believe that I took an exam just 10 days ago. I had no idea how fast I would feel the changes of being on trail. Just looking at my hands tells me that I am no longer sitting in the library and studying all day. They are brown from the sun and rapidly getting rough and calloused from hard use and long days in the wind and on the water. It has been a difficult week, no doubt; we are traveling up river, which means a lot of paddling against the current and portaging. And of course, this is northern Canada, where the wind is almost always blowing in your face. Our bodies often are sore and tired.

My three trip mates and I also are adjusting to each other again. A lot has happened in all of our lives since our last trip together; we all feel older and, hopefully, we are a bit wiser. Besides that we are missing Karen - our fifth partner in crime - and it is not the same without her. While I have definitely had my moments of wondering what possessed me to leave the 95 degree weather in Columbus, Ohio for the wind, rain and bugs of the Northwest Territories, I have also had many reminders of what continues to draw me back up here. The other day we sat down to eat lunch by a rapid and watched a wolf catching fish from the other shore just by pulling it out of the fast moving water with its paws. The other night I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of rain on my tent and when I stuck my head out to close the rain fly, I saw the brightest, most vibrant rainbow I have ever seen. This is, of course, only possible because we are far enough north that it is light all night long. Our campsite tonight is on a beautiful beach; we look out of our tents at a lake with tall, rocky shores and it looks even more beautiful and inviting after a day of pounding our bodies over nasty portages. Those same portages make my dinner taste better and my sleeping bag more comfortable than I ever imagined. Not such a bad deal, really.

We are all doing well and laughing a lot and, after careful observation, I believe I have identified the exact muscle in my butt that is most worked by carrying 90-pound packs uphill, putting my knowledge of anatomy to good use.

Also, we wanted to say Happy Father's Day to all our dads, who are so very far away. We toasted you tonight! We will continue up the Emile River for another week to 10 days. Look for another update next week.

June 8th: Marian Lake, Northwest Territory

2008-06-11T08:09:00.000-07:00

June 8th, 2008; Day 1

Marian Lake, Northwest Territory

Writer: Meg Casey

Exactly three years and ten days ago, I sat among the shrubs and spruce on the bank of Wollaston Lake, Saskatchewan. I was completely dumbfounded by the ice. Quiet ice. The kind of ice that doesn't creak, crack, groan or give any other indication of heating. Although the silence of that ice weighed so heavily in the air, my recollection is that it didn't come even remotely close to shadowing the raw will and desire my four trip mates and I brought to the Boreal Forest that summer. We were hungry for adventure and willing to take on the unknown. And how unknown it was. The following 95 days brimmed with experiences we never could have predicted.

Tonight I sit among the shrub and spruce once again. No ice just yet, but no doubt a great adventure is on the horizon. After a four-day drive to the end of the road at Yellowknife, Northwest Territories, we picked up Beth at the airport, ate our last supper at an historic mining restaurant, and spent a great morning with the pilots of Urus Aviation (our resupply outfitters). Finally we headed for the water. The native children of the small town, Rae, played with our gear and asked us a million questions like "Why is your jacket orange? Why are you camping? Do you like her?" We took photos, gave them all high-fives, and paddled away.

It was clear long before today that this is not merely a replication of our 2005 expedition. Our insatiable hunger for adventure seems to have taken on a new shape -- a personal and defined need to take this land with great intention and soak in the lessons of each challenge as they come. A favorite author of mine, Wendell Berry, described the combination of some of the feelings we are feeling today (excitement, curiosity and fear) as exploring.

We'd like to express our undying gratitude to our families for so, so much support in so many ways. We love you all so much. I'd also like to tell my grandpa that I saw the world through his eyes today, as it has always been his dream to get to Great Slave Lake. I love you and I wish you well.