Day 5 Tar Sands Canoe Trip

   Saturday  August  10       The belly flop

            The water seems to be getting a lot cleaner as we paddle north; it almost feels like wilderness. However we soon come upon another major site of construction. Heavy machinery is being used to dig out something big. Howie and I stop at the mouth of a small creek just past all the activity. I climb along and up the creek bank, sinking in thigh deep in the mud until I can get above the bank and then I bushwhack through dense dogwood and willows. 

             When I arrive in the open, I see 2 large mechanical shovels and a bulldozer. Three men in hard hats walk over towards me. They yell that I cannot be up here. I ignore that comment as they come over to where I am standing barefoot and in shorts, my legs coated in mud. Within seconds, they drop their officious demeanor and we have a friendly conversation. They are Suncor engineers, two from Alberta and one from Quebec, and are overseeing construction of a “compensation lake”.  According to them, this is the latest decree from the government. Each new project is now required to construct an artificial lake, something like 40 ha in surface area, to compensate for the loss of habitat. I guess that this is a tacit admission by the government and industry that reclamation will not happen.

              Reclamation so far has been certified for 0.15% of area damaged. I doubt it will ever get much higher. The “compensation lake” opens to the Athabasca River so that fish will be able to inhabit the lake, they tell me.

Suncor construction of a "compensation lake" along the shore of the Athabasca River

 

            In total, we see eight bears along shore today and more birds. Yellowlegs, large sandpiper-like birds which come in two species, are fairly common, as are bald eagles, blue jays, and several varieties of woodpeckers. We have also seen a number of sets of moose tracks today. However, I would not say that the area is bursting with wildlife. There is almost no oil in the water now. Still we do not drink the river water or cook with it, having filled up our water containers at the Gregoire Lake campground. I know that the official line is that the water is fine. However, I doubt very much if any of the people saying that would drink this water. Certainly, nobody that we have talked to that lives along the river, does.

            Around lunchtime, we come upon a couple of cabins. We stop, and I go up to them to find a group of more than a dozen people eating lunch outside in front of a shelter between the two cabins. They invite us to come up so we bring our lunches up, sit on the ground or on spare chairs and chat. There are three generations of two families there. They are from Ft McKay and have boated here for the weekend. Among them are Claire McDonald, a sister of Dorothy McDonald, who is the late chief of Ft McKay FN, (and Rod Hyde’s sister-in-law) and her husband. Her husband tells me that he was in the traffic jam on the Bridge to Nowhere two evenings ago and saw us camped nearby. I ask if he was bothered by the traffic delay. He says no, that the company was paying them for that time. I ask how he feels about the tar sands activity. He declines to answer because he “works for them”.  Claire is less reticent. She tells Howie that she is very concerned. She tells him about her new granddaughter: healthy at birth, but after two weeks living in Ft McKay she had already developed asthma. 

            In the afternoon, we arrive at the mouth of the Fire Bag River. Further inland from here is another major tar sands development: the Fire Bag project. Following directions given to us at lunch, we paddle up the Fire Bag  to get to a creek to re-fill our water containers. Meanwhile two canoes explore the woods. We are in the middle of a very large burn: a major forest fire swept through the Athabasca River valley several years earlier. We come back with filled water jugs, a few raspberries, rose hips, mint and high bush-cranberry. The others come back with some more raspberries. As we continue down the river, Howie and I spot a black bear feeding on vegetation near shore. We paddle in closer and watch him for a while. Eventually he ambles on down the river. He had spotted us but does not seem concerned. While we, as well as Kevin and Clifford catch up to the group, we see a motor boat stop beside the other canoes and a conversation ensues. There are three of them in the boat:  Mark L’Hommecourt, from Ft McKay and Ft McMurray, his girlfriend, Amanda, and a visitor, Joe Deranger. They invite us to visit them at their house at Poplar Point, which is a reserve, part of the Athabasca Chipewyan FN of which they are all members. Mark asks us if we want a tow. Since he says that their house is “just over there” we decide to paddle. 

            Nine km later we arrive at their house, around 5:30. We haul our gear up the hill to their mowed grass lawn. They are super welcoming. Mark invites some of us to sleep in their house or the old trailer near it. He leads us down a path to see the graveyard. There is a lot of history at Poplar Point and there are 20 or so graves here.  Mark is in his early 40s, powerfully built, with a large belly, a moustache and a big grin. He talks rapidly and about many things: as if he has not spoken to anyone in weeks. Mark has lived here full time for four years and now for half the year while working in the oil patch for the winter (building scaffolding). Amanda (Mark tells me that he counts on three good years with a girlfriend before things sour) is in her 30s, pretty, tall  and solidly built, with long black hair and an easy smile: she is a lot quieter than Mark but she does stand up to him. Joe, who lives  in Ft Mac, is visiting on his way to Ft Chip. Joe takes a lot of good-natured abuse from Mark. He is tall and lean, quiet, thoughtful, and in his 30s. His face tells me that he has had some hard times in the past. There is one other current resident whom we do not see: Roy Ladouceur, whom Mark calls a “medicine man”.  It is overcast and humid and the  mosquitoes are out in force. I race back to change into long pants and it is a big relief.

            After tents are set up (for those of sleeping outside), Amanda offers us fried bannock, moose stew and coffee.  I know I am hungry but this is the best bannock I have ever tasted. The food disappears rapidly, and after supper, the three of them take us down to a creek a few kilometers into the woods in trailers pulled behind their four-wheelers. Clifford, Howie and I walk down and get picked up on the way with Joe’s return on one of the four-wheelers. It is a bumpy ride and at one point, we get out and walk for a while as the road is too sandy and steep and we bog down. When we get there the creek is beautiful and clear, with a sandy bottom. Near it are lots of blueberry bushes. Mark makes some money by picking big bags of berries which he sells $40 a bag to passersby.  It is almost dark by the time Howie, Clifford and I, the last to arrive, get there. Most of the group are in swim suits and are drying by a fire. Mark boasts of  his spectacular belly flops. To demonstrate, he leaps high in the air from a small dock on shore and makes an enormous splash as he touches down, large belly first. After a lot of encouragement, several of us follow his lead. My flop is more of a chest flop and does not hurt.  Clifford follows me. The water is cool but refreshing and waist deep. The only downside is that mosquitoes are having a buffet and our blood is on the menu! For that reason, no one stays in the water or in their swimsuit for long.

                                               

Bathing in a clear creek at Poplar Point  (photo by Brittany)

Mark's famous belly flop (photographed by Brittany)

 Warming, drying, and escaping mosquitoes by the fire after the swim

            Later, a few of us join Mark and Amanda at a table in a screened tent for some tea. They smoke and I give Mark half  my tobacco as he is running short. I brought it for the pipe ceremonies. I normally do not smoke, but I do smoke several of Howie’s cigarettes over the course of the trip.