In the morning, rather than
returning to the Embarras Channel via the same break between two islands, I opt
to continue downriver. According to the map, two islands further there is a
long narrow channel which also converges with the Embarras, and it looks more
interesting. The channel is about 8 m wide, and we see the odd muskrat, and
then a large beaver lodge. There must be some territorial dispute here among
beavers, because the area has been heavily scent-marked: the odour of castor
glands is strong. A little way past the lodge, there is a big tangle of dead
trees in the water. I get out on shore, sinking into deep mud in places, and
walk the 75 m length of the obstacle to scout a way through. No portage will be
necessary although there are a couple of tight spots and one place that the
canoes have to be dragged through for a couple of meters. Some of the canoes
attempt to find other ways through the tight spots: one is an improvement on my
suggestion, another is a no-go. We get through and eventually end up in the
current of the Embarras Channel. This channel is the western border of Wood
Buffalo National Park, Canada’s largest national park.
Dog tired
Airing out sleeping bags
As well as Raymond Ladouceur’s directions
for the side channel we are searching for, I have been given other directions:
a more southerly location. We are at the more southerly location now, with no
side channel in sight, when a small motorboat comes around the next bend
heading for us. I flag them down and we chat. John Marcel and have come from Ft Chip via
Mamawi Lake and the side channel we are looking for. According to their
indication that “it is a few miles away”, it must be near the location indicated by Ray,
so we continue on.
John Marcel and Harvey have come from the side channel to Mamawi Lake
Today, Clifford and I are using Heather’s canoe, the fastest
of our fleet. Due to my anxiety about finding the side channel, we paddle hard
through the meandering Embarras, leaving the others far behind. Finally, we
come upon it: a wide opening to our left. Here we wait for the others. We stop on
shore just before the entry, and we climb up and sit on a large dead tree sticking
out from the steep bank while Willow hangs out below. After only a few minutes,
though, we think better of it as we become
the victims of a mosquito invasion. Back in the canoe, we paddle into
the side channel and get into an eddy on the far side out of the current to
wait. We have just entered Wood Buffalo National Park.
When the others arrive, I suggest we
have lunch while floating, due to the mosquitoes. And so we do. The group has
developed the pleasant habit of rafting up, holding the canoes together, when
waiting for other canoes, or just to take a break. We do this now. Bruce produces
a large quantity of chocolate with almonds, which he passes around, as well as
the blueberries. Heather also passes out the daily ration of her delicious
cookies.
We continue down the channel to
Mamawi Lake. On our way down the channel, Brittany finds a single, broken
caribou antler. She is pretty excited and spends a lot of time on the rest of
the trip plotting how she will get this home. Clifford, Kelly, Kevin and I spend time inspecting the willows for a bracket fungi used as a medicine. The channel meanders much more
than indicated on the map which, while irritating, is not unexpected as the map
is at a 1:250 000 scale, or about 4 miles to the inch (1 cm = 2.5 km). As a
consequence, it takes a lot longer to arrive at Mamawi Lake than I planned. It
is already almost 6 PM as we get close. A motor boat crosses our path and I
have a short chat. It is a couple on their way south. They indicate that there
is not much in the way of solid ground for camping on Mamawi Lake. I already
know that and had planned to simply cross the lake, following a set of flagged
poles placed as a guide for boaters, and look for a campsite on an island or
beyond the lake, as had been indicated to me previously. They insist that we
will have too far to go and that there is one point, Beaver Ass Point, where
people camp nearby. They offer to take me there in their boat to show me. I
suggest instead that they simply point it out on the map. They do, and we
continue on.
Endless channel to Mamawi Lake
The channel widens and for a long time we can see the
expanse of the lake through the willows lining the channel, but we paddle at
least three kilometers further before actually arriving on the open lake. The
lake is large: about 15 km across, although the route to Ft Chip will only
require covering about 5 km of the lake.
Upon arrival, we are greeted by an enormous area of floating logs and branches
with a couple of paths through them. Perched upon them are a large number of
gulls, terns and white pelicans. Clifford and I wait for the others on the edge
of the floating logs. From the map and with compass, I calculate the bearing we
need to get to “Beaver Ass Point” and I explain to the others where we are
headed. As we paddle out into the lake, there are a few seconds of pandemonium
as the birds all take flight.
Arrival on Mamawi Lake
White pelicans, gulls and two Caspian terns. Looks like a black and white photo.
The wind is light and in our favour,
and we paddle to the west to the promised campsite. When we arrive at the spot
the boaters indicated on the map, there is no solid ground: only lines of
aquatic grasses and horsetails, and interspersed and beyond are dense stands of
willows, 3-6 meters tall. Willows are rarely an indicator of solid ground. When
we investigate some of the stands, they are in water or water-logged ground.
Also, due to the extensive areas of both grasses and willows, it is impossible
to tell where there is solid ground, if any, in the distance. Clearly the
boaters pointed out the wrong location.
I regret that I did not take up their offer to take me to the campsite.
I had forgotten the rule I have learned over and over: few people can read maps
well. Most rural people know the area they live in and do not need maps. We
also could have continued with my plan A which was to cross the lake to another
channel which leads to Ft Chip until we came to a reasonable campsite which I
had been assured is there. In the back of my head, I think we may have to go
back to that plan. On the other hand, we have now traveled 4 km in the wrong
direction and we would have to return against the wind. It is also cloudy and
so it will be darker than I would like for night travel.
When the others catch up, I do not
have much good news to offer. I have no idea where the campsite is: it is not
where it was indicated to me, and the landscape is giving few clues. The others
are pretty calm about this, except for Bruce. Bruce complains about “there
being poor communication on this trip” which he repeats over and over. This is
his first canoe trip and he is clearly very uncomfortable. After this continues
for a while, I lose my temper and start to vent. Fortunately, Alex breaks in, and
in her best “teacher voice” tells me
that this is not the time. She is right and I stop. I feel ashamed of my anger but
am still angry. Alex is able to get a signal on her cell phone and Bruce phones
Sara in Ft Chip. She, in turn, phones Ron’s brother, David Campbell, who works
for the National Park. He phones us back and he explains to me where to find
“Beaver Ass Point”. Unfortunately, his advice does not help as the only
landmarks he gives me are areas of brown grass and I can see many of these.
Tristan is able to use Alex’s cellphone to get a satellite image of the area
with our location. I see that we had gone to exactly the place the boaters had
indicated for “Beaver Ass Point” on my map, so I am reassured at least that my
navigating was correct. That however does not help and there is nothing in the
satellite image to indicate where we should go. I am about at the point to
suggest that we retrace our steps and paddle back the way we came and towards
Ft Chip when another motor boat comes by. We flag it down, and an older couple
indicate where we need to go to camp: further north, around a large point and
to the next point to the west. We go on. At the first point, Clifford and I
spot another potential campsite and we go in to investigate. Clifford walks the
area and it is a last resort: very wet.
While we are there, the others catch
up and yell to us “where are you?” I yell back not to follow us in. They are
getting impatient and I do not blame them. We follow the first couple of canoes
through a sea of grass to where the campsite should be. There is nothing obvious,
but Clifford and I do see another flat area of grasses on shore. Two canoes,
ahead at this point, have gone right by this. Clifford and I hop out and it
appears OK. We feel that this must be the elusive “Beaver Ass Point”. The two
other canoes come to shore near us and wait. With some back and forth yelling,
we learn that the others can find nothing else further down. Within minutes,
Clifford and I have a fire going, and a few minutes later, all the tents are
up. Bruce and I have a heated discussion over by the canoes which at the very least
allows my anger and his frustration to dissipate without doing any permanent
damage to our friendship. We all have a very quick supper in the fading light
and agree to a time of 7:00 to be on the water in the morning. Big lakes often
get rough by afternoon. Then we disappear into our tents, leaving the night to
the clouds of mosquitoes that have welcomed us ashore.
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