After lunch, we again set out to the lake for drinking water. We are at the northern limit of trees, and have found this beautiful example of a krummholz tree, whose buds on one side were all killed by the winter blasts. Only those branches insulated by a layer of snow grow and survive. Krummholz is German for "crooked wood."
View back toward the lodge (background on the right) from the watering lake. Every time we had previously gone for water we had seen a polar bear. As you might guess, this made us nervous, and we hoped we would not see one again.
Approximately halfway back, however, and still 500 m from the lodge, Kathleen spotted a polar bear, only 200–300 m (yards ) away. We had read that polar bears never run during the heat of summer. So much the better for us. As best as we could carrying a heavy jug of water and a rifle, we ran to the lodge and scurried through the gate just before the bear reached the fence.
For the next 20 minutes, the bear circled the compound, repeatedly trying to gain entry. We were glad not to be camping in the open. The polar bear is a true predator, and does not run from people. It is actually drawn by curiosity to investigate anything new that it finds.
Looking for a way over the fence.
Looking for a way under the fence.
We had heard before that the Inuit have many names for the polar bear, depending on its age, sex, and reproductive status. And in fact, reading a book in the lodge, we learned that
atiqtalaaq refers to a newborn cub.
Atiqtaq indicates a cub able to join its mother away from the den.
Angujjuaq means a fully grown male. It seems that the broader term for polar bear,
Nanuk, has a variety of meanings, including “the ever-wandering one,” “the one who walks on ice,” “the great white one,” and “an animal worthy of great respect.”
We certainly held a great deal of respect for this animal circling our compound, and wondered what the words would be for “polar bear trying to get stranded canoeists inside the fence.” After taking a few pictures of the bear, Kathleen and I climbed the stairs to the observation tower and stood ready, with rifle in hand. If the bear did gain entry and came after us up the stairs, he would be somewhat confined, and I could get more focused shots. I much preferred this strategy compared to the potential chaos of all three of us racing around the compound, with perhaps two of us in panic mode.
The polar bear eventually lost interest, wandered toward Hudson Bay, and lay down in a small tidal pool where it splashed and cooled itself. The bear then continued its journey to the ocean, where it was joined by another polar bear at the water’s edge.
Back in the main part of the lodge, playing cribbage, we again heard the motor of an aircraft. We rushed outside to see a float plane disappearing to the south, likely returning to Churchill.
Back in the lodge to resume our cribbage game, we were quite dejected and wondered how much longer we would remain stranded at the Seal River Lodge. “I think we’re going to have to unpack some of our gear, Kathleen. I’m getting hungry. Maybe we should cook supper. I think we should also get our sleeping bags out. It doesn’t seem like we’ll be going anywhere today.”
Moments later, about 6:00 p.m., we once again heard the unmistakable sound of a helicopter approaching from the north. Again, we rushed outside to see two helicopters flying directly toward the lodge. We ran toward the landing pad, rifle in hand.
Just in case you were wondering, I had rifle in hand for polar bears, not to shoot down the helicopters. We weren’t that desperate yet.
Kathleen and I made very exaggerated motions for the pilots to land. Certainly we must not have looked like normal ecotourists. Certainly we looked somewhat crazed and in need of some assistance. The two helicopters passed overhead, circled around, and then, so very beautifully, landed 100 m (yards) away!
I have been told by a professional writer that the use of exclamation points in modern literature is frowned upon. (Are you frowning right now?) Rather, the content of the words, the strength of the prose itself, should express exclamation. Well, two points about that. First, I am not a professional writer. And second, it was danged exciting when those helicopters landed. Such excitement called for an exclamation point. Modern, professional writers should just be thankful that I didn’t use two or more exclamation points.
We walked up to the pilot and shook hands.
“You got a problem here?”
We blurted out our story. “Open July 15—boarded up—Robertson screws—radio phone—coaxial cable—arctic ground squirrel—four days.”
“Well,” he said, “If you want to go to Churchill, get in. I don’t have room for any gear, though. I can only take you and your wife.”
“Well maybe you should just take Kathleen, then. I should probably stay here and guard the gear. Once she’s in Churchill, Kathleen can arrange for someone to come get me by boat.”
“First of all,” the pilot responded, “I’m going to take both of you or neither of you. Second of all, you tell me you’ve been here for four days and haven’t seen anyone come to the lodge. Who exactly are you guarding your gear from?”
He made a reasonable point. We ran back into the lodge and grabbed our overnight cases. We screwed the plywood shutters back on the side door, jumped into the helicopter, and lifted up over Hudson Bay.
Immediately, nearly 1,000 beluga whales came into view in the shallow water below. (Notice that I didn’t use an exclamation point. I wanted to, though.) Well, maybe we saw only hundreds of beluga whales.But, it could have been a thousand. According to the Canadian Heritage Rivers System brochure, the Seal River Estuary “is the calving and breeding grounds for 3,000 beluga whales.”
Moments later, we approached the Batstone shack at the mouth of the Seal River and noticed how bleak the trip would have been had we tried to paddle to Churchill in 4-hour sprints.
Even near high tide, with the current good weather and wind conditions, the mudflats were extensive and appeared inhospitable for canoeing and camping.
We flew wonderfully and elegantly down the coast, past the still vacant and boarded up Dymond Lake Lodge. And then, only 30 minutes after feeling completely abandoned at the Seal River Lodge, we neared Fort Prince of Wales on the opposite side of the river from the town of Churchill. We landed at the Churchill airport and taxied to the
La Perouse House Bed & Breakfast, where we had pre-arranged accommodation for the night of July 20. We had arrived exactly on the day originally planned. (Pencil in an exclamation point at the end of that last sentence if you wish. In fact, I encourage it. Modern, professional writers be danged, I exclaim!)
We knocked on the door and were welcomed in by our host, a very gracious woman. “I’m glad to see you,” she said. “I mentioned to my son, who works for the Department of Natural Resources, that I was expecting guests this afternoon.”
Apparently this news perplexed her son, as it’s not easy to get to Churchill. There are no roads to Churchill. And, if I remember correctly, the train arrived only three days per week. Similarly, only a limited number of commercial flights served Churchill on any given day. Her son was probably thinking that on a late Sunday afternoon, everyone who was going to be in Churchill was already in Churchill.
“How are they getting here?” the son asked his mother. (I apologize for not remembering their names.)
“They’re canoeing down from the Seal River.”
And her son’s response? You guessed it. “They can’t do that. They’ll die.”
“I was getting worried about you,” she told us. “I’m glad that you made it.”
“We are very glad to be here.”
We told her about our four days at the Seal River Lodge, and the helicopters, and how we had to leave all our gear behind, including clean clothes.
“That’s OK,” she said. “Take those dirty clothes off. I’ll put some bathrobes in your room. While you’re showering, I’ll put your clothes in the washer and dryer.”
Yep. Kathleen and I were very glad to be at the
La Perouse House Bed & Breakfast.
Two hours later, Kathleen and I sauntered to the restaurant. We marvelled at how quickly our situation had changed. At 6:00 p.m. we were stuck in the lodge, seemingly forever. By 9:30 we were strolling casually to the pub for hamburgers and fries.
We sat down and asked the waitress to bring us a beer. Didn’t make any difference what kind of beer. Just bring us a beer. “And we would also like some French fries and a cheeseburger. Lots of gravy on those fries, please.”
A few minutes later, our rescue helicopter pilots sat down at the next table. “I’m glad you saw us,” I said. “No telling how much longer we would have been at the lodge if you hadn’t seen us.”
“Well, we didn’t see you at all. Unless you’re looking for people on the ground, you almost never seem them. We turned back only because we wanted a closer look at the lodge.”
Dang. That was lucky for us. “You know,” I continued, “We had an EPIRB with us, but we never considered using it, even for a second. Just out of curiosity, if we had set the EPIRB off, would we have been charged? How much would it have been?”
“Well, for almost all rescues, there is no charge. Your situation was different though. You were at a lodge. You weren’t hurt. You weren’t sick. You probably had a month’s supply of food in the pantry. If you had set the EPIRB off, it would have been only because you were tired of being there and wanted to go home. They might not have charged you, but it could have been as much as $20,000.”
Well, as I said, we never considered using the EPIRB. It would have been too embarrassing. I would have to be pretty much already dead before I would set it off. We ordered another beer. Life was again beautiful. Plan C, hitching a ride on a helicopter to Churchill, worked to perfection.
(Special note to Mike McCrea: I know that you are interested in gear. What works. What doesn't work. After this trip we started carrying red emergency flares that can be launched from our bear banger. People in planes would more likely see us. Haven't had a chance to test the theory yet, though.)
Last night, while Kathleen was in the shower, I called Mike. I didn’t write down the conversation in my diary, so the following is what I remember 17 years later. The gist of the conversation, I believe, is accurate.
“Hello Mike. This is Mike from Vancouver. I talked to you about a month ago, about my wife and I canoeing down the Seal River, and our plan to paddle all the way to Churchill. Do you remember?”
“Yeah.”
“You told us that it was too dangerous to paddle to Churchill, and that we should come up to the Seal River Lodge, which would be open on July 15. Remember that?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, we arrived on July 17, but no one was there.”
“We decided not to open on July 15.”
“You said if no one was there, that we should use the radio phone to call, but it didn’t work. The cable had been severed. Anyway, Mike, some helicopter guys brought us back to Churchill this afternoon, but our canoe and all our gear are still back up at your lodge. Can we hire you tomorrow to take us back up there to retrieve all our stuff?”
“I don’t have time.”
It was a friendly conversation, even though unproductive from my point of view. Some people have suggested that I should have been angry with Mike, but I wasn’t at all. We were not Mike’s responsibility. As far as he knew, we might have changed our minds about paddling the Seal River. As far as he knew, we might have paddled to Churchill. After all, that’s what we told him we were going to do. Mike had a business to run. It wasn’t his job to interrupt his work to go up to the Seal River Lodge on the off chance that Kathleen and I might be there.
Anyway, after talking to Mike, I called Jack Batstone. “Hello Jack. My name is Mike. My wife and I paddled down the Seal River and arrived at the Seal River Lodge on July 17, expecting that Mike and his guests would be there. It was still boarded up from the winter, though. Some helicopter guys saw us there and have brought us to Churchill. But our canoe and all our gear are still back up at the lodge. We were hoping that we could hire you tomorrow to take us back up there on your barge to get all our stuff.”
“I don’t know if I want to go up there tomorrow. I’d have to find out when high tide is.”
“Jack, I’ve been staring at the tide tables for four days. Tomorrow morning’s high tide is at 9:20.”
“OK. I’ll pick you up at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. My cost is $250.00.”
I already knew about Jack’s cost. Two-hundred-and fifty dollars was his advertised price per canoe for picking people up at the mouth of the Seal River.
Jack showed up exactly at eight. We climbed into the truck. Jack looked at us and said, somewhat sternly, “You better bring a coat. It’s going to be cold and wet out there.”
“I told you, Jack. All our gear is at the lodge. These are the only clothes we have.”
Jack grumbled. When we boarded his high-bowed barge, he handed us some rain gear. Jack was right. The trip across Hudson Bay to the lodge was cold and wet.
We arrived at the lodge at 9:35, 15 minutes after high tide. “I’m going to set you on shore,” Jack said. “I can’t tie up. The tide’s going out. You’ll have to canoe back out to me. I hope you don’t take very long to get back here.”
“It won’t take long at all, Jack. Our stuff is already all packed up.”
I removed the Robertson screws from the plywood shutter on the side door. Fifteen minutes later, all of our gear was at the water’s edge. I screwed the shutter back on the side door. We loaded the canoe and paddled out to Jack, who helped us transfer canoe and packs onto his barge. Only 10:00 a.m., and we were heading back to Churchill.
About halfway across the bay, Jack said, “You know, $250.00 is what I normally charge for each canoe when I pick people up. Usually I pick up at least three canoes on each trip. But you’re only one canoe.”
“You should charge what you think is fair, Jack.”
Jack thought for a moment, and then continued. “You know, I had to miss a half day of work this morning.”
“Be fair to yourself, Jack. Charge what you think is fair.”
Back in town, Jack swung by the train station. “We’ll leave your canoe here,” he said. “No reason to take it to the B & B just to bring it back again.”
“But what if someone steals it, Jack?”
“Who’s gonna steal it? There’s no way to get a canoe out of town except by train. Everyone would see them. No one’s gonna steal your canoe.”
At 11:45, Jack dropped us off at the
La Perouse House Bed & Breakfast.
“You know,” he said, “To put you on shore at the lodge, I damaged my propeller on the rocks. Normally I don’t get anywhere close to shore when I’m picking up canoeists. They always paddle out to me. I think $250.00 is too low a price.”
“Jack. I understand. Just tell us what you think is a fair price.”
“I think another $50.00 would be fair.”
“We were thinking more like an extra $100.00, Jack.”
Jack seemed pleased. I would have paid even more if Jack had asked. He had helped us out of a very difficult situation, and we very much appreciated his efforts.
So, by noon we were back in Churchill to become tourists as we headed out on the road to Fort Prince of Wales.
The men who lived at the fort worked as clerks, tradesmen, and administrators for the Hudson Bay Company. Company journals and reports indicate that alcoholism was a major problem. I’m sure that there wasn’t much else to do during those long, lonely, boring, bleak winters on the frozen shores of Hudson Bay.
Forty cannons were placed to protect the fort from attack. According to the tour guide, 10 men were needed to operate each cannon. But only 39 men lived at Fort Prince of Wales in 1782 when a French naval force under the leadership of de La Perouse besieged the fort. Samuel Hearne surrendered without firing a single shot in defence. I don’t know why I’m telling you this. It just seemed such an ignominious defeat for what had been the largest fort in North America.
After breakfast, Kathleen and I wandered over to the train station. My canoe was still there. I know Jack told me that no one would steal it. I just wanted to be sure. We hired a guide, who boated us over to Sloop Clove, where we viewed Samuel Hearne’s signature, which was carved into the rock in 1767. I still admired Samuel Hearne despite his quick surrender to de La Perouse. There was little else that Hearne could have done, however. According to Farley Mowat, in his book
Tundra, “The French had four hundred men, and Hearne had thirty-nine. The uncompleted fort was, as La Perouse noted, indefensible, and Hearne had no choice but to surrender.”
The Hudson Bay Company used Sloop Cove to secure their boats safely from the ice during winter. Because of the rebounding land, however, Sloop Cove is now high and dry, less than 250 years later. On our return back across the river, we boated among hundreds of beluga whales, who swam right up to the edge of the boat to let us pat them on the head. You should have been there. It was so overwhelmingly cute.
Kathleen and I boarded the train for Thompson, Manitoba at 11:00 p.m. At the station, we met Brian and Penny, from Winnipeg, who had just finished paddling the Thlewiaza River, which enters Hudson Bay 150 km north of the Seal River. We settled into our seats and chatted away about our respective adventures. Brian and Penny were kindred canoeing spirits—our Plans A, B, and ultimately C seemed to resonate very well with them.
Just before noon, our overnight train pulled into Thompson, Manitoba. I taxied out to the airport parking lot to get our van. The side-view mirror had been fixed, just as
La Ronge Air had promised. Back at the train depot, Kathleen and I loaded the van, drove into town for lunch, and then headed west, back toward Vancouver.
You might know of a famous quote by Pierre Elliot Trudeau, a canoeist and former Prime Minister of Canada:
"What sets a canoeing expedition apart is that it purifies you more rapidly and inescapably than any other. For it is a condition of such a trip that you entrust yourself, stripped of your worldly goods, to nature… (and) throughout this time your mind…learn(s) to exercise itself in the working conditions (that) nature intended….Indeed, paddle only a hundred in a canoe and you are already a child of nature."
Canoe at lunch, at the confluence of the Seal and Wolverine Rivers.
You might be thinking that our Seal River adventure was now over. But for me, it will always remain unfinished. As Alan Gage observed in a previous post, those 4 days at the Seal River Lodge were calm and sunny. We could have made it to Churchill in 4-hour sprints. Even as I write these words 21 years later, I regret that we hadn’t at least tried. It would have been so danged exciting to paddle into Churchill, when everyone said we couldn't do it.