Cree River flows north out of Cree Lake to Black Lake. Paddling here was a constant surprise. Previously my canoe tripping has been done in Quebec. The rivers I had to fly in to some 30 years ago, now have roads and houses on them. I wanted to find a less crowded locale.
Being 69, I also wanted a river with no portages and rapids CII and under. After purusing many books and trip reports, I decided the Cree River fit the bill. The only trouble; the Cree River is located in northern Saskatchewan and I am located in south Florida. It was going to be a long drive. 3,191 miles one way per google maps. I broke it up by visiting botanical gardens along them way, a family reunion in Vermont, some whitewater instruction with Rolf Kraiker on the Palmer Rapids, a visit with memaquay, and a visit with Paddling Pitt and his lovely wife.
Rolf Kraiker teaches what he calls Paddle Smart Not Hard. He spent time with me not on the typical eddy turns, etc., but learning to slow down in the rapids and put the bow of the boat right on the cushion of water that builds up on a boulder as you go around it. Amazing. Rolf has little figures to use on the kitchen island top to illustrate current, boat and paddle. He taught me a couple of knots, the Figure 8 knot being most useful for me. He also taught how to configure a bridle for lining the rapids. We walked the rapids and talked about how to determine waves the come from water hitting rocks and waves generated by water hitting water. I was pleased that I in general agreed with him on interpretation. This was important to me because I have never before had a professional walk a river rapids with me. Rolf has lots of interesting videos on his website:
https://rolfkraiker.com/canoeing
Leaving the Ottawa area, I drove up to Route 11, a drive I really like. It is peaceful, little traffic, quite relaxing. Canadian drivers are so calm and polite It is joy to drive in Canada. Plus, I got to drive through Moonbeam, ONT, and visit their space ship.
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I had the happy occasion to meet memaquay and his wife. Most of you probably know he has spent a lifetime bringing school children on canoe trips and clearing portages. He also, I learned, advocated to require the timber industry to leave a buffer zones of natural forest along the rivers most used by canoeists. This is a great service to the future of canoe tripping in his region of Canada.
Next stop was the home of Paddling Pitt, who provided email considerations for my trip, and his wife. We sat in their sunroom and talked canoe trips, families, forums, all kinds of things. They have a bed and breakfast there. Their home is beautiful, tucked into acres of natural forest. I had a panic attack thinking I had left behind the poles for the screen room. They came up with some kind of leftover poles. They are slowing giving away their tripping gear and they have decided not to do remote trips anymore. We have all enjoyed his trip reports and it is sad there will be no more.
Next stop was Churchill River Canoe Outfitters in Missinipe SK. Ric Driediger is the personable and helpful owner who has been guiding trips in the area for more than 30 years. Ric answered many of my questions about the Cree River by email in advance of my trip. From his book, I learned he also values tripping alone. His book
Stories of the Churchill documents many of the stories of canoe trippers he has known over the years. I stayed in the Fox Den for one night and it was clean and comfortable.
The drive from Missinipe to Stony Rapids generally takes about 10 hours. I was lucky in that graders had been out recently and it took me only eight and a half hours. Here is what the road looks like:
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It is a new road, just a few years in service. Paddling Pitt told me an acquaintance told him it was impossible to drive this road and you would get two flat tires if you tried. It is a bit scary because you can't tell exactly where the hardpack ends and the crumbly shoulder is very soft. Sometimes the shoulder drops straight down far enough to kill you. But you can't tell exactly where it is. This becomes important when a logging truck approaches you and you want to make sure he does not hit you and you don't go over the side. You might notice, there are drops that you can't see over. A little like going over a ledge.
I stopped at Points North for fuel. I was expecting a small little town. Nope. Points North looks like a large army base, flat out hardpan and warehouses and trucks with no people in them. I drove all around the compound and could not see anywhere to get gas, or even anyone to question. Suddenly I saw two women coming out of one building and headed for another. I quickly drove to them before they disappeared inside. One kindly pointed out the gas pump and where to pay. There's a little commissary there where you can purchase sodas or candy bars
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I arrived in Stony Rapids midafternoon. It was a bright and sunny day. I found the float plane landing and introduced myself and confirmed my flight for tomorrow. The office and flights are pretty busy, making this feel less remote and quite routine to be taking a plane somewhere. Sort of like hailing a taxi. A big group of six came in. A loud man was exclaiming how wonderful it was. Lots of gear. They had been fishing.
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Stony Rapids is not a bustling community. There is only one full time motel, The White Water Inn. There are two others that open apparently sporadically. I had a reservation at the White Water Inn and I have got to say it was creepy. I hate to say this, but the owner/worker seemed to resent my presence and each piece of information had to be dragged out of him. The hall way was narrow, dim, and appeared to have been last carpeted some 50 years ago. The door to the room was flimsy and had a button lock that could be easily popped open.
Interestingly, this establishment was described in Water and Sky as a central meeting place in town. In addition to the hotel, there was a restaurant and there were parties and food and drink and the proprietors were friendly. I wish someone would buy that place and restore it.
Despite the problems, I survived the night and woke to: Smoke. As most of you know, wildfires have been raging all across Canada. I kept an eye on the fires as my launch day approached and so far, things had looked okay. But now fires were going to interfere.
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It turns out the wind had shifted and was blowing smoke and ash from what was described as a huge wildfire in the Northwest Territories. All flights were grounded due to being unable to see anything at all. I learned there were two reservations ahead of me; ie if the smoke cleared enough to fly, they would be first. By the end of the day there was clearing in one direction enough for the first to board and fly out. Two of us were stuck in Stony Rapids and there were no rooms available. The other passenger was a fishing guide who was flying out to the camp where he worked. He was just going to sleep in his truck. Wings over Kississing put me up in a disused building across the street, except there were no locks on the doors. The man in charge (I can't remember his name) put locks on all the doors and I got out my camping gear and slept on the floor. It was more comfortable than the White Water Inn.
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Smoke again the next morning. It looked as bad as yesterday. The weather forecast showed the winds staying steady for three days. Planes were still grounded. I was now second in line. I did not repack all my gear because I thought I was not going to get out today either. A plane did come in from the east, dropping off six people who had been at a fishing camp. I checked in with the charter office and told them if the smoke cleared and I was to go, to please let me know 30 minutes ahead of time so I could repack. Then I went to my truck and cranked the seat back and napped.
Suddenly there was a banging on my window. It was time for me to go, NOW. The smoke had cleared enough to fly south. The guide was not yet able to go. My gear was not fully packed, but I scrunched things in as fast as I could and their staff put my gear on a huge wagon and pulled it down and loaded it into the plane in seconds it seemed. And suddenly, we were off. My pilot was laid back, calm and quiet. He exuded competence and I was very comfortable in the plane.
The pilot is a quiet man with a Toronto accent. He said he lives north of Toronto and "flies all over." It did not take long to lift off from the water. The ride was smooth - no bumps or stomach lurching drops or turns. I sat up with the pilot. It is an old plane. One can see the paint chips and dents and repairs of long use. I actually found this comforting. The plane was well maintained.
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I've been told by two people who know something about planes that this was a de Havilland Single Otter.
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The flight was about 90 minutes and the smoke continued as you can see, but apparently with enough visibility to fly the plane. The pilot seemed fine with it. When we crossed the Cree River, he pointed it out to me.
I wanted to land in Widdess Bay on Cree Lake. Typically, canoeists running the Cree River get dropped off in the far northern bay, but I wanted to spend some time exploring the lake. The pilot was unable to bring the plane into shore. The lake was shallow with packed sand. So he dropped the canoe into the water and dropped my gear into the canoe and helped me step down into it. As I took off, he asked "
Do you have a satellite phone? Do you have a map?" I assured him I was prepared with these things and thought to myself it was kind of late to be asking those questions.
Here is the messily packed boat upon landing on the shores of Cree Lake.
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The canoe was tossed around by the wind and waves. It felt stern heavy and some gear was well above the gunwales. The pilot sat on the water until I reached shore safely. I felt the care and knew it probably looked like I didn't know what I was doing.
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August 15, 2023. Cree Lake. I am here! I can hardly believe it, the culmination of years of dreams. Alone in the wilderness. Sat on the beach and just looked around. Grateful. Waves rough and noisy. Cloudy with some smoke. With all the smoke flying in, I was afraid Cree Lake would be full of smoke and unpleasant but it is barely noticeable. Its hard to tell what is smoke and what is fog or mist. I had lots of fears coming here: what did I forget to bring was among the top contenders. (As it turned out, I did forget some critical things, but more on that later.)
After grounding out on the sand, I took off my socks and shoes and pulled up my pants, secured with nifty elastic. The water was cold, but not excruciating. I stood up and stretch, pulled the canoe up far enough not to drift away. I walked the beach to find the best place to camp, which was down at the north end. I walked back to the canoe and stood looking out on the lake. As I stood there, a tooth crumbled and fell out. No pain, luckily. I pushed the canoe out into the water and walked it to the campsite.
Sent a Zoleo check in after landing and setting up camp. Checked the Zoleo weather. Zoleo has some problems in this remote area and I'll review it at another time. Let's just say at this point that the weather forecasts were unreliable. But I did not know that at this time and was pleased there was no rain in the forecast for the next 3 days. It's cool. The wind drives the black flies away. Once the basics were set up I conked out for a nap. I woke up at 6:30 pm. It started raining right as I got up: a drizzle that steadily increased. I ate a few M&Ms and retreated to the tent. I could stay out, but why get wet?
The beaches were generally narrow as seen here.
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This my first camp is on a bench just above the beach,
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I would learn that variations of the landscape behind the tent is typical of this river's shore. Jack pine amid carpet of blueberry bushes or lichen.
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August 16, 2023. Wind and rain all night. The wind shifted from SW to NW. The waves constantly crash against the the sand beach. Noisy. It reminds me of a storm that came up when camping in the Ten Thousand Islands, listening to the waves all night long, fearing the rising tide and wind could rise to the level of the tent, which was the highest point on the island. Here, I remind myself, there are no tides.
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Breakfast time, but where is the silverware? Set up the Trangia in the lee of a birch bush and sea grasses. The granola and cocoa were pressed tight into cakes due to more than 2 weeks packed in duffels. Ate the granola in hot water with my knife and sipping from the bowl.
In the tent, I read
North to Athabasca by David Curran. It takes almost half the slim volume to describe getting ready for the trip, along with some history of the area. He provides elaborate details on the plane they chartered, but not any mention of the kind of canoe they paddled. Strange. He writes about fear and points out many who travel in the wilderness have some fear. I supposed this could be attributed to his profession as a psychologist.
To be continued....
