Wild, remote, and largely empty. Those are my lingering impressions of a recent three week paddle down the Deh Cho, or Mackenzie River as it is commonly referred to in most maps of Canada's Northwest Territories. Eleven of the "usual suspects" from previous voyageur canoe expeditions and I embarked from Fort Providence NWT with thirty degree temperatures and smokey skies on July 7, 2014. We arrived safely in Inuvik on July 30, 1488 kilometres later, in a stiff headwind, big waves, and near zero degree temperatures.
The picture below shows the Deh Cho at its most benign. Technically, it's not a challenging river. That said, everything about it is BIG. The volume of water that drains through it is enormous. The currents are deceptively powerful. And the weather can knock you down with barely enough time given to tie down your hat, and hastily don your raingear.
We were lucky. We averaged 70 kilometres a day with our paddling. The campsites, albeit hard to find at times, were often on sandy beaches that people south of 60 would pay significant sums to occupy, and prior to reaching the delta portion of the trip, the mosquitoes were merely pesky, rather than predatory. Indeed, the fact that it is light for the full 24 hours in each day means that it is possible to see, and so dispose of, any mosquitoes buzzing inside your tent after zip-up, rather than attempting to wave at them fruitlessly in the dark.
We could have been pummeled. As it was, we only experienced a taste of the weather that this river can serve up. The heat and smoke of the early portions of the trip. The fierce headwinds that blow near constantly up the river, beginning in mid-morning and lasting until late afternoon most days. The thunderheads that swirl by - you hope - but occasionally do not, and so you are forced to bail as buckets of watery ball-bearings fall all around you, bouncing off the surface of the water amid the rumble, before the storm ceases just as swiftly as it began. And then the final few days before paddling into Inuvik, battling two-foot waves and whitecaps, and a windchill that numbs the fingers and chaps the lips, all the while making you wonder whether you really do have enough layers of clothing on so as not to become hypothermic.
We were fortunate to see considerable evidence of wildlife activity (bear and wolf tracks). We actually saw bears swimming and grazing on shore, a moose apparently stranded on a mid-river island, a porcupine performing its evening ablutions at water's edge, many eagles, and other birds rarely seen, if at all, elsewhere.
The local people, native and not, were uniformly friendly and accommodating. Invariably, they went out of their way to engage us, to give us useful advice, to lend a hand or a vehicle, to transport us or our gear as the need would arise, and to cheer us on in our endeavour. They are straight-up folk. They are proud of their land, and highly reslient. They are different from those of us who live down south. I liked them a lot.
The air was fresh. Probably the freshest on the planet, blowing as it does, southward up the river, down from the North Pole. You don't really notice it until you move south. That was when I'd start to wake up in the morning a bit stuffed up, and having to clear out my nose area. That didn't happen at all after we cleared the smokey southern portion of our paddle down the river. I miss that fresh air.
I have some mixed feelings about the trip. The dozen of us who completed it, in three 26' voyageur canoes (with 1-2 seats removed for our gear) ranged in age from late 50's to early 70's. We were certainly the oldtimers' tour. Some of the locals appeared to marvel, or shake their heads in dismay, at our desire to make the trip, given our vintage. Certainly, the trip was the most physically demanding of any of the other long voyageur canoe trips I have taken. At times I caught myself thinking that my paddling best-before date was long since past, and that it was folly to have decided to take on the Deh Cho. I lost 15 pounds by the time we finished. My hands often became tingly and numb from gripping the paddle for 8-10 hours a day, and I've yet to recover full feeling in them. I still feel exhausted, and I tend to stay in bed longer than normal each morning. I can say quite honestly, that I was glad when the trip came to an end.
At the same time, I am proud to have done it. I'm also proud of my crew-mates. Unlike most of the other trips we have done together, this trip was not road-supported. Much of our time was spent in a wilderness setting marked by formidable physical and environmental challenges, and we had to rely on each other. A bonding occurs with that type of experience, and you share it with the other participants forever.
Another thing happens when you finish an adventure of this sort, and this one especially. You begin to suffer a sort of withdrawal. I said I was glad that the trip had ended, and I was. A week or so removed from the toil of it, however, I'm already starting to want to get in the canoe and move down some other big waterway. It's not merely a cognitive desire. It's also a physical demand. From past brigades, I know that physical compulsion will taper off as the months pass by. I suppose that's why our group, the Red Rogues, will have to plan another such adventure for next year, just to keep the embers burning. Give me a few more weeks and I know I'll be more than looking forward to it.
Should you wish to read a more detailed diary of our Deh Cho trip, check out the blog prepared by my crew-mate, Wayne Wilson, which you'll find at mackenziedehcho.wordpress.com.
