According to their website, they hope to “raise awareness of the significance exploration and wilderness recreation can play in conserving our wilderness heritage.” But first, a route had to be determined. Pete Marshall, mastermind behind the expedition, began looking at maps, contemplating if there was a feasible route from west to east. “I’ve always known of several overland routes to some of the bigger lakes and waterways, but the mountains seemed imposing.” Familiar with other well-paddled routes, he began to to stitch them together, incorporating other waterways.

Want to follow along? Watch for future updates or donate to their cause on the expeditions website.

Minnesotans Dave and Amy Freeman are doing just that. Their journey began in April 2010, floating off the coast of the Pacific Northwest in their kayaks. Their goal is to hack off the expedition in phases, taking three years to complete the task. In addition to kayaking, they will also travel by canoe and dogsled.

As partners in the Wilderness Classroom organization, they hope to raise awareness of exploration and wilderness travel to youth. Students and teachers across the country will be able to have interactive involvement through online photos, video, live chats and email.

At the end of September, they came through our neck of the woods. Part of their journey brought them across Lake of the Woods and down into Rainy River, traversing Voyageurs National Park. Crossing along the border of the Boundary Waters and Quetico, they completed their paddle at Grand Portage in late October.

After a brief respite, they will trade the water for land and resume their travels in January, covering trails in northern Minnesota by dogsled.

Follow along their journey here.

Photos: Bryan Hansel

If anyone’s ever taught you a thing or two about surviving in the bush, chances are good that they learned it from Mors Kochanski. His book Bushcraft is a veritable Bible on the topic. But his life is equally fascinating.

Mors Kochanskiwas born in Saskatchewan in 1940 to parents who immigrated from Poland. One might picture him camping out all summer long as a kid on the isolated farm of his parent’s Canadian home, honing bushcraft skills. But his interest in the outdoors didn’t flourish that way. His imagination was spurred by the local library. He picked up an old Boy Scout manual and a book about knot making. These would become the catalysts that would spark a lifelong interest in natural history, camping and survival skills. They would also be the first among thousands of books related to camping, nature and bushcraft in his personal library.

In the early Sixties, he attended the Arts and Sciences Department at the University of Saskatchewan, but funneled his interests by taking classes in anthropology, geology and writing. Without firm direction, he was suspended from the university. Undaunted, he began working in a series of occupations that would ultimately contribute to his expertise in outdoor skills and wilderness living.

When he was 28, he began working with the Blue Lake Center, an outdoor training and education facility in Alberta, Canada.

Later, he became the editor of Alberta Wilderness Arts and Recreation magazine. He was approached to write a book about outdoor living and skills entitled Northern Bushcraft in the mid-Eighties. It was shortened to Bushcraft and is one of the leading guides for outdoor skills and wilderness survival. He has also published Bush Arts, which provides instructions for creating handmade items from the forest. He also created a DVD collection entitled Wilderness Skills Series and A Plant Walk with Mors Kochanski. He also put out a series of pocket booklets on basic wilderness skills such as Basic Weather Knowledge and Survival In Deep Snow.

Mors became Associate Professor of Outdoor Education at the University of Alberta and worked in that position for 25 years. He currently resides in rural Alberta.

Mors Kochanski will be a keynote speaker and workshop instructor at this year’s Wilderness Camping Symposium, October 27-30, 2011.

Sources: Wikipedia and Independent-Adventures.

They have just written their last installment of their journey here. Read about their excitement and wonder traveling through isolated country and encounters with wolves, caribou and seals.

Check out GoPro shots of the ladies shooting multiple rapids, lining the canoe, and setting into the worlds smallest campsite. Did we mention that this section traverses polar bear country?

Video: Hudson Bay Bound

Those willing to brave the unknown attributes of these diverse rivers are rewarded with unique encounters of wildlife, the fluctuating moods of rapids and ancient historical sites. In his book, Canoe Trip: North to Athabasca, author David Curran was lured by those discoveries. But first, he had to find the river.

After paddling numerous river in Maine, author David Curran set his mind on paddling a Canadian river. He had specific interests in mind, and throughout the winter months he’d research rivers by scouring the library, internet and the few reports he could find. He wanted something that had a minimum of lake travel. He looked for stretches where there was little portaging and Class III rapids. He also searched for a river that didn’t dry up too quickly, a notorious characteristic of northern rivers. Finally, it had to fit into a two week window of travel. Finally, he found the McFarlane River. A 140 mile ribbon of flat water and rapids that dump into Lake Athabasca in northern Saskatchewan.

In early June of 2002, Curran and his paddling partner, Walt were flown in by float to Brudell Lake. Undeterred and with sketchy maps, they set out down the McFarlane. He describes the familiar feeling of being dropped off in the middle of nowhere, questioning his ability and skills to make it to the mouth of the river. It is a wonderful story of discovery as they run unmarked rapids and bushwack through overgrown portages. The open boreal forest and wildlife is diverting and captivating to them. They expect to encounter black bear as they’ve been told it’s prime habitat. Appreciating the history of the Dene nation, who call this area home, they encounter remnants of trapping cabins and prehistoric sights. The mouth of the river takes them to massive Lake Athabasca, whose 176 mile length seems to swallow them up. They fret about locating an ambiguous point of land where a float plane will pick them up.

It is an inspiring story for those scrutinizing over their own plans to tackle a remote, wild, river. David Curran’s narrative is an easy to read trip report about what it is like tackle your first, big, remote river and encounter areas less traveled.

Buy here.

The gaseous smoke plume is getting ever larger as I watch. It now begins to take on strange shapes, inflating into monstrous faces that leer back at me. We’ve got to get out of here… now!

I open my eyes to only the dark ceiling above me. Soft crackling from the wood stove. Whuh? Nightmare about the forest fire? Gotta be kidding me. Ugh, cold sweat. Surprised I didn’t wet the freakin’ bed. Must go back to sleep.

DAY FIVE.
Whitewater Lake.
Over a late-morning breakfast, Pam and I review our predicament: Our paddling route has dead-ended where a forest fire had ravaged one (if not several) of our portages. With fallen trees everywhere, flames still licking the ground, and smoke veiling the burnout, we’ve sought the shelter of a fly-in fish camp. Thankfully, the place is owned by our outfitter, whose counsel we sought yesterday via two-way radio.

His advice: Pick our way onward through the charred portages and lakes -or- backtrack the 20 miles we’d just paddled on massive Whitewater Lake, taking an alternate route from there. But before making a decision, he’d said, sleep on it. Today’s forecast on the big lake called for mixed rain, sleet and winds upwards of 12mph. We might not be going anywhere in weather like this.

The first option is out of the question for us. We’d come prepared to do some portage clearing—this is Wabakimi after all—but not while huffing smoke and sleuthing around for trails that have burned away to nothing. Not while risking scorched packs and feet on smoldering embers.

But the second option would mean dawn-to-dusk paddling for the remainder of our trip, plus two unplanned days backtracking on the big lake.

Now, having eaten and dressed, we walk to the staff cabin, where we’ll talk again with the outfitter. Along the beach run hundreds of feet of firehose. A flattened mess, it looks like the dead nightcrawlers one finds washed up on the sidewalk after a rainstorm. Just two days ago, the blaze had come so close, that a crew of firefighters had ‘coptered here to lay them, should they need to sprinkle the row of cabins. We’d even been shown pictures taken from the beach, Smoke and flames, visible just above the treeline. Pam and I are amazed they’d not evacuated everyone. Thankfully, the flames had subsided.

Still, with the specter of fire virtually omnipresent along our route, it’s no wonder we’ve seen no bears, wolves nor moose. Moose—our hopes for sighting them had been so high, after all the stories we’d heard in our research. But alas, they’d clearly long since fled the area at the smell of smoke.

Our plan? We dunno. We’re hoping the forecast has changed overnight; that this miniature gale we’re walking through is just momentary. If we must opt to backtrack our route, we’ll need a little more time to muster our energies and let our gear dry out.

“Nobody’s going out on that water today,” notes John, the camp’s lone staffer. Looking out at the whitecaps, he estimates the winds at 12mph already, but the gusts look worse. The outfitter confirms it.

“Yeah, I won’t be flying in this weather. It’s gonna be pretty awful all day. Maybe tomorrow too…” The five-day outlook following that sounds better, but nothing about our next few days sounds good right now—except for the kindness of our hosts, who’ll house us another night. So it seems to be no shocker to them that we’re still unsure of a plan. We need to look at our maps again. Think it over.

Stuck. Marooned. Beached. Even the fishermen several cabins down are laying low. Our vacation is basically over before it’s halfway through. Bottom line, we just don’t have the two extra days needed to re-trace our itinerary. All that remains is to await our bailout via float plane.

My forehead against the picture window, I blankly stare past the windswept scene in front of me. My perceptions and emotions flag about with the leaves and branches. Outside the door, literally, is a boreal paradise, with hardly a soul around. I couldn’t think of any other place I’d rather be. Yet now, I feel a thousand miles from this wilderness idyll. Everything I’m looking at out there is past tense. I’ve officially hit rock bottom. The Griswold Family car’s been pulled over, Aunt Edna’s corpse is on the roof and we’ve been dragging Dinky the dog behind us for three miles.

We radio again around noon. Conditions have worsened outside; another of the fish camps reported snow today? Do tell—it’s been alternately raining, sleeting, even snowing, every twenty minutes here as well. All day. Snow!

But wait now…what’s this? A ray of hope shines out through the storm front: Our ears perk as a third option is offered up.

“I was thinking…I’ll be flying in your area tomorrow, dropping off another customer to the north of you. I could swing by on the return trip, pick you guys up, and just ‘flip’ you over a few lakes; get you past the burnout area.” He’d charge reasonably for the service, as well.

We’ll take it!

Elated. Relieved. Exhausted. With little else to do until tomorrow, we pack our now-dried gear and try to do very little otherwise.

Late afternoon. John had earlier invited us to dinner and we’re just killing time now. Outside, the storm rages on, unabated. In the midst of it, a loon sounds its call. Crazy loon, out in weather like this… There it is again, hooting like a lunatic—in fact, a little more like a lunatic and less like a loon. Pam leans towards the window, trying to spot the bird. Suddenly, she straightens up.

“No. Way. You have GOT to be kidding.” she exclaims. Joining her at the window, I hand her the monocle for a closer look.

Two canoes on the sandbar. Four figures standing astride them, embracing and whooping like first-time marathoners at the finish line.

Pam nearly yells it: “I see two pirate hats on their heads!”

Well, buh-low me down.

I whip on a jacket and run out to help our dear Swiss friends bring their boats ashore. Urs, Roland, Daniel and Martin tell me they’d paddled hard from the far corner of the lake yesterday, eventually camping on a nearby island. They’d laid low today until the afternoon, and hit the worst of the weather coming here.

John graciously puts them up in the cabin next to ours.

Dinner with John feels like home. He makes BLT sandwiches and a fresh salad. Dessert is the only ‘special’ thing we can think of to bring: dried mangoes (woo hoo.) No matter; the talk is great. We ply him with questions about his job, his Cree-Ojibwe heritage, and his knowledge of that famed hermit neighbor, Wendell Beckwith. John seems to enjoy the company here on this lunar outpost, too.

After the meal, Martin (the appointed cook among the Swiss) invites Pam and I over for Dinner #2. “You come, we have spaghett!” he says.

And not just “spaghett”—they’re cooking a whole grocery store in that cabin! It’s amazing: bannock, cured meats, dried fruits, Swiss chocolates, gallon-size Ziplocs full of tea. There’s like, a 5-gallon canister of Nescafé…

Acquaintances quickly meld into friendships. Stories and histories are shared. Especially interesting to me is how Urs, a forester by trade, came to bring his friends across the globe to this relatively little-known wilderness. Don’t they have places like this in Europe? Surely, as a forester, he’d know about them?

“We don’t have this,” he says, spreading his arms wide. “These lakes, these woods, the animals… We have some animals; far fewer though.”

What about way up in northern Scandinavia? Lapland and all?

“Most of it is clear-cut. Here… we saw a black bear the other day. We see beavers… There is so much here.”

John soon joins us all, and the more becomes the merrier. There’s laughter and true fellowship; language isn’t even a barrier.

Looking around the room at this assembly of strangers from three disparate lands, John and I share an observation: We have all truly found the Center of the Universe. And by no surprise, it’s in the Middle of Nowhere—the wilderness—a place where solitude teaches you the value of company; where fleeting glimpses of the little things grant you a better view of the big picture; where even chance encounters with your mortality breathe fresh life into your lungs.

How very true, Urs: There is so much here.

DAY SIX.
Whitewater Lake to Funger Lake.

Morning brings with it an early departure. So early, in fact, that we’re whisked away before our Swiss friends awaken. Wait… no time for a group picture? At all? Really? Good thing we all swapped email addresses last night. A pathetic goodbye wave is exchanged from way out on the dock; our farewell as abrupt as that first hello was. ‘Andy and Pam from the United States’ will never forget these guys.

Before we board the float plane, John hands us a parcel wrapped in paper: A gift? We’re extremely touched by his generosity (crap, do we have any more mangoes we can give him?) Here, too, is a friendship just barely begun; our leaving suddenly feels ill-timed. But what can we do?

Soon, we’re soaring over the wide blue lake, then briefly over the green of the boreal forest.

That’s when we see the Black — over 9,800 acres of it. Trees littered everywhere. Boulders, once draped in moss and lichen, now bare and exposed. Smoke still emanating from the singed forest floor. This was the fire that had chased us, plagued us, confounded us over the last four days.

As we fly over McKinley Lake, I spy a crude scattering of field stones — the foundation of what had only days ago been a cabin. The stones are all that’s left of it; they and a small, orphaned dock.

So this was the fire that had chased us, plagued us, confounded us over the last four days. I can’t really find anything to say for several minutes. By then, we’ve bypassed the burnout and are circling over a landing on the long, narrow Lonebreast Bay.

Once again, the dropoff is very quickly executed, and we’re back in the saddle again.

Despite the rather breezy conditions, there’s a lot to be thankful for. Clearer skies and a trip we feel has been rescued; redeemed. Free again. The day goes happily without incident, and come mid-afternoon, a gorgeous site is spotted in a serene inlet of Funger Lake. No wind. No smell of smoke. Several loons are swimming about. This is finally—mercifully—beginning to feel like the trip we’d hoped to have.

As we begin to prep dinner, out comes the gift from John. The papers are unwrapped. Two freshly-thawed steaks from last season’s hunt. Yes, sad to say: these represent what will be our only encounter with moose on the entire trip.

This feels strange, so out-of-place. We would so rather have seen one alive and flourishing! To have captured only its image—not the the thing itself! Yet we’re reminded of what the hunt means to the hunter. It is providing food for those he looks after, those he cares about most: It is for his Family. Unbidden, he has given us this gift, one that we mustn’t squander or take lightly.

The sun sinks, the wind sleeps and the water stills. Calm. Serenity.

Looking ahead, we still have the big waters of Caribou Lake and other adventures awaiting us these last few days. But for now, all the ordeals of the fire are safely behind. We lay prone in the tent, drinking in the silence and basking in a revelation:

Best frickin’ steaks we’ve ever had.

The conclusion to our Wabakimi adventure will post later this week. Keep watching for it!

If you missed the account of our first two days paddling Ontario’s Wabakimi Provincial Park, you can find it here.

DAY 3.
Ogoki River to Whitewater Lake.

What time is it?

2 A.M? Thought we’d set the alarm for 1…? I’ve slept too long without checking the status of the forest fire. I stealthily unzip the tent flap, hoping I won’t awaken Pam. I poke my head out.

The moon casts a dull glow tinged with soot, as dim as a single candle in a darkened hall. Hours ago, the smoke plume seemed crouched; gathering itself up to spring upon us. Now, I see that while the red flames have subsided, its fumes are spread high above us, fanning out across much of my view of the sky.

The beast in mid-pounce? Or are we okay? The air still smells clean…

Laying back down, I don’t know what to do – yet. Better look again every fifteen minutes.

Over several status checks, I can hear a gentle breeze picking up. Then, as I once again peer out: The moon is hidden behind the widening column of smoke. The air smells a bit. I reach for the headlamp. Click. Its shaft of light is a semi-solid dirty grey. Something’s blowing in front of my face, and I blink, refocus my eyes.

Ash. Little bitty bits of ash.

Here’s the part where I know what to do. “Pam… Pam. It’s time to go.”

Not much is said, and thankfully we both just seem to fall into step. Sleeping bags and gear are quickly packed. The tent comes down. And we carry out our only plan: To navigate this unknown river by the light of our headlamps, and search for the portage that will take us past rapids our outfitter had described as “impassible.” From there, a nearby fly-in fish camp will (hopefully) provide shelter, and perhaps a radio with which we can call our outfitter for more information on the blaze. Or perhaps a rescue from it?

Our progress is slow, measured. Despite the three hours’ sleep we’ve had, all our senses are acute. Our eyes scan the shoreline for any hint of a portage. We listen for the sound of faster water ahead. The odor of smoke has now also become that bitter, filmy taste in our mouths again. I find myself having to spit out phlegm every few minutes. Out comes Pam’s head-scarf. I use the knife to tear it, and we each tie a dampened half over our faces.

Paddle. Drift. Scan the shoreline. Double-take. Nope, no path yet. Paddle. Check for rocks ahead. Now look back, don’t miss anything. Slow down, we may be getting closer. Paddle…

“There it is!” Pam rejoices, after nearly an hour. “Thank. God.” Mercifully, this portage, like the last, is marked by several canoes and fishing boats used by area outfitters.
“Any other time, I’d hate seeing these boats out here in the woods,” I sigh in relief. “How long is this portage again?”
“A bit over 700 meters.”

It feels risky to double-carry over so long a stretch – about a half-hour each way – with the threat of this fire literally breathing down our necks. Still, hauling my pack and canoe together in the dark, doesn’t rest well with me either. How many deadfalls will we come upon? How clear will the trail be? So we settle for as brisk a pace as we can manage, walking with the packs first.

The thick forest at night has a beauty about it, but smoke slowly crawls between the trees and seems to be thickening. Good thing the path looks moderately well-traveled.

When we return for the canoe, the light of our headlamps can no longer reach across the river, illuminating only the thick blanket of grey that has moved in. Keep moving. Worst case scenarios in our minds are brushed away for now.

5 A.M. The end of the portage spills out onto the beach of the fish camp. No boats are to be seen. Taking stock of our surroundings, we see the place is obviously darkened. I approach several cabins, finding them locked and without any sign of staff or guests.

The camp is closed for the season. But we’re feeling desperate for shelter, fresh air (however long it may last) and a chance to plan our next steps in relative safety. I seriously consider using the axe to bust into one of these, though I’d hate to do it… Actually, part of me would love to do it – when does a guy get to smash in a door for any reason? Maybe said relative safety, or even survival, is a good reason.

No such luck, however. A third cabin has been left unlocked, so there’ll be no axe-play. Inside, the air is fresh. We rest, make some cocoa and, in the interests of keeping our outfitter apprised of our exact location, we send out a ‘we are here’ message on the SPOT. Smoke is evident outside, but we elect to wait until 7 A.M. to assess conditions further.

Today, our itinerary would have us battling ten miles of heavy chop, here on Whitewater Lake – only halfway across its massive horseshoe-like shape. But trying to outrun the ever-thickening smoke? If things worsen, with no radio to use, sending an emergency ‘pick us up’ beacon has to be considered.

Pam finally crashes on a mattress. My nerves are too jangled to allow me sleep, so I kill time and eat an energy bar.

Time passes. Restless, I step outside and walk to the end of a dock, to look back at the treeline we’d just fled from under. Still too dark to see anything telling. But wait… how’d I miss this over here? What appears to be the main lodge sits next to ‘ours,’ and attached to it is a two-way radio antenna! I’m going in.

I flick on the headlamp; step onto the deck. Strange though, how they’d forgotten to store away this outfitting gear: a pair of bear barrels, just sitting out here.

Opening the screen door, I see that the inside door is not only unlocked, but slightly ajar. Seems so weird, how there seem to be
FOUR MEN SHOUTING! WHUH-WHA?! LEAPING TO THEIR FEET! HEADLAMP FLASHING! HEY! BOLTING FOR THE DOOR! I’M SORRY I’M SORRY IT’S OKAY IT’S OKAY!

Bear spray in my face! Shotgun blast to my torso! Swedish-made forester’s hatchet to my Adam’s apple… I’m expecting at least one of these things to befall me, any second now. I’ve gotta allay any suspicions of why I’m intruding, so I say the first thing that comes to mind: “It’s okay! My name is Andy Wright! I come from the United States!”

State my name and country of origin. That’s fantastic. Any hobbies I’d like to share with Mr. Trebek and the studio audience, before we play Jeopardy today? Idiot. Tell them about running half the night to escape the smoke. About needing the radio to learn how much danger you’re all in.

And so I tell them. With a liberal amount of apologies thrown in, for the rude awakening.

The four gentlemen, I learn, are Swiss German paddlers: Urs, Martin, Roland and Daniel. On an itinerary similar to ours, they had camped the night before at the same site as we had, on the Berg-Ogoki confluence. They’d spent a fair share of effort clearing this last portage of deadfalls and overgrowth. By their own admission, they’d been too lazy to pitch a tent, so they’d bedded on the cabin floor for the night. While they’d not seen how large the smoke plume had mushroomed, they had smelled it last night.

“We have satellite phone,” Urs assured me. “We’re going to call… uh, our outfitter in one hour. You can use, too, if you want it.”

An hour? That’s a bit of a wait… although the wind’s shifted slightly and the smoke is less heavy, for the moment. The downtime allows me to report the last few eventful minutes to Pam, who’d been startled from sleep by all the yelling, and immediately thought I was hollering about the fire. She’d been all but ready to send out the S.O.S. call.

The Swiss dudes are now dressed (two of them wearing distinctive buccaneer hats) and brew some coffee water in a large cooking pot over a fire pit as we chat. They are an amiable bunch. I thank them for not macing me, especially when Martin tells me they’d thought I was a bear as I approached.

Urs, the trip leader, contacts his outfitter. She’s aware of the fire (which is on McKinley Lake, southeast of our current position) – but she’s relatively unconcerned. The men are due to be picked up via float plane in a few days, and won’t be going as far as McKinley.

But we will. Our itinerary goes right through McKinley in the next two days!

I don’t have our own outfitter’s phone number. But Urs has contact info for the local fire authority. Good enough.

“Where are you headed?” the dispatcher asks me. I tell him we plan to be at an island site for perhaps the next day or so, up on the north side of Whitewater.
“Oh, you should be fine up there,” he says casually. “But yeah, it’s kinda smoky down near McKinley.”
“Kinda smoky. Okay. ‘Kinda’ as in, unsafe? I’ve never paddled through these conditions before, so I guess I’m looking for a professional opinion on whether I should go that way, or not.” And that’s when our connection is lost. Repeated attempts to reach him again, all fail.

Urs and I agree to share each others’ planned whereabouts for the next few nights on the big lake. Should this blaze worsen and people need rescue, knowing this can only help. He and the others will be on the northwest islands of the lake; a few hours outside of our path.

After a brief but friendly farewell, the Swiss contingent soon departs. Tidying and closing up our cabin, we take leave as well. And in good time as well; the smoke is still advancing. Additionally, inky rainclouds loom to in our path. Best to move while we can.

The chop on the lake is moderate; an effort all morning long, but manageable. The smoke is relentless, however, as it seems to be giving chase. Every time I glance behind us, islands and points we’d passed only ten minutes ago are now swallowed into oblivion.

Intermittent rain falls, serving – we hope – as a wet blanket over the forest fire. Otherwise, if that Lake McKinley is still ablaze when we reach it… we’ll have nowhere to go. The only portages shown on our maps, are the ones hand-drawn for our route.

Pam flawlessly navigates us through the dozens of islands in Whitewater Lake, to our site, nestled among dozens of other islands. Wind direction has changed; the smoke no longer hounds us. Gear is hung out to dry, camp is set up. We discover gardens of moss so plush and deep, a person sinks four inches deep with every footfall. And blueberries! Truly the most lovely-tasting ones I’ve ever had; not large, but imbued with a floral sweetness that intoxicates.

Finally, a respite!

We gorge ourselves on berries. Then, on dinner. And on to berries again. The evening is cold and there’s sleep to be had. One more handful of berries.

DAY FOUR.
Whitewater Lake.

Never mind the morning chill – the resplendent sunrise more than makes up for it. Taking advantage of the calm to enjoy the view, we make our way south again. Whitewater Lake being a giant, upside-down “U,” we’re at the curve’s apex, now making our way down the right side. And back into the smoke and the big waters.

Our mid-day stop: Best Island, the wilderness sanctuary of the late Wendell Beckwith, an eccentric mathematician who lived here for years developing his obscure theories. While their accuracy and validity may be in question, the artistry of his hand-built log dwellings there, are not. An almost hobbit-like architecture and interior design pervades the dwellings, especially his research cabin, dubbed “The Snail.” Thousands of small ‘tree cookies’, or cross-sections, were utilized as floor tiles and roof shingles. The abundance of wood-carved details is a marvel. No wonder he called it the “centre of the universe.” I would’ve made this my world, too, given the chance.

Visitors are allowed to respectfully walk thru, but signs urge us to leave things as we find them. So we take craploads of pictures.

Although the place has fallen into great disrepair, we’re later happy to learn that a grassroots effort is afoot to restore the time-weathered retreat.

Returning to our canoe, my anxiety builds. We’d just spent yesterday fleeing the fumes of the McKinley fire. Now, we face a choice: Either paddle a 2-hour detour to the southern shoreline, where one of our outfitter’s fish camp awaits (with radio and staff present); or… we go for it. Head right into the belly of the beast and attempt to portage through the worst of the scorched acres.

After much debate, we go for it. Bandanas go on again, and it’s off towards McKinley.

It does feel good to be off the white caps of the big lake. Our route meanders through some lovely waterways and portages. Among them, we encounter by far the most lovely portage of the trip. Brilliant green moss carpets the forest; not dead and crunchy moss, but living and vibrant. We’d camp here if we could, it’s so idyllic.

Our joy is short-lived, though. We finally reach the portage leading to McKinley. Or what used to be. Any semblance of a path is gone. Blackened trees are littered about everywhere. I can actually hear a few of these dead giants topple as the wind gusts. The ground is smoldering and small tongues of flame are still lingering in several places.

Not good. We don’t feel at all confident. We don’t feel too safe, either. I spit. Grit and bitter smoke in my phlegm. Shoot.

“All right. Let’s turn around.”

Deflated, Pam and I backtrack across the portages towards Whitewater Lake… and the fish camp we’d opted out of earlier. As if to rub our noses in it, the wind and rain kick into overdrive. It’s a 3-hour ‘I told you so.’ Just plain hurtful.

The camp sits astride a sandbar so long, it nearly forms a land bridge to Best Island. Dragging the canoe and our sorry, soaking carcasses across it, we’re exhausted. At least I’m coherent enough to appreciate the humor of my situation as I once again rudely awaken a cabin dweller.

This time though, it’s 5pm and he’s been napping. The guy is indeed the lone employee working this lonely camp; a tall drink of water named John. Our appearance here stymies him; paddlers rarely chance upon this part of Whitewater, he says. Most of them head to the northeast corner, where the Ogoki River outflows once again. Are we doing wildlife and plant studies for the MNR?

No, just a pair of crazy paddlers looking for trouble.

John is terrifically gracious; he puts us up in a cabin, starting a fire in the wood stove. Automatic BFF status for him. Every item of clothing and fabric is hung up to dry, every single one.

Later, in John’s cabin, we use his radio to contact the outfitter. Finally! Now our next steps will be clear.

“Yeah… just head on down through the McKinley portage. I flew over it earlier today at 3000 feet. Should be all right.” he replies, after my description of the condition we’d seen it in.
“We saw it at 30 feet, though. It’d be a long walk over stuff that’s still burning, among trees that are still falling, trying to follow a trail that’s now indiscernible.”

Silence. He’s thinking.

“Well, that, or you could backtrack across Whitewater, up the Ogoki again to the Berg River, and on to the…”

I sort of tune out until he mentions the forecast of high winds, rain and sleet over the next 36 hours. Looking across the room, I can tell by her face that Pam is calculating the wasted mileage. Twenty-some miles.

Everyone can tell that we’re not ready to make a decision. Work out a plan tomorrow. Heck, with the predicted weather, nobody’s likely going anywhere then, either. Better to get a good night’s rest for now.

Sleep finds us quickly, but the menace of the fire follows me even into my restless dreams, where a massive grey billow morphs into surreal insectoid faces, ever hovering over me…

Keep watching UpNorthica.com for the next segment of our adventure in Wabakimi; it’s coming!

Our first three days in Wabakimi Provincial Park were so packed, we’re having to break our report up and cover just the first two, here.

But you’ve waited long enough, so let’s go!

DAY ONE.
Armstrong Station, Ontario.

As the moonset’s molten colors finally dip behind the treeline, all is dim for just a moment. Then, I have to double-take, as the sky is rekindled by a show of northern lights.

A good start.

It’s 5 A.M. Pam and I pause in our final packing efforts to stand on the deck, relishing the otherworldly lightshow. We’d arrived here at the outfitter’s yesterday afternoon, so we’re well-rested and ready for our 7am flight via float plane.

The plane will take us 50 miles into the wilds of Wabakimi, the second largest provincial park in Ontario. For the next 9 days, we expect to have our navigation skills thoroughly tested in its island-studded lakes. We’ve prepared ourselves for a fair share of trail-clearing (if not bushwhacking) along the spartan portages. And we really wanna see a crapload of moose. Please.

Once at the dock, no time is wasted. Gear is quickly loaded aboard the plane and soon the pilot has us soaring high above this unfamiliar country; just us, our two packs, and the canoe. We’ve got an emergency whistle and stuff, also. We’ve tested it. It works.

The sunrise reveals gorgeous lands and innumerable lakes. Below, the green patchwork is intermittently stained with black – burnout areas from recent forest fires.

“You’ve had fires this summer?” we’d asked last night.

“270,000 acres have burned this summer, but they’re just smoldering in a few places now” the outfitter reassured us.

Not any real concern. We’ve learned that paddling through burnouts can be just as fascinating and enjoyable as the ‘pretty’ regions of forest.

And so it’s not an issue that we’re dropped into just such a burnout zone, along a stretch of the Palisade River. With little ceremony and a ‘good luck’, our pilot takes off and we paddle to a nearby campsite to situate our gear and take it all in.

Everything is scorched and desolate. But already, we’re fascinated by our surroundings. We discover what appear to be two primitive fish smokers left by previous campers; one made of pine poles and foil, the other being all flat stones with moss on top. Hardly ‘leaving no trace,’ but somehow it more deeply impresses upon me the ‘differentness’ of the place.

A few hours into our way through the serpentine bends in the river, Pam spots another find: “Pictographs!”

Two dimunitive handprints in red ochre. An arm’s length away, groups of lines, dashes, an “x.” A child learning to count? Or maybe just at play? The mystery captures us.

As we range outside of the burnout area, we already pass by one of the ‘smoldering’ bits we’d been told about. Tired flames on the roots of half-fallen trees. It feels strange to simply paddle by, but here, the Ministry of Natural Resources largely allow fires to burn themselves out unless they threaten human habitations.

Kenoji Lake is the first larger lake we paddle. Far to the south, white smoke from another burnout is visible, but it’s not enough to dampen our spirits. The weather is lovely. Our island campsite is too, although we begin to see some of the Wakakimi-esque traits we’d heard about from others. The site is low to the water on a flat slope of rock. The hearth is a bit smaller than those seen in the BWCA, and needs a little work. There’s a tent pad, but just barely so; it’s small and requires a bit of figuring as to the placement of our tent. All these things we view as positives, though. Things just seem a little closer to pristine, this way. Less trodden down. We cook dinner, send out a “we are here” update from our SPOT satellite messenger, and share a moment with a curious otter swimming by. We pass the evening hours by playing a round of Cairn Bowling.

DAY TWO.
Kenoji Lake to Ogoki River.

Today will be a good one. Our map has several annotations about the Ogoki RIver, where most of our day will be spent: “Hazardous stretch”. “Line with care.” Ooo – rapids! (not that we’ll shoot them; we have little whitewater experience. But it’s exciting nonetheless.) Lots of portages – maybe they’ll be really gnarly and we’ll almost get lost! Let’s get started.

A short paddle takes us the rest of the way across Kenoji Lake, to the headwaters of the river. The area is low, with foliage clearly in re-growth from a fire only a few years recent. Just the same, wafts of smoke are seen nearby. Even here, the dry summer’s effects are evident. But it’s just smoldering. Right?

Finding our first portage is indeed a challenge. Driftwood, low water levels and an ocean of underbrush and saplings all work to conceal any telltale path. We’ve noted that some portages here have been identified by marker tape tied around trees, or by blazes (one modest chop upwards on the trunk, one downwards). So when we do find the portage, I leave the absolutely worst-looking blaze in history, on a dead tree trunk standing by the path. It’s awful-looking, but nobody will miss it now.

Despite the overgrowth, the portage is navigable and free of deadfall. The second one is more challenging; it trails off near the end, leaving us to bushwhack around fallen trees, shrubs and quickmud. But we get there!

As we near more whitewater, our luck in finding portages runs dry.

Wabakimi has rocks, lots of rocks. Did you know that? And boulders, almost everywhere. And every last of them is extremely greasy with a green slime, when wet. If the boulders aren’t hiding just under the surface of the water, ready to shred your canoe like mozzarella, they’re rather a beast to have to clamber over with pack and canoe.

The last 2-3 portages we never find at all. We’re forced to carry the canoe and gear over several boulder fields. The progress is slow – but only so for a while. That ‘smolder’ seems to have grown, and the winds have begun to carry its haze our way. A funny taste begins to sour our mouths. In five minutes, the hazy smoke is directly above us, bathing everything in a strange, acidic light. The smell of smoke is getting stronger.

“I think we need to get out of here,” Pam says, surveying the skies. I’m with her.

We’re able to line the canoe in some spots, but other stretches look do-able to paddle. Sort of. Probably Class 2 rapids… but we’ve never shot anything above Class 1 before. We know, like two things about shooting rapids: you have to scout them first, and also you’ve gotta aim for the ‘v.’ There you go, that’s it. We are so ready.

We pick our course and go for it. The little we know is enough to get us by. We neither dump nor inflict any damage to the boat. Finally there is flatwater again – after spending 5 hours on the 3-mile section of the Ogoki. And thankfully, the wind has changed; smoke is no longer hanging over us.

Enjoying a late lunch break on a campsite, we discover a wrecked fiberglass canoe. And so yes, of course we think, “Wow, that could have been us!” but we decide not to dwell on the thought long.

The Ogoki sort of flows into what is called Oliver Lake, which we follow to a lovely portage. Mosses, blueberry patches and a sun-dappled path make the load seem lighter. After the portage, the Ogoki flows out again, curving northeast towards the massive Whitewater lake. But it’s a lovely, calm stretch and the afternoon is clear. Enjoyment.

In time, we arrive at the confluence of the Berg River with the Ogoki, and here we decide to stay at a campsite. Only, not to enjoy the lovely river views – something else has arrested our attention.

We paddle within view of one rather large plume of smoke, rising high and billowing as we watch.

*That’s* not smoldering.

Looking over the treetops, we can see the fire appears to be quite close (a mere 7 miles away, we’ll later discover.) For the moment, it’s blowing to the south; away from our route. But judging from the map, the burn itself looks to be possibly at a spot along our itinerary, come a few days.

It’s awe-inspiring. Ominous. And who’m I kidding: my sphincter is in major pucker mode. Better watch this thing. Our campsite has a clear vantage point, so we set up the tent and prepare dinner, always with one eye on the smoke plume. It’s continued to mount higher, bearing some pyrocumulous characteristics.

“We’re going to have to move if that wind changes direction, though…”

A half-hour after dinner… it changes. The smoke trail now begins blowing to the northwest. Which is to say, a little bit in our direction, but moreso towards where we’ll need to be tomorrow.

Quickly, a gameplan is formed: 3 miles downstream, the river flows into Whitewater Lake. There, at the mouth, is some other outfitter’s fish camp. If the fire and smoke threaten us, from there we could call for help – if there’s a radio. Or, we could use the SPOT messenger to send a distress call for our outfitter. If he’s able to land in all that smoke.

I opt not to count our ‘ifs.’

“How quickly can we break camp here?” Pam asks.
“Half-hour.”

Before long, we’re on the river again. With dusk almost upon us, we figure that by nightfall, we can cover half the 3 miles of river, plus one of the 2 portages along the way. It won’t be safe to paddle after dark, but we’ll be that much closer to relative safety.

The moon is out, and near-full, which helps. And thankfully, the first portage is easy to spot; for once, we’re glad to see that outfitters have left a few boats there. We have to wear our headlamps moving through the brush, but as I carry the canoe, Pam walks ahead and calls out warnings about deadfalls, slippery rocks or outright holes in the pathway.

The portage ends on a sandy beach along the river. It had wound around a set of rapids, and even with the moonlight, it’s unsafe to be on the water any more. Unpacking the bare minimum of gear, we pitch the tent in the sand.

Not at all distant, the plume has taken on a fearsome appearance, the moon illuminating its lofty head, while from underneath, an angry red glow illuminates the bottom half.

It’s just before 10pm. I ask Pam to set her watch alarm for 1am. From that time on, I’ll be prairie-dogging my head out of the tent every 15 minutes… or as often as my anxiety bids me. Watching, smelling.

Lights out on Day 2.

Keep watching UpNorthica.com for Days 3 – 5 of our Wabakimi trip report!

A very belated, but nonetheless heartfelt congrats go out to the Voyageur’s Hudson Bay Expedition crew. Spending their summer (late May thru early August) on the water every day, these guys from Voyageur Canoe Outfitters navigated the historic water routes of the fur traders as they aimed for their goal of Hudson Bay. On the 8th of August, they reached their destination.

Neither the big – no, ginormous – bodies of water like Lake Winnipeg and God’s Lake, nor the hordes of mosquitoes that sometimes covered their tents, kept the team of Adam Maxwell, Andrew Spaeth, Mike Swenson and Will Tanner, sitting still for long. From their blog, paddling times upwards of nine, ten, eleven hours… were not at all uncommon. An amazing effort on a truly once-in-a-lifetime voyage.

In the frenzy between two trips of our own, we’re sorry this one slipped through the cracks. But the Voyageur’s Hudson Bay Expedition story is something you owe to yourself to follow nonetheless. Each post has a SPOT map with their location, along with insightful commentary by their ‘on-the-ground’ team back on the Gunflint.

After nine days of paddling in Ontario’s Wabakimi Provincial Park, we’re flat-out exhausted, but happy to be home. Our adventure took us through places – and challenges – we’d never known before. The results? Ah yes, the full trip report is coming in the next few days. And it’s big enough that we’ll have to chunk it up into a few parts. But for now, a little peek at our tale:

“Wabakimi sounds like a beautiful place. Is it like the Boundary Waters?”
Only in some ways. Felt like the BW of many decades past (we’ll explain that later.)

“Was it relaxing?”
[Thinking] Uh, there might have been one or two points where we relaxed…

“All those crazy, overgrown “forgotten portages” it’s said to have; what’d you think of those?”
Some of them, we never even found… but we never once got lost!

“Did you run some whitewater?”
Yes, for our first time. We’ll tell you how it went.
“Wow, was it scary?”
Not as scary as trying to outrun a forest fire at 3am…

“See lots of wildlife? Any moose?”
Yes; and yes and no.
“What do you mean? Stop being so vague!”
Good things come to those who wait.

Keep watching UpNorthica.com and our FB and Twitter pages for our Wabakimi trip report!

Nine days of paddling through God’s Country are almost upon us. For years, we’ve heard of Wabakimi’s massive scale (larger than the BW and Quetico combined); of it’s character, with big waters, lonely campsites and grueling portages; and of its solitude (the place sees only about 800 paddlers a year, vs. 250,000 in the BW.) It’ll be great to finally see it ourselves.

After lodging tonight at Mattice Lake Outfitters in Armstrong Station, we’ll be flown out bright and early tomorrow to our drop-off point in the Palisade River/Burntrock Lake area.

We’ve created a Google map of our route, which is color-coded to show our daily itinerary. Want to follow our daily progress? Check out our Facebook page for updates from our SPOT GPS device, with links to our location on the map. Enjoy what we’re doing at UpNorthica? Hit that “Like” button while you’re there!

Oh, and have no fear – while we’re gone, the northwoodsy awesomeness here at UpNorthica will continue as usual.

So stick around.

[Photo: Kyle Goetzelmann]

Our trip to Wabakimi Provincial Park is almost upon us! Since we’ll be covering lots of territory (rather unfamiliar territory at that), our preparations have seen us re-thinking our menu. We usually carry some fresh food with us, but for the most part, we’re traveling light this time. Meals for the trip are dehydrated, freeze-dried and quick to make. That doesn’t mean blasé, though. Our choices are based on calories and weight, but also tasty enough for a couple of food snobs like us.

Below is our menu, all for the stealing. We’ve also added ways to ‘make it gourmet’ for many of the dishes, if you want to kick things up a notch.

A couple of our morning meals are heated, the rest are cold prep. We’ve brought along some dehydrated fruits, like mango to add to our meal. This allows us to get on the water early, yet eat something filling at the start of our day.

Outdoor Herbivore Denver Veggie Scramble
Why we’re eating it: Scrambled eggs, assorted veggies, hash browns and cheddar cheese will make for a nice, hot breakfast. Comes dehydrated with either 1.5- or 3-serving options. Vegetarian.
Make it gourmet: Roll eggs into a tortilla shell, top with fresh cilantro, or add dehydrated salsa. Shelf-stable bacon bits are also a great add-in for the meat lover.

Outdoor Herbivore Chia Oat Crunch
Why we’re eating it: The chia seed is a natural energy booster and retains water, which will aid in keeping us hydrated longer… a little bit, at least. Made with banana, sunflower seeds and walnuts, which are great for protein and muscle recovery. Comes dehydrated with either 1.5- or 3-serving options. Vegan.
Make it gourmet: Toss in some dehydrated blueberries or milk-chocolate chips.

Orange-Ginger Nutty Granola
Why we’re eating it: Because we crave a little something homemade, we whipped out a batch. This oatey granola is infused with orange, ginger, agave, cinnamon and hazelnuts. Vegan.
Watch for the recipe coming soon!

Our lunches are usually on-the-go and we’ll stop at the end of a portage for our mid-day meal.

Journey Bars
Why we’re eating them: We’d like something more savory for our lunches, versus all the sugary energy bars out there. We’ll test out the tasty flavors of Coconut Curry, Parmesan Romano, Mesquite Barbeque and Wasabi Ginger and let you know how good they are. It’s appealing to us that they’re made of organic whole grains and natural ingredients like black strap molasses, Romano cheese, and unsweetened coconut. All flavors, except Parmesan Romano, are vegan.

Packit Gourmet Cheese
Why we’re eating it: Chunks of Tomato & Basil and Wisconsin Chipotle Cheddar will add protein and variety to our lunches. The cheeses are a desirable shelf-stable alternative to the default Laughing Cow brand. They come in 2oz packages and serve two travelers – or one extra hungry one. Vegetarian.

Justin’s Nut Butters
Why we’re eating them: When the afternoon munchies hit, we’ll have Justin’s Nut butters to grab. Small, light, high-calorie packets that are sweet, but not too sweet. Justin’s offers yummy flavors like Chocolate Hazelnut, Honey Almond and Maple Almond. All can be eaten right out of the packet or spread on your favorite bread. Vegetarian.

The best part of the day after you’ve paddled for miles and have a crackling fire going. Most of our dinners just require hot water. For once, it’ll be nice to not have to bring half the pantry and spice rack.

Backpackers Pantry Lasagna
Why were eating it: Ya gotta have a little comfort food, even in the woods. Made with vegetarian beef (meat replacement) and vegetables like mushrooms, bell pepper and onion, it just might taste like mom made it. Vegetarian. Apologies to mom.
Make it gourmet: Add grated Parmesan, bits of fresh basil or some toasted pine nuts.

Backpackers Pantry Parmesan Vegetable Pasta
Why we’re eating it: Pasta equals carbs. But carbs flavored with carrots, bell pepper and parsley equals tasty.
Make it gourmet: Add cubed and toasted french bread pieces, fresh basil leaves or foil-pack chicken.

Outdoor Herbivore Basil Walnut Pasta
Why we’re eating it: We’ve enjoyed this meal Outdoor Herbivore in the past. Whole wheat penné pasta tossed with walnuts, milled flax and basil make for a filling dinner. Portions are generous and will feed the ravenous. Options for 1.5, 3 or 6 servings available. Vegan.
Make it gourmet: Toss in sun-dried tomatoes, olives or sprinkle with Parmesan cheese.

Outdoor Herbivore Cheddar Mac
Why we’re eating it: Because everything tastes good when you’re camping. Grown up mac and cheese for us with the inclusion of sun-dried tomatoes and parsley. We’re adding foil packed smoked salmon for the protein. Plus, if we don’t catch a fish, at least we’ll still eat some. Vegan.
Make it gourmet: Mix in foil-pack salmon or crab.

Fire-Grilled Pesto Pizza
Why we’re eating it: Shoot – we just can’t help but make something from scratch. We’re bringing along pizza dough mix, vegan mozzarella, sun-dried tomatoes and pesto. We only need to mix the dough in camp and cook over the fire. Better than delivery and easy to make. Watch for our full recipe later. Vegetarian.
Make it gourmet: Everyone knows that anything can be tossed on a pizza.

What better way to boost morale, than dessert? There’s plenty of water everywhere and we have some great ways to doctor it up.

Mountain House Raspberry Crumble
Why we’re eating it: Raspberry sauce and chocolate chip cookies will be a nice finish to a hearty meal. Comes freeze-dried and serves 4. We won’t have to share.

Packit Gourmet Pumpkin Cheesecake
Why we’re eating it: Our fall like weather needs to be enjoyed with the tastes of pumpkin pie, creamy cheese and gingersnap crust. Topped off with a hot mug of cider will make things pretty perfect. Comes in single or double servings. Vegetarian.

Trader Joe’s Dark Chocolate & Pistachio Toffee
Why we’re eating it: This is chocolate. Do we need a reason? Plus, there’s gotta be a little protein in those pistachios, right?

Backpackers Pantry Chocolate S’mores
Why we’re eating it: Because every camping trip should have s’mores. Bringing the real thing is too bulky and fussy this time. But this adaptation of chocolate pudding, mini-marshmallows, topped with graham cracker crumble will be almost as good. Should serve two, we hope. Vegetarian.

Propel Zero Powder
Why we’re drinking it: Although the lake water is refreshing, it’s nice to mix it up once in a while. Propel makes single-serving packets of zero calorie, flavored powders. We’re taking along kiwi-strawberry. Enhanced with vitamins E, C and B, we’ll benefit from the extra bit of nutritional value.

True Lime
Why we’re drinking it: Small packets of crystallized lime taste like the fresh squeezed stuff. We like flavoring our water with these when we want refreshment, sans the sweet.

Good Earth Tea
Why we’re drinking it: It’s nice to have something hot to drink in the morning or at the end of the day when you don’t want caffeine. Our favorite flavors are Original Sweet and Spicy or Matcha, Sencha and Orange Green Tea.

Hungry yet? So are we. And hungry for adventure, too. Soon, Wabakimi…

Our trip to Ontario’s Wabakimi Provincial Park is just three days away. It’s our biggest paddling adventure to date, and we’re taking you along. In hopes of inspiring others to go, we’ve endeavored to share first our research, followed by our route-planning process.

So, to be better prepared for Wabakimi’s untamed portages and adverse conditions, in this third feature we’ll be talking gear. Tougher gear. Gear-ier gear – some of which, specifically, we wouldn’t necessarily pack on a trip to the Boundary Waters. And we’ll talk about why we’ve felt compelled to bring it.

We’ll begin with what’s in our boat, then moving on to the general gear.

Since this will be our first trip north of the border, we’ll be going by the book. Canadian law requires that you have a paddle for each person, a PFD (personal flotation device) for each person, whistle, bailing device, 50 feet of buoyant rope and a waterproof flashlight (if you’ll be traveling at night or during poor visibility).

NRS Dyneema Rope
Why we chose it: 1/4″ diameter polypropylene will float and has a tensile strength of 2608 lbs. We have two 25′ lengths coiled and bungied at the stern and bow. Rope will be used to track and line along rapids, if necessary. It also doubles as rescue rope. At day’s end, we’ll use it to tie up the canoe, away from the water. Winds can pick up unexpectedly and blow the canoe away, even once it’s been pulled ashore.

SOL Rescue Howler Whistle
Why we chose it: For use as a sound-signalling device for other vessels or for rescue. And frankly, we don’t want to have to yell if we end up in the drink. Exceeds Safety of Life at Sea (SOLAS) and U.S. Coast Guard specifications. Comes in a pack of two.

Sea to Summit Kitchen Sink (Bailing Device)
Why we chose it: Sure, we can do the dishes in it, or wash four-day-old socks, but it can double as a bailing device. Holds 2.6 gallons and is made with stainless-steel ring that keeps sink from collapsing when full. Comes with mesh storage pouch.

Our boat is registered in the state we live in, and we’ll be carrying our license along with us, stowed away in the map case.

Corona 13″ Curved Pruning Saw
Why we chose it: Brush, deadfall, branches and scary monsters. In Wabakimi, most portages see minimal maintenance. The pruning saw will make quick work of getting through foliage that might hinder our progress. The Corona’s tempered razor teeth are sharpened on three sides for efficient, fast cutting. The curved handle provides a better grip when sawing through limbs (especially the higher ones)

Snow & Nealley 3.5#, single-bit 30″ Axe
Why we chose it: Sometimes, we’re told, a saw ain’t enough. Blowdowns in Wabakimi are frequent, which could mean us carrying the canoe through boot-camp obstacle courses. Hoping the portages won’t be this bad, but you know… the whole ‘being prepared’ thing…

NRS Workboot Wetshoe.
Why we chose them: We usually wear Keens or light hikers in the BW. We wanted something a little warmer – we expect the need to line our canoe around some rapids – and tougher, with traction that can handle said portages. Made of Terraprene™ neoprene, synthetic leather, reinforced rubber and high traction lugged soles, we hope that if they’re good enough for the SEALS, they’ll be durable enough for us.

NRS Wetsock
Why we chose them: Our boots are made of neoprene, however we still expect that our feet will get wet. Boots are difficult to get dry; socks are not. In the mornings our feet will start out dry in the wetsocks (does that make sense?)

Sea to Summit Pocket Trowel
Why we chose it: There are no latrines in Wabakimi and the nearest rest area is a hundred miles away. You dig your own cat-hole. Made of light aluminum alloy and anodized metals, the pocket trowel weighs a mere 3.5 oz. The collapsible handle slides into the shovel blade, and is hollow, to accommodate space for toilet paper and hand sanitizer.

Open Country Explorer Grill
Why we chose it: Wabakimi camp sites usually have rock hearths, but no fire grates. We plan to cook over a fire whenever we can. This heavy gauge, steel grill folds down for efficient packing. The 12×6 top should fit a couple of pots or a few fillets of Lake Trout. Weighs 14 oz.

With all we’ve read up on and prepared for, it really does feel like our adventure has begun. But we’ve still got the most important step of all to cover: Planning the Menu. Watch for our next update…

Ontario’s Wabakimi Provincial Park is not the Boundary Waters. There are no map series or books that cover all its canoe routes. Only some of its primitive campsites and lonely, overgrown portages are even formally documented at all. Of those, their very locations differ, depending upon whom you ask. And of course, nobody has been on every route (if you have, please write a book.)

Additionally, there are no official “entry points”, so you can enter where you please… although no roads lead directly to the park. So, your best options are to enter via canoeing through neighboring lakes, via float plane… or by train. That’s right.  For more details on park entry, check here.

So, where *do* you start?

We’ve put together some of the resources we’ve used for planning our 9-day route; one that will take us through winding rivers like the Ogoki, and big waters like Whitewater Lake. Some of the information we’ve come across is fairly current; some of it is unavoidably dated. Compare your notes and keep in mind: What one traveler experiences, the following traveler might not (like blowdowns and varying water levels). Expect to plan your route using a number of maps; you’ll be better informed.

Here we go:

• Have no experience? Get someone else’s. As with any first-time visit to a wilderness area, recommendations are vital. But with Wabakimi’s many particulars and variables, all the more so. Ask about a route that matches your experience level, whether by combing discussion boards or seeking an outfitter. Which, in our case, would be Don and Ann of Mattice Lake Outfitters, who will also be flying us into the park.

• Customize and print your own topo map. There are helpful online resources here and here for doing just that. Customize your map by scale, measure distances, plot compass headings or find GPS coordinates. When you’re ready, print out the map. They are accurate and detailed (though they don’t list portages or campsites.)

• Use Wabakimi Project maps. The Wabakimi Project is a passionate grassroots effort to document historical canoe routes of the area. These maps, compiled in booklet form, provide current information on routes, portage and campsite details.  Although they do not cover every area of the park (yet), they are helpful in planning.  You can also contact the Wabakimi Project for route recommendations.

• Purchase maps from an area outfitter. They can also provide route recommendations. The maps we received were published in the early 80′s and are scaled 1:50,000. We have five maps just for our route. The outfitter annotated the portages and campsites.

• Now, compare and contrast. Got yourself a nice collection of maps now? Good. Carefully review the information you receive and cross-check with other maps if you can. One source may place portages and campsites in differing locations. Implied here is that you be ready to improvise when you’re on location.

• Finally, get familiar with your route. Since portages and campsites are trickier to find here, we’ve been studying the layout of our mapped route much more than for a BW trip. Find out all you can about each body of water – hit up YouTube for videos from other paddlers. Try photo-sharing and map-sharing sites. Every bit helps.

In our next feature, we’ll be highlighting some of the extra gear we’re bringing on our Wabakimi adventure. Good luck in planning your route!