The start of what appears to be an epic adventure Erica. Inspiring!
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Happy Thanksgiving, USA! 🦃🍗🥧
Mégiscane River, Québec
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Erica,
Your retelling of your Quebec river adventure has me mesmerised...
I can't even imagine how you as a solo canoeing woman of your age navigated such a physically challenging trip !!
Bravo and am eagerly awaiting the next chapter...
Gail
Your retelling of your Quebec river adventure has me mesmerised...
I can't even imagine how you as a solo canoeing woman of your age navigated such a physically challenging trip !!
Bravo and am eagerly awaiting the next chapter...
Gail
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Is this story going to be continued? Some of us are getting pretty long in the tooth, I worry I might not be here for the ending.
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I’m working on it. Should have the next section out in a couple of days. I’m not exactly a spring chicken either…Is this story going to be continued? Some of us are getting pretty long in the tooth, I worry I might not be here for the ending.
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Now I have that to also worry me! 
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Connecting Day
In my struggle to pull the packs off the train tracks and down the embankment, my body, without permission from me, did a backward somersault down the embankment. My fall stopped abruptly when I became wedged between two trees, one on my left shoulder and one on my right hip.
The hip pain resolved fairly quickly. But the left shoulder throbbed with a sharp, sinister pain. No sleeping position was comfortable.
The pain continued into morning and I wondered how I was going to paddle. I put my shoulder through its range of motion. Nothing seemed to be broken although there were some ominous cereal with milk type sounds. Just the crackle and pop sounds. No snaps, thank heavens. Pain seemed to be exacerbated in some positions more than others, but I couldn't find a consistent source. I needed to get on with the day.
I broke camp and humped packs to the bank. The the usual moss, rotten logs, and fully branched deadfall blocked the way to the water. I took the shortest route possible and on the third pass my boot broke through the surface and brought me knee deep in a hole. Upon closer examination, this seemed to be a beaver or muskrat tunnel. I considered trying to find another put-in further downstream, but high hedges and banks of willow, alders and woody debris made that impossible. I continued to make my way as best I could.
The put-in was also blocked with deep water and more toppled branches. Once the canoe was positioned among the logs and sticks, I just threw the packs into the canoe from the bank, which was about four feet high. Then I dropped into the water to straighten them out. After almost 30 years of automatic unconscious scanning for gator sign, I was unable to shake off that fear, sliding into this deep black water. (It would take me two full weeks before I got rid of this automatic response.)
The canoe rode and I swam downstream together looking side to side to find a dry-ish place for me to get into the boat. I actually enjoy swimming with the canoe. It reminds me of the two young men who swam the length of the Grand Canyon. (Really worth reading.)
Finally found a slight rise on River Left and got in. Hurray.
You may wonder why I put myself through all this misery. And the misery was mounting. But I knew, I knew, around the next bend would be Lac Octavie.
If you started this trip report at the beginning, you know that did not happen. I was looking for a lac and instead found a waterfall. If you started this trip report in the middle, you will have to go back to the first entry to see what happened next.
Resuming the tale from lying in the cold water, recovering. It is difficult to make rational decisions when your body is consumed with maintaining a temperature below that which enzymes begin to denature.
After cooling off in the water, I made my way back up to the falls and the canoe. I studied the falls again, just in case, while I was scouting, the falls had transmogrified into a simple ledge with a central tongue. It hadn't.
I sat near the water, drank some Tang, and let my thoughts settle. There is a time and a place for rapid fire decisions, but this wasn't one of them. I let my mind look at the water, ponder the trees and wonder yet again how the tree draws water from the earth all the way into its highest branches into a sky of china blue. I marveled at the splendid weather. I created constellations on my legs with the bug bites and scratches. I remembered I was in a spectacularly beautiful place where, apparently, no one had ever gone before.
It was patently clear I wasn’t going forward—the waterfall and long, rugged portage made that impossible. Going back was no better, blocked by the same fallen tree I’d already hauled my gear around that morning.
Clouds were thickening so I better set up the tent. I took another gander around the area just in case a level or smooth place should reveal itself, but no. Each night found me in a spot even less suited to a tent than the night before, but I would make the best of it. I was too exhausted to add the fly and anyway, the tent was too squooshed together for a fly to work. It would just lie on top of the tent.
I settled in to cook up some dinner (there was not even one spot free of vegetation) and pondered my situation.
To be honest, there had been a little bird whispering to me from the back of my brain. But it was the same little bird, using the same tone of voice that says "The map could be wrong." Or worse, "Maybe the compass is wrong." So I have been ignoring it for several days.
This time that little bird has been saying "The railroad dropped you off at the wrong river." And this time, the little bird was right.
In my struggle to pull the packs off the train tracks and down the embankment, my body, without permission from me, did a backward somersault down the embankment. My fall stopped abruptly when I became wedged between two trees, one on my left shoulder and one on my right hip.
The hip pain resolved fairly quickly. But the left shoulder throbbed with a sharp, sinister pain. No sleeping position was comfortable.
The pain continued into morning and I wondered how I was going to paddle. I put my shoulder through its range of motion. Nothing seemed to be broken although there were some ominous cereal with milk type sounds. Just the crackle and pop sounds. No snaps, thank heavens. Pain seemed to be exacerbated in some positions more than others, but I couldn't find a consistent source. I needed to get on with the day.
I broke camp and humped packs to the bank. The the usual moss, rotten logs, and fully branched deadfall blocked the way to the water. I took the shortest route possible and on the third pass my boot broke through the surface and brought me knee deep in a hole. Upon closer examination, this seemed to be a beaver or muskrat tunnel. I considered trying to find another put-in further downstream, but high hedges and banks of willow, alders and woody debris made that impossible. I continued to make my way as best I could.
The put-in was also blocked with deep water and more toppled branches. Once the canoe was positioned among the logs and sticks, I just threw the packs into the canoe from the bank, which was about four feet high. Then I dropped into the water to straighten them out. After almost 30 years of automatic unconscious scanning for gator sign, I was unable to shake off that fear, sliding into this deep black water. (It would take me two full weeks before I got rid of this automatic response.)
The canoe rode and I swam downstream together looking side to side to find a dry-ish place for me to get into the boat. I actually enjoy swimming with the canoe. It reminds me of the two young men who swam the length of the Grand Canyon. (Really worth reading.)
Finally found a slight rise on River Left and got in. Hurray.
You may wonder why I put myself through all this misery. And the misery was mounting. But I knew, I knew, around the next bend would be Lac Octavie.
If you started this trip report at the beginning, you know that did not happen. I was looking for a lac and instead found a waterfall. If you started this trip report in the middle, you will have to go back to the first entry to see what happened next.
Resuming the tale from lying in the cold water, recovering. It is difficult to make rational decisions when your body is consumed with maintaining a temperature below that which enzymes begin to denature.
After cooling off in the water, I made my way back up to the falls and the canoe. I studied the falls again, just in case, while I was scouting, the falls had transmogrified into a simple ledge with a central tongue. It hadn't.
I sat near the water, drank some Tang, and let my thoughts settle. There is a time and a place for rapid fire decisions, but this wasn't one of them. I let my mind look at the water, ponder the trees and wonder yet again how the tree draws water from the earth all the way into its highest branches into a sky of china blue. I marveled at the splendid weather. I created constellations on my legs with the bug bites and scratches. I remembered I was in a spectacularly beautiful place where, apparently, no one had ever gone before.
It was patently clear I wasn’t going forward—the waterfall and long, rugged portage made that impossible. Going back was no better, blocked by the same fallen tree I’d already hauled my gear around that morning.
Clouds were thickening so I better set up the tent. I took another gander around the area just in case a level or smooth place should reveal itself, but no. Each night found me in a spot even less suited to a tent than the night before, but I would make the best of it. I was too exhausted to add the fly and anyway, the tent was too squooshed together for a fly to work. It would just lie on top of the tent.
I settled in to cook up some dinner (there was not even one spot free of vegetation) and pondered my situation.
To be honest, there had been a little bird whispering to me from the back of my brain. But it was the same little bird, using the same tone of voice that says "The map could be wrong." Or worse, "Maybe the compass is wrong." So I have been ignoring it for several days.
This time that little bird has been saying "The railroad dropped you off at the wrong river." And this time, the little bird was right.
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This time that little bird has been saying "The railroad dropped you off at the wrong river." And this time, the little bird was right.
Dang! That would be so very disheartening.
Dang! That would be so very disheartening.
A very large "Oh, Shoot" or something similar.
Oh, my… Did they drop you on the Kekek?
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Nope. Nothing so easy.
If I ever try this again, I will probably go in on the Kekek.
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Yes, Gale. I will keep writing. We are less than 1/3 through the trip.
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