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Arctic Red River of Disappointment - Northwest Territories

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In the fall of 2003, Kathleen and I developed an itinerary for our canoe trip for the following summer down the Arctic Red River in the Northwest Territories.

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The Arctic Red River became part of the Canadian Heritage Rivers System in 1993, and appealed to us for several reasons. It was a fairly long trip, at nearly three weeks to paddle 509 km (316 miles). It was a far northern trip, beginning at about 64 degrees 40 minutes north, and ending at about 68 degrees 35 minutes north. We would enjoy nearly constant daylight, which is a major draw for Kathleen and me. We would begin by driving to the home of our friends Marilyn and Alan in Inuvik, from where we would fly almost to the headwaters of the Arctic Red River. We would end our trip back in Inuvik by paddling the last 115 km (71 miles) down the Mackenzie River after its confluence with the Arctic Red. This would be a great trip. We looked forward to it.


For more information about the the Arctic Red River, this link takes you to the Canadian Heritage Rivers site:


http://chrs.ca/the-rivers/arctic-red/designation/


You will see that the Gwich’in people called the Arctic Red River, “Tsiigehnjik,” which means “iron river” and refers to iron or mineral deposits upstream from their traditional community.

That fall of 2003, Kathleen and I gave a slide show to our Beaver Canoe Club on one of our northern canoe trips. I don’t remember which one. Doesn’t really make any difference. Afterwards, as I was packing up, Donna came over to tell me how much she enjoyed the presentation. That’s always nice to hear. Eventually she said, “Don and I joined the club so that we could learn to canoe, and eventually go on a northern canoe trip. So far we haven’t gone on any northern canoe trips.”

I didn’t know Don & Donna very well. They had only been members for a couple of years. They were nice people, though. I sympathized with Donna. “Kathleen and I are going on the Arctic Red River next summer. Would you like to come along?”

“Yeah, we would.”

This surprised me a little. They weren’t really very good canoeists yet. And besides, I was just being nice. “It’s a long trip, Donna. Very isolated. I don’t have much information about it. I don’t know how difficult the rapids might be.”

“I’ll go get Don.” Don came over, and said, “Yeah. We want to come with you.”

So, Don & Donna joined our little group.

Next summer, on the way up to Inuvik, which was about a seven-day drive, I began to have concerns about our wilderness canoeing companions. Don always seemed to be in such a hurry, driving much faster than Kathleen and I preferred. He rarely stopped to enjoy the scenery, particularly on the Dempster Highway. We struggled to keep up, and always trailed in a cloud of dust.

When we finally reached Inuvik, the sky was filled with smoke from forest fires. The owner of the float plane company said that we couldn’t fly into the Arctic Red River on the day as planned because of too much smoke. After the first day, Don seemed very impatient. On the second day, we met Don & Donna for lunch. Don reported that he “had been looking at topographic maps at the library. We can’t wait around much longer. I think we should change our plans and fly east to paddle the Hornaday River. There isn’t as much smoke east of Inuvik, and we could fly in tomorrow.”

“I don’t think so, Don” We don’t have any maps for the Hornaday River. And besides, I’ve read that it’s not a suitable river for canoeists.”

“That’s what the float plane guy said too. But I think we should do it. We can’t wait around forever.”

“I don’t want to paddle the Hornaday, Don. It doesn’t end up anywhere near Inuvik. There would be extra cost. We don’t have maps, and it’s not suitable for canoeists. I’m going to wait until the smoke clears enough for us to fly into the Arctic Red River.”

Don seemed to accept this, but only grudgingly.

(Note: I would now like to quote from Canoeing Canada’s Northwest Territories: A Paddler’s Guide. This is where I had obtained my knowledge about the Hornaday River.


“At latitude 68 degrees 55 minutes, longitude 122 degrees 42 minutes, the scenery and nature of the river change dramatically. The peaceful river quickly becomes a dangerous, raging torrent, culminating in a 45 km (28 mile) canyon that drops 300 m (984 feet) along its length. There are 150 to 200 rapids in the canyon, many of which are Class 5 and 6, including the 20 m (66 foot) high La Ronciere Falls. The canyon is very narrow and in many place it is impossible to climb out or to set foot on the side of the river. Frequent stone avalanches make travel even more hazardous.”)

I think you see my point. I was going to wait until the smoke cleared.

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And indeed, the next morning, Don & Donna took off from Shell Lake on their way to the Arctic Red River. By the time the plane returned, the smoke had also returned. Kathleen and I hung around all day, but finally flew in after supper. Most paddlers on the Arctic Red River fly into Otter Lakes, which is about 1 km (0.5 miles) from the river. When we landed, Don hurried over to help us lug our gear to the river. That was very generous on his part, but he was in such a hurry. He started loading and dragging our gear the second we touched down. “Wait a minute, Don. Kathleen and I have a system for what stuff goes in what pack, and what we carry first. It works for us. We never lose or misplace anything. I’d like to just slow down here a little bit, it you don’t mind.”

Don seemed miffed, but we eventually got all of our stuff to the river, and set up camp for the night.

I think you can see where I’m going with this. I’m curious how other people might vet wilderness canoeing companions. I’m also wondering it anyone on this site has ever paddled the Arctic Red River. I don’t know anyone who has. I’d be very interested in your impressions.

It’s pretty much time for our supper now. I will continue this tomorrow.
 
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Yes I can see where this is going.
Either you helped them learn a lesson of good things comes to those who wait, or you had a Lord of the Flies moment on day 5. I know which I'm hoping for.
I can't wait to see Kathleen waving a sharp pointed stick.
 
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I have not seen these images since we developed the slides in 2004. Because we are hunkering at home due to the Coronavirus, with not a lot to do, I decided to scan these slides a couple of days ago. Besides, I was very tired of reading about Covid-19.

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Me and Donna enjoying the morning. Because Kathleen and I took quite a few slides here, it was probably a rest day. My original itinerary called for our first rest day at the Cranswick River, after five days of paddling to cover about 160 km (100 miles). But according to Kathleen’s notes regarding the slides, these images were taken on July 11, only the second full day on the river. I suppose we just felt like taking a rest day.

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According to my catalogue in the slide tray, this is “Camp after first portage.”

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While walking along the shore, I stumbled and fell on these loose rocks. I was carrying my Browning .308 lever action at the time, and the sight became bent rather badly. When we came home, I took the rifle to a gun shop in Victoria, and asked the guy if he could fix the sight. “Sure,” he said. “Where’s your permit to have the rifle?”

“It’s at home.”

“Well, I can’t legally work on your rifle unless I know you have a Firearms Acquisition Card.”

I lived on Pender Island at the time, which was a ferry-ride away from Victoria. After explaining my predicament, he said, “Well, leave the gun with me, and when you get home call me with the information I need.”

At the time, I used my rifle only on canoe trips. I wasn’t used to being asked for, or carrying my permit. I tended not to worry about legal niceties.

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Growing robustly on a harsh site.

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Donna relaxing on the second day of the trip.

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As you might have guessed from yesterday’s posting, Kathleen and I became frustrated with our paddling companions within a few days after we headed down the river. Unlike most of our wilderness trips, I took very few notes, and other than in this “Camp after first portage,” we took very few images.

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Many of our campsites were not nearly as pleasant as this one. The Arctic Red River was generally very muddy. At many of our campsites, we built corduroy paths from the water’s edge to higher, drier ground. While collecting wood for the corduroy path, we often sank ankle-deep in thick, clingy mud.

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In reality, though, the main reason we often endured poor camping sites was the approach Don & Donna took for determining the end of the day’s paddle, which always occurred exactly at 5:00 p.m. Didn’t make any difference what amenities the site offered, we stopped at precisely 5:00 p.m.

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One day, at about four in the afternoon, I pointed to a nice campsite. “I think we should stop there. We haven’t seen any good camping sites for several hours. Me might not see another one for several hours more.” I was hopeful. My logic was faultless.

Don looked at his watch. “It’s only four-fifteen.”

We paddled on, and pulled ashore at exactly 5:00 p.m. The site was a sliver of a sand beach, barely large enough to accommodate two tents. Moreover, it was only a foot (30 cm) or so above the river, wet, and covered in goose crap. While Don was busy pulling gear from his canoe, I whined to Donna. “This is arguably the worst campsite of my entire life. I think we should go on. We can do better than this.”

“It’s five o’clock. Time to stop.”

Kathleen just reminded me that lunch also occurred at just the right time. Exactly at noon. There were times when we sat in the canoe to eat lunch and sip tea. The bank was too muddy or steep to actually get out and enjoy a break on land. Sigh.

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Don & Donna at the “Camp after first portage.”

I spent a lot of time yesterday looking for my journal of this canoe trip. I have saved all of my professional and canoe-tripping journals going back to 1981. I probably didn’t write a lot, but I certainly wrote something. I was hoping that my journal would confirm my memory, and perhaps flesh out this text. I gave up after searching for a couple of hours. Kathleen suggested that “Maybe you burned it.”

I wouldn’t do that. But I certainly can’t find it.

My brain is starting to hurt thinking about all this. I think I’ll resume this story tomorrow. Kathleen and I didn’t take any more images until we were approaching the small community of Tsiigehtchic, approximately 370 km (230 miles) down the Arctic Red River from our put-in. Hard to believe I spent so much time pouting that I couldn’t take any pictures. I’m disappointed in myself.
 
I can't imagine tripping with other people. Especially people I don't know. Don't get me wrong. I like people. I think almost everyone is great. I'm just not real good and working with people one on one. I don't like conflict. I don't assert myself. I expect people to learn from their own mistakes and adjust accordingly. I get anxious just reading these posts. I can see what should the correct way to handle situations like this, but I'd never be able to actually do it. Most likely I'd suggest we each go our own way. Separate canoes and separate camps. Maybe bump into each other every few days. Maybe they'd just wake up one morning and find me gone.

I'm wondering if the bent site on your rifle is foreshadowing. I can see your journal entry two weeks from now: "I took careful aim at Don as he began erecting his tent on another miserable campsite at 5:00pm but the shot went high and wide."

Alan
 
I can't imagine tripping with other people. Especially people I don't know. Don't get me wrong. I like people. I think almost everyone is great. I'm just not real good and working with people one on one. I don't like conflict. I don't assert myself. I expect people to learn from their own mistakes and adjust accordingly. I get anxious just reading these posts. I can see what should the correct way to handle situations like this, but I'd never be able to actually do it. Most likely I'd suggest we each go our own way. Separate canoes and separate camps. Maybe bump into each other every few days. Maybe they'd just wake up one morning and find me gone.

I'm wondering if the bent site on your rifle is foreshadowing. I can see your journal entry two weeks from now: "I took careful aim at Don as he began erecting his tent on another miserable campsite at 5:00pm but the shot went high and wide."

Alan

Alan, I consider myself a borderline hermit, but you're way past me! It's pretty interesting to me, that on the 43 day trip a couple of years ago I've mentioned before, that two of the three others on the trip I had never met nor talked to, and my partner was a friend I hadn't spent time with for over twenty years. The trip was trying, with lots of technical whitewater, tough portages, bugs, etc. Regardless, I was amazed at how well we got along together. There were never hard feelings, any spats, perceived brooding, safety issues etc., and we were trying to do another similar long trip this summer together (one declined due to the length of trip). Yes, there were the rare tensions, but everyone had a great trip. Of course the other three may have totally different feelings. Maybe we were unique (I don't think so), but with a committing trip, you just have to suck it up and get along.
 
I've got one buddy that I trip with regularly, but we both paddle solo. We have similar skills and abilities, so everything goes well. I have taken groups of my wives friends who don't have much experience and don't listen. I stopped doing that a couple of years ago, because I felt that they put us in compromising situations.
 
Alan & Mason,

Kathleen and I never had any arguments or tense moments with Don & Donna. We shared our meals with pleasant conversation throughout the trip. It was unfortunate that our respective approaches to canoe tripping, and perhaps life, differed so markedly. If Don & Donna we’re writing the story, Kathleen and I might be known as the frustrating couple. In my defence, though, when we got home, one of our Beaver Canoe Club members asked how the trip went. I related some of our disappointments, and he said, “I was surprised to hear that you were going with Don & Donna.”

Alan, I enjoyed your take on my bent rifle sight. Kathleen and I both laughed out loud.
 
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This image was taken by Donna, early in the trip. Don & Donna were ready to paddle that morning about 10 minutes sooner than we were. Don said they would paddle down and wait for us at the bottom of the rapid. I didn’t like the idea. “I think we should stay together, Don. And yesterday, you and Donna came very close to losing your angle while ferrying above a serious rapid. I was worried. I would prefer that you guys line by this rapid.”

I was glad that Don & Donna took my advice. Kathleen and I didn’t consider ourselves to be trip leaders, but we invited Don & Donna on this trip, and we felt more than a little responsible for them.

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Wow! Look at that campsite!! My catalogue in the slide tray refers to this image as “Early” camp. Yes, early in quotes. I don’t remember exactly why, but it must be that Don & Donna agreed to stop before 5:00 p.m, to take advantage of this beautiful site. I take back all the negative things I said.

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Except for me, everyone has personality idiosyncrasies that irritate other people. Note that Kathleen and I are paddling far behind Don & Donna. Donna liked to hum while paddling, and often hummed non-stop for hours on end. Not any particular tune, just humming. It went pretty much like this, with no variation:

Hum, Hum, Hum, Hum, Hum. Hum, Hum, Hum, Hum, Hum.

Hum, Hum, Hum, Hum, Hum. Hum, Hum, Hum, Hum, Hum.


Try it yourself around your spouse or friends. See how long it takes before they flee the room, stuff a sock in your mouth, or bat you up side the head with their paddle. You might suffer all three.


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Very nice vertical stroke by Don! Most of the Arctic Red River is Class I, with no rapids at all. A good opportunity to perfect technique.

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Approaching the small community of Tsiigehtchic.



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If you look closely, you will see the cabin on the bench on river left. We startled the cabin’s owner when we paddled by. He jumped up, and yelled out, “Hey, I thought I was the farthest person up the river!”

It’s my impression that the Arctic Red River is paddled very infrequently. I don’t know anybody else who has paddled it, and it doesn’t seem to occur in any quidebooks.






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I accidentally posted before I was done! This description goes with the last image.

After 13 days on the river, we beached our canoes in Tsiigehtchic, set up camp, and walked into town to check things out. We obtained fresh water at the store, and chatted a bit with local residents, one of whom invited us to stay with him. In my experience, such hospitality is the norm in small, First Nations communities.

The 740 km (460 miles) Dempster highway, between Dawson City and Inuvik, crosses the Mackenzie River here. One can take a ferry across the Mackenzie to continue on the Dempster. Or, one can take a smaller ferry to the town of Tsiigehtchic. The following link provides a brief blurb about Tsiigehtchic. The image of the town is spectacularly superior to what I have provided.

https://spectacularnwt.com/destinations/western-arctic/tsiigehtchic


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This is me preparing supper. Note that there are three tents in our camp. Just as we were returning from town, Greg Allen landed on shore in his power boat, and shuffled over to introduce himself. He had begun his trip at Fort Simpson, and was travelling solo all the way to Inuvik.

Nothing too usual about that, except for one thing. Greg Allen was paraplegic. His home was in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico, where a few years ago he had fallen off his mule. His wife asked him, “Are you OK?”

“Not this time.”

Despite his disability, though, Greg still pursued physical and outdoor interests. He said to us, “I’m still me. I’m lovin’ this trip. I sit in my boat, and it’s just like I’m on the Discovery Channel. There was that one time, though, just above the Ramparts Rapids, I had to take a pee. I got on shore. I was in a hurry. Didn’t take time to tie up the boat. I turned around just as it started to float away. I tried to run after it, but I can’t run. It disappeared into the fog, headed for the Ramparts Rapids.

“I sat down and asked myself, what the heck am I gonna do now? After about a minute, I said, well this is as good a place as any to die. Well, about 30 minutes later, I hear a motor. It’s two native guys in a power boat pulling my boat back up the river. They said that someone probably wants this boat. We better go find him.”

That’s a great story. But there’s more to the story than that. Greg posted the following blurb on myccr.com on September 14, 2005.



I have just completed my second solo trip down the MacKenzie as a paraplegic. I am writing a guide book for the disabled. It will available soon in three formats; 1 as a PDF downloadable that you can print yourself, 2 as a normal bound guide book and 3 on waterproof paper that you can take it along with you.

The prices will change according to cost. The book includes route descriptions, GPS coordinates, a daily map and pictures of each camp and various spots along the way.

While the book is geared towards the disabled person it is also applicable to able bodied people as well.

The MacKenzie is a perfect rehabilitative river. It is one you can start and stop at many locations. From Ft Simpson to Inuvik there are five villages that you can start from or stop at. It can be any length from 150 miles to a 1000 miles ending at Inuvik, NT. It is a river with only two rapids and lots of campsites. The shoreline access is for the most part, easy and by staying on gravel bars bugs can be avoided.

It is perfect for the novice/disabled and there is plenty of firewood and fresh water. In other words you can' ask for a better canoe trip.




Greg Allen truly deserves to be called inspirational.
 
IMHO, you and Kathleen did most of the "bending" on this trip and because you were willing to bend, the trip generally worked. Having to bend so much seems like it lowered the quality of the trip for you but it did make the trip do-able. I've found that constant bending can cause wear and sometimes a catastrophic break. You did a great job of completing the trip successfully.
Besides one person bending all the time, the only thing that I have found that has lowered (but not eliminated) the number of differences of opinion is clear communication about daily and situational expectations during the planning of the trip. Now, all I have to do is to remember that before the next trip starts!
 
There's two sides to every stream.
On the sunny side you two have quite possibly eased the tepid ornery couple into waters unknown, and perhaps even spurred some kind of inner growth and revelation of just what a canoe trip of self-discovery can be. You might well have coaxed and coddled prodded and pushed them towards a whole new horizon of pink cloud happiness. And although they mightn't have thanked you for their new direction in life you can rest easy knowing you did your level best (the kind hearts you are) to guide them into waters just deep enough and challenging enough to make them test themselves within their newly acquired capabilities.
And you kept them safe. All thanks to you. All you can do is hope for their best. And move on.
Oorrrr on the shadowy side you've spoiled the already spoiled and catered to their already well established self entitlement. And your kind hearts cost you. But still on this shadowy side of reasoning you've still stuck to your principles of guiding, giving, providing, yielding and coaching where others would've worked furiously on fixing those Browning sights while Kathleen started sharpening sticks pronto.
So in the balance of sunny and shady sides of the stream it looks to me like you two have been the ideal couple to trip with.
Mind you we haven't gotten to day 5 yet.

ps- oh darn, yes we have. day 13 and no fireworks.
pps - maybe donna's droning hum was to slowly drive her hubby mad with mosquito noises? we've all heard of moose driven to desperation throwing themselves into rivers to escape the skeeter hordes.
day 20 : "I don't know officer, everything seemed fine until my husband just threw himself into the Red. Just like that?! Sure is peaceful here doncha think?"
 
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Besides one person bending all the time, the only thing that I have found that has lowered (but not eliminated) the number of differences of opinion is clear communication about daily and situational expectations during the planning of the trip. Now, all I have to do is to remember that before the next trip starts!

Ralph,

Your advice is bang on, assuming you know what questions to ask, and what topics to pursue. We lived with Don & Donna for the 6 or 7 day drive up to Inuvik. It never occurred to me to ask Donna if she hummed a lot, or if they preferred to trip according to the clock, or according to the circumstances. ;)


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We are now on the main channel of the Mackenzie River. When the fur trader Alexander Mackenzie descended the river in 1789, he was hoping that it would flow westward to the Pacific Ocean. When he finally reached the Arctic Ocean on July 14, he named the river “Disappointment River,” sometimes also referred to as “River of Disappointment.” I hope Sir Alexander wouldn’t mind that I have called this Trip Report, “Arctic Red River of Disappointment,” somewhat in his memory.


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A lot of good camping spots were available, almost no matter what time it was. This trip was in our pre-chair days. We were happy just sitting on logs or on our white buckets with Gamma lids. I would still be happy to do so, but Kathleen got us Helinox Ground Chairs for Christmas in 2016. I am hooked. The blue barrel belongs to Don & Donna. Kathleen and I still packed our gear in Duluth-style canvass packs.

While Kathleen prepared supper, Don dug out his frisbee, and tossed it to me. I tossed it back-and-forth a few times, but that was enough for me. I like tossing frisbees, but not on wilderness canoe trips. Call me rigid if you wish.

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I think everyone was feeling pretty relaxed now, enjoying the warmth, and anticipating that the trip was in the final stretch.



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The following is from Canoeing Canada’s Northwest Territories: A Paddler’s Guide.

“Twenty-four kilometres (15 miles) downstream from Arctic Red River (now Tsiigehtchic) paddlers will reach Point Separation. Here the Mackenzie splits into the many streams and channels forming the Mackenzie Delta. The Delta is a fascinating place, vibrating with life, but it its very easy to get lost here. The main channel to Inuvik, the East Channel, is marked for tugs and is the best route to take. The entrance to the East Channel is found about 16 km (10 miles) downstream from Point Separation.

We are now entering the East Channel, which leaves only about 90 km (55 miles) to reach Inuvik. My tentative itinerary had allocated three days to cover this distance. But the river was moving along at a good clip. I don’t remember when, but at some point the entire group decided to put in a long last day to reach Inuvik a day early. To paraphrase Admiral Farragut: “The clocks be danged. Full speed ahead!”

During this epic push to Inuvik, we stopped for supper. I don’t know what time it was, but we were within hours of reaching town. While Kathleen was preparing the group’s meal (it was our turn again), Don offered a change in plans.

“I’ve been looking at the maps, and it seems that there’s a small stream that looks like it flows out of, or near Shell Lake. We could paddle up that stream to get our vehicles, without having to go all the way to Inuvik.” (Note: You might remember that we flew out of Shell Lake to the headwaters of the Arctic Red River. Shell Lake was south of town, and would save about 7-8 km (4-5 miles) of paddling on the Mackenzie.)

I pretty much rejected the idea. “You can do that if you want, Don. But we’re not going to. We don’t know for sure if the stream is navigable. And we’d be paddling against any current. There might be log jams. And it’s late in the day. The compound is probably locked. We wouldn’t able to get our vehicles. Then we’d just have to camp outside the compound. We want to paddle into Inuvik. We could stay in a real campground, or walk over to Alan and Marilyn’s house to see if they know about our vehicles.”

“OK then,” Don said. “Let’s get going,” and he started to pack up. Kathleen objected. “I want to finish my supper first. And then I’ve got to clean up. I don’t want to rush through our last meal. It’s sunny and warm. There’s no hurry.” (Note: The situation was not tense. There was no real argument. But Kathleen was just a trifle testy.)

So all four of us paddled into Inuvik, arriving pretty much at midnight, beneath a sun still high in the sky. Kathleen still talks about this moment. “I still had my sun glasses on. It was so bright. Children were playing along the river. Adults were promenading. Everyone was out and about. Midnight. It’s why we love the north.”

Anyway, Don and I walked across town (it wasn’t very far) to wake up Alan. I don’t remember the details, but somehow Alan knew all about where our vehicles were. We drove back to the dock, and loaded up. Don & Donna headed out to the campground, while Kathleen and I motored on over to Alan and Marilyn’s, where we spent the night in our van.

Just after lunch on our second day in Inuvik, we drove over to the campground to say goodbye to Don & Donna. Greg had arrived the previous day, and was camped right next to them. We chatted a bit, when Greg said, “You got a pretty big van. Do you think you could take me and all of my gear to Fort Nelson? My wife will be there waiting for me.”

“I thought you started your trip at Fort Simpson, Greg.”

“I did. Linda was working there while I was on the river. But she is driving the motorhome to Fort Nelson to meet me.”

“Sure.” So we loaded up all of Greg’s stuff, and headed south, down the Dempster Highway.

That was the last time we ever saw Don & Donna. That was in 2004. Kathleen and I had moved from Vancouver to Pender Island in 2003. We knew Don & Donna only through our canoe club in Vancouver. Since we were no longer paddling regularly with the canoe club, we never bumped into Don & Donna again. I heard that Don & Donna had gone on another wilderness canoe trip with club members a year or two later. I asked a trip participant how it went. “Great,” she said. “Everyone got along perfectly. It was a beautiful trip.”

So one never knows.


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We stopped for a meal at the Eagle Plains Motel, which is pretty much exactly halfway (km 371; mile 230) along the Dempster Highway. It’s the only service available on the Dempster between the Dawson Corners and Inuvik. (Note: There is some service in Fort McPherson at the Peel River, but it can be hit-and-miss.) I dropped Greg and Kathleen at the restaurant, and then drove the van over to the gas station part of the facilities, and then walked back. Greg said he needed something from the van. “It’s right over there, Greg. Here’s the key.”

“You think I can walk all that way?”

“I expect you to. I don’t know what you need. You’ve just spent a month on the Mackenzie. I know you can do it.”

Greg grumbled a bit, but off he went. Over lunch, Greg stated, without any prompting, “I don’t know how you spent all that time with Don & Donna. Your personalities just don’t match. I’d had enough after one day.”

We camped that night in an area with a lot of Labrador Tea. Greg asked me if I’ve ever had Labrador tea. “No, I haven’t.”

“And you call yourself a northern adventurer? I’ll make some for you in the morning.”

And when I rose the next morning, Greg handed me a hot cup of Labrador tea. It was pretty good, but I’ve never had it since.

The next night we stayed at a motel on the Alaska Highway. On the road the next morning, Greg asked me to stop. “I want to find my spare cigarette lighter in the back.”

As you might guess, the back of our van was jam-packed, floor to ceiling with gear, both ours and Greg’s. “Can’t you wait until we stop for lunch, Greg? You can’t smoke in the van, anyway.

“Well, if you won’t stop, I’ll just climb back there and search around until I find it.”

“You won’t be able to find it Greg. Just wait until we stop.”

“You should never tell a cripple they can’t do something.” So Greg lifted himself over the seat, and crawled though the mountain of gear, emerging only a few minutes later. He held the spare cigarette lighter aloft, with a triumphant grin on his face.

In British Columbia, we stopped at a small restaurant on the Liard River above the infamous and dangerous Cranberry Rapids. Greg asked the restaurant owner “Are the rapids runnable? I might want to canoe the Liard someday.”

“Not a chance,” he replied.

“Well, I think I can run them.”

greg 4.jpg - Click image for larger version  Name:	greg 4.jpg Views:	6 Size:	23.9 KB ID:	108210

When we approached Fort Nelson, I asked Greg where Linda would be waiting for him. “She’s gonna be in a campground. But I don’t know which one, and I don’t know where.” (Note: No one had cell phones.)

“Then how will I know where to drop you, Greg?”

“She knows I’m coming. She’ll be out watching for me.”

We pulled into Fort Nelson about five in the afternoon (Time to stop?). A woman was walking a dog along the side of the road.. “There she is! Stop.”

Linda and the dog hopped in, and we drove over the campground. We all climbed into the very large motorhome, where Greg sat down in the driver’s seat. He slumped forward a bit, and held the steering wheel affectionately in both hands.

“Linda. Can you go to the refrigerator and get me a beer? I’m all done in.”

We exchanged Christmas cards with Greg until we received an email from Linda in March of 2008, informing us that Greg had died the month before.

I downloaded the image above from a blog by a guy named Norman Miller, which I found with Google a couple of days ago. Norman has written a very nice tribute to Greg, titled “Still Me Voyage - A Journey from pararplegia.”

The following link takes you to this tribute. It’s a very nice read.

http://normanmiller.blogspot.com/2007/
 
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"So all four of us paddled into Inuvik, arriving pretty much at midnight, beneath a sun still high in the sky. Kathleen still talks about this moment. “I still had my sun glasses on. It was so bright. Children were playing along the river. Adults were promenading. Everyone was out and about. Midnight. It’s why we love the north.”"

I'm going to carry this with me for a very long time. Thanks M&K.
 
Thank you so much for another stellar trip report! I may never take a Far North trip, but I have a keen sense of what I'm missing from viewing your beautiful photos and reading the "just right" narrative. Well done!
 
So you met Greg Allen. I read his book some years ago and also his posts on myccr. He is a hero to me. I'm sorry to hear he passed away.

To echo some previous posts, you two must be the most mature people on the river. I could never have put up with that. Good for you both.

Any idea if the Red River is still lightly traveled?
 
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