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Ben came across the Megiscane route over the winter, and one of us mentioned it might be a good run for us to do this spring. It seemed simple enough. Train from Senneterre about two hours to Monet, drag to the put-in on the lake. There are about 40kms of un-canoe-mapped lakes and twists and turns before you hit the main dam; then 228kms of mapped lakes and river to Lac Parent; then 15kms more to Senneterre. Call it 285kms. We had 2 full weeks – plenty of time – or so we thought.
It is worth noting/owning at the outset that I was the problem on this trip. Tom had just quit a 5 year nonprofit gig and wasn’t on a schedule. Ben – well, Ben’s almost never on a schedule and Fuddle wasn’t either. But after two years of being over-employed and seriously under-paid, I had accepted a new gig the day before we left, and needed to be back at work on May 19.
We arrived in Senneterre in a staggered formation – when I walked in the motel door, Tom was snoring on one of the beds. He had left Virginia the day prior and had slept in a parking lot the night before. I poured a cocktail and the clinkety-clink of cubes in the metal cup was like a Pavlovian bell in his subconscious, rousing him to first-night party mode. A few hours later, as we were ready to sack out, in walks Ben, and “ok, one more…” We all of us commented on the amount of ice in the lakes we passed on the way up. But Lac Parent was ice-free, and we were taking that as a good sign.
Bleary but excited, we rolled out about 7:30 to get to the train depot and get our gear ready to load. The train pulled up half-heartedly a bit later, and it was all-aboard and off we go. When the conductor realized what our plans were, his comment was, “I’ll pray for you.”
We passed more half-frozen stuff on the way east, but the Kekek was running like a banshee, so we were encouraged. At Monet, we threw our gear out and was met by the guy who runs Monet Adventures who was getting opened up for the spring bear hunt. He offered to shuttle our gear in his snow machine down to the put-in lake, which we readily accepted. There was one small issue: the put-in lake was a solid sheet of ice. I mean, there was a little melt right at the put-in, and a little where the creek came in under the tacks, but no one was moving on that body of water any time soon.
Dude told us we could crash at the lake for as long as we wanted to wait for the ice to melt. If we got tired of waiting, we could drag our stuff back to the tracks and flag down a train headed the other way. He was only staying at the camp for 24 hours, then he was out. So we pitched a base camp at the put-in, and spent Sunday May 4 napping, reading, snacking, shaking down gear, day-drinking, and playing croquet (Tom won a best-of-5). I made a taco dinner while it was still daylight, which felt all kinds of wrong. Cocktails, cigars, fire. Temps plummeted.
Next morning, what had melted the day before had re-froze overnight. We tried not to look – like a watched pot of water that will never boil. We were obviously in for a wait, but today was supposed to warm up considerably. Huevos rancheros with the leftovers, more naps, reading, snacking. Tom goes for an explore in the afternoon. We hear him bashing at ice on the next lake. He returns. “Maybe tomorrow” is his verdict. More croquet – Ben takes the match. Tortelini with Italian sausage for dinner. Ben produces an apple pie for my birthday desert – we eat half of it.
We give the sun the morning to do its thing to the ice and hit the water at the crack of noon. Out of the put-in lake, the ice is a bit thicker than advertised on the next pond, Lac Octavie. We spend an hour or more trying to bash through - to no avail. We strategically withdraw to the base camp area and re-pitch. Around the fire, I pose that our situation is no bueno - the clock is running and the kms aren’t, and when do we cut our losses, get on the train and go paddle something else? As The Clash asked, I said, “do we stay or do we go?” To which Tom quickly responded, “if we go there will be trouble; if we stay there will be double…” Quite so. We decided to try to move on the following day – if we were successful, we had to be committed to knocking out the kind of kms/day that would get me to the church on time. If we weren’t, it was time to hump back to the train. More croquet – I won the match. Ben’s chili for supper.
May 7 started out cold and grey and windy and just got progressively worse. We had a hard time tearing out of our sleeping bags and didn’t get on the water til 1. But we were able to bash through Lac Octavie, then portaged through the snow around a broken down dam than had a lot of metal in it, then had one good C2/3 creeky rapid, and then had to break thru a lot more ice on Lac Chassaigne. We found a little cabin with docks at the bridge crossing about 6pm and with the weather deteriorating quickly, we called it home. 4 days into the journey and we’d made it 8kms. Only 278 more to go…. We got dry and warm and I made a big pot of carbonara for supper. We finished the pie.
Thursday, May 8 – on the water at 11:30 and we spent 4 hours getting across 3kms of the next lake, which was full of ice. Then there was open flow to Lac de la Grosse Chute, which was proceeded by the Grosse Chute itself – took an hour to portage on a nice path – might have run it in warm weather. Then there is another bridge crossing and this one is so low the canoes won’t fit under without decapitation. So we drag around the bridge on river right through all kinds of blow down and newly stumped ground. Takes about an hour. Then its through a few more pools looking for a campsite until we run out of light and end up in the corner of the third, in a patch of long grass and mud next to a dock. We pitch on the slope and set up the bug hut on what flat ground there is and eat meal-in-a-bag and shiver.
Next day, and downstream 100 meters, we lamp a very nice campsite at the top of the first rapid on Friday. There are a series of 3 good C2/3 creeky, blind corner rapids leading up to Lac Bonhomme. Which is then followed by kms and kms of twists and turns reminiscent of the Upper Kesagami, but with less impediments. Then some long flats and one more good last drop around a corner and into Lac du Poete. We paddle the 2 clicks up to the dam and portaged across in good time. Pitched camp on the far side to the displeasure of the local beaver family. We covered about 23kms but we were way behind schedule – 240kms left, and 7 or 8 days to do it. Steaks, sauteed asparagus, fried onions and mashies for dinner.
Cold and nasty and blowing like the devil, we hit the water by noon on Saturday May 10 and it took us 2 hours to make 4kms against the headwind. When we reached the turn to head into Lac de la Tette, I couldn’t believe the vista in front of me. For a km in front of me, and 3 kms to either side, all I could see was ice. “The horror… the horror…” I heard Brando whisper in my brain. The other fellas got a look at the crapshow and we retired to a little cove out of the wind for a smoke and a drink. “Boys,” says I, “the gods are trying to tell us something.” We decide to beat a retreat back to the dam and hole-up out of the wind. We set the shelter and tents, this time closer to the road than the water, in the hopes we can hitch our way out. Ha! Croquet and then brisket and mac&cheese for supper. Decide to try to use InReach to chat up folks at home in hopes of reaching an outfitter to get a shuttle out from the dam or from somewhere downstream. Ice wasn’t going anywhere for 24 hours + so we wait, try to find a ride, and if no love, we move on Monday. The Lord decreed Sunday would be a day of rest.
Slept in, snacked, napped. Kinda warm, still windy. Talked to two Cree guys out on a goose scout. Asked about a lift to Senneterre. “Senneterre? Long way, eh?...” That was that. No love from home. “This indecision’s killing me….” More croquet. Ben made pork loins on the grill and sweet taters in the fire and boiled some brussel sprouts.
May 12 and here we go again. Still windy but not as bad. Made the 4kms to Lac de la Tette in 90 minutes, and had a clear path across the lake. Decided to take the more direct route west to square the circle. Required a short portage and a long portage but eliminated 6kms of paddling up the big lake into a headwind, and eliminated 6kms of beaver-dam choked oxbow that might require numerous shorter ports. “Short cuts make long delays, Mr Frodo, sir…” Good decision…? The first port was a cinch – quick step out, pull the boat over a mound of grass ankle high and you were in the next lake. However, the second portage was monster. Because of all the blowdown along the shore, it took us an hour just to find the trail. It was advertised at 400m long, which I would say was about accurate. The trail seemed long unused – quite a bit of blowdown across it, alders at the ridge, then downhill to a steep drop off that was covered with moss that was clinging to ice that was clinging to ledge. Recipe for falls and twisted ankles and much colorful language. 4 hours. I think I made 9 trips across: 1 to find the trail, 3 with my gear, 1 to bull each boat, and 1 for each cooler. But I’m the young guy so I gotta look out for my old and decrepit comrades. Ben found a junky tiny camp down the lake about 5 minutes and we got there with the last light. Just enough space for 3 tents and a circle of chairs. Meal-in-a-bag, drinks, bed. Did not make our kms – again. 230kms to go, five days left. What can you do, but keep on keepin’ on…?
Tuesday, May 13 – 11:15 (impressive!) and we are in the wind. A tailwind pushed us the first few clicks til noon, when the wind shifted into the west and grew to a steady gentle howl as we made our turn to the west to run the next 20kms down Lac Pascagama and its long outflow to the confluence with the Kekek. Yes, gentle reader, every km for the next 7 hours were hard won, especially after the previous day’s exertions, but they were won. When we made the turn to the north, the wind died, and we made another 5 clicks on glass calm in the sunset, headed for a nice campsite marked on the maps. Of course, it was under about 2 feet of water. About that time, we crossed paths with a Cree goose hunter’s motor boat that ran out of gas at a very opportune moment. We chatted him up and told him our woes and he told us about a camp about 4kms back upstream that was just opening up, and who would probably provide a lift to town. Good 411, but at the moment we were in need of a campsite, and we spent the remaining daylight searching for something. Sometime after 9pm Tom’s headlamp found a bit of shore less obstructed by alders than most of the rest of it, we headed in, and made a rough camp in the deadfall and moss and snow drifts. Meal-in-a-bag, and then I called in the big guns on the InReach, and asked my wife to try to contact the camp.
Wednesday, May 14 – 11ish. We are about to shove off when the InReach blinks green – message from Amy: “They got you. Thank god for Google Translate. Paddle to them and they will give you a lift.” Oh, the mixed emotions evident on everyone’s faces. We were saved! But we were done. We’re out! But we’ve failed. It’s only Wednesday, maybe we can crash at their camp a couple of nights and make our way through the rest of our ‘supplies’… Now the wind is out of the south, and it takes us a solid 3 hours to make the 6kms to Club Kapitachuan. Where we are warmly received but instructed to prepare to depart. The paying high rollers arrive tomorrow, and they are booked solid, and they don’t need a bunch of stinky paddlers despoiling the aesthetic. We loaded into a king cab pickup, put the boat on a trailer, and were off on the gravel by 4. Back to the train station by 6, and eating poutine on the porch of the motel by 7.
What a blast. What a bummer.
I’m sure we set a record for the longest time anyone has taken to paddle 80kms. 11 days? Has to be a record. But we cleaned the Upper Megiscane route! (chuckle, chuckle) Perhaps there will be a sequel to paddle in from the Kekek, or from Kapitachuan. The downstream river sections we could see at the two major bridge crossings we went over by truck looked fantastic. “It’s always tease, tease, tease….”
I’ll let Ben add the appendix about the proper way to ice break in a canoe. We found various methods, but the dog ate my first draft and I don’t have it in me to type more at this time.
Stay dry.
Christian
It is worth noting/owning at the outset that I was the problem on this trip. Tom had just quit a 5 year nonprofit gig and wasn’t on a schedule. Ben – well, Ben’s almost never on a schedule and Fuddle wasn’t either. But after two years of being over-employed and seriously under-paid, I had accepted a new gig the day before we left, and needed to be back at work on May 19.
We arrived in Senneterre in a staggered formation – when I walked in the motel door, Tom was snoring on one of the beds. He had left Virginia the day prior and had slept in a parking lot the night before. I poured a cocktail and the clinkety-clink of cubes in the metal cup was like a Pavlovian bell in his subconscious, rousing him to first-night party mode. A few hours later, as we were ready to sack out, in walks Ben, and “ok, one more…” We all of us commented on the amount of ice in the lakes we passed on the way up. But Lac Parent was ice-free, and we were taking that as a good sign.
Bleary but excited, we rolled out about 7:30 to get to the train depot and get our gear ready to load. The train pulled up half-heartedly a bit later, and it was all-aboard and off we go. When the conductor realized what our plans were, his comment was, “I’ll pray for you.”
We passed more half-frozen stuff on the way east, but the Kekek was running like a banshee, so we were encouraged. At Monet, we threw our gear out and was met by the guy who runs Monet Adventures who was getting opened up for the spring bear hunt. He offered to shuttle our gear in his snow machine down to the put-in lake, which we readily accepted. There was one small issue: the put-in lake was a solid sheet of ice. I mean, there was a little melt right at the put-in, and a little where the creek came in under the tacks, but no one was moving on that body of water any time soon.
Dude told us we could crash at the lake for as long as we wanted to wait for the ice to melt. If we got tired of waiting, we could drag our stuff back to the tracks and flag down a train headed the other way. He was only staying at the camp for 24 hours, then he was out. So we pitched a base camp at the put-in, and spent Sunday May 4 napping, reading, snacking, shaking down gear, day-drinking, and playing croquet (Tom won a best-of-5). I made a taco dinner while it was still daylight, which felt all kinds of wrong. Cocktails, cigars, fire. Temps plummeted.
Next morning, what had melted the day before had re-froze overnight. We tried not to look – like a watched pot of water that will never boil. We were obviously in for a wait, but today was supposed to warm up considerably. Huevos rancheros with the leftovers, more naps, reading, snacking. Tom goes for an explore in the afternoon. We hear him bashing at ice on the next lake. He returns. “Maybe tomorrow” is his verdict. More croquet – Ben takes the match. Tortelini with Italian sausage for dinner. Ben produces an apple pie for my birthday desert – we eat half of it.
We give the sun the morning to do its thing to the ice and hit the water at the crack of noon. Out of the put-in lake, the ice is a bit thicker than advertised on the next pond, Lac Octavie. We spend an hour or more trying to bash through - to no avail. We strategically withdraw to the base camp area and re-pitch. Around the fire, I pose that our situation is no bueno - the clock is running and the kms aren’t, and when do we cut our losses, get on the train and go paddle something else? As The Clash asked, I said, “do we stay or do we go?” To which Tom quickly responded, “if we go there will be trouble; if we stay there will be double…” Quite so. We decided to try to move on the following day – if we were successful, we had to be committed to knocking out the kind of kms/day that would get me to the church on time. If we weren’t, it was time to hump back to the train. More croquet – I won the match. Ben’s chili for supper.
May 7 started out cold and grey and windy and just got progressively worse. We had a hard time tearing out of our sleeping bags and didn’t get on the water til 1. But we were able to bash through Lac Octavie, then portaged through the snow around a broken down dam than had a lot of metal in it, then had one good C2/3 creeky rapid, and then had to break thru a lot more ice on Lac Chassaigne. We found a little cabin with docks at the bridge crossing about 6pm and with the weather deteriorating quickly, we called it home. 4 days into the journey and we’d made it 8kms. Only 278 more to go…. We got dry and warm and I made a big pot of carbonara for supper. We finished the pie.
Thursday, May 8 – on the water at 11:30 and we spent 4 hours getting across 3kms of the next lake, which was full of ice. Then there was open flow to Lac de la Grosse Chute, which was proceeded by the Grosse Chute itself – took an hour to portage on a nice path – might have run it in warm weather. Then there is another bridge crossing and this one is so low the canoes won’t fit under without decapitation. So we drag around the bridge on river right through all kinds of blow down and newly stumped ground. Takes about an hour. Then its through a few more pools looking for a campsite until we run out of light and end up in the corner of the third, in a patch of long grass and mud next to a dock. We pitch on the slope and set up the bug hut on what flat ground there is and eat meal-in-a-bag and shiver.
Next day, and downstream 100 meters, we lamp a very nice campsite at the top of the first rapid on Friday. There are a series of 3 good C2/3 creeky, blind corner rapids leading up to Lac Bonhomme. Which is then followed by kms and kms of twists and turns reminiscent of the Upper Kesagami, but with less impediments. Then some long flats and one more good last drop around a corner and into Lac du Poete. We paddle the 2 clicks up to the dam and portaged across in good time. Pitched camp on the far side to the displeasure of the local beaver family. We covered about 23kms but we were way behind schedule – 240kms left, and 7 or 8 days to do it. Steaks, sauteed asparagus, fried onions and mashies for dinner.
Cold and nasty and blowing like the devil, we hit the water by noon on Saturday May 10 and it took us 2 hours to make 4kms against the headwind. When we reached the turn to head into Lac de la Tette, I couldn’t believe the vista in front of me. For a km in front of me, and 3 kms to either side, all I could see was ice. “The horror… the horror…” I heard Brando whisper in my brain. The other fellas got a look at the crapshow and we retired to a little cove out of the wind for a smoke and a drink. “Boys,” says I, “the gods are trying to tell us something.” We decide to beat a retreat back to the dam and hole-up out of the wind. We set the shelter and tents, this time closer to the road than the water, in the hopes we can hitch our way out. Ha! Croquet and then brisket and mac&cheese for supper. Decide to try to use InReach to chat up folks at home in hopes of reaching an outfitter to get a shuttle out from the dam or from somewhere downstream. Ice wasn’t going anywhere for 24 hours + so we wait, try to find a ride, and if no love, we move on Monday. The Lord decreed Sunday would be a day of rest.
Slept in, snacked, napped. Kinda warm, still windy. Talked to two Cree guys out on a goose scout. Asked about a lift to Senneterre. “Senneterre? Long way, eh?...” That was that. No love from home. “This indecision’s killing me….” More croquet. Ben made pork loins on the grill and sweet taters in the fire and boiled some brussel sprouts.
May 12 and here we go again. Still windy but not as bad. Made the 4kms to Lac de la Tette in 90 minutes, and had a clear path across the lake. Decided to take the more direct route west to square the circle. Required a short portage and a long portage but eliminated 6kms of paddling up the big lake into a headwind, and eliminated 6kms of beaver-dam choked oxbow that might require numerous shorter ports. “Short cuts make long delays, Mr Frodo, sir…” Good decision…? The first port was a cinch – quick step out, pull the boat over a mound of grass ankle high and you were in the next lake. However, the second portage was monster. Because of all the blowdown along the shore, it took us an hour just to find the trail. It was advertised at 400m long, which I would say was about accurate. The trail seemed long unused – quite a bit of blowdown across it, alders at the ridge, then downhill to a steep drop off that was covered with moss that was clinging to ice that was clinging to ledge. Recipe for falls and twisted ankles and much colorful language. 4 hours. I think I made 9 trips across: 1 to find the trail, 3 with my gear, 1 to bull each boat, and 1 for each cooler. But I’m the young guy so I gotta look out for my old and decrepit comrades. Ben found a junky tiny camp down the lake about 5 minutes and we got there with the last light. Just enough space for 3 tents and a circle of chairs. Meal-in-a-bag, drinks, bed. Did not make our kms – again. 230kms to go, five days left. What can you do, but keep on keepin’ on…?
Tuesday, May 13 – 11:15 (impressive!) and we are in the wind. A tailwind pushed us the first few clicks til noon, when the wind shifted into the west and grew to a steady gentle howl as we made our turn to the west to run the next 20kms down Lac Pascagama and its long outflow to the confluence with the Kekek. Yes, gentle reader, every km for the next 7 hours were hard won, especially after the previous day’s exertions, but they were won. When we made the turn to the north, the wind died, and we made another 5 clicks on glass calm in the sunset, headed for a nice campsite marked on the maps. Of course, it was under about 2 feet of water. About that time, we crossed paths with a Cree goose hunter’s motor boat that ran out of gas at a very opportune moment. We chatted him up and told him our woes and he told us about a camp about 4kms back upstream that was just opening up, and who would probably provide a lift to town. Good 411, but at the moment we were in need of a campsite, and we spent the remaining daylight searching for something. Sometime after 9pm Tom’s headlamp found a bit of shore less obstructed by alders than most of the rest of it, we headed in, and made a rough camp in the deadfall and moss and snow drifts. Meal-in-a-bag, and then I called in the big guns on the InReach, and asked my wife to try to contact the camp.
Wednesday, May 14 – 11ish. We are about to shove off when the InReach blinks green – message from Amy: “They got you. Thank god for Google Translate. Paddle to them and they will give you a lift.” Oh, the mixed emotions evident on everyone’s faces. We were saved! But we were done. We’re out! But we’ve failed. It’s only Wednesday, maybe we can crash at their camp a couple of nights and make our way through the rest of our ‘supplies’… Now the wind is out of the south, and it takes us a solid 3 hours to make the 6kms to Club Kapitachuan. Where we are warmly received but instructed to prepare to depart. The paying high rollers arrive tomorrow, and they are booked solid, and they don’t need a bunch of stinky paddlers despoiling the aesthetic. We loaded into a king cab pickup, put the boat on a trailer, and were off on the gravel by 4. Back to the train station by 6, and eating poutine on the porch of the motel by 7.
What a blast. What a bummer.
I’m sure we set a record for the longest time anyone has taken to paddle 80kms. 11 days? Has to be a record. But we cleaned the Upper Megiscane route! (chuckle, chuckle) Perhaps there will be a sequel to paddle in from the Kekek, or from Kapitachuan. The downstream river sections we could see at the two major bridge crossings we went over by truck looked fantastic. “It’s always tease, tease, tease….”
I’ll let Ben add the appendix about the proper way to ice break in a canoe. We found various methods, but the dog ate my first draft and I don’t have it in me to type more at this time.
Stay dry.
Christian
