The biggest mistake was by the Ranger who pointed at the map and said “You walk out here.” But I haven’t even started telling the story and I’m already getting ahead of myself, I’ll get to the mistakes that were made, but for the most part the only way we could have avoided the events of that night would have been to stay home. So, I’ll start at the beginning.

After leaving Utah’s Zion National Park in the fall of 2008, Derik, Tyler and I knew we had to return, and almost immediately began planning a return trip about the same time the next year. In sharing the amazing story of rappelling and canyoneering in this incredible environment, everybody wanted to be a part of the next trip. So it was open invitation, as November 2009 approached there were a total of 10 people that had expressed interest in joining us – these being mostly co-workers at the YMCA camp. Each of these people had different times that they would be able to join us on our month long journey through the west. In leaving Minnesota in early November, 5 of us piled in the extra minivan that my parents had acquired. Derik, Tyler and I had the experience the previous year. Carl was quite inexperienced but very willing to learn and rather off the wall. Mick, also very willing to learn, never lets his prosthetic leg slow him down much, though it is definitely debilitating in certain situations.

After driving straight through the night we found a campsite in Mosquito Cove (possibly aptly named at certain times of the year, very pleasant in the late fall). In canyoneering, you must take advantage of good weather and avoid the canyons if there is any chance of rain, so after a good night’s sleep – the first day in Zion proved to be a beautiful day, though I pried for people to hurry, everybody seemed to take their time and we got going a lot later than I had hoped to, I suppose I could have expressed our haste a little more clearly. I made the rounds, checking in with everybody as they were packing, double checking essential items: Warm layers (check), food (check), water (check), rappelling gear (check), headlamp (uhh, I need batteries, I don’t have one, mines broken… check), obvious mistake here – I packed my headlamp. Anyway, we made our way to the visitor center and I had a chat with the back country ranger explaining our situation. Basically I asked for an easily accessible, easy exit canyon for an able man with a prosthetic leg. He said there wasn’t really anything that fit the description that I was looking for, but suggested a few things that may work. The one that sounded the best was Russel Gulch, generally used as an entrance to the Subway. It has a few beautiful rappels, 3 in total, with the exit being the alternate approach to the Subway, this is where the ranger pointed at the map and told us to walk out here. We had the maps, had the Tom Jones canyoneering book, we got a permit and headed out.

The drive took us to the far west end of the park, by the time we started hiking, it was nearly noon. We hiked the first stretch with an overly friendly (read annoying) guy that was just looking for a hike. He continually reminded us to follow the ‘hoodoos’ they mark the trail (misnaming the cairns), to Mick, this was imprinted in his mind as ‘follow the cooters.’ So, we followed the relatively well marked trail across the slickrock past the sign that said we needed a permit (our friend continued to follow us, constantly warning us that we needed a permit to be here – we had one, he didn’t). Eventually he went on his own way and we were soon in the bottom of Russel Gulch. We had a quick lunch in the sun before beginning our decent.

The decent itself was beautiful, so far, everything was as smooth as we could have hoped for. Each rappel had an anchor, each one was 75 feet or so, really a great introduction to canyoneering. The trip down went quick and smooth, everybody had the time of their lives, especially those that had never rappelled before. Upon reaching the bottom, it was approaching sunset, we maybe had two hours before it got totally dark, so we made our way to the “Walk Out” hoping to get back on the trail and most of the way back to the van before the sun set. This is where we were completely sandbagged, this route should hardly be recommended to anybody, much less somebody with a prosthetic leg, this is where everybody had at least one “near death” experience, this is where the mistakes piled up. All I could do is stay calm, methodically work through each problem, and attempt to keep everybody alive.

After scouting, studying the map, reading the description, I found what had to be the ascent, to continue scouting would have meant going for a swim up canyon, so we began climbing. After the first move – a relatively unexposed technical 5th class move – probably about a 5.8 move easily spotted, Derik and I found ourselves on a ledge. Derik continued scouting as I set up a belay rope to get the others to that point. With a little bit of effort I belayed Mick to that point, I taught Mick to belay so he could get Carl and Tyler up while I attended to a problem Derik had encountered. All I heard was “we have to turn around, there’s no way we can climb this.” Our only other option was to decend the subway which involved several long swims, wetsuit highly recommended and up to 12 hours for an able group. I was quite hesitant to even consider that option, people come down this route without ropes, it has to be possible to ascend it. Getting over to Derik should have been quite easy, a couple steps across a relatively protected ledge, I held onto the belay rope (which i had not tied off securely), my foot slipped, I put my weight on the rope, it pulled free, I stumbled, I caught myself at the edge of the 15 foot drop off, my heart began to race as I stood there. A sigh of relief, Mick had seen me, I played it off as nothing serious, no need to increase worries. Then I approached Derik, leaving Mick to belay the others, I looked up to see a very exposed, approximately 20 foot vertical section, I’d guess a series of 5.8 moves. I didn’t even hesitate, the adrenaline was pumping and I didn’t want to consider the other options, I needed to get everybody out of this canyon, I had to work with what daylight was left, it would soon be dark and cold.

I began climbing, my first handhold gave way as a large rock went racing down the narrow gulley “ROCK!” I thought for sure it was going to hit someone, after checking in, I made sure everyone was in a safe place before I began climbing. I reached for another hand hold, it gave way, debris crashed down the gully, everybody was OK. Another step up, my footing gave way, rocks crashed down the gully. This was not going well (my heart is racing just typing this), I knew everybody had found a safe spot, but I could help but think somebody might be peeking around a corner as soon as I let a rock fly. I steadily continued up the loose scree, as soon as Derik could no longer spot me effectively he found a safe place, I made a move that may have been about a 5.6, but with a free fall of 15 feet and no assurance that I wouldn’t find myself tumbling to the bottom of the canyon (about 35 feet at that point), the cold, and climbing in hiking boots, the move felt like a 5.10. After pushing myself through each move, continually letting rocks fly, I found myself on a large exposed nose 50 feet above the floor of the canyon, I built the best anchor that I could, set up a belay line, made sure they were set to belay each other up the climb and I continued to scout. Tyler belayed Derik up, then Derik belayed from the top and Mick began to climb. At one point Tyler felt a very large rock brush his hair, very near disaster (I know Mick and Carl had helmets, but at that point I think we were short a couple of helmets as well).

I scouted, I climbed up about a 300 foot 4th class scramble as the sun was setting, eventually I found myself at the top, I should have brought gear to set up another anchor, I didn’t know what I would find. I decided I’d need some gear to set up a static line prussic ascent. It was dark, I had a little difficulty finding my way back down the gully, but I eventually made my way back down to Derik, told him my plan, grabbed the gear, and hiked back to the top, Mick was just beginning to climb. I set up the anchor, set a static line and returned back down to Derik to find that Mick was struggling with the climb, at that point he was already telling us to leave him there and save ourselves. I wasn’t about to leave anybody behind. I considered setting up a haul system, but decided to attempt pulling him up first. I roped myself in, set up a prussic so that he would not lose progress, and “one, two, three, PULL!” Derik and I pulled, Mick clawed at the rock, each time making a few inches of progress. My thought process was that if we got Mick past this difficult section (maybe a foot or two) he would then be able to use his own power to climb to the top. That didn’t happen, we continued to pull, he continued to claw at the rock, we continued to make inches of progress. This was all made more difficult by the fact that I had the only head lamp, it was pitch dark, Mick could not see the rock, all he could do was reach blindly and attempt to grab anything that might give him purchase. At that point, Tyler had the only other flashlight. (Come on, You’re a NOLS instructor Martin! I know, I’m also invincible, I can work through any problem that arises with whatever supplies I have, I realize the mistakes I made, and yes, it was up to me to make sure everything runs smoothly, I’m the expert here).

After a long struggle, we welcomed Mick to the “top,” they didn’t realize the extended climb that was ahead of us, I roped him into the prussic that I had set up. Then Tyler and Carl struggled through the dark to the top, I roped them in. After a short break, getting some food and drinking the last of the water (I was exhausted, just what I need, another mistake to add to the list, there was water at the bottom, we didn’t fill up). I gave a brief explanation of how to climb the prussic line – a prussic is knot attached to the rope that can be slid up along with us as we climb, but if we fall it will prevent us from falling to the bottom, quicker and easier than a belay, we can all climb at once, and the climb wasn’t terribly difficult (4th class scramble) but we were all very tired, it was pitch dark, and there was still lots of loose scree. We all roped in, and made the ascent through a narrow gully. The most difficult section was probably at the top through thick brush continuing uphill. Eventually, we reached the anchor, took another long break taking a sigh of relief. Everybody was alive, we were at the top, all we had to do now was “walk out.”

The trail was intermittent, well worn through the dirt, scattered cairns across the slick rock. We found ourselves pausing several times, searching for cairns, trying to keep ourselves on the trail, figuring the trail was most likely the best option, rather than hiking aimlessly across the desert in the direction of the van. This continued for hours into the night. My first priority should have been water, in my mind, it wasn’t, I just wanted to get back to the van. An hour or so after midnight we crossed a low canyon area, a likely place for water. We continued on for another half hour or so past that point when Mick collapsed in a heap. He was conscious, but incoherent, though it should have been obvious, I didn’t realize until that point how desperate we were for water. Tyler and Derik stayed with Mick, Carl and I went on a water mission. We returned to the low canyon area we had passed and immediately found water, we had walked within 20 feet of a large pothole full of murky water. We filled up all of our vessels, added Aqua Mira treatment and hiked back to The guys who were signaling us with a flashlight. Everybody drank their fill of water. Mick begged us to leave him there and we would come back for him in the morning. There was no way I’d leave anybody behind, at least not by themselves. Mick was completely convinced I was trying to kill him – he continued to plod along, I kept pushing him, and everyone else to their limits. In reality I was not trying to kill anybody, rather I was trying as hard as I could to keep everyone alive. Though a few lapses in judgment and a compounding of mistakes was making that increasingly difficult.

We walked a few hundred more feet past that point before we lost the cairns completely, I knew ‘exactly’ where I was, but I could not figure it out. We decided to bivy. We gathered firewood, got a nice fire going in the bottom of a canyon, sheltered from the wind and it held a little bit of heat. One person was to stay awake to tend the fire and watch for wildlife while the rest tried to sleep. Personally, I was still going on adrenaline, I knew ‘exactly’ where I was, and I just wanted to get back to the van. I knew that the parking lot would be checked and our permit reflected on, if we weren’t back in the morning SAR would be activated, we were fine, I didn’t need a few hundred people to unnecessarily be deployed to our position. So Carl and I walked back to the van (possibly another lapse in judgment) in reality I didn’t know where I was, we wandered for another couple hours before I realized I was completely lost, I’ve never felt so frustrated, I slowly came to realize that I wasn’t where I thought I was and that I needed sleep, I couldn’t wander around all night. At that point, the moon had cast a beautiful light over the entire landscape. Carl and I backtracked to the fire, I admitted I was completely lost, we found everyone else huddled around the fire attempting to sleep. By now it was nearly 4am. I curled up in my down coat and pulled my backpack over my legs to attempt to keep warm, it was a very chilly night, especially sleeping cowboy style on the cold ground. I slept, I tossed and turned, I slept some more.

Before long the twilight of morning began to show, everybody was slightly rested and we packed up, and began trying to figure out where we were. A moment later, we knew where we were, Carl and I had indeed been looking in the wrong direction. Had we walked 50 feet up canyon I would have known exactly where we were (which was obviously not where I thought we were). We had slept in nearly the exact location that we had eaten lunch the day before. From there, Carl and I headed out ahead of the others just in case SAR may be activated (from what I’ve read, national parks are on top of their stuff, if a party doesn’t return to the trail head in the time that the permit says, they don’t hesitate to send out hasty teams). We easily found our way to the van, and at that point, I realized how completely exhausted I was. We also realized that we hadn’t left the others with any food, and probably not enough water. I can’t imagine how Mick felt at that point, apparently he had considered curling up and staying to die many times throughout the ordeal. I waited at the van and loaded up Carl with food from the van – fruit and nuts for quick energy, water, candy, cinnamon rolls, and even some Mountain Dew. He hiked back to the group, I took a nap in the van.

Shortly Derik arrived back at the van also extremely exhausted, saying that Mick hadn’t made it very far, they had to rest every few minutes, but Carl had made it to them. Apparently the fruit, candy and fresh water was a lifesaver, it fired everyone up and they made the hike back. Before long everybody stumbled into the parking lot, I felt like I should have some victory music playing. Nearly a 24 hour ordeal, everybody survived, nearly everybody thought they were going to die. I definitely learned a lot about myself and my friends that night, I am not invincible, the laws of nature still apply to NOLS instructors, little mistakes that can be avoided should be taken care of (headlamps, water), other mistakes that can’t be avoided, can be worked through (having been recommended this route and completely sandbagged, we could have never known, only could work through it). We then made our way back to the campsite and had a full day of rest, we spent the day sleeping, relaxing and completely recuperating, preparing ourselves for another canyoneering adventure, the next day was to be Spry Canyon.

To view all of the pictures from this trip check out my webshots account.

This is the essay I wrote for a college composition class in high school, so you will probably notice a difference in writing style from then to now as it’s almost 10 years old, I feel that it does a good job of representing the events of those few days at the end of the Hommes du Nord. So, here’s the story that you’ve all been waiting for.

To Be Hunted

This was the Hommes du Nord, the longest invitational trip that camp offered a $4,000 adventure through the pristine Canadian wilderness. Chris (the trail guide), five other guys and I had spent the past 35 days canoeing the Thlewiaza River, this trip of a lifetime was finally coming to an end. Reaching the shadow of the plywood shack that was to be our home for the next two days, we had just finished paddling our final miles. About a hundred miles up the coast from Churchill, our final destination, we expected to spend our next hours lounging around this shack; the worries of the trip were over. As we started carrying our gear to the door, our worst fear came true. The next 24 hours would be the most stressful time of my life, and would change my view of the reality of human existence forever.

I was heading back with Chris and Eric (another guy on the trip) to get the rest of the gear, when Jason came running towards us in exasperation. I knew in my mind what he was going to say, but I didn’t want to believe it. When he finally caught us, he was out of breath. He said that there was a polar bear coming towards us. We had a certain respect for these monstrous creatures, known for stalking and eating human beings, so we hurried. Everyone grabbed something to carry while Chris got the gun out. We ran back to the cabin, the only refuge available to us besides the gun Chris carried in his hands. That very gun may be the only reason I still walk on the face of the Earth today.

The bear walked the shoreline and stopped when it got in view of the cabin. Another followed behind it and stopped in the same place. As they paced back and forth watching the cabin, there was nothing we could do, except wait. This is when I began to feel particularly vulnerable. As these killing machines waited for an easy meal, we could only watch and wait. Maybe they would just pass by, continue on down the shore, and find somewhere else to eat besides the canoeist buffet, but they didn’t. As the sun went down they remained. When we could no longer see the white giants eyeing us, we took shelter in the cabin, and went to sleep. I slept like a rock after such a long day of paddling, the others were a little restless knowing there was a thousand pound killing machine outside the door.

“Hey, who’s out there?” Chris yelled through the door at 3:30 a.m., and waited for an answer. There was an answer, a good shove against the door from the outside. There was no time to think, a bear was on the other side of the door. Chris pushed against the bottom of the door and Jason, the top. There was another shove. James took Chris’s spot and lay across the bottom of the door totally naked. The plywood of the door creaked and gave a good six inches. James slid along the floor, his bare body giving him little traction on the wood floor, his strength nothing compared to what was on the other side. Chris grabbed the gun and prepared to take action. He stood behind James and waited.

I wanted to help, but there was nothing I could do without getting in the way. So all I could do was sit back and watch. I was scared beyond comprehension. There was no thought process going on in my brain, just the fear of death. If that bear got through, if he came inside, there wouldn’t be anything except a bloody mess left behind for the next passing Inuit to find. I sat along the back wall with my knees against my chest. All of my senses were in overdrive, my constant breathing was deafening, the stench of 35 days of perspiration filled the air, and all of the exertion raised the temperature to well above comfortable.

Eric sat poised and ready with a can of bear spray; it’s effects on polar bears unknown, but worth a try in a life or death situation. This can could possibly save our lives, if he wasn’t ready to spray eight seconds worth of pepper spray in his own face (yes, he was holding the can backwards, nobody ever taught us how to use it). Luckily we didn’t rely on him to deter the bear, or he would have been a spicy treat to accompany the rest of the bear’s meal.

On the other side of the door, the bear continued pushing. Now was a good time to realize that the only thing keeping the door shut was a three-inch bolt held to the plywood with two small screws. Suddenly, the bear left and we could hear him walking around the cabin. Maybe he was strategizing, looking for an easier entry, or maybe just taking a break, whatever it was he was back within a few minutes, pushing as hard as ever. James couldn’t take much more, and Jason wasn’t going to last much longer; holding back 1,000 pounds of muscle was not easy. The whole time Chris was searching for what to do, a gun in his hands he didn’t want to make a decision that was to be regretted. This was the end; we weren’t going home, this small shack was going to be our grave. I was beyond fear and didn’t know what to think any more, I just sat and waited. There wasn’t anything left to do when, in a dead serious voice, James said, “Let’s cap this fucker.”

“Everyone cover your ears,” Chris called out a warning, “James, move your head to the side.” There was a moment of silence, and then Chris pulled the trigger and a smoking, half inch hole appeared in the door. At that moment the bear stopped pushing, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. The next few hours were tense. We built a brace against the door, several stray pieces of wood and a frying pan held the door in case the bear were to return. Someone was always on watch with his face pressed against the door, and an eye peering out the half inch slug hole, waiting and watching. Our radios worked, but there was nobody around at this hour that we could call to for help.

After three hours of wallowing in the stench of our bodies, we opened the door and the heat of our sauna rushed out. We all took in the fresh air like it was to be our last time to breathe. Chris pointed the gun out the door, and Eric followed with the bear spray, pointing away from him this time. The coast was clear, drops of blood and blubber spotted the ground and there wasn’t a bear in sight. As we cooked breakfast Chris radioed a passing plane for help, we didn’t want to spend another night locked in that jail. Within a few hours our ride was there to pick us up, a 30 foot boat captained by a native of Arviat, an Inuit village just up the coast. I was glad to leave the relaxing villa of that shack behind, never to return.

We spent the night in Churchill, in a hotel safe from the reality of the world. As I lay in the comfort of a real bed that night, I began to realize what I had just gone through. My view of human nature had changed drastically. We are not always in charge, there are things bigger than us. A human being tends to believe he overpowers all living things, but an encounter like this taught me to have a respect for certain things. But at the same time we do have power, the shotgun shell that Chris took home with him is proof. I will never forget that night; the picture of James lying clothes less across the bottom of the door will remain with me for the rest of my life.

In 1998 I went on my first organized canoe trip with a Lutheran church camp, we spent five days on the Crow Wing River. It was enjoyable, but not entirely memorable, and they still didn’t teach me how to paddle correctly. The life changing experiences didn’t take place until I went to Camp Menogyn. My dad talked it up, he had gone in the 70′s and thoroughly enjoyed it, constantly selling it to me. We had visited the camp a few times, right away it was incredible and it only got better from there. Driving to the parking lot isn’t entirely impressive, the caretakers house looks nice, but is mostly off limits. These days there’s a welcome center and a garage, back then, there was only a small wooden cabin (Brown’s), and a couple canoes. The first paddle across and into camp, I knew that this was the place to take my paddling addiction.

In 1999 I signed up for a 14 day Boundary Waters Canoe trip. After day one of packing, preparing food, learning the route, and taking part in the shuffle (a kind of orientation), I had finally learned how to paddle. Wow, they would have been good skills to know on any number of trips I took down the Chippewa River. We put in, it was July 1, on Sag, and planned to end on the grand portage, taking a route just below the border lakes. Anybody that’s from Minnesota, is a fan of wilderness areas, or has been to the BWCA since then, knows the story of what happened 3 days later. July 4, 1999, the day of the infamous blowdown that took out over a million acres of trees in and around the BWCA. It was myself, a single trail guide, and two other campers near my age, I was 15.

We hit the portage trail between Round and West Round Lakes (bonus points for originality whoever named those ones), just as the dark green wall cloud rolled overhead. As soon as we started portaging, the rain started, by the time we had finished, the rain was coming down in sheets, the sheets were horizontal. I stood on the shore of Round lake admiring the fury of the storm, my jaw dropped in awe. The other three scurried to set up a rain tarp (I know I should have helped them, but I was too impressed by the show going on in front of me). I heard the first tree fall behind me, it crashed across the portage trail. Then a few trees feel into the lake, first on my left, then on my right. I could hear the crashing of trees all around me. A glance to the top of the nearby ridge revealed the true fury of the storm as the entire ridgeline was leveled of it’s trees. I decided it was time to take refuge under the tarp shelter that had been set up. I was already soaked, and it was probably safer where I had been standing, but everybody else was under the tarp so it must have been the safer place to be. I didn’t sit there for long, a few minutes, before we heard the very nearby “CRACK” then the “CRASH!” followed by a kind of crunching, snapping, crushing noise. In moments, the actual safety of the shelter was realized, as I was covered in tarp, and I could hear “Is everybody OK!?” Everybody checked in as fine, and we found our way out from underneath the jumbled mess. The nearby dead tree (we had taken note of it as we set up the shelter, but couldn’t really avoid it) had fallen into one of the trees that we had tied the tarp to, a domino effect took out that tree, and a second one that we had tied to. The nearest tree fell within a foot or two of the other three of the group, very lucky on that one.

We decided that the water was probably safer than land, where we were surrounded by trees. We quickly threw everything in the canoes, minus a life jacket which had been pinned between two trees. And paddled out into the very rough water, we stayed near shore, and waited out the remainder of the storm. Soon, the wind let up, and we made the portage into missing link, found a campsite and enjoyed the natural fireworks in the distance. This was the beginning of my 4th of July superstition (2003 a tree took our part of our house). The trip from then on mellowed out a bit, but not near entirely. The portages were a hell. Trees cris crossing all along the trail make it very difficult to carry a canoe through, especially an 80lb wood canvas canoe (canoes are sacred, the bottom of a canoe should never touch anything other than water, air, your legs, or the occasional pizza crust, we had to break this rule many times). At times we were 20 feet or more above the ground dragging the canoes through the treetops. The 300 rod (nearly a mile) Muskeg-Kiskadina portage, is normally a very difficult one, steep uphill and rough trail. On a good day it should have taken about half an hour to 45 minutes. Four hours later, we were finally back on the water, or in m case, in the water – I was sweating like crazy after that haul.

Eventually we paddled ourselves into camp, that wasn’t originally part of the plan, but we figured we should check in after that chaos. Camp had called everyone’s parents, my parents got a phone message something along the lines of “We don’t know where your sun is, or if he’s ok, but if we hear anything we’ll let you know right away.” Like that’s supposed to alleviate their worries. Then we made the decision to finish our route, even though there was some feelings of wanting to quit and go home within the group. From there on the portages got easier, until we hit the South Fowl-Pigeon River portage. Quite a bit of deadfall and a poorly marked trail made it very difficult to follow. One of my fellow campers got heat stroke, we decided to turn around and go back to the lake, all over the course of several hours. Eventually we walked the canoes down the shallow/rapids section of the river that the portage was to avoid. We made our way to the Grand portage and finished the trip strong.

It was a trip of a lifetime, definitely had a strong effect on me though still nothing hugely life changing. I still had the canoeing bug and I couldn’t wait for the next year, I had to do another trip.

After the 14 day canoe trip, I immediately knew I wanted to return to camp. I had heard a buzz about this “Nor’Wester” thing, a 30 day trip, by invitation only, I hoped I performed well enough on the previous trip to get invited on one of these. Though the Nor’Wester has several forms, in backpacking, rock climbing, or canoeing, I was strictly a canoer then, I didn’t even consider that backpacking or rock climbing might be enjoyable. Truthfully, I probably wouldn’t have enjoyed either of those activities, it wasn’t until after 2001 that I became a backpacker, and just recently did I get into climbing. So when the invite finally came in the mail in the winter of 2000, I immediately signed up for MCNW (Men’s Canoe Nor’wester) ’00 on the Bloodvein River.

It was a long winter of anticipation, but eventually June came around and I was back in the only place where I felt like I belonged, Camp Menogyn on the shores of West Bearskin Lake. There was much more preparation involved than the previous trip, more route planning, more food to back, a poster to make, and most importantly, whitewater training. The Bloodvein is a whitewater river, we had to learn the skills that we would need to navigate the technical rapids we would encounter. Training came in many forms, videos, instruction, diagrams, practice on the lake, a game of Mortimer, and finally, a couple days of paddling the St. Louis River, one of Minnesota’s only whitewater rivers.

Then it was a long drive to Red Lake Ontario where our 22 day canoe journey through the wilderness. The entire trip went quite smooth, no big blowdowns, no Polar Bear attacks (we’ll get to that one), just an overall good time paddling the river. Our expedition took us through the Woodland Caribou Provincial park, a beautiful wilderness area in the West Central Ontario. We rarely came across people, the people that we did meet were always very friendly and a welcome distraction from the group of 5 people that took up ever other moment of our time. Even the large group of nude sunbathers were friendly enough, if you count a group of about 10 scrambling for anything to cover up with, with bright red faces hiding behind trees, friendly. That’s what you get for laying naked in the middle of a portage trail.

The only other group of people that stands out as significant, was a group of 3 trail angels that couldn’t have come at a better time. It was a cold miserable rainy day (back when I had an awful raincoat), we were struggling to find a decent place to camp, when we came across a fisherman. Wow, we hadn’t seen people in 10 days, so we asked him if he knew of any decent campsites nearby. He vaguely directed us towards an island and was on his way. So we started paddling that direction and it wasn’t long before he came back and invited us to his cabin. Alright, now we’re talking, there was a group of three guys, all from Minnesota on their annual fishing trip to Canada. Thank you Bob Noise, John Bastable, and the other guy – I find it amazing that I can still remember their names after all this time when I can’t even remember what I did yesterday. We signed the wall of their cabin and enjoyed the company of somebody else besides our smelly tent mates. The next day, we continued on our way.

The trip went on without a hitch, we ran some awesome whitewater, had some amazing camp sites, had some awful campsites, I remember one in particular that remains at the top of my list for worst mosquitoes. When you can’t see out the mesh of the tent because it’s a blanket of mosquitoes, or when you can kill 20 with a single swat, or when the mosquitoes still find a way into the ‘bugproof’ tent through the zipper, you know they’re impressively thick, coincidentally that particular campsite also has a spot on another top list, the list for worst meals (that meal was only recently replaced at the top of the list by a breakfast I had in the canyons last year, thanks for that Jim) .

A strange happening from this trip. We came up to a portage trail and saw a black piece of cloth. We picked it up and soon figured out it was a nice Patagonia rain coat, though it was a bit worn, a few holes in it had been chewed by mice getting at the candy that had been in the pockets. As we dug through the pockets to figure out who the jacket might belong to, we found a handle to a Lexan cup, very similar to the cups that we had been using. In fact, the handle from my cup was missing, dun dun dunn, it was an exact fit. Ok, that’s kind of spooky, I guess that tells us that this jacket is from the Menogyn group that passed this direction the previous year. Andy, our guide, recalled a story from Danny that he had lost his raincoat last year on this exact route, well that makes sense. Crazy that nobody had been at that particular location for an entire year.

Our journey eventually brought us into the small village of Bloodvein Manitoba where we got on a ferry and took the ride to Pinedock Manitoba, where, guess who, was waiting to pick us up! Danny! “Hey, we’ve got something for you.” followed by a “That’s my rain coat! No Way!” Then we were on our way back to camp, then back home with memories to last a lifetime, and hopes of getting invited back next year for the big one, the Hommes du Nord, (French for Men of the North). Stay tuned for my recollection of that journey.