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Sea Kayak Trips Bulletin Board
Adventures WIthin the North Saskatchewan Watershed *LINK*
Posted By: Robert N Pruden
Date: Sunday, 8 June 2003, at 3:23 p.m.
Here is the first installment of my river trip report. I appoligise for its length. I'm working on the rest of it and hope to have it posted before I head off on Tuesday to complete my river journey. There are no culinary discussions in this segment because I really didn't eat anything during the first day.
Adventures Within the North Saskatchewan Water Shed
It’s May 30, 2003 and all of my preparation work for the big North Saskatchewan River trip has coalesced into a ready-to-go signal. I just came off shift after working through three nights and feel very tired but excited to finally be going. I have slept only two hours, went to bed at 0700h and awoke at 0900h. I had a cup of coffee to help me keep my slit-like eyes from closing altogether, toothpicks would be a useful accessory this beautiful sunny morning.
All of my equipment sits in the back room of the house largely packed and ready to go. Over the last few days Judy ahs been slowly collecting my things together, making little thoughtful purchases and packing items as she has seen me do. All told I have quite a load to stow into the kayaks hatches. There are eight dry bags with volumes of either 5 or 10 liters. Three of the bags contain my food supplies. The rest of the bags contain all of the equipment small enough to fit into them. My essential kayaking equipment remains in the storage compartments since I will need it while I am paddling. That equipment includes the rescue rope, my paddles, the pfd, dry top, gloves, spray skirt, gold pan, Lounge Lizard foam chair, kayak cable lock and paddle lanyard.
During the week prior to today I spent a lot of time prepping the kayak. I finally got her name painted on the hull. I chose the name: VJ Guardian Spirit. V.J. are the initials for the woman who solo-paddled the Northwest Passage with gentle bravery and gusto, Victoria Jason. Victoria symbolizes to me the spirit of persistent will to do what one wants to do and enjoy it all the way through. Guardian Spirit comes from a poem my youngest daughter, Lydia, gave to me on Father’s Day, 2002. The poem reads:
I am the weaver of dreams
I am the dream keeper
I gently walk through your sleep
and place visions in your heart
I travel of soft night winds
Through the land of Dream Spirits
I protect you while you sleep
I am the Guardian Spirit
The Guardian Spirit of your dreams.
I developed a technique to do the lettering for the name using electrical tape, a stencil, a pin, a craft knife and black Tremclad Rust Paint. The lettering looks sharp, straight and suits the kayak. I added three coats of varnish over the lettering to give it added protection against damage. I also added three coats of varnish to the deck and hull of the kayak to ensure excellent protection to the kayak finish from damaging ultra-violet light. I checked my hip braces and seat padding to ensure they were properly affixed and adjusted the seatback ties to their proper height. The waterseals were checked for adhesion and repaired where necessary. The newly named VJ Guardian Spirit was ready to go.
My mother, Hazel arrived at 1400h and with Judy’s assistance helped load my equipment into the trunk of her Chevy Malibu. Mom is a little sensitive about her paint job so I had to take pains to avoid inflicting any scratches to it. When the equipment was loaded I carried the VJ over to the car and prepped the car for accepting its kayak burden by propping my gumboots on the roof to simulate a roof rack for a kayak. I do this by inserting one boot top into the other and aiming the toes so that they are facing the rear of the car. This allows some degree of aerodynamic efficiency in the configuration and keeps the boots from being sucked off the roof while in transit. I secured the VJ to the roof using assorted bungie cords, utilizing a redundant system in case of a primary failure.
Once the VJ was attached I broke the news to mom that I would be driving. For some reason she is a little sensitive about other people driving her prized pretty car. Once I explained how wind could shift the VJ in transit and cause a startle reaction that could initiate a chain reaction accident she had no problems turning the keys over to me. As I started the car I became a little overwhelmed that it was happening. I was on my way to the Saskatchewan Crossing about to begin a dream trek that would see me paddle from high in the Canadian Rockies all the way to Churchill, Manitoba on the stony shores of Hudson Bay. If you saw my face at that time you would have seen a huge grin as I took extra care to avoid an accident as I turned onto the street that would lead to the main arterial route that would lead me to the highway to my dreams.
The drive to the mountains included regular stops at Tim’s for coffee and Timbits. When I got to Rocky Mountain House I stopped at Tim’s for the usual. As I was being served by Jason Graham he asked if we were heading up to the mountains to do some camping. I explained to him the extent of my trip. Jason was immediately surprised by the concept and made a spot decision to sponsor me. He gave me the coffee, orange juice and Timbits for free. He was thrilled to hear someone was daring to take on such a journey and wished me well as I drove away. We were all smiles in the car as we absorbed the welcome blessing for the trip and headed over to the local detachment of the R.C.M.P so I could register a Wilderness Travel Report. Jason’s benefaction cleared away some of the gray uncertainty I had been experiencing in daymares regarding this trip. The origin of the daymares, of course, centered on my failure to pull the trip off last year. My mind had been roiling in ominous gray uncertainty because of these daymares. I could not stop images of being swept away along gray water around unseen less predictable curves through turbulence that swept me unstoppably towards hidden but certain danger. In this daymare the weather was cold with a sky that was very heavily overcast, gray and threatening storms. I was compelled to do the paddle, couldn’t stop myself even though I knew trouble was almost certainly waiting around one of the curves I had to paddle through. Jason’s cheeriness and the sun’s brilliance filled my heart with the sense of peaceful ease I needed before I started this trip.
At the R.C.M.P. building I met with Constable Leanne S. Scott who asked me questions while she filled out the required form for me. When I told her my telephone number she asked me if I lived on the southside of Edmonton. I acknowledged that I did and added that I lived in Alendale. She looked into my eyes and said; “Get out!”. I added that I lived on 68th avenue. She said: “Get out!” again and then smiled as she told me where she lived when she was growing up. She lived in the Pleasantview community just 10 city blocks straight south of where I was living. It turned out that we both went to Strathcona C.H.S. albeit years apart. She was an ’84 graduate while I had graduated in ’78. What a small world we live in. I left her at the receiving end of well wishing and good lucks. Wow!, another omen of good feeling and fortune. Things were turning out well for the trip. The gray edge of my daymare slipped further back into the eddy of my mind.
During the drive from Rocky to the Crossing we spotted many animals. There were elk, deer, mountain goats, large birds of prey, mountain sheep and a strangely unafraid coyote that lingered on the highway as cars stopped to snap photos. I figure the coyote was hungry and knew that if it lingered long enough someone would toss it a morsel of food. Once we arrived at the Crossing I stopped at the put-in point at the Ranger Station and met with Remmy who came out of one of the ranger’s houses to learn what I was doing there. When I explained who I was he recalled my disaster story and knew who I was. It seems the story of my near-fatal adventure from last year is going the rounds at the kitchen tables of the park rangers. Remmy wished me good luck on my trip. He would not be there for the launch because he was scheduled to take a two-week wilderness-training course in Banff and would be leaving the next morning.
The river at the put-in looked good. Everything was falling into place for a good start to the trip. We left for Jasper where we would be staying for the night before the launch. I couldn’t get a room at the Crossing Resort because I had waited too long to book a room. I love Jasper and I love driving through the mountains so I had no problems driving to Jasper that night and returning for the launch the next morning. We stayed at the Mount Robson Inn and had dinner at Kontos. Kontos serves up a varied menu of deliciously prepared meals. We consider ourselves regulars at Kontos as we dine there once each year as we visit Jasper during the summer or winter months.
I had minor troubles falling asleep at the Robson. I had a warm shower to ease my tensions and give me a warm start to my nightly snuggle. I figure it took about 1-½ hours before I finally fell asleep. I woke up all too soon with butterflies in my stomach as my mind relived that gray daymare. We quickly prepped for the trip to the launch point and headed out. The drive back to the Crossing was comfortable but the day was gray just like in my daymare. Things were not looking up as I had hoped for warm sunshine. At the rangers station the day was grayer with heavier clouds but no rain. I had an ominous sense of impending difficulty but what form that difficulty would take I knew not. I drove the car as close to the river as I could and unloaded the kayak as Judy, my mom and Lydia carried the equipment bags to a small shallow channel of the river. I carefully tied down what I needed on deck and stowed the rest in the VJ’s hatches. I paused to hug Judy and my mom and thanked them for all the support they offered me with this dream of mine. When I was ready to go I got Lydia to sit in the kayak as I towed it over to the main current. Lydia got up and jumped to shore while I carefully lowered myself into the cockpit. The current was grabbing at the VJ’s stern trying to rip it along and into the main current.
I held my position and looked to see where everyone was and remember what they looked like. Judy was crying a little looking fairly red-eyed. My mom was half smiling with worry. Lydia was looking somber as if she had her own worries about how successfully I would make it to the meeting point. We planned on meeting at Preacher’s Point, some 32 kms downstream so that the girls would know I got through the first part of the trip. As I bent my thoughts to the river and maintaining control I released the VJ, myself and my dreams to the rivers swift current. I suppose if ever time traveled in currents now was the time. I smiled soberly as I paddled hastily to maintain control in the turbulence of the headwaters of the North Saskatchewan River. The first curves were easily executed with water levels high enough to flood the braided gravel beds I had expected. That meant that the initial section of this trip should be relatively easy.
The river wound its way through a multi-channeled route of low gravel banks and wide-open mountain meadow. I met no real difficulties through this aspect of the trip so I spent my time looking at scenery and watching out for bears. No bears! No worries! Eventually the low gravel banks rose to a height of at least three feet and dropped straight down to the water. The current increased in velocity noticeably and I began to see white water in the form of standing waves varying in height from less that one foot to as high as 2 ½ feet. The surface water became worried full of chop that at times swamped the deck or battered the hull. I maintained a course to take me around the white water to try to keep the water off the deck. A few times I rounded a curve only to find myself uncontrollably heading towards the white water so I had to run through it and pray there weren’t any large rocks causing the waves. Protecting the integrity of the hull was my main concern until I got to the Abraham Lake. I saw little scenery except the high mountains due to the high gravel banks. What little I did see was just more gravel with assorted vegetation growing in-between the rocks. I predicted that I should make it to Preacher’s Point within three hours. As I rounded a corner at the three minute mark I spotted my mothers dark gray Malibu. As soon as I saw it I shouted out a joyous “YAWP!” and waved with all my might. I was so elated that I made it through what I thought was the worst the river had to offer me unscathed. As soon as I lowered my waving arm I saw a little dark body shoot appear as if by magic beside the car and shoot down the gravel access road to the river. Shortly after the dark spot began moving tow other lighter colored spots appeared and began moving towards the gravel access road as well.
I knew the little dark spot was Lydia so I shouted her name and waved again with wide sweeps of my stinky wet neoprene gloved hand. The river took a turn and threw me into some two foot standing waves so I had to quickly grasp the paddle and hold the bow true to its course straight through the rapids. I could plainly see Lydia, Judy and my mom but I had to maneuver the kayak around a couple of large gravel bars before I could locate an eddy large enough to accept the VJ. Once I found what I was looking for it was a real effort to steer the kayak out of the current. I had to bring the bow around to portside just at the right moment and paddle with all my might to escape the sucking current and the risk of being side-swept over a braided gravel bed just to my right.
I rode the VJ up into the eddy to settle into the fine stick of the silty bank. Lydia had her shoes off instantly as I docked and was hugging me as quickly as I could unload myself from the VJ’s tight quarters while we both slowly sunk in the silky mud. My mom and Judy had huge smiles on their faces. I could see the relief they felt and the joy for my own good feelings as we all realized that I was finally making my dream come true. My mom snapped off a few pictures of me posing beside VJ and or Lydia as I held my paddle up beside me. We chatted about my adventures so far. I let them know that I figured I would set up my first nights camp on the very isolated and desolate gravelly south side of Abraham Lake. The next day I would paddle to the BigHorn Dam and make the portage. After the portage I would paddle until it was time to put-out, which turned out to be at 2000h. I didn’t know how long the portage would take but I wrongly estimated roughly 1 ½ - 2 hours. Tomorrows portage would end up being a grueling four-hour endeavor.
The time came quickly for me to get going again so I hugged everyone and thanked them for their support once again. I gave Lydia an especially long tight hug because I neglected to do so when I initially launched at the Crossing. I climbed into the VJ, spun her around to face the current then edged forward. As soon as the bow caught the current I cranked out a few portside strokes to avoid being turned by the current into the gravel bank and I was off like a shot. Judy told me later that I moved so quickly I was almost out of sight by the time they got back to the car.
Once on my way the going immediately got tense. As I rounded the first curve I encountered some of the largest standing waves I would meet throughout the mountain section of my river tour. Two of the waves had to be almost 2-2 ½ feet tall, maybe more, from trough to crest, they changed as quickly as I blinked. I could not avoid the rapids and as the current threw me towards them I began to rotate sideways. I struggled to hold the bow straight and shot right through the center of the rapids. The bow bucked and heaved as it rose above the first big wave then dove below the next. Crazy water swept over the deck and washed over the spray skirt as the VJ’s bow rose to meet the next wave. I took spray in the face but my sunglasses were wrap-arounds so I got nothing in the eyes. I leaned to the right to try to give the next wave the flat of the hull and get the bow to ride over the top but it was too big and another wave washed over the decks. Fortunately the lean combined with a few strong deep strokes portside was enough to cause the VJ to veer out of the main current and settle into a still fast but less chaotic section of the channel. I was thrilled to be out of the turbulence and thrilled to have made it through like a pro. I said to myself: “Now that’s what I’m talking about!” I smiled big while I kept my eyes on the river ahead. I would eventually find out that travelling alone in the wilderness is very conducive to talking to oneself. I would eventually do a lot of chattering not only to myself but the river, the wildlife and especially to the weather and not in especially amiable terms with the latter.
I had a tough time finding my way out of the river channels onto the lake proper. There were so many channels that went this way and that. I knew I was following along side the lake because I could see it occasionally when the terrain flattened out but I was locked in the channels to the north of the lake. Eventually the channel I was in opened up to the lake. I gasped out in awed admiration when I first saw the lake. There was no wind and the waters surface was like glass. As suddenly as I escaped the channel I entered a realm of peace and quiet where the VJ’s keel cut a smooth quiet path through mercurial ether. I had a lot of trouble continuing with the paddling because it was disturbing the peace that was settling within my spirit so often I stopped, glided, listened to the quiet and absorbed. There were geese and ducks here and there. There was the detritus of dead tree branches floating along subtle currents. Here and there I encountered whole trees which had lodged into the lakes bottom by their long dead roots, half of which rose to the sky in a tangled mass of inverted subterranean sculpture. I used my paddle at times to test the depth of the west end of the lake and found it to be less than a foot deep in many places. I paddled steadily southeast with very quiet gentle strokes as the peace offering of the lake began to permeate my stressed mind. The North Saskatchewan river was saluting my success at passing through its wilder side undaunted and undamaged.
The evening sky was heavy with gray to dark blue rain cloud lending a washed out gray hue to the landscape. The eerie gravel banks of the lake showed absolutely no life. They rose high out of the lake at varying angles ranging from 20 degree slopes to slopes so steep I doubt I could have climbed up them for the gravel. Often there was no place to land because the shore would drop off a few feet straight into the water. Occasionally small sections of the banks would suddenly let go with the startling rattle of tumbling rocks as the banks gave way to continued erosion. Whenever that happened I would usually be caught off guard. I’d jerk my head around to see what was happening as I fought to keep my heart from jumping out of my mouth. It took a while for me to get used to those sounds and it was a relief when I finally did. The tree line was about 100 meters above the steep gravel shores, sometimes higher. The trees were evergreen rising from ground cover laden with thick moss and very green vegetation. It looked rich but dark and daunting. I was in the middle of bear country, a thought that permeated every look I gave up the high slopes towards the verdant forest. Eventually I entered the middle section of the lake where the wind picked up as it funneled through a gap in the mountains on the other side of the lake. I began to have troubles keeping the VJ on a straight course and so I began to look for a level place to put-out. I paddled along the south shore keeping an eye on possible landing sites. There were a few but I also considered that I wanted to be closer to the center of the lake when I launched in the morning.
I paddled for another hour yet saw only two possible sites with easy put-out points. At the end of the hour I found a good location that was exactly half way along the length of the lake and in a fairly windy section of the lake. By that time I was so tired, wet and cold that I cared less about the wind and more about just getting the tent set up and laying in a warm sleeping bag. I landed, pulled the VJ out of the water and immediately yanked down the front of my pants to let out an immensely enjoyable and relieving stream of steaming piss while I stood there and admired the scenery. I was facing several high mountains shrouded in their own weather systems of heavy cloud hanging at the midriff in looming darkness engulfed by an eerie quiet broken only by the gusts of cool mountain air. I was, for a few brief moments, in my element, exactly where I’d hoped to be. It is interesting how a man can forget everything, the cold, the misery and the stresses of a difficult time while he empties a bladder so ready to burst that it’s painful to move. Life has some pleasures that are so very basic and simple. Yeah!
Shortly after pissing I began to shiver and realized I was cold right through to the core. I had visions of hypothermia and realized I was standing in cool gusting winds soaked to the skin. I moved to begin setting up the tent in order to escape the wind. In short order I was shivering uncontrollably and knew I had something else to do. I recalled the Victoria Jason had a similar problem after a particularly difficult day of paddling in the Northwest Passage. She changed into dry clothes and immediately because warmer so I did the same thing. I felt so much better I slowed down and took more time to prepare the nights camp. I opened my bow storage compartment only to find it partially flooded. There was at least a gallon of water in there mixing with my dry bags. I panicked as I pulled out my wet dry bags fearing I had lost my food rations to the water. As luck had it, the dry bags did what they were supposed to do. Everything in the bags was dry. I used my cockpit sponge to sop up the water and wipe the compartment dry. No wonder I had difficulties controlling the kayak during he last couple of hours on the water. It turned out that I simply forgot to tighten the webbing straps that secure the hatches to the deck once they got wet. The webbing stretches when wet and with all the white water I ran through, the water pressure of the rapids forced water under the hatches. From that point on I was more careful to keep the hatches more tightly secured.
While I was setting up camp I pulled out a PowerBar and munched it as I worked. The PowerBar was delicious but all I was interested in eating. I had eaten almost nothing today and because of fatigue was not very hungry at all. The wind was slipping under the fly of the tent so I gathered large rocks and laid them out in a vee-shape at the leading edge of the tent to deflect the wind. Thanks to Victoria again for that idea. I pulled out a Guinness once the tent was properly set up and toasted my friends at home and at the GBBS who offered me so much great advice. The Guinness tasted like a heavenly elixir and I savored it to the last drop. I scouted out the nearby area a little to see if there was more to the area than just wildly tilted gravel beds. I found the plastic cover to a battery case for a motor boat slowly being buried by wind-borne grit. Other than that it was all gravel and silt.
I was feeling the chill a little more so I headed back to the tent and carefully inserted myself feet first into it. The tent is a Microswift Walrus 1 ½ man sleeping space and that’s all the room there is in that tent. I cannot sit up and write; I have to lay on my stomach and prop myself on my elbows. The tent is as long as I am so it just fits me. Its aerodynamic ground-hugging shape deflects wind and keeps it from being blown around. I kept my ditch kit, knife, a light, bear bangers and flares, map/journal bag, GPS, cameras and clothes bag in the tent in case of emergency. If I was going to have to flee because of an unforeseen problem I wanted to be prepared. I had trouble keeping warm so I dug into my clothes bag and pulled out my fleece shirt and hiking socks. The socks are double lined and had the immediate effect of making my feet toasty warm.
I attempted to do some writing in my journal after checking my location with my GPS and map. I was so tired I could barely pull of many sentences before I put it back into the watertight envelope and zipped up my sleeping bag. I snuggled into a comfortable position and closed my eyes, and listened to the fump-fump-fump-fump of the wind as it strummed the tent fly. Almost as soon as I closed my eyes the rain came. It started out as a spotty light pattering and grew only slightly heavier throughout the night. I spent my time listening primarily to night sounds of weather and passing vehicles that traveled the David Thompson Highway on the other side of the lake. The sounds of the traffic only heightened my sense of isolation. I couldn’t stop certain thoughts from flashing across my brain. I wondered what the hell I was doing out there. I was laying on a cold, gusty, wet, desolate lake shore on a pile of rocks risking possible bear attack on an isolated side of the lake. There was no possibility of help if I had a problem. I could have been sleeping at home on my warm comfortable safe bed surrounded by comforting urbanities. I had to remind myself I was there to experience the wilderness and that I especially wanted to stay a night on the rocky shores of Abraham Lake. I was not consoling myself very well with anything. I also realized that I was going through the process of deurbanization. I was forcing myself to evolve into a wilderness survivor and I knew the process would not be so easy during the first couple of nights. I finally closed my eyes when the fump-fump-fump-fump and rat-a-tat-tat of the pelting rain became comfortable enough to me to be mesmerizing. My head, arms and torso were emitting a comfortable amount of heat from the day’s struggle that allowed me to find a comfort zone peaceful enough not to care about anything more than simple sleep. Tomorrow would be a new day with the excitement of discovery and further exploration of the river I have always lived by.
Robert N Pruden
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