Joint Services Hood River Expedition 2001: Part 2

In Part 1 I described the expedition organisation, the training, our flight out to Canada and the beginning of our trip down a white water Arctic river that was very obviously in full spate. The story left off as the weather was turning for the better with the Wilberforce Falls a day or so ahead.....

The weather began to pick up just as we entered the Wilberforce Hills, with a far-blue sky developing and a quality of light that made it next to impossible to judge the scale of the astonishing landscape of low bare rock hills and moraine scarps around us. Until then, on the river, we had always very clearly been going downhill with the skyline steadily falling away in front of us. Now for the first time we found ourselves hemmed in by a skyline of ancient worn hills. The river was still moving us along quickly but instead of a continuous bouncing chop down a single channel we were now picking our way through a maze of widely braided channels with the outer banks 500m or so apart.

We stopped at the one human feature marked on the map, an old prospectors’ camp, finding no sign at all of what had gone before. We did some fishing in the clearer waters of a minor tributary - with only very little success. These northern rivers have a reputation for good fishing and we had hoped to improve our diet beyond interminable repeats of ‘cabbage roll’ and ‘meat balls’, but not today. The Hood itself was carrying a fair burden of rock flour from erosion upstream and this seemed to be to blame.

On the skyline ahead of us some rose-coloured cliffs appeared. As we closed on them we discovered that they enclosed a wild stretch of rapids immediately upstream of the Wilberforce Falls. We were about to see one of the wonders of the world. We were also about to have a pig of a portage in temperatures hovering in the mid 30s C.

These falls, 180’ high in all with 3 drops down one side of an island & 2 on the other, lead to a narrowly incised canyon 6km long, and were a major highlight of the trip. A real wonder of the world and called the ‘Niagara of the North’, we had this astonishing sight to ourselves for the 3 days it took us to get all our kit portaged down. Or rather, not quite to ourselves, as the air temperature had steadily been rising & that bane of life in the Arctic, the Barren-lands mosquito, had come to life. These were to inject a degree of misery into our experience.

We reached the rapids above the falls in mid-afternoon, beached the boats and wandered down-slope over broken ground to do some sightseeing. Steve was very keen to have a good look at the canyon and the supposedly unrunnable rapids which coursed through it. For this reason alone we had drysuits hidden in our kit to replace the standard uniform of pertex and fibrepile we had been using.. We had access to a single previous trip report where these rapids - seven major series of features in series and no way out save at the bottom - had been attempted. Despite the reputation of those involved (Bill Mason’s son amongst them) they had failed spectacularly - both boats involved having come to grief, all four paddlers taking a swim in very dangerous circumstances. We also knew that they had attempted this at water levels very much lower than those we were experiencing.

Paddling these rapids would have been an attractive and challenging way of avoiding the horrendous portage. Several of the team joined Steve in peering over the edges of the cliffs, trying to examine each rapid system in turn. The access point was down a steep scree slope on the western shore: commiting in itself. It all looked do-able until we were able to peer over an edge at the run-out below a narrowly constricted turning section of canyon, the river running down a chute between vertical and overhung cliffs with no opportunity for a work-around. Instead of dropping down the chute and meeting the normal enormous wave train there was an astonishing whirlpool feature. No matter what imagination was brought to bear on this feature no possible line through it could be seen.

On returning to the boats it was late afternoon and we had a decision to make - to camp there and begin the portage down the canyon the next day, or move downstream with minimal kit and camp at the foot of the falls. The prospects of camping locally were very poor - both in terms of the waterlogged ground and attendant mosquitoes and the noise of the falls which would increase the bear hazard. So we moved the boats a safe distance from the river, securing them as usual from any wind that might blow up, sorted out the kit we needed and began the plod downstream. 6km or so further down we found the end of the canyon and an extensive flanking series of old eroded sand eskers on the valley-side. This made an ideal camp with spectacular views upstream to the canyon and downstream towards the sea, still some 35km distant.

Later that evening some of us plodded back up the canyon, contouring high on the bordering hills, to bring down another load of kit. We found ourselves at a reasonable hieght with a wonderful view lit by the light of the midnight sun, turning hills to the far north of us (we later paddled around them as they formed the backbone to the Banks Peninsula on Arctic Sound) flaming red. It was a pure, exceptional place to be. In all, that day, we had paddled 30km and then walked a further 30km over trackless terrain - 12km of this with 100lb sacks. Temperatures hovered in the mid 30s until late evening and the mosquitoes were out in force.

The following two days settled into a pattern. We would rise slowly and move upstream to the Wilberforce Falls to look at them afresh, crossing to the other bank or ferrying to the island in midstream, revelling in the astonishing sight. On the first day we found ourselves close to a family of grizzly bear - a mother and two cubs. Although we were treated to the best sight of bear possible - that of their rear ends disappearing over the horizon at a great rate - it underlined the hazard and we kept well clear of that area for the rest of the day. Later on we would sort out a load from the remaining stache and carry it downstream to our camp. We made our way carefully, all too aware how easily we could come across a bear with little notice to it or us in the very tightly folded terrain.

This was an arduous portage completed over several days and we were all deeply fatigued. Between the heat and the mosquitoes we certainly did not find any opportunity for rest. The temperatures remained high throughout and we were looking forward to getting under way again, and head for the sea.

The last stretch of the river was through lower lying terrain, but the river itself had cut a deep channel into sands and gravels and as we travelled we often found ourselves overhung by steep 40-50’ cliffs of sandy material that didn’t look altogether stable. We discovered it was frozen solid not far below the surface. The weather steadily deteriorated again into grey skies and drizzle, reminding us of a potential trap ahead where strong winds and heavy seas could easily see us trapped in Arctic Sound a long way from our goal. There were a few big bouncy rapids then a long slack section held back behind the last major feature, a 15m high ramp. We lined the laden boats down through a steep foaming side-chute and set up camp on a mid-stream sandbank not far below - hoping that it would offer some relief from the bugs. It didn’t, but never mind. We slept soundly.

The following day we were headed to the sea, and after following a sneak route around the last rapid - a series of shallow ledges - we found ourselves paddling out between the shallow sand bars of the estuary. We had decided earlier in the day that if we found good sea conditions we would work to get out of Arctic Sound and escape the potential trap it offered if the prevailing north easterlies were to blow up. As we moved out into the Sound we found ourselves crossing a sluggish calm, but behind us and to either side leaden skies were developing and we suspected that another storm system was on its way. This encouraged us forward with every expectation that we were soon to meet a heavy swell coming in at us from the Arctic seas beyond.
We thankfully never found these heavy seas and as we reached our farthest point north, Wollaston Point at the northernmost tip of the Banks Peninsula, we found ourselves instead resting atop an almost sublime seascape. There were no mosquitoes, its true, and we were very tired, but it was special beyond that. There was not a breath of wind. The sea was a mirror calm. Without any discussion we simply stopped, 100m or so offshore.

How long we all sat there quietly absorbing the place I don’t know - it was timeless. Ringed seals were bobbing up around us and giving the occasional warning splash. Occasionaly a flight of big heavy Eider would wing past. The sea was a mirror calm. The coast bound only half of the horizon, and it was low with distance, rugged and wild. To the north there was open sea - looking out across Coronation Gulf, the North-West Passage of Amundsen. The sky in that direction was lit from below by great diverging pale sheets of light and we realised that were seeing an ‘ice sky’ - the reflected light from a ice-covered land or seascape over the horizon - for the first time. Beyond that extraordinary horizon lay Victoria Island. We felt as if we were sitting on top of the world - and at the time and eveno there were no words that can capture it.

By this point of the trip we each existed at several levels: at one level feeling a part of the land around us, travelling through it, watching it as its creatures watched us, and doing no harm; on another, enjoying the wonders of that landscape and the life round about; on another yet, enjoying each others company and the shared experience of a small tightly bound community on the move; but also at a very basic level often bone-weary and bitten! To this experience we were about to add dehydration!

That first day at sea only came to an end once we had paddled 50km to Algak Island, in Bathurst Inlet itself. Having been able to take the flow of the river for granted until now this 50km with fully laden Trippers was hard work - but we were glad to escape from the potential trap of Arctic Sound and get to a point where, no matter what sort of weather blew up, there was a sheltered corridor to the south. Our pick up was 5 days hence, where a float plane was to meet us at the small Inuit community that bears the same name as the Inlet.

Over the following days we moved quickly to the south until we were able to tuck in behind a line of astonishingly knife-edge ridge-backed islands which, from the map, we could see to run down towards the Inuit village. The vista was astonishing. At times we felt as if we were sitting atop a pingpong ball of sea, with the horizons dropping away on all sides of us. The sea was a Mediterranean blue and the coast around us faded out in the sun - we could see a very long way indeed in the perfectly clear air. The sea remained calm throughout & we were only able to raft together & put up a sail for about 3 hours on the whole trip. Without the sail it was a bit of a plod, & with temperatures in the upper 30s and a chronic shortage of fresh water we were all tired. But the place we were travelling through was superb - we had hoped for this but were shaken nonetheless.

On the way down the coast we found a promontory with a marker atop it. We beached the canoes and went ashore. What we found put us in a state of wonder. A 4m tall Igichuk - an Inuit cairn - appeared to be there to celebrate one of the most astonishing coastal views any of us had ever seen. A distant and very polarised sky, a deep blue sea, rugged rocky mountains bound by high steep skirts of talus, and in the distance the line of knife-edge backed islands protecting the way south. The Arctic colours of rock and lichen were subtle but profound.

We moved on towards our pick-up point. At the last moment had a little difficulty passing a series of shallow storm bars associated with the nearby Burnside Estuary. We landed and were at journeys end.

Despite the fact that this Inuit village is marked on most world maps it has a maximum population of 25 souls, but more often just 7. The Inuit were friendly and helped us find a campsite and fresh water - and right at the end of the trip one of us nearly came badly unstuck in quicksand whilst going solo in one of the Trippers for that water. We were weary, dehydrated, triumphant. Sadness was creeping in as we realised that we were finished with travelling. It was interesting to see just how faded our clothing had become - an interesting measure of just how much UV gets through at these high latitudes.

With a couple in days in hand we clambered around the local hills and did a short trip up through the Burnside Estuary to the remarkable falls at the foot of the river. Rob completed his 4 star assessment below these falls in one of the biggest eddy systems I have ever seen. A certificate to be proud of!

Colin Taylor