Wilderness Challenge
By the end of the second day we reached the north most part of Lake Nipigon at the mouth of a small stream that flowed into the lake from the north. We camped there similar to the way we camped the night before. This time, I shot a grouse as we landed and we had chicken for dinner. There's something wonderful about these wild birds and the way they taste. This one was fat and in its prime mid-summer food source.
That night, the primary sound that I heard were the loons talking to one another on the lake. A familiar and welcome sound, though eerie. One time, when I got up to relieve myself, I went down by the water and in the moonlight, surprised a beaver. He slapped his tail in alarm and it scared me for a moment until I realized what it was and just laughed at my sudden adrenaline rush that stopped my peeing in midair. It was still nights in the wilderness like this after the mosquitoes had gone to bed that I cherished. I knew that all nights would not be like this--so peaceful. I had to be watchful and always alert. Even while sleeping.
But the stream was shallow and I was paddling against the current with the heavy undercarriage on board as well as Rocky. I soon found myself wading up the stream with Rocky by my side pulling the canoe until we had to portage to the next lake on the chart. The old trail was there but it was littered with sharp rocks and made narrow by many saplings that grew up without anyone cutting or trampling them down. Animal trails like this were widened by natives for 10,000 years or more until the French Voyagers came and widened them more. Now they were grown over with new growth and much harder to navigate.
I knew I had more than 100 miles ahead with many portages like this. Unless I ditched the canoe and made another travois or two, one for Rocky and one for me, I had little chance of making it all the way to Hudson Bay by winter. Losing the canoe would mean hiking around many lakes where I could make better time on the water and struggling through all kinds of obstacles without trails.
Eventually finding a river running into Hudson Bay would mean building a raft strong enough to run rapids. A daunting task I wasn’t tooled for any more.
We stopped for lunch and I dragged out the charts hoping for a solution. Fortunately, one came to me after I studied the maps. Instead of trying to go north to Hudson Bay, I could go east on foot, and then catch a river to Hudson Bay much further east, but in a way that would allow me to have a road to follow, followed by water all the way… First, north to Hudson Bay, and then be able to sail, like I did on the Great Lakes, all the way to the resort. A heavy weight came off my mind. We turned around and dragged my canoe downstream again until it would float and we were back to our camp from the night before for another night in that tranquil place by big water. More fish and fowl for dinner.
Took another day of sailing and paddling to arrive back where we had left three days earlier, but I was undaunted now, knowing that I could take Highway 11 all the way to the Albany River that would take us to Hudson Bay. The way was a lot longer, but a lot easier and insured that we could make good time, maybe 30, 40 miles a day.
The next day we were off on 11. Rocky by my side helping me pull as we navigated past little derelict towns that had cropped up in the 70 years since the highway was first carved through the wilderness with the railroad. We called it a night at a little town called Longlac, aptly named for the long lake that the glaciers had carved out like so many others in the region. I felt relieved. We were making good time and there was little wear and tear on the canoe. I knew I might need it for the entire journey. Dragging that canoe through the wilderness would have torn the bottom out of it. This way, I didn't even have to patch it yet.
The next day, we encountered the most dangerous animal so far this trip. Scoping ahead, I spotted a bull moose with a magnificent rack of horns still in velvet coming down the road directly toward us. I didn't want to tangle with him, so I grabbed Rocky by the harness and steered him with me to the left side of the road up against some trees and then, dragged him back into the brush behind the trees with me where I squatted down with my rifle and waited with my arm around Rocky, petting him gently and whispering to him to be calm. Rocky started to growl anyway because it was just part of his second nature.
Things got really tense as the moose got closer and we could hear both his feet clopping on the pavement like a horse and his breath huffing like a steam train from his nostrils. He was definitely going somewhere in a rather hurry, because he trotted right on by us without even noticing that we were there. A huge flow of relief came off my shoulders. We came out of the trees to see him still trotting down the road on his mission, whatever it was.
We made good time and perhaps even exceeded 40 miles that second day, finally stopping just before dark by a little lake for the night. I was sore from the long two days on the road and quickly fell asleep. Sometime around midnight, Rocky stirred and growled. I woke up and grabbed for my pistol because I knew something was up.
Rocky tore through the mosquito netting before I could stop him and I heard him tangling with another dog with ferocious growling and yipping as they tore into one another. As I crawled out of the tent, in my head light, I saw Rocky fighting with a wolf larger than he was and he was losing. I immediately fired behind the shoulders of the wolf hoping I wouldn't hit Rocky and dropped him. Rocky grabbed the wolf’s head in his teeth and shook for all he was worth a couple of times, and then fell back on his haunches, bloody and exhausted. I feared for his life.
It was hard to see how badly Rocky was injured, but I went to my first aid kit and got out some surgical tape and pulled together some of the deeper cuts that he had from the wolf's fangs. He was a good sport, although whimpering a bit, as I applied some alcohol and the tape to stop the bleeding. All of the wounds appeared to be superficial, but I didn't want infection to set in, so I let him lick them, because I knew that the saliva would help prevent infection. The alcohol would have tasted awful if I hadn’t substituted some of my moonshine long before.
I checked my electric perimeter and it was okay. Thankful there were no other wolves, just this one lone wolf. He had apparently sneaked under the wire and Rocky knew it. While they were fighting, they had both brushed up against that wire, probably intensifying their anger with each other. I gave Rocky some water and he gladly drank it. And then, he curled up outside our makeshift tent and went to sleep. I was glad because I didn't want him bleeding on all of our stuff inside.
The next morning, he got up stiffly and wagged his tail to greet me. I skinned the wolf and left the carcass there for predators that were already gathering in the trees near us--ravens. Their calls probably attracting foxes, wolverines and even lynx, to come feast. I didn't put Rocky in the harness that morning and he whimpered as he walked, but he easily kept up with me as I hauled our stuff down the road once more. The pelt of the wolf was wrapped, with the skin side out over the top of the canoe and my gear to dry in the sun.
Within about 10 miles and still in the morning, we came upon a weathered sign that said, Albany Creek, and I knew we were not going to have to walk anymore. I didn't know that I was wrong. There was ample water for about a half-mile with Rocky resting comfortably in the canoe as I paddled along with the current. And then, I heard a waterfall up ahead and knew we were in trouble because the chart I had showed two waterfalls followed by a mile of shallow rapids, called rounds on the Canadian charts.
The chart also showed another tributary about a half-mile to the east where there was a road that led to a dam blocking that tributary. I didn't want to leave the canoe and my food pack for bears to find, but I had to know what was there. I threw a line over the top of a tall tree, and dragged my food pack 20 feet off the ground. I figured that would do for the short time it would take me to check out the other tributary.
The going was rough through the young trees and berry brush. The reward was some ripe blackberries that I knew would attract bears and that raked at my clothes and irritated Rocky's wounds. I could tell by his whines when they grabbed at his fur. I cut down as much as I could, trying to make way for dragging the canoe. Before long, we came to the road, but it was gravel and grown-up with trees. Still it was easier going and we made it all the way to the dam that was overflowing with summer rains.
The spillway was shut, so almost no water was going downstream from that dam except during floods when it was obvious that the water had gone around the dam and eroded it partly away. I got up on the dam and took hold of the rusty crank. In spite of the rust, there was enough mechanical advantage so that I was able to open the spillway part way so that water began to flow down below into mostly what was rapids. Still, I knew that water would help me further down both by making the creek deeper and flowing faster.
We returned to the canoe and I was able to drag it back to that small road by mid-afternoon.
I remounted the canoe on the carriage and I was able to pull the canoe all the way to the end of the road, bypassing a lot of rapids by nightfall. I quickly got a fire going and made a hot meal for Rocky and me. We retired, tired for the night. Thankfully, we both got a good night's sleep with nothing but the hooting of owls in the night and songbirds waking us in the morning. Rocky was still stiff that morning, but he was obviously feeling better and his wounds were healing.
I ditched the carriage and wheels, hoping they wouldn't be needed any more and I began to both paddle where there was enough water and then jump out and pull the canoe wherever there wasn't enough water. It was wet, but refreshing, because the August heat, even in this part of the woods, was no friend to all this exertion. Rocky actually benefited from the cool water because it was soothing his healing wounds.
We probably made only 15 to 20 miles that day, but I was glad we were on the river. The water that came in from the other tributary really helped and I knew it would be good going from here on out. All I had to do was follow the current and paddle. What a relief!
