After our wonderful day of rest, we paddled to Fort McMurray and claimed our food boxes, which always give us a good feeling knowing we had enough food for another three or four weeks. I had lost a water bottle a few days earlier when I dropped it in a huge block of ice so I bought a two liter bottle of Sprite for replacement. By the time I had drunk it and eaten two packages of cookies, my stomach was about to revolt—time to get out of town.
Not far downstream we saw a mama bear and two cubs. Doug drifted silently towards the bears who were rooting under some logs. They were so preoccupied that Doug got very close before they ran away. Because they are so quiet, canoes are great from which to see wildlife—bear, moose, coyotes, fox, many beaver, and an occasional deer.
About two minutes after we stopped to camp on a beautiful beach, we were swimming. Byron let out a whoop and took a flying dive ending in a beautiful belly flop; so spectacular we requested an encore so Doug could get a picture. The sandy river bottom and cool water were delightful.
We had gradually switched from cooking on our gas stoves to cooking over a fire. Campfires became an important part of our experience, and we built one almost every night. For one thing, white gas was expensive and fire cheap. Also, cooking over a fire added excitement when the grill flipped and dumped three or four pots into the fire or a pot boiled over putting out the fire. Often we burned a hand when forgetting how hot a pot handle becomes.
We sat late around the fire, thinking and dreaming and discussing deep thoughts. Everything seemed so clear and simple. The problems of an entire world could be solved easily in front of a fire for ideas and thoughts come easily, conversation is natural and relaxed, and no one tries to impress others with superior arguments or knowledge. Conversation flows like the river: sometimes a steady flow of words, sometimes fast and lively as the rapids, sometimes cascading into a deep still pool of silence.
Mosquitoes arrived in force as the sun set. With completely calm air, the mosquitoes took full advantage to launch an attack on three unprotected canoeists. We didn’t stay unprotected long—out came our defenses: mosquito repellent and netting rather than the tent as we had become very partial to sleeping in the open air.
Just the weather we were experiencing made this trip worthwhile. After a clear night, rain fell but by afternoon we had blinding sun and heat building to a big thunderstorm. But the day ended under sunny skies, and the wind had switched 180 degrees from north to south.
The wind became so strong we were almost held to a standstill by late afternoon. Remembering the mosquitoes, we chose an open windy sandbar for our campsite. The wind kept them away until after dark, and then the temperature dropped so low that they never showed up.
Just as the moon rose between a big spruce tree and a small silver cloud, I awoke and shifted my position so I could watch it comfortably. As the moon slowly slipped above the tree and lit up a tiny cloud, the music of the night played softly on the cool night breeze. An owl hooted across the river. A fox barked. Waves lapped the shore and I could almost hear the moonbeams dancing on the river.
… and the stars tumbled out, neck and crop, and I thought that I surely was dreaming, with the peace of the world piled on top (1).
Robert Service, The Call of the Yukon
When I next awoke, a thick fog blanketed the river, soaking my sleeping bag and making it generally difficult to get up. So far, fog in the morning had indicated sun in the afternoon, and this day was no exception. I sat on the shore and watched Doug and Byron disappear into the fog before I left. The fog shut away the rest of the world, and as I paddled down the middle of the river, it seemed like moving in a cloud, alone and high in the sky.
The fog burned off rapidly, and I cruised on in my little red canoe on the completely calm and empty river. Once I stopped to visit a badger who disappeared into his hole. He wouldn’t answer my knock so I guess he wasn’t the sociable type.
The Athabasca River had been fast and full of little rapids from Jasper to Fort Assiniboine. Then it became gentler, encased in a big valley until past the town of Athabasca where it kicked up its heels in a series of violent rapids. Past Fort McMurray it became much wider with a sluggish current, and the valley disappeared into a flat landscape.
We camped often on one of the many sandbars because the wind kept the mosquitoes down, and we easily found a spot for the tent. But sand always seeped into our sleeping bags and about everything else.
Because of the superb hot and sunny weather, I was getting a good sunburn, but we weren’t complaining. Later we would get plenty of the bad weather we had been expecting. As we neared the end of the Athabasca River and approached the delta where it pours into Lake Athabasca, the surrounding land became flatter and flatter with the last hill disappearing on the horizon. Although not majestic, the river became serenely beautiful bordered by light green cottonwoods, which harmonized with the dark coniferous trees. Doug said it right, “This is just plain pretty.”
We called it a day 45 miles from where the wind blew strong enough to almost stop our progress. I had been suffering from splitting headaches along with sunburn, and the sun beating down made my head feel as I it had been baked even though I wore a hat all day. Small irritations loomed much larger when I wasn’t feeling well, and everything Doug or Byron did seemed to irritate me. I was a complete pain in the butt not wanting to be with anybody and spending most of my time alone.
When Doug suggested we paddle all the way to Lake Athabasca next morning, I became very upset—a 45-mile day without much current to help. Normally I would have said, “Let’s go for it.” Now, though, I said, “I don’t really want to, but if you’all want to, let’s go ahead.”
Doug said, “I’d kind of like to. You know, sit on the shore and watch the sunset. It would be nice.
I replied, Well, okay, but don’t worry about me if I don’t show up till tomorrow morning.” Under my breath I muttered, “Don’t worry about me if I don’t show up at all.”
I paddled along slowly trying to resolve problems in my mind. Maybe I should travel alone until | got my head straight. Several times I stopped to walk away from the river and visit one of the countless tiny lakes in the delta. Frogs laid their eggs in the water, and several times I stumbled onto a duck’s nest. Ducks swam lightly over the placid water, and humming mosquitoes filled the air. Spring had come to the north woods.
I stopped at a creek to get some clear, cold water to drink, but I never did get a drink. As I pulled into shore, a two-foot long fish, disturbed by my canoe, made a mighty leap and shot into the river. I had doubted the existence of fish after unsuccessfully trying so long to catch one. Now I saw one with my own eyes. I whipped out my rod, chose a red and white spoon, and started casting. Then I saw the fish nose back into the creek channel so I cast the lure directly in front of it and bang! The lure disappeared in a flurry of mud. The fish made a powerful rush into the river, but two or three minutes later I excitedly pulled a seven or eight pound fish onto the beach and hit it over the head. ‘Then I dropped the rod and jumped up and down yelling, “I caught a fish, I caught a fish!”
What a boost to my spirits! I was ready to paddle to the moon and back. Gone were all thoughts of paddling alone—I had to show my fish to someone. Besides, I didn’t know how to clean or cook it. I headed to the lake to find Doug and Byron.
As I neared the lake, the wind blowing toward me became colder and colder. I just knew the lake would still be frozen. We had anticipated that possibility and included extra food in the boxes we had picked up at Fort McMurray.
I met Doug and Byron on the shore preparing to set up camp. The lake was open as far as we could see. I called, “Why don’t you look in the snout of my canoe and see what I brought for supper.”
Byron wandered over and said, “Well, okay, but I hope it’s ice cream.”
“No,” I replied. It’s better. A fish! I don’t know what kind, but it’s pretty big. At least it’s the biggest I’ve ever caught.”
Byron reached into the plastic bag, pulled the fish out, and held it up. “A northern pike!” he exclaimed. “Would you look at that. His first fish, and it’s bigger than any I’ve ever caught.”
“I don’t believe it,” chimed in Doug. “You must have bought it from an Indian. What kind of lure did you use?”
“It’s still in its mouth. I don’t know how to get it out. It kept snapping and just look at that mouthful of teeth.”
All at once we said, “Let’s build a fire and cook it!”
And so ended the Athabasca River—three happy canoists eating grilled northern pike, drinking peppermint tea, and watching the sun set over a sea of golden reeds.