Aug 20, 2021
Our last night on the Mackenzie was spent on the delta. We broke camp for the final time. It was chilly, overcast and spitting rain. Three hours of paddling brought us to the edge, where the river meets the Beaufort Sea. It had taken us 31 days to paddle 1,000 miles north to the Arctic Ocean. It was August 6, 2001. It was a Monday, but days of the week had stopped mattering to us.
The weather turned progressively worse as we entered the Beaufort Sea. The sky was grey and stormy. The wind kept picking up. By six that evening we were still 28 kms from Tuktoyaktuk. We pulled into shore, cooked supper and debated whether to push on to Tuk or camp for the night. We were anxious to finish the trip. Though the weather was cold it was summer in the Arctic. Sunset was still past midnight so we had plenty of daylight. We decided to go for it. Almost immediately we regretted our decision.
We had to paddle sufficiently far from the shore to avoid the breakers. But the farther out the more we had to contend with ocean swells. We realized a storm was approaching. The swells were up to eight feet. Traveling horizontally across the swells made our canoes unstable. It was my turn in the stern that day. Few times in my life have required such concentration. Zaak and I were in one canoe. Ty and Eric in the other. If one of us flipped a rescue would be difficult. The shore looked far away.
By 10 pm we had made it to Tuktoyaktuk, but we still had to make it safely past the breaking waves. Curious onlookers gathered at the shore. Just what we needed for this tricky maneuver—an audience.
Ty and Eric were the more experienced paddlers and went in first, while we waited and watched. Soon their canoe was zooming into shore on the back of a wave. It looked like they were playing. I remember being annoyed. What were they doing?
What they were doing was desperately trying to keep their canoe straight as the waves picked them up and carried them. In my distraction the waves had pulled us closer to shore. Before I realized it two waves in quick succession finished us. The first wave turned us sideways. We leaned hard into the next wave, but it flipped us as it broke. Ty and Eric threw out all their gear on the beach and raced back out to rescue us, but by the time they reached us Zaak and I had managed to drag our canoe to shore. Our pride hurt more than anything. An ignominious way to end.
A family kindly invited us in for a late hot meal illustrating Ty’s belief that a community should be judged by its best example. We finally set up our tent in the twilight of 2 am. The wind was blowing so hard our tent was almost sideways, threatening to rip it to shreds. I slept peacefully. The trip was done.
From left: Zaak, Kris, Ty and Eric at Tuk in 2001.
The Cold Amazon
The Mackenzie River proper, runs just over a thousand miles and is the longest river in Canada. It is however preceded by the Peace and the Slave rivers bringing the total distance of its drainage over 2,000 miles. The entire system drains an astounding 20% of Canada. It is the second largest drainage area in North America, second only to the mighty Mississippi. It is our main Arctic vein.
The Mackenzie is regularly a kilometer wide and can range up to 5 kms wide. Its delta measures 4,700 square miles. A labyrinth of braided streams, swamps, lakes and forking channels. Without a map you can easily get lost.
The delta. Also the last trees we’d see. Only tundra from now on. By Zaak.
The upper reaches of the river are home to the Dene. To them the river is Deh Cho. To the north are the Inuit. To them the river is Kuukpak. Both names mean great river. The Mackenzie River was one of the overland migration routes when humans moved from Asia into North America 14,000 years ago.
By Zaak.
But migration routes work both ways. The first human migration up the Mackenzie irrevocably changed North America. The second human migration, this time down the river, signaled change again. Given the long history of the river it seems petty to name it after the first European, Alexander Mackenzie, to canoe its length—212 years before our trip.
By Zaak.
The river remains the main transportation route in the area. Most river towns depend on the Mackenzie for their connection to the outside world. By boat in the summer. By its ice road in the winter. Fall freeze-up and spring break-up isolates towns from supplies.
By Zaak.
Great Bear Lake and Great Slave Lake both flow into the Mackenzie, the latter its headwater. They are the eighth and tenth largest lakes in the world. Both lakes are remnants of the enormous ice sheet which covered Canada during the Ice Age. The biggest trout in Great Bear Lake weigh over 80 pounds.
Despite its reach the Mackenzie is relatively unknown and consequently relatively unspoiled. Unlike the Mississippi, the Mackenzie still cuts through true wilderness. A recent documentary rebranded the river—the Cold Amazon—attempting to communicate its importance to Canada.
By Zaak.
Tuk or bust
River life is beautiful in its simplicity. Eat when you’re hungry. Put on a sweater when you’re cold. Keep paddling.
By Zaak.
Beautiful, but not without its discomforts. The number of flying, biting insects in the north must be experienced. The moment one steps on shore thick swarms of mosquitoes, deer flies, and black flies descend. Answering nature’s call was uncomfortable. The first time digging a cat hole, squatting over it while your backside was attacked by bugs was a baptism by fire. You learned to be quick and efficient. Traveling on the water provided some relief. We took to staying on the water as much as possible. Paddling long into the evening.
Church of Our Lady of Good Hope. Fort Good Hope. By Zaak.
Other fauna were bigger, but less frequent. We saw deer. A big porcupine wandered into camp. Zaak saw a cougar. Ty saw a wolf. We got within 5 feet of a golden eagle sitting on a low bough. Fish were plentiful.
The trip was Zaak’s brainchild. In 1998 at age 22, he scribbled down 121 goals for his life. Canoe down the Mackenzie was Goal #33. Click the picture to see his other 120 goals.
The river had her moods. Like all big rivers she was powerful and muddy. The Mackenzie is a little too thick to drink and a little too thin to plough, the joke goes. Stretches of river had lots of debris to watch for. Though always moving it could appear as calm as glass. It could also have six foot swells in windy weather.
The Ramparts. 41-year-old Kris would not sit on a such an unstable looking precipice. 21-year-old Kris doesn’t seem worried. Day 18. By Zaak.
At the Ramparts the Mackenzie funnels to its narrowest and deepest point. For ten kilometers the river is corralled by a 130 foot canyon. You could feel the current pick up under the canoe. We found a young Black bear perched on a crumbling shelf at the base of the cliffs. He was stuck. He couldn't climb up and was obviously reluctant to jump into the powerful current. We would've helped if we could. Sooner or later he'd have to take his chances in the water.
By Zaak.
We passed into the Arctic Circle on Day 20 in the midst of 8 days of sunny, warm weather. The weather wasn't always so nice and we savoured every moment. In calm stretches of water we’d lash our canoes together and play cards.
By Zaak.
The poet, F. R. Scott, said of the Mackenzie, “A river so Canadian it turns its back on America.” This did feel like the quintessential Canadian trip. The canoe, icon of the Canadian wilderness, with its smooth lines. Carrying us ever north.
