The Lockhart River is a broad curve of linked lakes: Artillery, Clinton-Colden, Aylmer, and MacKay Lakes connecting the Eastern Arm of Great Slave Lake to the rivers draining north and east across the Barrenlands to the Arctic Coast. As a route to the headwaters of the Coppermine, Back, and Hanbury-Thelon Rivers, the Lockhart River is the crossroads between the boreal forests of the Canadian Shield and the tundra of the Canadian Central Arctic. The great migration of the Bathurst caribou herd passes here twice yearly : in the spring, north to the calving grounds on the Arctic Plains, and in autumn, south to the shelter of the boreal forest. The movement of this great herd shapes the landscape.
The "Barrenlands" are those Arctic areas where the mean July isotherm is < 50F degrees. This critical point when summer temperatures are too cool to permit trees to consistently produce fertile seeds marks the approximate northern limit of trees. This "treeline" ranges from 68o N latitude in the Mackenzie River delta, to the southern end of Hudson's Bay at 52o N. The poor soil drainage resulting from the continuous layer of permafrost beneath the soil, the drying winds, and the lack of precipitation (< 10cm /year), create a unique "tree-less" environment. "Barrenlands" is a misnomer. Earnest Thompson Seton chose the term "northern prairie" to bette r characterize this region. The low rolling hills, the marsh and wetlands, the granite outcrops, and lakes, have much in common with the lush landscape of the Great Plains of North America.
My wife (Wendy) and I paddled 5 weeks and 180 miles from Warburton Bay in SW MacKay Lake (63"40' N/ 112"00"), to Outram Lakes (64"10' N/ 109'00") This was our first trip on the Barrens. Armed with plant and bird guides, it was for us an exploration of the tundra, rather than a marathon "racking up of miles." We met 4 other canoeists with greater ambitions than ours, in those 5 weeks.
We flew in, with our OldTown Discovery, by Beaver float plane on July 7th 1999. (The mid-portion of the lake had still been solidly frozen on June23rd.) Our pickup was on August 10th. At the beginning of the trip, sunset was at 11PM,with sunrise at 3AM, "dusk" was 4 hours long. By early August, sunset was at 10PM, sunrise at 5AM, with the brightest stars visible between midnight and 3AM.
Temperatures, on a few warm days were in the mid 70's (F). On cool cloudy days, (with a north wind) daytime temperatures were in the upper-50's. Early morning temperatures were in the 40's. "Wind-chill" temperatures on stormy days were in the upper 20's, with winds as high as 40 mph. Rainfall was light and usually brief. According to locals, it was a cool damp summer, with "autumn" arriving in early August - 3 weeks ahead of schedule.
The material below is from our trip notes.
July 7th,1999
11:30PM Flew out from Yellowknife at 8PM, 125 miles NE to Warburton Bay.
Earlier this afternoon I watched Ted & Frieda, a 70-ish couple from
Alberta load their 17 foot fiberglass Prospector canoe onto the plane.
Destination: Warburton Bay. The irony of our own 2000 mile pilgrimage
north from Wyoming to the "solitude" of the Barrenlands soon became a
running joke.
Their route was more ambitious than ours..East across MacKay and Aylmer Lakes, to the Hanbury Portage, then down the Hanbury-Thelon system to Baker Lake. A 500 mile/ 50 day trip. Their gear was a melange of home-made equipment and low-tech discount store gear; however, they were veterans of the Barrenlands, having paddled the Back, Kazan and Coppermine Rivers. Often I thought of them, and imagined how far down their planned route they would be.
July 8th
Morning is calm and windless, the bugs ferocious. I discovered half a dozen
black fly bites on my legs, the result of neglecting to tuck my pants' legs
into my socks. Although we carried an incredible supply of 95% DEET with
us, I found that what I really used the most was a Canadian made "bug hat,"
which rolled out from the visor of a baseball cap, and secured under the
arms with elastic straps. The black flies were a persistent sandstorm of
irritation, in the nose, ears, even under the eyelids. With the bug hat,
however they were merely a small nuisance. The bug jackets and pants we
also carried were less frequently used.
Paddled for 2 hours, covering 5 miles, until the wind began to pick up. We passed Ted and Frieda's camp about 10AM, and they waved as they passed us on the water at 11AM. In 10 days they would be passing our take out point.
We camped early on a sandy esker as a rain squall overtook us. These gravely -sandy ridges are the "upside-down" riverbeds that once flowed beneath the great glaciers of the Pleistocene. Elevated, snakelike formations, eskers often run 10 to 30 miles in length, 20 to 50 feet above the tundra. Wind-swept and snow free early in the spring, they create a route for the northern migration of the caribou, and offer respite from insects in the summer. Covered with spreading mats of Labrador Tea (Ledum groenlandicum), Crowberry (Empetrum nigrum), Prickly Saxifrage (Saxifraga tricuspidata) and Bearberry (Arctostaphylos uva-ursi), the large sandy areas on the top of the eskers provided attractive campsites.
A 2 mile hike along the esker top revealed an incredible braid of caribou trails, 12 inches wide, the ground trampled down to bare sand. We saw several large sets of caribou antlers, spreading 5 feet across. But we saw no caribou.
July 9th
We hauled the canoe over the esker, which separates our small bay from
Warburton Bay. Paddling eastward we were assisted by a strong west wind for
2 hours, until whitecaps begin to develop on the lake. Pulling into a small
lagoon we were surprised to see a bundled figure walking along the esker
top. Assuming it was Frieda, Wendy called out and waved. We headed for
shore, but "Frieda' was actually "Jon," from Port Townsend WA, who had been
on the Lake for 2 weeks, paddling a 17 foot wooden sea kayak, which he
designed, built, and sells from his business Pygmy Kayaks. Ironically his
wife's name was also Frieda..and he was as perplexed by Wendy's hail, as we
were in meeting another soul so soon on our great "wilderness voyage." Jon
worried about the Barrenland grizzlies and showed us his little
cap-pistol, which launched firecracker shells, to frighten away bears. I
thought of my 30.06 rifle and 220 grain bullets.
His route along the lake had been a sort of "island-hopping." His fear of bears made small islands a natural choice for campsites. He had seen no wildlife on the lake, and described an absolute lack of decent places to camp along his route, the island shores consisting of 10 foot high boulder mounds bulldozed up by the ice. As a result we changed our route to avoid circumnavigating Big Island with its rocky shores.
Again we camped on an esker top. Wendy found 2 old tent rings of stones, used to weight down the edges of the traditional Dene summer tents, perhaps from the 19th Century.
July 10th
Waited all day to depart, a strong north wind whipping the lake into
foaming whitecaps. Jon departed last night, preferring to travel in the
middle- of -the night calm. At 7PM the wind abruptly died down. Taking a
risk we paddled nearly 4 miles of open water, to the southern shore of
MacKay Lake. We chose a beautiful sandy beach for a campsite.
Although much of the landscape is tundra , there are still small clumps of dwarfed black spruce in sheltered locations. The area is carved up with caribou trails, but we still have not seen any caribou. At night I hear the sound of a single wolf calling.
July 11th
A warm cloudless day. Caught a 5 pound lake trout. Enough wood here to build
a fire and cook it in our Dutch oven. We see smoke plumes to the SW from
forest fires 50 miles distant, which we had noticed from the air when we
flew in.
I take a quick plunge into the lake, a very quick plunge. The water is incredibly cold, also very clear and sweet tasting. For our entire trip we drink straight from the lake. This is the first time in 20 years that I have dispensed with water purification.
Wendy sees 3 ptarmigan while hiking the hills to the South of us, and plovers whistle their melancholy notes near our camp. We miss the common loon (Gavia immer) with its maniacal and eerie calls, that was our constant companion while paddling in northern Saskatchewan, the previous two summers. The local yellow-billed Loon (Gavia adamsii), is much less loquacious and amusing.
In the calmness of the evening we play unwilling host to every insect within miles. At 8 PM, we have had enough, and decide to try evening paddling, hoping for respite on the water. The lake surface in some places is a solid mat of drowned bugs. Grayling cruise the surface waters gobbling at this feast, their dorsal fins slicing the surface water like diminutive sharks.
There is a splendid sunset at 11 PM as the sun dips into the lake. In the half light of dusk, the air cools, though not the ardor of the black flies.
July 12th
At midnight we spot four brightly colored cabins in a deep bay, almost 2
miles south of us. From a distance they seem picturesque, like a
Newfoundland fishing village. Cold and tired, we head towards them. We
have often noted that distance and desperation always increase the
attractiveness of many human habitations in the far north!
The collection of plywood shacks was Gary Jaebs's "Warburton Bay Outpost," a caribou hunter's camp used in September during the great southward migration of the herd. Deserted now, it became our home for the next 3 days as a fierce storm blew in from the Northeast with 40 mph winds.
July 13th
Strong wind continues, white-caps cover Warburton Bay. The sky has cleared,
but the wind howls unabated. Air temperatures are in the low 60's, but feels
much colder.
Behind the hunter's camp lies a small waterfall in the stream coming down from a large unnamed lake. A tundra boulder field surrounds the lake, with bleak granite cliffs rising 50-100 feet in the far distance. The area resembles the alpine areas in the Colorado Rockies beyond the treeline. Large areas are snowy with cotton grass (Eriophorum vaginatum) and the fragrant blooms of Labrador tea.
More rain showers in the early evening. At 730 PM we heard the sound of outboard motors, and headed down to the dock in time to see 2 aluminum skiffs with several canoes in tow, thumping their way through the waves. It was a group of Dene Indians, brought in by the weather also, and they appeared tired and very cold. I boiled some coffee while one of them got a propane heater roaring in our cabin, as we all stood around talking. One of them radioed Gary Jaeb at MacKay Lake Lodge (35 miles to the East) confirming their arrangements to be picked up by float plane the next day, about 20 miles further West.
Employed by the Dene Nation Land & Environment Council, they had been surveying historic and ancient Indian sites with 2 of their tribal elders, Modeste Sangris and Alfred Belangeau, preparing for a proposal to create a nature reserve in the area on Dene tribal lands. One of the younger natives, Noel Doctor, had a background in environmental sciences, and did the videotaping and GPS coordinates for the project. He marked for us the portage routes on the winter road to Portage Bay, whereby we could bypass the long exposed paddle around Big Island.
July 14th
Solid gray skies and high winds all night and into the morning. We spent the
day visiting with the Dene in the main building, while they did some repairs
to a hole in the wall where a wolverine had clawed its way in. We talked,
particularly about the recent diamond mines opened on some of the nearby
lakes by a multinational corporation on Dene land. There was a strong
conservationist tone to their comments. They left on a tight time schedule
at 4PM, in what can only be described as "mixed weather." We watched and
waved as their powered boats, canoes in tow, thumped across the waves.
July 15th
Wind began to lie down after 10AM, and we left at 1PM. Clouds continue to
clear, winds light, but still 2 foot swells as we paddle 5 miles east to
where the winter road crosses an esker.
The winter roads of NWT are a remarkable phenomenon. Extending several hundred miles to the north and northeast of Yellowknife, plowed, graded, and flagged, they create a temporary route north across the frozen lakes between January and March, allowing large trucks to bring in supplies and equipment. In summer, they cease to exist, except for some very short segments across eskers, connecting the lakes. These provide easy portage routes.
The weather remains cool, and the bugs are much reduced, even as the wind become still.
July 16th
Reached the south end of Portage Bay, after 2 short portages, taking six
hours to cover 5 miles. We camped on a high sandy esker near a small cabin,
its interior gutted by either a wolverine or a bear. A spectacular view
across the tundra.
July 17th
Paddled northeast along the shore of Portage Bay, to its union with the main
body of MacKay Lake. Granite cliffs form much of the shoreline. Seven miles
without seeing an area to camp, until here. We stopped as the wind
increased, on a spongy, peaty patch of tundra. As often happens, the wind
died down completely after setting up camp. We have covered 45 miles on our
180 mile route, and are about 20 miles east of MacKay Lake Lodge.
July 18th
Crossing Portage Bay was nightmarish. Our intended route was less than 1.5
miles, yet once we left the lee of the west shore a strong cross wind blew
down the middle of the Bay, and the waves quickly built to 3 feet, forcing
us to tack across the wind, nearly doubling the distance across the open
water. The eastern shore seemed to recede from us despite our vigourous
efforts to make headway.
We stop on the eastern shore for 5 hours, nowhere to camp, but with hopes of the wind subsiding. On the ridge to the South of us we see our first caribou- 5 females and a calf.
Leaving at 730PM, we hug the shore, the swells on the lake are still nearly 2' in height. The water is very shallow and we slosh in the swells, often grounding and tipping precariously, until we paddle in to the large bay at the mouth of the creek draining King Lake. We set up camp, well back from the lake shore, on a large granite slab.
Heard wolves calling in the night as the setting sun was blotted out by a huge band of clouds moving slowly from the West.
July 19th
Tent fly slapping, and the sound of pounding surf. Through the tent door, we
can see spumes of spray breaking against the black granite rocks, a scene
more reminiscent of winter along the North Atlantic Coast, than summer on
the Canadian tundra. The sky is covered with rapidly moving bands of black
and gray clouds. We are only 6 miles from MacKay Lake Lodge, but not going
to get there today.
July 20th
The wind decreased at dawn and only moderate swells persisted on the bay by
mid-morning. It was 1.5 miles across the bay's mouth, in the lee of an
island. Part way across, we see a line of bull caribou silhouetted
against the sky along a ridge, with majestic, multi-branched antlers.
Caribou are unique in the Cervidae family, in that both sexes grow antlers, although the timing, growth and function differ between the sexes. The males' antlers are most impressive in late summer just before the rut, when they are used to defend fertile females against less well endowed males. The antlers of the male are shed in late autumn. Female antlers are at their maximum size in the winter, permitting the pregnant cow to defend good feeding areas against the male caribou. The antlers of the females are shed on the way to the calving grounds in the Spring.
Enthralled by this magnificent parade, I miss the end of the island and the adjacent south shore of MacKay Lake, our intended route. Wendy insists we are going in the wrong direction, while I am adamant that we are not. Both furious, we eventually arrive at the north shore and take compass and map readings. During the paddle back across the lake, not even the emergence of the sun can lift the chilly silence between the bow and stern.
Soon we spot an esker crowned by a row of plywood shacks . MacKay Lake Lodge. At the dock a middle-aged matron in tight western jeans, walked by without a glance at us as she rubbed her butt and remarked, "Too long sitting in a boat." In the main building, Sally Jessy Raphael was blaring on the satellite TV. The Lodge was full but space was found for us in a storage shed with 2 bunks, no heat, and insect encrusted windows. A hot shower, and a chance to wash clothes, were partial compensation for the loud drone of the diesel generator that whined across the tundra and the thumping stereo in the next shack that rocked most of the night. We had a hot supper of roast beef, mashed potatoes, and bannock, with the guests and fishing guides.
July21th
After a breakfast of pancakes, sausage, and hash browns, it was with relief
that we continued on our journey. Gary Jaeb asked $300CN ($195 US) per
person for our 18 hour idyll. (Prior to our trip he had quoted us $100US/day
by email!) I just shook my head, and without much discussion, paid the
original quotation.
We paddled a few miles eastward along the lake. Camped at mid-day (to get some sleep) still hearing the distant drone of the diesel generator.
July 22nd
2AM, and wide awake, the surface of the lake was smooth as glass, so we
packed and paddled, witnessing an unforgettable 4AM sunrise from the water.
The scarlet bands of clouds began to turn leaden at 7AM, and the wind began
to build. Campsites were few but we found a small level piece of tundra a
few yards from the shore. We had covered nearly 8 miles taking advantage of
the early morning calm. Saw 2 caribou while hiking in the afternoon.
July 23rd
A huge storm rolls in from the Northwest at midnight, with winds so strong
standing up is difficult . Spray from the breakers soaks the tent, but
rainfall is light. Behind the tent, the tundra rises through some marshy
ground to a high rocky ridge. In the evening, as the storm abates, Wendy
goes hiking up on the ridge and spots 5 caribou, including a trophy-size
bull.
July 24th
A sunny morning without wind, though high swells persist from the storm . We
cover 5 miles by mid-day and reach a large esker which extends 300 yards out
into the lake. The neck of the esker is a major caribou crossing, groups as
large as 100 animals, crossing it in single file within 50 yards of our
camp. We can hear them grunting as they move by. Some are still shedding
their winter coats, and appear ragged and moth-eaten. As long as we sit
still they don't appear concerned by our presence..
July 25th
After a chilly night, we paddle 12 miles, greatly assisted by the wind
behind us. The shore line has become extremely rocky, with broken fields of
granite boulders and fins. Our camp is on a rocky knob, 100 feet above the
water, with panoramic views for 360O. In the entire landscape there is one
tiny caribou calf, seemingly abandoned, that runs hopefully up to me.
July 26th
In the morning we find ourselves surrounded by a large herd of caribou
browsing in the willow marshes below our camp. At least 300 animals,
including both antlered bulls and cows with small calves. We decide to spend
the day here to watch. Weather very cool, with intermittent rain showers,
interspersed by sunny breaks in the clouds.
In the afternoon, while hiking, Wendy finds herself in the midst of the moving herd, which parts at a distance of 50 yards to go around her. She stands there shooting an entire roll of film, as the herd, alert but un-alarmed slowly swarms past her. She is close enough to hear the peculiar clicking of their leg tendons.
July 27th
Paddled 8 miles this morning under partly cloudy skies. Camped on a long
narrow peninsula. The wind is still, the black flies ferocious. We are about
8 miles from the outlet of the Lake. The eastern (windward) shore of the
peninsula consists of long sandy beaches. The peninsula itself is low and
marshy.
July 28th
Morning brings wind-driven bands of black clouds and whitecaps on the
windward side of the peninsula.. Air temperatures mid-day are in the 40's.
We make no progress this day.
July 29th
The weather has worsened. We are comfortably reading in our tent at noon
when we hear a greeting called out from the water. Waving from a 15 foot
Old Town Penobscot, is a solo paddler.
When he introduces himself as "Sky" from Taos, New Mexico, the term "aging hippie" comes to mind. He is in his 50's, cold and haggard from paddling his small boat against the big waves. I fix him some coffee and chocolate as we listen to his story. We are the first people he has met in 25 days.
He has paddled from the east arm of Great Slave Lake, up over Pike's Portage, and through Artillery, Clinton-Colden, and Aylmer Lakes, via the Lockhart. Nearly 300 miles in 25 days. He intends to return to Great Slave Lake via the Beaulieu River, another 260 miles including MacKay Lake. He (like us) has no experience running rapids, and the Beaulieu is described as a "challenging white water route" in the guide books. He expects to line and portage the rapids, and "learn as he goes." I admire his courage and ambition, which makes our timid little trip seem like an outing in cottage country. He has a cheap tent from Wal-mart, no stove, wears plastic trash bags for wet pants, and "eats mostly fish, but hasn't caught many". He mentioned how tired he had become battling the waves and wind of the lakes. Wendy and I look at each other in silence thinking of our experience on MacKay Lake.
He spoke of seeing a herd of several thousand caribou swimming the Lockhart River several days ago, and a grizzly sow with her 2 cubs, at one of the portages. On Aylmer Lake he had seen musk oxen.
I packed him a bag of energy bars, chocolate, and candy from our stash, and watched him depart through the waves using an aluminum and plastic paddle better suited for a Sevylor inflatable raft. I am still unsure whether "pluck "or "luck" would best describe his achievements.
July 30th
Clearing skies, but still windy. We paddle in the lee of the peninsula,
portage across its base, and have a tough paddle through 3 foot high
whitecaps as we circumnavigate the shoreline of the bay. These are easily
the largest waves we have attempted. Our biggest problem is the bow
"weather-cocking," due to the head wind, and it is a long day to cover 6
miles. Once out of the bay, the shore becomes a jumble of jagged boulders,
extending into the water.
July 31st
Reached the Lockhart River. Wendy has been looking forward to getting off
the lake, with its winds and waves. The first rapid consists of a 20 foot
drop over a quarter-mile distance. I lined the canoe until the willows made
it too difficult. We portaged about 300 yards across the uneven tussocks of
the tundra. Then I simply pushed and pulled, through water that was 3 feet
deep when I was out of the canoe, but each time I jumped aboard, it suddenly
became 4 inches deep again. My swearing was drowned out by the roar of the
standing waves in the main channel. Fortunately it is warm and sunny, as I
was soaked to my waist.
We set up camp on a long, high river bluff, within sight of the second rapids. Behind our tent. the tundra stretches endlessly to the east.
Aug 1st
Woke up to the splashing and grunting of caribou swimming the river just
downstream from our camp. Inertia kept us in place today. There is enough
wind to keep the bugs away. This area has extensive caribou trails, and is a
handy ford between the 2 sets of rapids. On the opposite shore the tundra
stretches back to low granite ridges. I spent several hours gathering
willow twigs for a fire this evening.
Aug 2nd
We spend four hours this morning portaging around 3000 yards of rapids. A
lot of time to reflect on "things I won't bother to bring again." Four
weeks ago the total load weighed 230 lbs. Our gear is packed in 4 large
dry bags, 3 smaller ones, and one Duluth pack with plastic bins for our
pilot crackers.
Thoroughly exhausted, we camp within earshot of the rapids less than 3 miles east of last nights camp.
Aug 3rd
Spent the day fishing, without success. Saw a few caribou swimming across
the Lockhart, which here dilates into a small unnamed lake. Much of the
ground cover- particularly the Bearberry, has changed to a carpet of orange
and scarlet. Some of the willows have turned bright yellow.
Aug 4th
We left early this morning, lining the 3rd set of rapids easily. Then a
short paddle up to the tumult of the 4th rapid, a series of chutes,
boulders, and standing waves, culminating in a spectacular waterfall over a
12 foot high ledge. The water is so clear and pours so smoothly across the
granite, that the ledge is visible through the torrent. Here the Lockhart
River enters Outram Lakes. We portage across 500 yards of tundra, to the
top of the large esker that overlooks both the falls and the lake below.
Our pickup point is just 200 yards across the lake, five days from now.
Wendy finds a trail of grizzly tracks (a size 12 if the bear had worn
shoes), along the shoreline below our esker campsite.
Aug 5th to 8th
Four cold gray windy days, but late each evening, the sky clears completely
and we watch the sun slip beneath the low hills to the North. We spend our
days hiking. The esker extends for miles to the Northwest, all the way back
to our previous campsite on August 3rd. From the ridge we can see for miles
in all directions. The gray skies, north wind, and the brilliantred and
yellows of the ground cover, give a distinct feel of autumn. We see no
caribou here, for the first time in 3 weeks. Without their presence there is
a loneliness to the tundra, that makes the wind feel colder.
Aug 9th
Paddled across the channel to the continuation of the esker. Here the water
is deep enough for the float plane to land. The roar of the waterfall is
much reduced, although sometimes growing louder as the wind carries the
sound. Behind us is a ridge from which rolling tundra and small ponds
stretch to the horizon.
Aug 10th
We pack everything but the tent early this morning, unsure of when the plane
will arrive. Around 10AM, a white Cessna 185 makes 3 or 4 hesitant passes
before landing on the lake. Our ride! We had been expecting the red Beaver
that had brought us in 5 weeks earlier. However that plane had crashed a
few days prior with 4 persons on board. No injuries, but the end of the
Beaver's airborne days.
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