Contributed by: Hoz

tripdate: 6/15-28/2003
location: Mattice, On, Canada
class: Class II to III
length: 200

“To the Bay!”
The Missinaibi River, 2003
c Jose Joven/2003

In July of 2002 Worth Donaldson, Jim Kendall, Jeff Kuhn and myself Jose Joven (aka the Hoz) paddled the upper Missinaibi River in Canada 220 kilometers from Dog Lake to Mattice. The Missinaibi River is a Canadian wilderness waterway flowing north, from near Lake Superior to James Bay. The river holds historical relevance as a primary route during the fur trade era between Lake Superior, the Interior and James Bay. It also has deep religious significance for the Ojibwa and Cree First Nations who still inhabit and take sustenance from its shores.

While discussing options for this years trip Worth uttered those fateful lines, “we have to finish what we started” sort of like a challenge. We HAD ended our trip at the midpoint of the river. There are 321 kilometers to go before the route ends at the Native villages of Moosonee and Moose Factory near the shores of James Bay. The lower Missinaibi is graced with 32 sets of runnable rapids and the last 220 kilometers line up perfectly with the prevailing winds. I could practice my new hobby, canoe sailing. The temptation of being able to sail a long distance was too great. I agreed to organize the trip.

The only time Worth could get off work was June 14th through the 29th. Fellow HCC member Jim Kendall again signed on as our head fishing guide and whitewater enthusiast. . Jeff Kuhn couldn’t get the time off work. Since Jim, Worth and I travel well together we decided not to recruit any new trippers and as last year, we would paddle three solo canoes. Jim volunteered his van and trailer. He and Worth picked me up in Indy at 8:00 am on Saturday the 14th. We drove straight through to Mattice, Ontario in 17 hours, taking 3-4 hour shifts. On the road from Wawa to Hearst we saw two moose and two bear on the roadside. Arriving at Missinaibi Outfitters base camp at 1:00am we found everyone asleep. Owen Korpela and his wife Denyse own Missinaibi Outfitters in Mattice. They rent canoes, gear, arrange guides, provide shuttles and will watch over your vehicle while you are on the river. We found a note pinned to the office door pointing us to our reserved cabin. We quickly found it and turned in for the night.

Waking at 6:30 we all took showers, our last for the next 11 days. We saw there was another group of four tandem canoes in the camp. We met them outside and found they were from Wisconsin and also planned to start running the river this morning. Not wanting to have a traffic jam we told our host, Owen Korpela, we would head down to the put-in with our gear and canoes and then come back to pay our shuttle expenses, permits and cabin fee. The municipal park in Mattice looked the same as last year and not wanting to miss an inch of the river we unloaded our equipment at the same take out Worth and I used last July.

Worth stayed with our gear while Jim and I went back to the base camp to settle up and catch a ride back with Owen. At the office/restaurant the Wisconsin crew seemed a little peeved that we had jumped ahead of them to place our gear on the river. I only said we didn’t care who was “first” on the river, but that we wanted to have steady forward motion and not have to wait or waste time in the office. They took their time settling the bill and heading out so by the time Worth, Jim and I got on the river it was almost 11:00. We saw nothing of the Wisconsin crew. As we paddled down the river I felt a great sense of anticipation and excitement. We were back, and this time we were going to James Bay!

It was mid afternoon when we came upon the Wisconsin crew. Seems they had jumped ahead by using a put in about two miles downstream from ours. I guess they wanted to be first on the river and left the rapid set they were playing as soon as we came around the bend. Oh well, different strokes…

The first day we ran two class III’s, two class II’s, several class I’s and many swifts with no difficulty. At five that evening we again crossed paths with Wisconsin, who were setting camp for the night at Class IV Kettle Falls. We surprised them by cheating the beginning of the 300 meter portage and running the river an extra 100 meters to the edge of the drop. We unloaded our gear and portaged 200 meters across the flat rock shelves. Our destination was another six kilometers downstream at Isabel Island, so we didn’t waste time. We bade Wisconsin a good evening and shoved off.

Just before Isabel is Skunk Island. Jim decided to go left and Worth and I went right. Halfway down the channel I spied a moose feeding in the shallows. Signaling Worth to paddle quietly we slowly sneaked up on her. By being careful, and paddling only when she had her head under water, I was able to get close enough to actually “smell” the moose, deep and earthy, like a horse. We never scared her off, eventually paddling past to leave her to her feeding. Worth said he could see a baby on the shore but my eyesight is so bad I missed it.

Landing at Isabel we found a buggy bush camp hacked out of the alders. Worth and I set up his new Eureka VCS bug shelter and I determined that it would be good to sleep in as long as it wasn’t pouring rain so I didn’t set my tent. After dinner, we all turned in, the sound of swift water lulling us to sleep.

The next morning we intended to go 28 kilometers to Thunderhouse Falls. We wanted to keep ahead of Wisconsin to make sure we would have our pick of the four campsites located there.

After lunch we found a camp on river left. Fred Neegan is a 75 year old Cree native who lives on the Missinaibi River year ‘round. He hunts geese, ducks, moose and fish. He also guides clients on the Missinaibi, instructing them in the ways of the river and Cree folklore. Fred wasn’t home when we came through but we paid our respects to him anyway, leaving a bit of jerky at his camp. Fred still lives the “old ways” and is well admired.

There were several CI’s and swifts to negotiate and we had no problem running them. By 3:00 we were unloading our gear for the 900 meter carry around CIII Coal Rapids to the Falls campsite. The total carry to the put in is 1645 meters. We placed our gear at the camp and returned for the canoes, scouting the run as we went. It was decided we would attempt Coal Rapids with empty canoes by hugging the far left shore and boofing two ledges along the way instead going of straight down the middle which is more dangerous. This saved us from carrying the canoes an extra 750 meters and there was a safe eddy and sand beach to land. We didn’t want to make any mistakes here as Thunderhouse Falls waits at the end of the run, and the falls have killed five canoeists in the past decade.

Jim led the way and we had a high time finding the chutes and tongues of water to get us down. The cruxes were the two ledges, which were class III and had a high volume of water pouring over them. Once committed, there was no turning back. The ledges were impossible to line, as the shore is protected by high rock walls. To try and join the portage trail would have been equally impossible through the impenetrable brush. A quick peel out from the eddy, stroke and brace and we were through. Boiling souse holes waited at the bottom but a cross bow draw got everyone past. In no time we were at our exit beach and were carrying our canoes to the other end of the trail.

We set camp at a site that overlooks the falls and spent the rest of the day exploring the area. Thunderhouse is actually a series of three waterfalls and when standing at the edge of the pitch off the power of the crashing water can be felt deep within you. White foam is tossed high up in the air and the patterns of disturbed, roiling water is spellbinding. An eddy at the top ebbs and flows with a life of its own, the foam rolling round and round like a galactic microcosm. Water holding scour holes in the rock vibrate with the power of the crashing river. Sitting at the edge of the falls you feel as if the rocks themselves are moving. It is awesome to see the entire Missinaibi funneled through a mere ten foot gap in the granite.

Further downstream the river flows swiftly through a gorge with soaring 100 foot granite walls. Whole tree trunks have been carried down and lie like jackstraws on ledges high up the cliffs. It is awe-inspiring to think of the flood waters that flow through this canyon when the ice melts during spring breakup. Standing off to one side is Conjuring House Rock, a lone pinnacle of granite that seems to contain the stone profile of a Native in full feather regalia. It’s a sacred place to the First Nations people, who have come here for centuries on spirit quests, to receive visions and for cleansing ceremonies.

That afternoon we each explored the area alone, contemplating this mysterious place. I swam at the exit beach upstream from the falls, and also took the opportunity to rinse out my sweaty clothes. The water in the shallow bay was warm and I thought of the people, in centuries past, Natives, Voyageurs and Orkney bay men who perhaps bathed at this same spot. Lying on the warm sun heated rocks I felt refreshed and rejuvenated.

That evening Wisconsin came through. They carried the entire 1500 meter trail and set camp at the Gorge site. Their plan was to leave the next day; ours was to enjoy two days at Thunderhouse so our parties would be spread out on the river from now on.

Our second day at Thunderhouse was spent fishing the gorge and playing the swift water above and below Conjuring House. The river is still angry from the pummeling it has taken over the falls. Boils, eddies and swift current make it difficult paddling upstream. We all tried but Jim was the only one to make it past Conjurors House to the foot of the bottom waterfall. He made an offering of tobacco to the spirits and promptly caught 2 walleye from the deep pool below. Jim and I caught a mess of walleye and bass in the gorge and we later made “fish jerky” by slowly smoking the filets. Wisconsin leisurely moved out about three in the afternoon. That evening we had a rain shower. The next day we packed and continued downriver toward our first big test “The Long Portage”.


The loads were grinding me down into the trail. My feet throbbed with every step. I was leapfrogging my canoe and food pack across the Long Portage, a 2350 meter trail that bypasses Hells Gate Canyon. Hells Gate is over 300 feet deep and has class III-IV whitewater and at least three waterfalls. It is impassable to canoes and all but the most expert kayaks. Several years ago a group of canoeists (ironically, also from Indiana) entered the canyon. Four canoes went in and only one came back out. They had to do a 10 day forced march back upriver over fifty miles of rough terrain to Mattice.

The day had started with a short paddle from Thunderhouse Falls through swifts down to Stone Rapids, rated CIII-IV. We carried our gear through the forest over the 900 meter portage and began scouting the river for sneaks or a way through. What we saw looked doable until we came to the first waterfall. We considered a landing and rough portage over an island and continued upstream. Another 15 minutes brought us to the second waterfall, a raging, impossible cataract. We then decided we would have to carry the canoes over the trail instead of tempting fate. From Stone Rapids it was only a few hundred meters of CI rapids to the beginning of Hells Gate and the Long Portage.

We had started Long Portage at one in the afternoon. At least the weather was cool and partly cloudy. My 50 pound gear pack was carried across first, in one trip. Now I carried my food pack 300-500 meters, droped it and go back for the canoe. At this rate it would be six in the evening before I would find the campsite at the other end. Black flies, mosquitoes, horse flies and no see ums were going up my nose, in my ears, crawling behind my glasses and taking their pleasure by sipping my blood. The phrase “finish what we started” kept going through my mind. Either I didn’t anticipate this difficulty when I agreed to that proposition several months ago, or I choose to ignore it. Either way we were paying today!

Worth was having the same trouble as me, only he had three packs and a canoe. Jim seemed to be dancing back and forth across the trail like the Energizer Bunny. Taking the time to explore the occasional side trails and always having a positive word for us as we passed each other. He came back with a “must see” water fall at the bottom of the canyon. I groaned that I wasn’t sure I could make it down but took the plunge anyway.

It wasn’t much of a trail. Just a series of green and red surveyors tape flagged to the occasional tree and bush. It led almost vertically over the hill and through the deep forest, slip sliding through wet springs and a creek bottom for approximately 500 meters. The trail led over downed trees and through thick brush. It wasn’t a walk in the park. At times I lost the flagging tapes but could always hear roaring water in the distance.

Reaching the bottom and crashing through the bush I came to an astounding sight. Before me was Hells Gate Canyon, 300 feet deep, 100 feet wide and enclosed by reddish grey granite walls. The entire Missinaibi River was crashing down a 60 foot waterfall in a split cascade. It was wall to wall white frothing water; beautiful, amazing, and knowing very few people have stood there well worth the effort.

After admiring the view I was reminded I still had about 600 meters to hump before camp, and my canoe and food pack were waiting at the top of the hill. I turned to find Jim behind me admiring the view. We both agreed it was a remarkable sight and I followed the tapes back up and continued the portage, somewhat rejuvenated by my viewing of the falls. That evening after dinner we all turned in early. We were bushed. I took two Tylenol for my aching feet and sleep came quickly. It would be better in the morning.

The next morning we completed the steep, slippery 300 meter carry down to the river and took the time to fish the rapids below Hells Gate. It was fantastic. We caught fish on almost every cast. Walleye, pike and smallmouth bass all came to the lure. We released all but a few for a shore lunch and finally gave up on the “catching” to continue downriver. A 3 kilometer reach of continuous swifts and CI’s known as “Long Rapids” brought us to a wide spot in the river, Bells Bay. Here we enjoyed a shore lunch of fresh grilled fish.

That afternoon we started looking around for masts and spars for sailing. There was plenty of driftwood on the shores. We were coming to the reach of river that lines up with the prevailing winds, all our portages were over, and we could rig our canoes for the run to Moosonee. Worth and Jim were going to jury rig square tarps for sails. I had brought along my homemade balanced lug sail and only needed to find a suitable mast and spars. By evening we located our materials and that night at camp found us busy setting up our canoes.

The next day we started sailing. Jims’ square rig looked like an old seagoing vessel and so was christened “La Pinta”. Worth had rigged a “V” mast that looked like a shrimp trawler so naturally his was “Jenny” after Forest Gumps boat. My canoe was called “Chipotle Verde” or “Green Pepper”.

It was evident Jims rig was the fastest on the downwind run, but had some limitations with cross winds. Worths’ was too small to do much good but did help some when the winds were right. My balanced lug sail handled pretty well on all points of sail and I could make tacks from one side of the river to the other easily. However my leeboard system (using a spare paddle) was of limited value, as the river was too shallow in most spots to get a good “bite”. I couldn’t get the canoe to tack up or turn through the eye of the wind, as I can on lakes at home.

The five day sailing portion of our journey was most pleasant. The weather turned hot, temperatures were often in the mid 80’s, and we took afternoon dips to cool off. The winds were steady and occasionally reached 25-30 mph. On some reaches I would simply lay back on my pack, hold the mainsheet and paddle to steer and sail on. We traveled an average of 40 kilometers a day and one day covered an incredible 50 kilometers!

It became a game to pick our way under sail through the many swifts, CI rapids and boulder fields we encountered. Jim was the best at sniffing out a route through shallow water. Since I couldn’t see under my sail I was usually running the rapids blind or by sound. I found I could hear rocks by the water swirling around them and tried to guide the canoe away. I had many scrapes, bumps and collisions, but none serious.

There was one situation that gave me problems. A jibe is when the wind is at your back and you must either on purpose or accidentally cross the sail from one side to the other. The sail snaps across the canoe with such force it can hit you in the head or knock you out of the boat. I would have jibes that almost turned the canoe over and would cause me fits. On our last day of sailing one such jibe caused me to capsize in shallow water, completely filling the canoe. Worth was nearby and helped set everything right. I then noticed my paddle was missing. We started off downriver searching for it. It had been at least 15 minutes since the upset so I knew it would be somewhere in front of us but the river was over a kilometer wide it would be easy to miss. We eventually found it floating about 2 kilometers downriver. The Werner Canoe Point paddle, it’s big, plastic, ugly, and yellow. But it is nearly indestructible and is the pullingest paddle I have ever owned. It also is unmistakable and floats high in the water.

We sailed over 200 kilometers in five days, passing the confluence when the Missinaibi and Mattagami combine to form the mile wide Moose River. We sailed under Moose River Crossing, the first sign of man we had seen since Mattice. The Crossing is a railroad trestle that brings the train to Moosonee and would be our ride out of the wilderness. We passed the five mouths of the Abitibi River, where the current was so strong we couldn’t get close enough to see their roaring rapids. Three more days on the Moose and we would be finished. We took our masts down at last only after Kwetabohigan Rapids when the wind changed direction, and the wonderful weather we been experiencing turned sour, and man, did it turn…

Kwetabohigan (aka Quite-a-big-one) Rapids are over a kilometer long, 500 meters wide and are rated CIII-IV depending on the tide. We are still 50 kilometers from the Bay, but the tide can be felt twice a day even up here. When we come through it is ebbing so the middle waves are only 3-4 feet high. We stick to the safer left hand run and experience 1-2 ft waves, but they come at all angles! It’s a mad roller coaster ride.

The Moose River is over a mile wide and you can see for several miles down its’ length. It is daunting to think you will paddle all that distance. The Moose looks like a big lake, but with a 7 mph current! Islands rise in the distance like giant fairy castles. We experience a strange phenomenon, “The Missinaibi Mirage”, where we all saw and heard a waterfall headed upstream towards us only to get there and find nothing. There are many hidden, submerged shoals and sand bars so a canoeist must be careful to find the right channel. Campsites can be hard to find and we usually look for sand bars in this area, as the other “beaches” are made of rocks and boulders. We make camp on a small sand spit, hoping we are high enough to escape a rising tide.

Not long after setting our tents the skies turn dark. We hear thunder in the distance. We quickly turn to setting up the tarp to use as a rain shelter, the winds rise and make the problem worse. We bring huge rocks down to anchor the edges. After dinner the rains start in earnest and we all turn in. It rains throughout the night with impressive lightning displays.

The next morning the winds shift 180 degrees from south to north. It’s dreary, with cold overcast skies and one thought comes to mind, “polypro”. I put on my long johns, neoprene sox and fleece jacket and get ready for some heavy weather. We break camp and start paddling down the Moose. Since we made excellent mileage under sail we are running a day ahead of schedule. With luck we will be in Moosonee by afternoon.

The map shows heavy shoals from the middle to the right of the river. We hug river left, running 3 close spaced CI rapids. A light rain starts and as we approach Minahik Point where the river turns towards the north, we feel the wind increase. I call for a short break to “boil the pot” and share a cup of tea. Worth takes this opportunity to don more clothing. He is beginning to look like a big, yellow walrus. After tea the wind is so strong we can barely make headway. We pull over again and take cover in the tag alder bushes high up the riverbank.

I gaze out over the scene. The waves are being driven upstream, either by tide, wind or a combination of both. White froth streams up river in long tendrils. The river is warmer than the air; a primeval fog drifts up from the water. The sky is heavily overcast, grey and somber with low lying clouds scudding southward. It’s cold and raining, but I feel warm in my full rain suit, fleece jacket, and polypro long johns. I lay back in the lee of some bushes and try to rest. In no time I’m asleep.

We are three native hunters lying in wait. We know animals will come along the river trail to drink. We hold here in the lee of the bushes hoping our prey will come soon. It has been a hard winter, our families will be happy for the meat…

“It’s letting up, let’s get going!” I wake from my dream and set up. I am chilled and shivering. My wet feet cold even with the neoprene. I hope going out to paddle will at least get the circulation going, but to me conditions don’t look much better.

The river has risen a foot. The rock the canoes were tied to is now partly submerged. We use it as a dock and push into the river. As we again try to round the point we face the full brunt of the wind and waves. It hasn’t eased…its worse! Every stroke counts as we try hard to pull ahead. “J” stroke, “C” strokes, the “Fort William” stroke; nothing matters. Play the wind? No, it doesn’t work and technique goes out the window. It becomes pure, brute strength and resolve. One, two, sometimes three strokes on one side. The wind catches the canoe and you start to turn. Quickly you switch sides and begin the cadence again. You watch as the canoe ever so slowly creeps past a midstream rock. Stop paddling for a second and you lose ground. The waves are a foot high and sometimes break across your bow. After 20 minutes we all agree it’s too much. Progress is so slow it seems futile, we are windbound. We see what looks like a clearing in the trees ahead and pull in. Jim finds a rough bush road in the forest and an old fire pit. We rush to secure the canoes and carry our lunch packs up to the clearing. Hurriedly we build a warming fire and I put some water on to boil. I make a pot of potato soup, Jim donates some summer sausage. It doesn’t look as if we’ll make Moosonee today. We have covered only 8 kilometers since morning.

While gathering wood Worth flushes a wood hen. She has a brood of chicks and tidily gathers them off into the bush. We are cooking lunch when a single chick comes peeping into the clearing and tries to jump into the fire! He is lost, confused and doesn’t know where his mother is. I catch and softly cradle him in my hands. Worth says he thinks he knows which way the mother went so he takes the chick back into the bush. We all hope he is reunited with his family. I feel guilty. We have come into his world and turned it upside down.

After a warm lunch of soup and stick grilled summer sausage we discuss our options. We could stay here the night, firewood is abundant. However the area is buggy and we would have to brush out platforms for our tents. It isn’t the best campsite we have seen. The call of hearth and home are great, but it’s still early. We decide to keep trying to move ahead. It is only 12 kilometers to the campsite at Tidewater Provincial Park, which lies across the river from Moosonee. If the wind eases we could still make it today…

We pack up, douse the fire and push out into the river again. It’s about the same as before. The conditions sap our hearts, minds and endurance, but not our determination. With resolve we slowly move ahead. The map has shoals blocking our way across the river and we have no choice but to paddle exposed to the chill north wind. Ahead we can see the middle of Bushy Island. If we can somehow cross the river we will be in the lee of the island and maybe paddling will be easier.

The air is full of driving, horizontal rain. My glasses are covered with water and it is hard to see 20 meters in any direction. Jim sits, grounded on a reef ahead. As I reach him he shouts” I am going to try and cross here, it looks passable.” I am apprehensive about crossing. It is at least a kilometer and besides wind and waves there are the hidden shoals but what options do we have? Worth is so far behind he is hard to see. I blow the whistle twice, (on this trip one whistle means “stay put”, two, “follow me” and three “trouble or I need help”) we start to ferry across.

We are extra careful crossing the shoals. The tide has covered most gravel bars but there are still shallows and occasional rocks. The last thing we want to do is to get stuck or capsize and have to wade in these conditions. We cross the shoals and find the water deeper, the waves larger and stronger. They come in sets of two, and you have to be ready for them. I paddle in the troughs until two big ones come along, I then turn my canoe to quarter the waves. I rise up and over and sometimes the second wave breaks over my bow. I reach behind each wave to its shoulder with my paddle and pull. It is dicey, but we can see the east shoreline through the mist. As we slowly pull into the lee of Bushy Island I know we can never make Tidewater today. It is 6:30 pm and we are only paddling 3k per hour with 10k to go. I start looking for a camp, though the shoreline seems unpromising.

One side is low laying mud flats; the other has a tidal bank that looks like it can flood to 20 feet at times. Above that is a big mud bank going almost straight up to the forest. The forest however looks level up there. We pull out at the mud banks and begin exploring. I climb and scratch up to peer over the edge. It is flat and I can see some trees have been cut down. Worth and Jim begin looking left and I go right. In no time we find a faint muddy trail up to a rough bush camp and an unbelievably fortunate find, it has a complete cord of firewood cut, split and stacked dry under a giant red pine tree!

I quickly split kindling and start a big warming fire. It’s still raining but we find a sheet of particle board in the bushes and use it to shelter the flames. We set our tents and start cooking dinner. That evening I bake some bannock which we all share with hot tea. We dry our soaked clothes and have a great evening by the fire. We discuss the days paddle. Jim mentions they way I kept grinning when we were in the thick of it. He thought I was having fun! I was trying to convey what I felt was the futility of the situation. All agree it was the worst conditions we have ever faced.

After our tribulations with high winds and rain I awoke at 5am the next morning. Our routine has been for me to rise early for my morning ablutions and then return to bed for an hour or two until Jim and Worth wake up. After breakfast we pack and are usually on the water by 9 or 10. This morning I didn’t want a repeat of yesterday. I got up and started the fire again. I banged the pots and split wood. I let everyone know we should be on the water within the next hour. They slowly woke and joined me. Everything seemed calm but we were in the lee of the island and couldn’t really tell from there.

When we shoved off we found a Tolkien world. Low lying fog had settled on the water and it was quiet and calm. We paddled in silence as the shore drifted away and we lost sight of each other in the mist. Within the hour the wind started murmuring and a soft rain began to fall. We pulled over to don our rain suits. We had only eight kilometers to go but the Moose River wouldn’t die easily. We passed a power line that spans the river and could see the village of Moosonee in the distance. We could hear the drone of outboard motors. We knew our trip on the river would soon be over. The rain continued.

As we approached the channel that goes right to the native village of Moose Factory there was some confusion. Our map didn’t specify on which side of the island the campsites were located. We attempted to go right toward Moose Factory but there was a heavy tidal current against us. I stared down the shore and couldn’t see any indication of a landing or campsite. I decided to go left simply because there was no opposing current that way. If we must we can always circle the island. I am lucky, within minutes we pulled up to the Tidewater boat dock which faces Moosonee.

Our last two days in Moosonee/Moose Factory were a whirlwind of sightseeing and getting re-acclimated to civilization. We learned how to stand on the dock and flag down a water taxi, 20 foot freighter canoes with 40 Hp Yamaha motors, sometimes outfitted with a small cabin made of wood and visqueen so passengers can sit out of the weather).

We toured Moose Factory Island and saw many buildings and artifacts from the Hudsons Bay era, (built 1676).We chatted with the Cree who helped us learn more of the history and culture of their people. We ate bannock (Indian bread) cooked by Cree women over coals in a tepee. We saw the “floating” Anglican Church (built 1832), so named because it once was carried downstream by the spring thaw. After it was pulled back to it’s site by horses carpenters drilled holes in the floor so that future floods would fill the church and it could be drained when the waters subsided. This church, which still holds services today, has several stained glass windows depicting priests and bishops paddling canoes! The alter covers are made of white moose hide and caribou and are adorned with beautiful native beadwork. We had lunch at the ultra modern Cree Eco-Lodge. A contemporary Lodge built entirely of “green” or “eco friendly” materials.

In Moosonee we ate caribou sandwiches, shopped the Northern Store (sort of like the Far North’s Wal Mart), and spent our last night at the Polar Bear Lodge (where I turned on the TV to find Jerry Springer!) We negotiated with Derek Beck, a Cree water taxi driver to take us the final 10 miles out to James Bay. Derek’s a good guide and is knowledgeable in the ways of the Bay. He landed at a Cree fall hunting camp, where we were all swiftly covered by what he called “the flies”, we call them mosquitoes. At Ship Sands Island, where the Moose River, now 5 kilometers wide, empties into the Bay we all peered uneasily into the immense ocean and wondered how close the big roller waves would come to our small boat. Derek said, “Some white people I have brought out take off their clothes and jump into the water”. My reply was “What’s wrong with them, are they crazy?” Anyway, since the temperature was in the mid forties and the wind was whipping at 20 mph we all passed on a swim, even Worth, who admitted he wanted to dive in.

The next morning we loaded our canoes on the specially built flatbed “canoe car” and boarded the “Little Bear” train back to Cochrane and our waiting vehicle which had been brought there from Mattice by the Korpelas. The weekend was special as many Cree families were headed into civilization to celebrate Canada Day on July 1st. The ratio on the train was about 10 Cree to 2 Whites. It was an enjoyable ride back through the countryside we had just paddled through. Our canoe trip lasted 11 days, the train took 4 ½ hours…

In Cochrane we transferred our gear to the van and drove straight back to Indianapolis, arriving at 8:30 am Sunday morning. It was hard to imagine only 24 hours earlier we had been standing in the wilderness at the end of the line, Moosonee on James Bay.

Jim Kendalls thoughts:

From my perspective, the journey through the immense and timeless Missinaibi/Moose River wilderness area is an awesome experience of inspiring natural features and historical connections. Many days on our trip I felt this unspoiled river would have looked, sounded and felt the same in any of the past several centuries as it did on the days we were there. Wild and completely natural, the Missinaibi sometimes thrusts an attitude to its travelers: This river can not be subjugated or conquered. We appreciated, respected and enjoyed every paddle stroke, each portage step and all the gusts of wind, whether they
were following breezes or determined headwinds. As grateful guests, we accepted all the challenges and thereby valued the rewards of our efforts.

As much as the Thunderhouse Falls area was predictably impressive with easily accessible views by any Missinaibi traveler, I felt that the "Trail to Hell's Canyon" more exemplified one of the trip's overall qualities: exerting extra
effort pays off! Curious about a side trail off the Long Portage, I relied on woodland navigational savvy and a confident wilderness sense to follow an overgrown route a few hundred meters down a steep, soggy slope off the Long Portage. There were no human footprints in the soft clay and mulch patches I occasionally crossed while brushing under spruce branches or straddling fallen birch logs. Nearing the sound of what I mistook for powerful rapids, I was rewarded with the sight of a spectacular, secluded roaring waterfall. After a long day of portaging, I was inspired by the discovery and I was refreshed by the cool mist. Scrambling back up the wooded cliff was fun! I coaxed Jose and Worth to interrupt their portaging and go down the seldom-used side trail to see the impressive, private waterfall, and I went down again! It was equally worth the trip the second time as well.

The Missinaibi journey offers abundant diversity. Sailing at wake-speeds with my rudimentary caravel-class rig was a blast, though my modified spinnaker was no match for the maneuverability of Jose's well-designed craft. One afternoon, after I struggled to paddle across the wide river against strong wind and current to fetch cold stream water, I whistled two toots, meaning, "It's good, come over." Jose set a course and tacked upstream across the wind without paddling! Now that's terrific sailing! The fishing was memorable as well. Catching many big fish and lots of smaller, cooking size fish was no surprise, but catching a leg-sized walleye after drifting over some swifts stunned my senses enough that I released the big fella quickly without getting a photo. It had been a 15-20 minute fight and we were both fatigued. I had to beach the canoe and step out on a gravel bar to remove the hook. The fish swam leisurely back to the dark water. Equally exhilarating was reading the river and negotiating the myriad rapids. Later in the trip, finding elusive channels through the shoals proved to be enjoyable mental-physical puzzles. Our trip periodically resembled a solo journey as we paddled or sailed apart, somewhat isolated though usually within sight of each other. We would gather for lunch and each evening for the campsite routine which I found efficient, highlighted with amusing banter. That daily balance of solitude and camaraderie enhanced the rhythm set for us by the demands of wilderness river travel.

Concluding the trip with the visits to Moose Factory, Ship Sands Island and the return ride on the Little Bear were memorable features of the journey as well. The people of Moose Factory and Moosonee pleasantly conducted their business in low-key, non-stressed demeanor. The history of the development of the villages is fascinating, and I admired the vestiges of traditional lifestyles maintained by the Cree. Even though we were the noticeable minority, we were quite comfortable and felt welcome in this authentic frontier community.

We three voyageurs of the Missinaibi have now traveled the entire length of this wilderness river, some 590 kilometers from Dog Lake to Ship Sands Island, traversing English-speaking southern Ontario, through French-Canadian regions and into the Cree First Nation community on James Bay. We crossed through rich varieties of culture, geology, biology, and riparian features. The Missinaibi corridor journey is such a complex experience a traveler could make the trip several times and have fresh, virtually new encounters each time. Before paddling the Missinaibi, I would have said that my favorite river is "the next one I will paddle". Now, thanks to Jose's organization and planning of these two journeys down the upper and lower Missinaibi/Moose Rivers, I say that the Missinaibi is my favorite river. I am grateful to have been included in this intrepid group of "Les Trois Voyageurs de Missinaibi".

Worth Donaldson says:

The opportunity to paddle the origins of a river to its mouth does not come often for most canoeists, especially wilderness trippers. Thus, the three of us returned to finish the journey. For les trois voyageurs de Missinaibi ’02-‘03 it was an interesting and exciting journey to paddle and sail 332 miles across the Abitibi Uplands of the Precambrian Shield and the James Bay Lowlands on a river little changed since the days of the fur traders.

The trip is over and we can proclaim we sailed and paddled the large lakes of Missinaibi and Brunswick in forceful gales. We paddled and floated the lazy river in the marshes of Hay River and Peterbell. We paddled or portaged 81 rapids, ledges and falls. We were filled with apprehension or awe at Greenhill rapids, Split Rock Falls, Brunswick Portage and Big Beaver Rapids. We observed the boreal forest slowly change. Sugar and red maples diminished then the white pine, white elm, largetooth aspen, red pine and jackpine vanished until all to be seen was muskeg and the gray waters of James Bay. At Thunderhouse Falls and Hell’s Gate the river flowed swiftly through the steep-walled gorges and dropped approximately 300 feet in 6 miles. Signs of moose and sandhill cranes were abundant. We sailed a river a mile wide where shoals and gravel bars were more plentiful than water in a land were few trees were stout enough to hang a food-pack. We visited the Anglican Church were Saints paddle canoes in stained glass windows. We rode the train home with Cree families preparing to celebrate Canada Day. The trip may be over but for les trois voyageurs the journey has only begun.

For me the climax of the journey occurred at Thunderhouse Falls. Words can not describe feeling the granite pulsate, or watching ripples in quaking puddles, or watching the water boil and surge prior to entering the chute, nor listening to the claps of thunder when the river spoke. While sitting on the granite ledge beside the chute, my chest would tighten and throb while I labored to breathe. I felt an indwelling and desire to spend the night on the bare rocks of this sacred site and experience a metamorphosis. Who knows what spells the memegwaysiwuk would cast at Conjuring Rock below the falls?

The history and people we met along our journey humbled me. I saw signs of death and hardship beside the river. I saw the Cree hunting camps and listened to them describe how they hunt moose and caribou. I listened to how the Inuit live and how grateful the Cree were for their bounty. By our standards they did not appear to have much. And yet, they were all smiles, "Be happy, don’t worry".
Lastly, I want to thank my deux voyageurs for their camaraderie. You enhanced the experience and made me a better wilderness canoeist. And the answer to last year’s question posed by Jeff Kuhn, "Hoz, are all your trips this hard"? is "No". But I warn you; a trip with Hoz will challenge your skills as a woodsman and canoeist. I pose the question, "Is there anything you can not do in your canoe Jim"?