The Fond du Lac River
Canoeists choose particular rivers for various reasons: aesthetics, easy access and time constraints are a few of the popular ones. Out reasons for traveling to the Fond du Lac River were to photograph its spectacular Precambrian sandstone, accompany my son on his first canoe trip and to have fun.
Lining down Thompson Rapids
Like most things in life, organizing a canoe trip is as easy or as difficult as you make it. Once the destination was decided upon, my son and I packed our gear and canoe, telephoned Points North Air Service (roughly 900 kilometres north of Saskatoon), and reserved a de Havilland Otter for the one-hour flight. Kevin, our guide, organized the food, maps and enlisted the services of two more adventurers: Dennis Claxton, a friend and Lee Cormier, a first-year canoe guide.
With the six-hour drive from LA Ronge to Points North behind us, we flew northward toward the Fond du Lac River. Everyone passed the one-hour flight in their own way: Owen, my son, sat in the co-pilot's seat under pilot Andy Eichel's watchful eye and Dennis admired Saskatchewan's vast north country while Kevin and Lee slept as the floatplane droned on. A lazy turn to the left suddenly got everyone's attention and necks craned toward the windows. Below was the Fond du Lac River.
Unloading gear from a floatplane is much quicker than loading it. The Otter had taxied as far as possible into the sandy shallows. We released the two canoes from the aircraft struts and started to fill them with equipment, then headed toward the beach. The only sign of life along the 200 yards of sand were tracks of moose and bear. Our two dogs, Churchill and Taiga, added theirs to the collection as they quickly introduced themselves to the vast squirrel population of the area. Andy and his Otter had barely lifted off the water when Mennonite sausages and baked potatoes hit the grill for supper. A canoe was turned over for a table and we set up camp in short order.
A small falls to the left of Manito Falls. Did you notice the whale-like sculpture in the background?
After supper my son and I paddled along the shoreline, exploring secluded beaches with fine white sand and crystal clear waters. I know, as a father, there will come a time when my son will be too busy for his dad, but not today. We returned to camp with the setting sun in our eyes and a sultry breeze at our backs, enticing everyone to a late night swim. As we swam small ringlets began to appear on the water's surface: surface feeding fish. Lee ran back to the tent, found his fly rod and began to cast. He quickly hooked into what turned out to be a two-pound whitefish. We dried off and made our way to our tents. We could still hear Lee hollering and laughing as he caught and released fish after fish in the twilight of the Saskatchewan night.
I'll be the first to say it: "We don't travel light". Five people, two dogs, camping and fly fishing gear, photographic equipment and a mountain of food. What amazes me is that it all fit into two canoes. I slept well, despite Taiga chasing a bear out of camp around 3 a.m. (it was the only bear of the entire trip). We were about to start our first day on the water and everyone kept their fly rods handy as we made our way down the river. The morning sun was hot and the water surprisingly warm. The dogs tested it often as they loped across the landscape running, swimming and sometimes disappearing to chase some unseen creature. The two canoes alternated positions, depending on the conversation and the scenery. Our exertion level probably equaled that of Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer floating down the Mississippi on a raft. It was that kind of morning.
Rib steaks, mushrooms, baked potatoes and kernel corn. Now that's
what I call roughing it
Kevin motioned us over to the high sandy bank on the right. "Dave, if you want some shots we might be able to run this rapid. We can carry the perishables across the portage and leave the water-proof barrels in the canoes." As we came back across the portage we followed the shoreline as much as possible. At each shelf, ledge or series of haystacks the boys would stop and discuss how to run them. Dennis was positioned with a throw bag and Kevin and Lee jumped into the 18-foot Mad River Kevlar canoe. Kevin was adjusting his lifejacket when he saw Owen looking on. "Well, Owen," he said, "are you just going to stand there or are you going to run these rapids with us?" In a flash he was settled in, with life jacket on, and the canoe drifted out into the current. I framed them in my viewfinder and watched two talented paddlers concentrate on their task. A pry here and a draw there directed the canoe through a shallow rock-studded obstacle course.
Both canoes eventually met at the bottom of the rapid. Kevin looked across the river. "Let's front ferry across to the other side." We did as we were told and soon found ourselves at the base of a huge rock ledge. On top was a stunning view of the rapids and the intricately carved sandstone cliffs: It was ours for the night. Camp life comes easily to some folks and not so easily to others. Essentially, it is the art of relaxing wherever you are and our crew had it down pat. Some worked on their afternoon naps, some fly fished for arctic grayling and others caught up on their reading. The group's laid back attitude was severely tested that evening when we thought Kevin might burn the rib steaks, but he recovered nicely and they were done to perfection. However, Lee's cherry cheesecake took top honours.
Our campsite at the base of Thompson Rapids. The low water conditions allowed us to body surf in the rapids that night.
The camp was up early the next day, canoes were packed and lining ropes secured. We couldn't run the stretch of river immediately below the camp so we lined or guided the canoe with ropes from the bow and stern. The current whisked us within inches of the Fond du Lac's sandstone cliffs and caverns carved out by the river's flow.
We had just finished picking our way through another rock garden when Kevin pointed to the shore. Lee and Owen did the same and both grabbed their fly rods as they jumped out of the canoe. "There has to be grayling in here," Lee said, as he grabbed his jacket, leaving Dennis and me to beach the canoes. We made ourselves a cup of coffee and watched the three fishermen flog the water with large thunderstorms looming in the background. Neither the fish nor the thunderstorms surfaced, so we paddled on. We eventually arrived at the next portage. A high sand bank greeted us as the canoes halted in shallow water. Black spruce and jack pine grew in unadorned simplicity and centuries-old portage trail stretched across the Precambrian sandstone. There was a campsite on the edge of the cliff, overlooking the canyon. As beautiful as our last campsite was, this site beat it.
At the end of the portage we arrived at a cliff with a winding goat trail descending back down to the river. "We can go further down the trail or lower the canoes over the cliff," Kevin said, as he brought up the rear of our rag-tag group. As in all things dangerous we sent Lee first. He's young, footloose, fancy-free...and expendable. Kevin called out, "Lee, the three of us will lower the canoes and you catch them...okay?" Lee yelled back, "Not a problem! I'll carry a load of packs and barrels if you want to get some shots." He reminded me of a voyageur as he hoisted the first canoe onto his shoulders and lowered it to the water. Short in stature and powerfully built, he has the natural confidence of a man born to the wilderness and the soft humour that often accompanies it. As soon as photos were taken and gear portaged, we were on the river again.
We arrived at our campsite that afternoon. It is named Manito Falls and at first sight it seemed out of place. If the splendor of this area were a perfume, its cost would be prohibitive. The combined scene of the falls, shallow ledges and high cliffs belong in a tropical setting, not Northern Sakatchewan. Lee made the first discovery. At the bottom of the rapids, in a large tailpool, were walleye in the four to five-pound range and shortly afterward Owen found a healthy pike population. We were introduced to fish frajitas for supper. We stayed at Manito Falls for two days and wandered, fished and explored the region. We found a cairn that contained notebooks dating back to the 1980s that combined comments about various trips and Owen soon added his comments to the collection. He had mostly written about Taiga, who swam to far into the main current and was pulled over the first set of falls. She was banged and bruised but was soon her old self.
The days passed into nights and as was our tradition on the river, the setting sun was toasted with cigars and liqueurs. Each night a poem was read from a book by Robert Service; the reader's face framed with the glow of the campfire.
