For years the Back River lured me for its mistique of being the longest, most isolated river in North America. The river's source is north of Yellowknife in the Northwest Territories.  It flows northeast through over 600 miles of uninhabited tundra, forming and draining several large lakes before ending in the Arctic Ocean 90 miles from the nearest habitation.

In 2007 the opportunity came with a call from a friend who had arranged a charter flight in to the put in.  There was room for one more person on the Cessna Caravan which would divide the cost between three of us.  We could fly in together then go our own way. I wanted to paddle it solo.  Why? People ask.  It is not that I hate people.  Journeys into the wilderness are a quest to discover who I am, to connect with the larger world and to immerse myself in the beauty of the natural world.  When I am with people, I tend to relate to them.  They serve as a buffer emotionally and physically between me and the world I am traveling through.  Traveling in a group, I can talk through my fears, my frustrations, and also my joys.  Alone, they wash through me undiluted and leave me broken open, neither resisting nor grasping at the next moment.

Poems from the river

River Magnificent river,

you carry us with grace and power

through the heart of wilderness,

but like a shy woman you

do not reveal your intentions

but conceal you path behind rough rock walls

of ice piled boulders.

With blind trust we paddle toward

a rock fenced horizon

seeking passage home

doubts mount as the eyes find no break

in the barrier.

Then unannounced, two rock bars part

and you open yourself to us

revealing one more length of your

Sinuous and secretive body.

After 45 days of solo travel I met up with two other canoes;  two women from Norway and two men from the US.  We traveled together on occasion for the next three weeks.  In the morning we would have breakfast and tea in the Norwegian's large tent, preparing ourselves for another cold and rainy day.  Then we would load the boats each at own pace and proceed down river.  Often we would choose the same site for the next nights camp, but there was no plan.  The autonomy of each group led to enjoyable and tension free travel with each group having the freedom to move at their own speed and follow their own interests.  Some of the photographs and the following article were taken during that time.

Connection

In a lifetime of longing for connection

I sometimes felt the threads of a silken web

Touching hearts

Linking me to another Subtle but joyous.

Here I find myself embedded in a

Tundra stew

Like an onion slice whose flavor has permeated the broth

And been penetrated by every other flavor

Until my very identity is in question.

As wanderers We have met here in this land, effortlessly and unknowingly

We have all fallen into this vastness

Not a linking of hearts,

But dissolving together into this living brew.

River Talk

Speaking softly,

barely above a whisper

yet persistent

flowing uninterrupted,

it neither calls not admonishes,

only sings softly of motion

effortless and fluid.

Not a song of joy, 

that is a human illusion.

I can make up words,

ascribe a language to its sounds,

but in the end I know that it has nothing to say.

I listen more closely

and soon I have nothing to say.

Interested in more?

Here is an article published in Kanowa Magazine in 2010 on individual strategies for paddling a rapid on the Back river

Portage Line Or Run?