right so I choose the inside of the bend in the hopes of finding calmer water and a way to sneak past the dangerous turbulence in mid stream.

I process through this mental dialog with a few variations every time the river speeds up and the sound of rumbling water fills the air.  Years ago when I started paddling, I assumed rapids fell into categories and announced themselves as runnable, lineable or clearly a portage.  The Back River was offering no clear choices.  It would not make the decision for me, and even once I had decided on a course of action, there were many possible routes. 

Assessing risk is very often subjective.  Most canoeists feel safer on solid ground with the canoe on the end of a rope.  Are we really safer?  To feel the boat accelerate down the tongue of a rapid always stirs the adrenaline.  It is a function of giving up an element of control, of becoming part of the river and subject to its will, not ours.  The mind objects, claiming survival is at stake, but in moving beyond that there is an exquisite sense of freedom.  Either giving in to the fear or becoming addicted to the pleasure will lead to poor decisions. On a wilderness trip I try to maintain a balance.  I gain satisfaction not from testing myself against the brute force of the river, but in cleanly, perhaps even elegantly, negotiating the narrow side chutes and boulder fields while the main force of the river tumbles through the class V rapid in mid-river.

For the first 40 days of the trip I paddled alone.  I ran most of the rapids, with the exception of a mile long portage around a series of cascades.  After crossing several large lakes I was nearing a nine mile stretch of difficult water beginning with Rock Rapids.   Two other parties caught up to me.  Now there were five of us as we discussed strategy for the coming rapids.  Would it be safer to stay together in case of an accident or each go our own way at our own speed.  In the end, the two women from Norway decided that they would rather travel alone.  With the confidence built in the first 400 miles on the river, they felt safer moving at their own speed choosing their own route.

Though agreeing to follow our own paths, we arrived at the first set of rapids together and it provided an opportunity to see various techniques in action.  I found what seemed to me a safe route to sneak down the right side of the main channel; dodging some boulders at the top, then moving a little farther out into the current to avoid a shallow field of rocks.  There were some four to five foot standing waves on the route, but they were near the bottom and a quarter mile of calm water before the next rapid provided a safety zone.  Once I decided not to portage the drop, the route seemed like the best choice given considerations of safety and the joy of running the river. I did not want to risk damage to the boat by lining along the rocky shore.  I could have picked a route closer to shore, threading through a shallow rock garden and avoiding the waves, but again I was concerned with getting hung up on a rock and damaging the boat.   With a good spray skirt and years of whitewater experience I felt confident to paddle through the standing waves.  The run was without incident and I eddied out at the bottom with a big grin on my face. 

Since the others were close behind, I walked back to watch.  The two men in their Royalex canoe boldly confronted the rocky shore, lining past the worst of the rapid then paddling and dragging through the rock garden, knowing that their canoe could take the punishment.  Though they had the whitewater experience to be competent running the rapid they made the choice to take the more conservative route.  It was a style of paddling they chose, to maximize safety on this, one of the most remote rivers in North America. I wondered for a moment, was I taking unnecessary chances?  Was I sacrificing safety for the pleasure of challenging the river with my paddling skill?  I decided that I was not. I was cautious, and well prepared. It was just a difference in style and temperament.

The Norwegians in their Ally folding canoe had less white water experience and chose to line the entire rapid with some short liftovers.  With everyone still in sight, there were some willing hands to make the task easier, though not necessarily dryer.

At a fork in the river, we split up.  I chose the left channel around an island and the other two parties chose the right.  They based their decision on the account of a previous trip.  I based mine on the map which showed more rapids on the left side.  No, I wasn’t looking for trouble.  I reasoned that in a few miles the channels would merge after descending the same vertical distance.  To me, more drops marked on the map held the promise that each one would be smaller, and more likely runnable.  Was I right?  Perhaps if I am there again I will try the other side and find out.  I was able to run most of them, lining only one section.  It was an easy section to line, and to run it would have required moving to the center of the river and dodging big holes.  There was no flat water before the next drop.  I deemed it too risky for my taste. 

The next day I portaged Sinclair Falls which marked the end of the nine mile stretch of rapids.  I met up with two very experienced paddlers from Alaska carrying their canoe along the shore.  We had crossed paths several times on the trip but I thought they were a day ahead.  They explained that based on an article in Canoeing Canada’s Northwest Territories, they had landed on the left bank at the beginning of Rock Rapids so they would have the option of portaging. From there it appeared that lining would be difficult and running was not an option.  The river was wide, and they could not see that it was better on the right side. The current was too strong to ferry across without working a long way back upstream.  They chose a five mile long portage to bypass the whole stretch of river. 

So in the end the four boats took four different approaches from a long portage, to running most of the rapids.  The choices made had less to do with skill and experience than personal preference and perhaps a bit of luck to pick a more favorable side of the river.  Was there a correct choice?  I know of nine people who paddled the whole river that summer. Everyone made it to the Arctic Ocean.  No one swam, no boats suffered more than normal wear and tear.  In retrospect it is easy to say that there were no wrong choices.  Each party paddled within their ability and comfort zone and reaped the rewards of successfully running a truly remarkable river.