Day 1. Wed., July 13.

On which pleasant conditions allow our grateful protagonist to adjust to his situation. 

Today’s the day. I wake up at 5:30 AM, warm up with some yoga, eat a big breakfast, and finish getting my kayak organized by 9:15, by which point the park crew have arrived and are in the garage with me asking questions about my plans. The garage has a large scales that Bobby says I could use to weigh my boat, which is heavier than it’s ever been and quite full. Everyone smiles when I think for a moment and reply that I don’t want to know. It might be useful trivia in retrospect, but at the time I realize that knowing just how many kilos I plan to haul up the valley on the first portage might intimidate me. All I know is, I need help lifting her onto the pickup truck that will carry us to the village’s tiny harbor.

My plan is to paddle the Leaf beginning at its source — Lake Minto, which is about 190 meters above sea level. Most of this ascent will involve a hike from Hudson Bay’s shore straight up a nameless valley to a pond about seven kilometers inland. In essence, this the equivalent of climbing a fifty-story building over the course of four miles, carrying all of my gear. It looks to be a tough obstacle, but my research suggested this was the route that made the most sense, compared to those that other teams had taken.

The park staffers help me without charging me a penny. I've planned in advance to thank them as I can with a small meal. At 9:30, I invite everyone in the building to have some of my only fresh food — the ham and cheese I brought. From the looks on their faces, pork doesn’t appear to be too familiar a dish, but they all seem to enjoy it; I’m glad I did this. I thank them profusely for all the help they have given me both this trip and the last. We load the boat onto the truck at 10, swing by the village’s water supply house to fill my bottles, and I launch at 10:30.

With a last wave at Bobby and Simon, I depart the breakwater harbor and head northward. Bobby has brought his drone, and I hear it whizzing overhead for a few minutes taking footage of the qallunaa kayaker as Umiujaq falls behind me. Eventually the whizzing stops. I am alone on Hudson Bay.

I spent much of the pandemic practicing whitewater kayaking, and the last few weeks I also have hauled my sea kayak for long stretches through the local park and paddled it as often as I could manage. Today, at least, is sunny and fairly warm, and the breeze calms down by noon. The entire afternoon it is a sheet of glass … I remember thinking, Even a crew shell could handle this. I’m grateful. With my work schedule, it has been rare that I’ve had the opportunity to train more than three hours at a stretch back home on the Potomac River, my only local flowing water.

This morning I paddle up to my first ice floe. There is a herd of them out by the Nastapoka Islands, but this one’s a stray. I’m glad there are a few nearby so I can check them out. But a few is enough.

I end up going only about 20 km in 5 hours. This is slower progress and a shorter paddle than I’d have liked, but my boat is laden and it’s my first day. I remember saying to myself, Dude, you’re in shape but you’re not 25 anymore. Take it slow and ease into this. I stop in mid-afternoon when I spot a small cabin by a stream. Empty, half-finished, but it has a door and plenty of room for me and some gear.

Dinner is more ham and cheese, plus chana masala with tea and cocoa. The ham and cheese are a new addition to my usual dehydrated fare. I decided to bring a sizable chunk of both after reading Herb Pohl's book, The Lure of Faraway Places — edited by Jim Raffan, whose own Nunavik trip reflections helped me plan back in 2018. Pohl, a legendary tripper, used to travel for weeks at a time subsisting mostly on bacon and potatoes. I figured ham and some gouda would help me my first few days, while my boat is at its heaviest and my body is adjusting to trip mode.

Speaking of which, my back and arms are sore, as expected. I warm down with a bit of yoga before bed.

I realize that mentally I’m not completely here yet. For the past few weeks, I have been busy with planning details, followed by the frenzy of activity that merely reaching Umiujaq harbor demanded. It hasn’t sunk in that the trip I’ve been planning for four years is happening as I write. I need another good night of sleep, as I realize I’ll probably say every night for the next three weeks. I check my Garmin InReach Mini for a forecast, and I try to put tomorrow’s projected wind out of my mind as my eyes close.