Day 20. Mon. Aug. 1 (58°17’55” N, 71°39’38” W)

During which our protagonist breaks nothing, except a personal record.

9PM  58°36’35” N, 70°29’09” W

Today went better than yesterday — an admittedly low bar to clear, but I’ll take it. 

I was up at 4AM, steeling myself almost immediately against the emotions running as fast as the Leaf’s current through my system. I knew I could not afford another accident, but I also could not stay where I was. I had to get on the river and handle it.

I launched at 7AM and paddled from km 144 to the cabin at km 57. That’s by far a new paddling distance record for me, though of course the current gave me a massive boost. Still, 87km in 12.5 hours is a lot of territory for yours truly.

And what territory it was. Is. Mountain Bend earned its name on the map. The “mountain” was only a few hundred meters high, but the peak lords over the territory and the rapid that curves beneath it.

The valley from about km 110 to where I stopped was stunning, especially in the afternoon when the sun came out. Rocky hills rise at times 200m above the river, with some greenery in parts here and there but not covering them. It gave nearly the opposite impression of the trip’s earlier days, when the hills among the ponds and on Minto were mostly green with fewer rocks protruding. Very few erratics here as well, which surprises me. Did the glaciers not drop any here for some reason?

I negotiated several more rapids carefully. I stopped to scout the most formidable three, and in those cases I found sneak routes near the shore on river left, which allowed me to avoid the real drama and trouble spots. I started the day shaken, but with each rapid my confidence slowly returned.  

The valley dazzled me. I want to come back here, I thought. This place is worth the effort and struggle.

And it has been full of both. This is easily the toughest thing I’ve done in thirty years. I’ve thought that a few times over the past two weeks.

Foot blisters. Sore back. Nerve problem in my left and possibly right arms. Overall fatigue. All the gear troubles on the trip. The loss of my visual record. Not to mention all the time and money spent planning the trip and getting up here.

But I had the whole territory to myself, essentially. Except for Leaf River Lodge, I haven’t seen another soul in 20 days. Even wildlife has been scarce: Saw a lone bull caribou at midmorning today, and a small black bear after that right near the flow gauge on the shore (a bit upstream from the Dufreboy River mouth). It was only my second bear of the trip, and after a confused glance at me he hightailed it for the hinterland.

The riverbed beneath me has been flying past again. And it has gone even faster on other days. I am hurtling through the countryside. It took me four long years to get back here, and now the landscape is passing in a blur. I need to breathe, to stop and observe.

I made it back to Nunavik. I had a plan this time. And I made it happen, despite what it has demanded.

Feels good.

After this long day, I am sitting at a table in the cabin at the 57 km point, the same one Lynette and Laco stayed in, and I’m scribbling trip notes furiously. I have eaten and hung up my smelly gear. It’s late and I need to get up early if I’m to have hope of making it over Goodbye Rapid at the narrow high-tide window. But I have no camera anymore, and I realize my notebook will be my only permanent record of everything I’ve seen and done. 

When I do come back here, I will leave more days in the schedule. The only overall regret I have is that it has felt too much like a mission, with too little glorying in the gorgeous wilderness that surrounds me. I have been so focused on staying together and covering distance that I have had to remind myself continuously to stop for a few moments here and there to take in the sights…

Nastapoka Falls and the rapids above it. The view back to the Nastapoka Islands while ascending the first portage. The valley as I climbed it. Elon and his clan. So many breathtaking hills and cliffsides among the ponds. The long black stringlike horsehair worm cavorting in the water when I was on the Riviere Biscarat, just before I lined and ferried up the rapid. My mirthless joy when I took my first strokes on Minto, when I was nearly too tired to take pleasure in the accomplishment. All the long vistas in the ponds and while paddling Minto, and the feeling that a sea kayak was what the whitecaps demanded. Pushing the boat hard as I made windy open-water crossings in the sun. The hills in the distance that I knew were my far-off checkpoints. Seeing rare copses of evergreen come and go as I wove above and below the northern tree limit. The sinuous valley of the northern section of Minto, before the river started to flow. The astonishing speed of the river when the rocks below me were visible rushing by. The majesty of Mountain Bend. The last 110km of the Leaf’s valley, and probably more of it than that, if I’d had the time and presence of mind to absorb it.

I gotta crash — my daily mantra. I hope to make tidewater and the Leaf Lake Lodge by tomorrow afternoon.