Day 21. Tue. Aug. 2, 7AM (58°36’35” N, 70°29’09” W)

In which the saltwater rises to meet our protagonist.

Good last morning out on the land, Nunavik.

It’s a gorgeous warming blue-sky summer day. Still beat from the long paddle yesterday and subsequent 6.5 hours of sleep, but I’m fed and awake and getting a last look at the valley before I pack up and head for Goodbye Rapid. Hope I got the tide information right, eh? All the more reason to get there quickly.

I’m so glad this cabin was open … its interior is virtually unchanged from L&L’s visit 15 years ago, with the exception that it no longer looks like a bear has demolished it. The two sides are now connected as a single cabin and there are plenty of bunk beds. The interior of the door has a push bar, like the one-way exit from a movie theater would. The large table is still there and has plenty of surface area. Best of all, it offers a respite from the black flies, which are numerous here.

It’s so beautiful and I’m so close to the end, I’m tempted to stay another day and push my luck. I’ve pushed it enough on this trip already however.

5PM In Tasiujaq. 58°41’30” N, 69°55’40” W

I did it. I’m off the water.

The day started in wilderness and transitioned to civilization in a whirl.

Shoved off at 8:40 AM and paddled hard to reach Goodbye Rapid by high tide Tasiujaq time. Ran a few read-and-run rapids and nearly scraped the bottom a few times on the flats near the mouth … missed having to get out and drag by a bare few centimeters each time. Glad the river is higher than usual, as Louis mentioned it had been. It was around 700 m3/s three weeks ago, according to my River App.

The river valley flattens out somewhat for its final 50 km or so, its rapids giving way to sandbars. Nearing Goodbye Rapid, there is a long stretch of sandy flats with rocks strewn atop them. Among them were two seals laying about sunning themselves. They looked like boulders from a distance, but when I approached they got spooked back into the water. Ungainly creatures until they are swimming. 

Made it to Goodbye Rapid by 11:40. Lynette Chubb’s supposition that that Leaf Bay’s reversible falls delays the tide here would appear to be correct because, fortunately, the tide was still coming in. I was relieved because I was worried I’d miss it, whether from paddling too slowly or inaccurate information.

I ate lunch atop a boulder on river left for about 45 minutes, watching a complete mess of a wide, rock-strewn washing-machine rapid calm itself to a wavy passage that didn’t even look challenging. Went down at 12:40PM. I’d planned out my line when the rapid was worse, but I ended up not needing it.

Paddled slowly into Leaf Bay, which has at least one majestic waterfall from the Fanfan river (a second dramatic watercourse looked fairly dry), a gorgeous high alpine meadow in the distance from which both falls tumble, many very steep sections of shoreline, and — the day I was there — a fair bit of boat traffic. It was pleasantly disconcerting to see powerboats humming around after all this solitude.

Reached Leaf Bay Lodge at 2PM. (58°46’18”N, 70°09’58”W) Billy Cain, the proprietor, motored up in one of the boats shortly after I arrived. He was very friendly and offered me a bed and food, which I gladly accepted, but before I could unload another motor canoe pulled in. When Billy learned my flight was the next day, he immediately advised me to ride into town with them, as he said a storm was coming in. We put my boat in and left.

Leaf Bay is stunningly beautiful, rivalling Richmond Gulf in its way. Towering islands and long vistas.

As we zipped away from the lodge we passed the line of the reversible falls, which had looked threatening to L&L from a distance and had apparently stopped a motor launch from approaching the lodge when they were there. For us it was a non-feature: It looked like any other section of the bay. Doesn’t look like it would be hard for paddlers to time a successful crossing. I went over more than 90 minutes after I paddled Goodbye Rapid, so my takeaway is that the time window to cross is fairly wide.

Also passed Baie Rouge, which is where Al Stirt’s team had a frightening experience on their paddle to Tasiujaq village. I can see why they decided to beeline it across the mouth of the bay rather than hug the shore … the bay is large and the beeline crossing looks easy. The water was quite flat as we flew past, and in the distance the bay's curving shore was already starting to expose itself as the tide went out. I wasn’t there long enough to see much, but I will say this: The shoreline stretching from Goodbye Rapid past the Lodge to the turn toward Baie Rouge is quite steep, and I wouldn’t want to have to land there in rough water.

The motor canoe left me at the low-tide harbor on Rowe Island, where the locals have built a very large garage big enough for multiple motor launches. It was empty when I glanced inside. If the door is unlocked, as it was when I tried it, it could serve as a bad-weather shelter.

I spent a solitary hour organizing my gear, and then a couple of Inuit guys pulled up in a pickup and gave me a ride into town. The NV Building helped me find a spot for my kayak, and I went to the hotel, which was CN $258. A Quebecois named Jean Bosa walked in after me and asked if it was me who had just rolled in with my kayak. Turns out he kayaks as well, and he invited me to his home for dinner that evening. Naturally I accepted.

I’m beat but exhilarated. A little bummed I didn’t get to paddle the whole way to town, but my arm badly needs a rest and a storm sounded like a repeat of Al Stirt’s experience. After all that worry about schedule, I’m even going to make my flight as planned.

I just crossed Ungava and ran the Leaf River. This happened.