This was a day of bitter disappointment, however, like all days of disappointment, it was also mixed with excitement, entertainment, and a degree of merriment….like I said “A DEGREE.” Now I hear you saying, “Why? What happened? Tell me. I am falling off my seat. Let me know,” so I will.

It all started like this….

Today is Monday, we arose early from a deep, comfortable slumber (well at least mine was), knowing a long and tiring day of portaging was ahead of us. Little did I know how LONG or TIRING it was going to be, yet at the same time, at the end of the day, I did not feel like we achieved at all that much.

After we awoke it was time to play hide and seek with all our assorted belongings. We had stayed at the La Biche Mission and had had full use of the kitchen area and most of the Mission grounds. I guess we experienced what you could call an explosion. Everything from four small canoes had exploded throughout the building and around the grounds. Everything from this explosion had to be found, gathered, sought out, and made sense of; but most importantly tamed and bagged.

Crikee, what a job that was!

All my CLEAN personal clothing had to be sorted, folded and packed from an enormous pile – a couple of our voyageurs had volunteered to do all of the group’s washing (Thank you, Tammy, I now have clean clothes. Yippy!). Then it was time for our group to sort out our food as new supplies had been delivered by David’s parents. After all the gathering and sorting had been done, it was time to load all of our expedition gear (well as much as we could fit) into David’s dad’s trailer.

It was then going to be dumped at the first bridge… where after a few short kilometers of paddling canoes basically empty of our packs and barrels we would reload our canoes to continue down the Beaver River.

Okay, so let me clarify, the first bridge was not our starting point -- we found out many long hours later.

It wasn’t even close to our starting point.

Maybe more the end of our starting point as it never really felt like we ever really started anything today… Gee, I hope you got all that. I almost lost it there a bit myself… Anyway, moving right along. We planned to start canoeing about 2 to 3 km upstream from where our stuff was dumped (road distance not river distance – big difference.)

Ummm, let me say that again BIG difference.

If you ever get a chance to see what the Beaver River looks like, you will understand why it is one huge squiggle on the maps). We were going to PADDLE for what I thought would be maybe 2 hours to where Delafields had dumped our possessions and then continue Paddling for maybe another 3 hours. Not too unreasonable, I thought.

How wrong I was!

This morning I eagerly volunteered to leave camp early to stay with our belongings where they were dumped along the highway, while the rest of our group and stuff was gathered for delivery in the next load. The alternate job was to stay at the Mission to continue packing, sorting and cleaning up the remainder of the group’s explosion. All I had to do was sit or sprawl on our pile of assorted equipment and look as menacing as one can when half snoozing so passersby on the highway didn’t get the impression that our equipment was free for the taking. After due time I was replaced by Hardy, Hardy Jr., and Anita (David’s parents and brother) who would be holding a long and diligent watch over all our belongings until such time as we PADDLED around the corner and laid claim to our mound of treasures. After the change of the guard I was dropped back with the mighty Banana Split (mine and Mark’s Canoe). It was readied for the next leg of its Voyage (and about time, too, I might add. It was about 11:30 in the morning before we got back on the water).

And so our trek down the great squiggle (Beaver River) began.

I was so excited – like really excited! Like I could hardly stay in my seat excited! I was that excited!

Well, let me say it didn’t last for long. We had to stop almost as soon as we started for our first obstacle. However, to my travel-worn and hardy companions with around 800 kilometers under our belts, we merely laughed at the challenge whilst the skies above raged with thunder and the water below threw logs, logs and more logs into our path… I exaggerate, you say. I am pulling your leg, you say, but no I am not in the slightest. There was literally a thunderstorm happening overhead. (Sadly, no lighting. That would have definitely added to the dramatic atmosphere and the river around us and under us looked like 100 pigs’ breakfast. (Remember, I’m from Australia so this is an apt phrase.) The river was chockfull with logs facing in all directions, of all shapes and sizes. The only uniform thing about the logs was that there was nothing uniform about them. The beavers had definitely performed a number on the trees. However, to add a little more challenge to the maze, the water’s surface was completely covered with duckweed making it impossible to see any logs that were even the slightest bit submerged. This first obstacle definitely said, “Enter only if you dare. Worse is still to come.” We entered worse. Funny how that works. (No, don’t take me wrong. I was having a blast). Our second obstacle in, let me say, maybe 15 minutes was the first beaver dam.

Now at this point there is something that you need to know. Before coming to Canada, I had never encountered a beaver. I did not really know what they looked like nor did I have a picture in my mind of what these workaholics could accomplish. I pictured small, furry little critters that made little dams and little houses. Well, I was wrong, so very wrong – actually I don’t think that I have been more wrong about anything in my life – this was definitely an eye opener. The wall of the beaver dam was about 1 meter wide and over 6 meters deep. I do not know how deep the water was around it. Like I said it was huge! After much careful maneuvering and precise work we all managed to get our canoes up, across, down, and safely in the water then reloaded with their (the canoes’) occupants. The river still had not beaten us – so it threw more obstacles in our way. More logs floating in the water that either had to be dodged, rammed or climbed over.

Let me clarify “climbed over” for you.

When a canoe came upon a log that could not be first, gone around; or second, rammed over; the front passenger would step gingerly out of the canoe and balance precariously on the log so that it was lower in the water then the hull of the canoe. Then the stern paddler would paddle like mad until the canoe was safely across the log, whereupon the bow paddler would then climb back into the seat and the canoe would continue on its very merry way.

Well, at this point in time it was me, Toad, who was in the front seat. We came upon a log that was taking all the necessary actions possible for a log to ensure our passing was impossible. So, it was my duty to remove myself form the canoe and step onto a floating log over a pool of green, stringy Duck Weed. All was going well – Oh, just let me say that I call this small chapter in my life “The Death Defying Leap Across the Chasm of Doom” – I stepped out of my canoe and balanced myself precariously on the log. Mark paddled like mad (we considered ourselves experts with this maneuver having done it once before). I gave him a LITTLE! shove over the log, however this little shove upset the fine balance between myself, the canoe and worst of all – the canoe shot off on its merry way into the blue yonda without me. The log started bucking like a prize-winning bronco with me riding it. At least I was still riding my bronco. Well, I rode it for what I considered to be the mandatory 8 seconds then decided it was now my earned right to get off. However my canoe was still floating into the blue yonda without me so I LEPT! from the log (don’t ask me how, but I did). I lept the distance from the log to the canoe -- OVER A METER away by this point – and landed sprawled-eagle on the canoe behind Mark. Now let me explain, the canoe is very wobbly at the best of times. It is even more wobbly when there is only one person in the canoe. And something else, there is not very much room between the back of the canoe where Mark was sitting and the back of the canoe where the canoe is no more. The canoe is also not very wide at this point -- at most six inches. So combining all these factors, a person flying through the air and then landing sprawled-eagle over the back of the canoe with thrashing legs and butt hanging off one side and arms and head dangling over the other… Well, the equation would naturally end with a capsized canoe. However, thankfully this equation did not add up and instead I ended up performing with another prize-winning bucking bronco ride. Well, to cut this story short Mark took the canoe back to the log (the same Log mind you that I had already ridden, like I hadn’t beaten it already) and the I had to get back on the log, then I had to balance myself and make my way forward to my seat at the front of the canoe and leap back in. Finishing my second ride on the log without getting bucked off, we continued on our way. That was a ride of a lifetime.

Now, I know you are thinking there don’t seem to be any disappointments yet – Mark and myself are again paddling the Banana Split. Everything is good, but there is a disappointment. The river, or was it the beavers, knew we were coming. They tossed trees every which direction. A little windfall added pick-up sticks to the dilemma. The streambed looked no different then the beaver flooded quagmire. The alders were so close our canoes wouldn’t fit between the trunks. The river continued its course to a point where it was impassible and, yes, as much as I hate to say it, it beat us fair and square. We retraced our route back up the river, over the beaver dams, pulled our canoes out of the river, put the canoes on our backs and carried them down the highway to the bridge where I had been guarding our heap of equipment earlier in the day. David’s parents were still watching our stuff and waiting for us to come down the river. Instead, they were startled to see us portaging down the highway. It was a long, hot, tiring walk; time has never seemed to pass so slowly and a short distance never seemed so far. It was very disappointing and energy draining.

When at last we arrived we learnt that we had only paddled ½ km and had walked about 3 kilometers to our heap of gear. Then we also learnt that the river continued to be impassible. It was similar to what we had already beaten us once, or maybe even worse. This was bad news for us. There would be no more canoeing for us today. After a long discussion, it was decided that we were going to skip a huge portion of the river and put in at the Amisk River where it joined the Beaver River. When the decision to skip a large section of the Beaver River was made I think I was at one of the lowest points of my life – at least it seemed that way right then. The disappointment was great for I could no longer say that I have paddled and portaged the whole distance from Jasper House, Alberta, to Churchill, Manitoba. We had just skipped 58.8 kilometers of the Beaver River.

One day I will come back and paddle that part. I don’t know when or how, but I will do it just so that I can say I have. Which, I believe, is almost as good a reason as any to do anything.

Toad (Anita Burns)

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