ROLLING ON THE SOUTH NAHANNI RIVER

I decided it was about time to visit Canada. Not a trip stopping off en route to the USA or hopping from one fine looking city to another but a chance to view the wide open country of lakes, mountains and rivers. And I had a fantastic time!

One day I should like to see the Arctic (before it melts?) with its whales and polar bears, but that is for the winter and I heard about the Nahanni River area in the north-west and I liked the sound of it. Windows on the Wild, a travel company operating in the UK sent me details of the river trip and I decided to take the plunge. En route I passed through Toronto, which was great, where I caught my brother’s band rehearsing for their upcoming North American tour: “I’m on my way to Yellowknife and the Nahanni River” I mentioned in conversation. They had never played there though they had gigged in Edmonton in the autumn; outside too. “People were all wrapped up in fur coats” Mick said.

I was destined to spend some days waiting in Yellowknife, a frontier kinda town which has recently opened up a diamond mine, like you do, and that has in turn generated income, replacing the old gold mines that are largely run out now. The town sits on the Great Slave Lake a huge body of water, its name incidentally coming from the local Slavi people and not prisoners in shackles. I managed some musical ‘jamming’ at the Wildcat Café, a local shack and an original waterfront building that has been preserved. Among the young kd lang types I jammed a Jimi Hendrix number with ‘Jesse James’ a member of the Denye tribe and quite nifty about the axe too. (N.b.Calling anyone ‘Indians’ is a strict no-no these days as well as grossly incorrect!)

I met up with veteran organiser and author Neil Hartling at Fort Simpson on the impressively wide McKenzie River and then flew with a small float plane to the Virginia Falls and the beginning of the trip. Some say that the plane ride alone is worth the price of admission as you fly above such spectacular scenery, but unfortunately the weather was hazy owing to bush fires further north. These occur naturally in the summer months. It did not however obscure our view of the actual falls as our pilot, former Mountie Ted, tilted above the foaming and cascading water and we were caught between wonder and clicking the shutter.

There were exclusively only ten of us on this five day river trip and three guides one per inflatable raft. They have to be that as they are flown in! Before the white man arrived the ‘First Nation’ people would go downstream in moose hide canoes. Our tribe was singularly lacking in any hang-ups, there wasn’t even an argument in five days and all travellers shared an interest in the natural beauty and with some knowledge too of the flora and fauna of the North West. Let me say from the outset that given all the considerations that you are going into the ‘wilderness’ (i.e. no mobiles or TV… shock horror) this is a trip that anybody could do and there is practically no hardship as your every interest is catered for. It would be different were you to go it alone, as you may do, for then the preparations would be different.

I stood above the falls that first evening and looked on in some and awe, never having witnessed such a cascade before. The water cascaded from a smooth stream then tumbled, crashed against rocks, flowed back upstream and formed whirlpools and eddies with an accompanying roar. Everything is then sucked down into a headlong leap some 300 feet, higher than Niagara, to the canyon below. One guy fell in and all they found was his hat.

The walk around the falls, or the portage, follows an old trail that the river once ran in prehistoric times. The Nahanni is an ancient flow and in fact predates the mountains; as it has cut into the rock, so they have risen around it creating a unique archaeological record. Below the falls a drifting spray blows across an altogether chillier landscape which we were ready to leave once the preliminaries of ‘what to do if you fall out of a boat’ are disposed of. We paid more attention than we might to the stewardess in an airplane and file the information at the back on the brain to the ‘in case of’ section, along with ‘what to do if you meet a bear’ talk that we had the night before and details of a ‘bear watch’ that a research scientist is currently conducting in the area. The bear’s habitat is a fragile one and we are in its backyard during the time it needs to put on some 3 to 6 pounds per day prior to hibernation. And that’s a lot of berries!

We finally climbed into the rubber boats and were off downstream in the turbulent water between the sheer walls of the ‘painted canyon.’ Not too much paddling is required and you may sit the whole trip out as an onlooker. My raft is manned, or womanned, by the charming, beautiful and well built Maya who pulls this way and that depending on the currents. We gazed at the passing scenery. After only some two hours we landed on a wooded shore and headman Neil cut up a sockeye salmon (wild) and served a meal that would grace any smart London restaurant. We assemble out tents and like a good Englishman I make tea in a kettle for anyone wanting it. It tastes even better with a drop of whisky!

This far north you have one eye on the weather as the season ends early and it is already August; a fine drizzle met us in the morning but soon lifted. Fascinating rapids lay downstream, known as the figure of eight as they turn and swirl sideways as the water attempts to rush down at once, but is prevented by the confining rock walls. Just a year ago however, a shingle bank was swept away in the spring flood making the passage easier. It can still be tricky in a canoe, for if you are swept into a whirlpool, the current may take you under and hold you there before you bob up 200 feet downstream providing you hold your breath of course.

I had brought a book with me on ‘water’ written as coincidence would have it by a Canadian scientist who lives in the North and she had been on this same trip with my guide Neil and at 80 years of age! In it she describes the many facets of water as it tumbles downstream carrying mountains with it. Most are familiar with the waves created by a rock in the current and the way the water rushes in after the impediment to fill the hole. These ‘hydraulic jumps’ are everywhere and we have to avoid them! After the swirling rapids the ‘Flat River’ joins us and it was upstream from here that RM Patterson, a Scottish pioneer spent time during the 1920’s building a cabin and trapping in the winter months. His buddy was Gordon Matthews who went with him because “any country where the Indians are still hostile and you can shoot moose from your mountain bed and mountain sheep with your pistol is well worth seeing before the rats get at it.” Quite! There was also talk then of ‘gold in them thare hills’ and under mysterious circumstances the McLeod brothers had disappeared near here and were later found decapitated, the spot now known as ‘Headless Creek’. Such thrice told tales are good yarns around the camp fire at night.

On an island where we stopped for snacks, Rose, a fellow traveller, pointed out to me some nice moose and wolf tracks in the river sand. Perhaps one was tracking the other? It was Rose too who led us through some basic T’ai Chi the following morning before we stuffed ourselves with pancakes, bacon and oatmeal washed down with copious amounts of coffee brewed cowboy style in a big black pot. White dried driftwood lies all around handily for the fire.

Next up was ‘The Gate’ a deep canyon entrance where you may climb high above the river to gaze down on the snake like watercourse. The sun was out after a grey day as we paddled an inflatable canoe (brought for this purpose) and passed through high canyon walls, quite chilly out of the sun and rising to some two to three thousand feet above our heads. White stripes mark where waterfalls will cascade down in the spring thaw. In the small boils and riffles of the current we allowed the boat to drift, gazing upwards at the passing panorama. “Turn off your mind relax and float downstream” as J Lennon put it aptly! It was tougher in the old days. Patterson notes “the rising Nahanni swirled and clashed….against the tremendous cliffs; the dogs lay close by the fire and the two pygmies (aboriginals) who were moving so busily between the camp and the canoes knew that they were there only on sufferance and for a little while; the great, fantastic place was meant for loneliness and not for men.” Our trip however was christened ‘float and bloat’ by Rose’s husband who reckoned that he had already put pounds on due to the good food an inactivity!

Downstream we swept, past the ‘Headless Valley’ and Prairie Creek where industry wants to build a road and mine lead and zinc; through ‘George’s Riffle’ and the white water which merely splashes into the bow a little and finally First Canyon (there are three we pass through) looming larger than the others above you with its towering ramparts. The layered rock is limestone and boasts caves drilled out by water action from above, some of them containing early paintings. I got to commandeer a raft, something I had been angling for but had been previously refused. Headman Neil gave way finally as I pointed out he was dog tired; I looked up to see the two other rafts taken over by novices too, something the organisers are wary of probably for insurance purposes! The trick in manoeuvring these craft is to catch the current which moves from this side to that and to avoid such nasties as trees which lay in ambush near the bank. These ‘sweepies’ can spell trouble if they catch you. By a gurgling spring we filled our flasks and the water tasted delicious. Above us some Dall sheep cantered away from a natural salt lick by the river, cautious of the intruders.

Each traveller is allotted a tent which is simple enough to erect and on the final morning mine is heavy with dew in the river sand. We often camped on sandbars or small islands as these have open space and we cannot escape! I forget to mention that all ‘smellies’ e.g. food, toothpaste, whisky etc. are to be left outside the tent in a cache in case of bear trouble as they crave these luxury goods. I point out that if you were in the wild you might be the same too but at the end of the trip only one of our party has seen a bear scuttling away in the early morning, so my smellies stay put and I am thinking about what to say to the bear in case he pops his head in. If I met a real Grizzly it would be different no doubt and they are the big ones. Most Canadians have not seen one either, but brown bears are fairly common. I have to content myself with tracks which are nonetheless fascinating and tell a lot about the animals.

We reached Krauss’ Hot Springs a sulphurous pool of hot water where we washed off the river grime. This spot was inhabited by an old time couple who built a cabin here and incidentally left the floor bare as it was warm; under floor heating at 40 below is pretty good. They moved out in the 1960’s when the area was declared a national park, partly with the enthusiasm of Premier Trudeau who came here and loved it.

Finally the river current slows as we enter ‘The Splits’ a calmer area where channels meander across the land and divide about shingle banks strewn with bleached timber and blowing sand. Extra paddles help as we pulled towards our final night camping on the river. As night fell we wondered if we might see some Northern Lights, the famed Aurora Borealis. I pulled out my harmonica and blew it a little in the darkness and lo and behold the sky broke into ribbons of light opening into rippled effects which glowed and moved across the great arc of the sky like a neon tube with the Big Dipper in the background. There were colours too, muted pinks and purple. What a show. The best way to view was lying on your back. As it disappeared I was asked to play again to bring it back! Even the locals from Yellowknife were impressed by this particular display as it shone on cue for our last night.

The next day we deflated the boats and packed them into some outboards that local ‘First Nation’ people came to collect us in and we were duly shipped fast style down to Lindbergh’s Landing a beautiful spot settled by a now elderly couple who settled here and have lived the life which would be the envy of many a city dweller although it must have been hard work. Mrs Lindbergh prepared us a delicious meal of bison and beef meatloaf (wow!) and all her own vegetables while for breakfast she had baked ‘biscuits’ and provided her own fresh eggs. Now in her ‘70’s with her long grey hair tied back and her tall and straight back, Sue has seen all the old timers come and go like the river that flows by her farmhouse. After a shower I sat in one of her cabins and wrote down a song.

Beautiful river
Running so free
But it’s goodbye
To the Nahanni.

I left my footprints
In your soft sand
Now I must be leaving
Your northern lands

Where are you going?
Where are you bound?
Past waterfalls
Tumbling down

Don’t want to fight you
Just leave you be
Rock and the waters
Run down to the sea.

Beautiful river
Running so free
But it’s goodbye
To the Nahanni.

(download the track here)

I played the song later at the Wildcat Café in Yellowknife on my way back and they seemed to like it, so maybe I will return too one day. There are moves afoot to extend the protected area of the Nahanni as it is only a few miles across in some sections and really needs to incorporate a wider watershed. Rivers without barriers, dams or interference are rare in the 21st century.

For further info please see www.cpaws.org & www.nahanni.com.

-- Christopher Jagger 2005