Up the Gatineau! Article
This article was first published in Up the Gatineau! Volume 23.
By Canoe and By Gosh: Memories of a Gatineau Canoe Trip
John Graham
Lomna Calderwood provided this account of a canoe trip taken in August 1930. it was written by her father, then aged 21.
The following is the result of cance trip taken by three worthies, namely: Gordon Beresford, Arthur Graham and another person (the author of this story, John Graham). The original intention was to travel from Wapoos to Chelsea via Mont-Laurier. Owing to certain incidents which I shall relate, our first plans had to be abandoned.
On Sunday, August 3rd (1930) we left Ottawa, and arrived via the Canadian National Transcontinental at Wapoos. We were rather fortunate because the conductor was the only person who knew that such a place as Wapoos existed. We arrived here at 8:00 a.m., Monday morning. There was no sign of a station anywhere, and nothing to show us that we were right, except a large sign with the name of the stop upon it. The canoe was made ready, and we ate breakfast while on Lake Menjobagus, which is right beside the railway.
The lake is quite a large one, and though we followed the map very closely, we could not find the place where we were supposed to leave the lake. According to my compass, the map was about a quarter of a mile out. At length, by following a compass course, we found the small creek up which we were to go. While we were on the lake, two gulls amused themselves by nose-diving at us, and missing us by about two paddle lengths. We were very nervous when they hovered straight above us.
As we paddled up the creek, an airplane passed overhead. We thought (at the time that) it was a ranger’s plane, but we found out later that it was not. The creek was very shallow, with a sandy bottom. All signs of beaver, which we expected to see, had disappeared, and we had four portages where we thought there were only three.
We paddled through several small lakes, and as we neared the height of land a big thunder storm came up. We stayed in a small cabin until it was over. By this time, we began looking for the portage across the height of land. We found two portages which were similarly marked, but neither gave us any instructions. We took the upper one, which turned out to be right.
Our first camp was made at the end of this portage. While Gordon and I were making camp Arthur caught two small fish which we threw away, because after we had made camp I caught a five-pound pickerel. We fried the fish, had our supper, and went to bed just as the sun was going down.
Next morning we started about 6:00 a.m. Storms were coming from all directions. We had lunch on a small island in Long Lake. At the end of the lake, there were several rapids which we ran successfully. We saw an outpost of the Wapoos Sibi Club, but there was nobody there. Then we came to a rapid with a turn in it. There was no portage, so we decided to run it. Just as we rounded the turn, we saw that a recent storm had blown a small birch across the stream. I got out with the axe, and tried to cut it through. I was standing on the shore, with my back to the canoe, and the next thing I saw was the canoe about a hundred feet downstream, with Gord coming a close second. Gord got the canoe and turned it over. Everything was there except the pack with the food and cooking utensils. We spent an hour looking for the pack, and then went on. We made camp at the end of the next portage, and tried to dry our stuff. We looked over our stock in trade and found all we had to eat was seven pounds of bacon. There is nothing wrong with that, except the prospect of eating nothing but bacon for the rest of our trip. For supper, we had two slices of bacon each, and two small fish which Gord caught with a safety pin and string.
It must be remembered that from this camp to the end of the trip, we were travelling without knowledge of our whereabouts. Next morning we breakfasted off our bacon and set out about 4:30 or 5:00 a.m. We could not be sure of the time because our watches had got wet and stopped. It was very cold, and we were damp, but as the current was fairly strong, we went along quickly. We passed through a small lake, and as we entered the river again, we saw two moose out in the middle. They did not move until we got right up to them, and we were afraid that they would not move then. Nevertheless, they did. We had not gone a hundred yards before we saw another moose on the shore. The portages Were very heavy. Storms had uprooted trees, and laid them across the path. You would think it had been done on purpose.
We had lunch at a small trapper’s cabin, where we found a lard pail with a lid on it. We used the lid as a frying pan, and cooked two small fish, a potato which we found on a portage, and the inevitable bacon.
That afterncon, we struck the Michinamegoos River; that is, the crooked part of it. It twists and turns so much that to advance one mile, you have to travel three. At every turn, there is a sandbar covered with moose tracks. Towards half past six we came to a large lake which turned out to be Michinamegoos. The only thing I knew about this lake was that the river out of it was on the right-hand side. We ate our bacon and went to sleep. The bacon nearly made us sick. Later, we learned that we had gone fortyfive miles that day.
At night the flies were terrible. Gord put his head in a dunnage bag and pulled the string tight about his neck. Arthur and I wrapped our heads in raincoats. The next day the sun came up in a clear sky, and we thought we were going to have fine weather, but within an hour it was raining. We turned into a big bay to the right, and began to look for the river. We spend four hours searching in vain. Then we went back into the lake. There was a wind against us, and the rain soaked us through. Then the airplane, which we had seen before, flew by and landed about three miles farther on down the lake. We paddled hard to get to it, but it took off before we could reach it. Just then, we noticed a motorboat on the lake, and we watched where it went. We followed it into a big bay and half an hour later we were on the shore, with the river in front of us and a group of log cabins up on the bank. I went up to the door of the largest cabin and asked the people inside how far it was to Mont-Laurier. Very much to my surprise, I was told that we had three days travel ahead of us. Then I asked them if I could get some bread, and told them of our plight. They invited us into the cabin to have dinner, which was just being prepared. While we were waiting for dinner, and getting warm, one of the men drew a crude map for us and told us about the rapids and portages.
We sat down to our first meal in two days. There were trout about eighteen inches in length put on the table, and mashed potatoes. We ate until we were hardly able to move. Then we went back to the stove and talked. We found out that the cabins were the headquarters of the Wapoos Sibi Club. The day before, three calves had been brought up in the airplane, and the people were going to make a farm. When we were ready to go, we were given enough provisions to last us the rest of the trip. These came from a special cabin full of tinned goods, which stored about $600 worth of provisions, so we were told.
We started out over a short portage, and then went through three long lakes. While going through these lakes, we saw our first cedar trees (in that region). We began to feel as though we were getting somewhere. The first landmark we were to look for was a two-mile portage. I noticed a portage sign on the right bank that looked as if it was what we wanted. The portage was about four miles, and led to a chain of lakes which went in the wrong direction. We camped on the shore of the first lake. We just threw the blankets down on the swamp bushes and started to make supper. I won my laurels by breaking the axe off at the head. Then Arthur fell in the lake while trying to gargle. (Tsk tsk. These northern gargles.) By this time, Gord had split his lip by trying to spit like the men on the train. The night was spent miserably.
The next morning we started off down the lakes. Each one was larger than the last. After going for four hours we came to a very large one, out of which we could find no portage. We had lunch on an island, and tried to figure out where we were, and what we were going to do about it. I had an idea that the lake emptied into the Gatineau. As it was, we were at the head waters of the Piscatoshin which flows into Bascatong. We decided to get back to where we came from.
We did the return journey to the Liévre in four hours. Just as we got to the end of the long portage, a storm came up. We made for a log cabin which we saw on the shore. The walls were good, but the roof left much to be desired — about half of it. We spent a damp but warm night and set out fairly early next morning.
We had not gone far when we saw a bull moose, up to his neck in water, eating water lilies. We paddled right up to him before he made for shore. The look he gave us made me think that perhaps he saw how big my feet were.
We passed on down the river and came to the two-mile portage we should have taken two days ago. We passed it and got to the head of the eight-mile rapid. This was real excitement, and the eight miles passed like one. When we got through, the canoe was half full of water, and there was one slight break in the canvas. We emptied the canoe and patched the hole. We portaged around the falls at the end of the rapids and continued on down the river.
There was another tree across the river, but it left an opening about a yard wide, through which we tried to pass. We swam to shore and dried our clothes in the sun, continued down the river and picked up the paddle we had lost. We expected to make Tapani Farm that night. We passed the forks and the river became wider. ‘We came to a ferry, and saw a man on the bank who told us that we could stay at his camp for the night.
His camp was also the camp of fifteen other men who were making a bush road for J. Maclaren of Buckingham. All they had to eat was beans boiled in grease, sour bread, and green tea which was sweetened with brown sugar. In the evening, this food was good, because we were hungry, but in the morning it had lost some of its savour. The boss gave us a tent, and some fairly dry blankets. They were dirty as sin, and stank like nobody’s business. Nevertheless, we slept well, and in the morning we set out for Tapani Farm, twelve miles away, where, we were told, we could get a truck to take us to Mont-Laurier. We came to the farm which is not a farm, and we were told that we had to go twelve miles more to Martel, where the truck stopped. We ran the toughest rapids that we had struck so far, and portaged around another. We were looking for a large new barn where the truck stopped. We arrived, and had to wait about an hour for the truck. We got the canoe on the truck, and just as it was turning it backed into a tree and a limb went through the canoe.
The trip to Mont-Laurier was made without incident; that is, almost. We put up at the hotel and started eating. There was no one else in the dining room, and we ate all the bread from three tables, and butter by the handfuls from the serving table. I don’t know what the waitress thought of us. Then we went into the lobby and stood in front of a large mirror and laughed at ourselves for about ten minutes. I tried to phone home, but the line was broken and I did not think of sending a telegram until the next morning. We arrived home on the evening of the eighth day.