A Tramp in the Mountains near Hokitika

The original plan was to go up the Whataroa and Perth Rivers, over Dennistoun Pass and down the Havelock to Erewhon Station. My companions were Fischer Thomas and David Waugh. Fischer is from the Black Forest in Germany and is spending a year in New Zealand. David is an ex SSNZAC member and a very experienced climber and tramper and resides in Hokitika. At the last minute we switched our objective, as the weather forecast was grim.

Arriving in Hokitika on 17th December we had a look at the maps and decided a nice possible trip was up the Toaroha River over Zit Saddle and down the upper Kokatahi, up Crawford Creek, over Lathrop Saddle and out the Styx. Three days should do this 4-5 day tramping trip we thought.

We started in the afternoon up Toaroha Creek under a grey sky and reached Cedar Flats Hut in the evening. Nearby were some ‘hot’ springs but this was a disappointing tepid pool beside a freezing cold creek. David said that on an earlier visit he had to get water out of the creek to cool it down. We had a pleasant evening at the hut and a restful night.


Next day we set off up the valley and soon came on 2 Whio ( Blue Duck) in the Toaroha just past a gorge. Soon after we started the steep climb up Adventure Ridge and came to the Adventure Bivouac just above the bushline. There was drifting cloud on the tops as we set off into the dense scrub and up a narrow gully to the tussock slopes. There were masses of eyebrights and Giant Buttercups in the tussock.

The terrain got steeper as we approached Zit Saddle as we were enveloped in cloud. There was loose shale on the other side as we lost height and spent some time trying to find route markers. In a brief clearing in the cloud I spotted the Upper Kokatahi Hut. We made our way down the creek and arrived at a spanking new hut where we had a spell.

Then it was down the creek boulder hopping and crashing into the thick scrub on the riverbank for the next 6 hours. Later we grew alarmed at the lateness of the day and ominous sky and the last 2 hours were a dash the remaining section to Crawford Junction Hut just on dark.

That night it deluged down and this continued next day. The rivers rose and any prospect of moving evaporated so we decreed a rest day. This was not a bad idea as we were clearly in need of a good rest. The following day the rain was easing off but the rivers were still huge. We decided to start in the evening for the upper Crawford Valley but the Farquharson River was too big so we retreated back to the hut.

There was no rain on Saturday night so we left early on Sunday down the Kokatahi. We
went up valley to cross the swing bridge and headed down the true right of the creek. It was slow going boulder hopping and struggling through the thick bush. After some hours we came on the swing bridge below Meharry Creek. Once across there was a track that climbed steeply through the bush and which led to a wide creek. Here we had difficulty locating the track, which was below us. Then we climbed again up to a clearing and lost the route. Eventually this was located and we carried on along this disused overgrown track to Boo Boo Hut, which was a welcome sight. From here the track dropped steeply to river level and further on we crossed a swing bridge over a spectacular gorge. It took us 13 hours to reach the road.

A tramp in the ranges behind Hokitika by David Waugh, Fischer Thomas and Stanley Mulvany 17-21 December 2008

Biking the Dunstan Trail

wagons long gone i sing this song

riding bikes along the Dunstan Trail

we bike under grey skies, wind and hail

to a lonely musterers hut on Rough Ridge

then there’s warmth and sun to Styx jail

beyond the Lammermoors, majestic and desolate

an old horse shoe lies in the dust

The Dunstan Trail was an old wagon trail from Dunedin to the gold fields to Central Otago in the 1860’s. It crosses four mountain ranges, the Rock and Pillars, the Lammermoors, Rough Ridge and the Raggedys. Later it was ungraded to a 4 wheel drive road. Because it traverses highlands at 1000 metres and is exposed to extremes of weather, it is closed in winter. It can snow any time of the year.

The route is about 170 kilometres long from Dunedin to Alexandra. It goes through Outram to Clarks Junction and on to Deep Stream at Rocklands where the gravel road starts. From there it is a steady climb over the Rock and Pillar Range to the Lammermoors, which are high tussock highlands northwards to the Upper Taieri Valley. Descending the Lammermoors one arrives at the Styx, which was a staging post on the original route and where there are some historic buildings one of which was the jail where the gold bullion was stored. 1.5 kilometres north of Styx the original route heads cross country for 7 kilometres to join the Linnburn Runs Road at a derelict house. Heading north across the Linn Burn Creek it’s another 3 kilometres cross- country uphill to join the Old Dunstan Trail at 660 metres. From here it’s a long climb on a gravel road to Rough Ridge and on to Poolburn Reservoir. Beyond here the road drops to the Ida Valley and ascends the Raggedys to the Manuherikia River to Alexandra.

My companion was David George from Cromwell, a rugged individual who reminds me of “Barb-Wire Bill” in Robert Service’s famous poem. David is an orchardist, part-time poet and victim of a yearly bike ride with me. Belinda provided the support in our 4WD. On Saturday morning in a light drizzle and under grey skies we biked off from the Manuherikia Bridge at the start of the Rail Trail in Alexandra. 

It was an easy cycle up Galloway Road where we turned right into Crawford Hills Road for a steady climb over the Raggedys. The weather improved slowly with patches of blue appearing. At the pass we caught up with Belinda who plied us with left over pizza from the previous day. Then it was a fast downhill run to the Ida Valley. We had lunch at the bush shelter at Bonspiel Station. By now it was sunny and cold from a strong Southerly.

After lunch we cycled up into the hills to the southeast towards Poolburn. We had strong buffeting headwinds and were forced to walk for many kilometres. The road climbs for 360 kilometres to Poolburn, which we reached later in the day. Farmland gives way to tussock and rock outcrops. Poolburn appeared bleak and windswept. There were a number of cribs scattered around the north side of the reservoir. About 7 kilometres further on we reached Long Valley Ridge Road and as the day was well advanced and the weather was cold and windy we thought about camping. Belinda suggested the old Serpentine Church would be a good idea though we were uncertain where it was. We put the bikes on our 4WD and took off down Long Valley Ridge Road which was very boggy in parts. About 6.5 kilometres along we came to a tiny musterers hut parked in the tussock at 1100 metres. We spent the night there. It snowed.

Next morning dawned fine, frosty and windless. Belinda drove us back to the Old Dunstan Road where we biked onwards. It is mainly downhill to Linnburn Runs Road. We missed the cross country bit so had to back track to find it at 660 metres. It is a faint track heading across paddocks into farmland. It’s about 3 kilometres to the Linnburn Runs Road just north of Linn Burn Creek. The next section of cross-country riding is just south of Linn Burn Creek opposite a derelict house. There are traces of an old dray route meandering up the hillside and this took us up to the top of a ridge. Then there was a descent across a small plain to another ridge. The trail was easy to follow here but peters out on the next ridge top. The route then follows north of a fence line to the Styx Patearoa Road, which is about 1.5 kilometre north of Styx.

When we arrived at Styx just past the Taieri River bridge, Belinda was fossicking among the old houses there by the creek. We had lunch and a rest. Following this we had a 500 metre climb onto the Lammermoors as we headed south. Once on top we sped along though we were buffeted by a strong westerly wind. Loganburn Reservoir appeared on our right. This was the site of the Great Moss Swamp. On we went with a short climb over the Rock and Pillars where there was a steep descent to the plain below. We then sped across this to reach the tar seal at Deep Creek. Then it was another 10 kilometres or so to Clarks Junction Hotel that we reached at 5.45PM.



A mountain bike ride along the historic Dunstan Trail from Alexandra to Clarks Junction on 1/2 November 2008 by David George and Stanley Mulvany. Support by Belinda Mulvany

Voyage of the Gumotex

by Stanley Mulvany and Simon Marwick

This it the story of a unique journey through the forests and fjords of Southern New Zealand. On isolated beaches and on long forgotten hunter’s track markers nailed to trees scattered throughout the region are curious diagrams. On closer inspection these appears to be of some sort of boat with two paddlers. To the cognoscenti these are the “Signs of the Gumotex” _ evidence of the curious passage of two men with a small blue boat.



The two men were Simon Marwick, a fisherman from Stewart Island and Stan Mulvany, an adventurer/doctor from Invercargill. Their boat was a 3.9 metre blue inflatable kayak weighing a mere 15 kilograms. The idea of the trip had been a long time in germination but it seems Simon’s chance sighting of the Gumotex on a visit to Dunedin set them on their course. A glance of the map of Southern Fiordland shows a nest of long north-south lakes and deep fjords on the west like the spokes of a wheel. There is a lot of water and relatively short portages between them.

February 3rd 2006 saw our two adventurers arrive on the shores of Lake Hauroko ( the Lake of the Wind ). This huge lake, 32 kilometres long lies on the east side of the southern end of Fiordland. The day was overcast but dry. The gumotex was laid out and a foot pump used to inflate it. The curious squeak of the foot pump became known as the “Sound of the Gumotex” and was to be heard in the ensuing days across a vast swathe of country as our friends made their way westwards and then northwards. The boat was loaded so it appeared to disappear under the weigh of these two men and all their gear. A quick kiss from Belinda, Stan’s wife saw them depart towards the headland to the west. A light headwind made for a wet start as water splashed up from the bow waves. Still they made fast time and covered the eleven kilometres to Teal Bay Hut in two and a quarter hours.

Teal Bay Hut is a DOC Hut and is bright and clean. Our two adventurers settled in, kindled a fire and cooked a meal. In their baggage was a 1 kg fruit cake and they appeared anxious to demolish this presumably to lessen the load carrying for the next day. Later in the evening two visitors arrived by jet boat. These were Neville and Wendy who both knew Stan. Much time was spent discussing their proposed route.

Next morning the lads were up early breakfasting on their pre-packaged muesli and tea and then loading the gumotex. The day was overcast but dry with mist lifting off the lake. When they were underway Neville and Wendy started up their boat and cruised over to take a photo and after farewelling them roared off down the Wairaurahiri River which drains the southern end of Lake Hauroko. Stan sat in the front seat with a dry bag between his legs. Simon was in the rear seat with his rucksac between his legs, behind him was the other dry bag and Stan’s rucksac strapped on. They both had long double bladed paddles and wore light weight PFD’s. Near the mouth of the Wairaurahiri they pulled in to the bank and took their gear into the forest to pack it away. Their rucksacs were huge as they shouldered them and set off on a disked track. After half an hour the track arrives at at the Rata Burn a tributary of the Wairaurihiri River where there is a walk wire. From here on they had no track markers and only occasional blazes on trees to follow. There is an old hunter’s track across the ranges to Lake Poteriteri and this was hard to find. Once they reached a deep creek coming in on the right they lost it entirely. From here on they were on compass bearings across a vast lowland forest with a range of high hills to the west. They eventually arrived at a steep ridge with a creek curving around its base and here Stan took a position with his Garmin Map GPS. This showed they were in the right place with the route on the ridge above. After lunch they climbed up about a hundred metres and stuck old hunter’s blazes on the spur.

The climb was very gradual and more open higher up. It curved around high ridges for quite a while before dropping steeply to Lake Poteriteri (Lake of Weeping Skies). This part of the track had new orange disc markers and was very easy to follow. The day wore on and they reached a flat plain where they walked for a long time through the forest to reach the lake. About three quarters of an hour before arriving at Lake Poteriteri hut they heard a helicopter flying low overhead no doubt bound for the hut.

Arriving at the hut they met two Dunedin men, Mike and Allan who had just flown in for a hunting trip. They were surprised to see our two friends and enquired how they intended to make their way north up the lake. Mike was dumb stuck when Simon casually mentioned they intended to go up the middle of the lake and then offered they had a boat in their baggage!!


Simon had a swim in the lake while Stan made dinner and then they retired after an auspicious start to their journey. It rained hard and blew that night ( this being the lake of the weeping skies) but grew calm later on.

Sunday saw an early start by our two friends. The hut is nestled in the forest beside a wide sandy beach on the lake shore. There was a light drizzle and the high mountains thereabout were shrouded in cloud. Simon unfolded the gumotex and soon the low pitched “ Sound of the Gumotex” cut through the still cold air. Stan was inside packing up as Simon readied the boat and then it was loaded. Mike came out to farewell them and take their photos. Then they were off paddling northwards for 21 kilometres to the Princess Burn Valley. The day brightened up and the rain died away and the tops came out. There was even the odd ray of sunshine. Near the head of the lake they had a rest stop on a beach and here Stan performed a ritual bathe in the sacred waters. This however was somewhat brief due to the water temperature and the local sandfly population. Then they were off to the Princess Burn where they landed a short distance up the river.

Here the gumotex was packed away and they set off up the creek bed to the junction of the Kakapo Creek coming in on the left. There was a steep climb up a bluff on the true left for about 100 metres and then they followed good deer trails to a small lake which they reached in the afternoon. From here it was another 2-3 kilometres on to Lake Kakapo. There the boat was launched and they paddled 1.5 kilometres to the far end and camped on a grassy bank there. There were some black swans out on the lake. A fire was lit and camped pitched and a pleasant evening was spent there.

Monday saw our two friends up early again and paddling across the still black waters to the south-western corner of the lake. The gumotex was deflated and put away and then they set off, crossing the first creek coming down and then up a good deer trail on the true left of this. This ridge climbed 550 metres to the Richard Burn Saddle. They made slow but steady progress with their heavy packs. Higher up the forest became dwarf and hindered progress but our two friends struggled forward and were eventually rewarded with magnificent views of the top of the ridge from a knoll which was clear. There was literally a highway from deer tracks here. It was hot and sunny and way down below Lake Kakapo glimmered in the sunlight. They crossed some open glades and then into the final bit of bush which was quite dense but eventually they burst through this into open tussock slopes dropping gently to a large alpine lake. Our two travellers were then seen to strip off and swim in the lake. Simon then inflated their boat while Stan prepared a generous lunch no doubt reflecting the vast amount of energy burned that day.

After lunch the gumotex was launched and they paddled off to the south-west. Rounding a corner in the lake they were surprised to see two stags studying them closely, no doubt the sight of a gumotex at 755 metres being an unusual sight. They landed at the far end of the lake and after packing up set off to scout the route down the Richard Burn Valley. This is a long valley about 7.5 kilometres long draining Crescent Lake and emptying into Long Sound at Cascade Basin. It was now early afternoon on a bright blue skyed day as they made their way down tussock clearings between copses of beech forest. Then it was into dwarf forest which made for hard going but later the forest grew taller and deer trails better. They reached the northern tributary but there was no sign of the rock bivi mentioned in Moirs Guide. They eventually found a delightful camp at 410 metres in a clearing made by the deer close to the river.

Tuesday saw them astir early and on their way shortly after daybreak. They found good deer trails mainly on the true left and lost height rapidly on these to arrive at the south branch in an hour. Here the valley flattened out and the river broke up into innumerable channels where the easiest going seemed to be to wade the shallow ones. Below this the river started to drop into a chasm so they veered off onto the true left and followed a ridge dropping towards Long Sound. There was great jubilation when the sea was seen and more so when they waded out into the stream at the outlet. This however resulted in Stan taking a small swim which was unfortunate as the weather was packing up and it had turned a bit chilly.

The sea was calm as they set off in the gumotex arriving at Last Cove 11.5 kilometres away at 2.30PM. It was now raining and cold so they decided not to linger for lunch and quickly packed up and set off into the bush for Cliff Cove on Cunaris Sound. This is a two kilometre walk on an old hunting trail and went quickly. They then launched the gumotex and set off for the Small Craft Islands nine kilometres away at the junction of Cunaris and Edwardson Sounds. The weather was slowly deteriorating and the rising wind pushing up a bit of a sea. This began to look somewhat ugly as they neared the islands and they were only ashore when it rose to gale force. Stan was very cold by this stage and they hurriedly threw up the tent and changed clothes and got a warm drink on. It blew strongly during the night and then the rain ease off. In the early hours of the morning the tent was seen to be nestled in a tiny clearing on an isthmus between two islands. Nearby were some native pidgeons and they welcome the grey dawn with much cooing and then set off on foraging expeditions. The wind still blew from the south-west and although it was calm in their cove it was white water over on Divide Point at the junction of Cunaris and Edwardson Sounds. They made a late start and Stan hesitated about going at all but then they decided to ‘give it a go’. At first it was flat but soon enough the waves rose and they surged forwards with the wind at their backs.

The gumotex sailed through this with ease though some water did come in. Once past Divide Point they entered Edwardson Sound where conditions were a bit easier. They cut across the sound to the western shore and landed on a beach to empty out
the kayak as they were both sitting in water by now. Once this was done the boat seemed to have a new lease of life and sprang forwards into the waves. They flew along with the following sea and 20 knot wind at their backs and covered the 12.5 kilometres to the head of the sound in short time. Near the head the wind died and they pulled up near the waterfall coming down from Lake Cadman. There is a track here rising 25 metres up the hillside and then falling back to Lake Cadman. They carried their packs up this and then brought up the gumotex. There is an old aluminium dingy on the lake shore and they had lunch there. This seemed an odd sort of meal served in their plastic plates_ smashed up Pita bread, cream cheese, honey and cashew nuts. Still they must have been hungry seeing the way they scoffed it down.


In the afternoon they had a pleasant paddle up Lake Cadman through the wee river connecting it to Lake Carrick again with the wind at their backs. At the north end of Lake Carrick they rolled up the gumotex and set off into unpleasant forest trying to follow the river coming down from Lake Purser. This was a mistake as it extremely overgrown and scrubby and the better going is well away from the river on the east side among taller forest. Lake Purser is 80 metres higher and it took them 1.5 hours to reach it. There was a lovely sandy beach but voracious sandflies encouraged them keep going. On the other side was a sandbank in the Oho River and they camped there.

It was quite interesting to see them at camp. Simon invariably went for a swim no matter how cold the day was or how bad the sandflies were and then lit a huge fire. Stan usually pitched the tent and made dinner. While Simon wore shorts, Stan was invariably covered from head to toe and wore a bug hat. This of course was in response to the voracious sandflies. There was also a ritual getting into the tent without admitting a zillion sandflies. There was a quick unzipping, dive into the tent and rezipping up. Still a goodly number of Namu entered and these had to be killed off later.

Thursday saw a blue flame stab the darkness on their sandbank at 6.00 AM as Stan lit the gas cooker. Then it was a quick bowl of muesli, hot drink, pack the tent and rearrange the food and dry bags before the lads set off into the forest. Again they sought deer trails and made steady progress up the banks of Oho Creek, taking the western fork to the base of a steeply rising ridge running to peak 1156 metres (later named Sunny Peak after their boat!). The river rose steeply into a tight valley filled with large boulders in the bottom and vertical cliffs on either side. The toe of the ridge was mossy cliffs with trees higher up and looked difficult of access so our two friends carried further up the creek and climbed about 60 metres up a vegetated gully. This was covered in pungas or fern trees and a nasty tangle of scrub higher up necessitating a smash, push, pull and twist technique. The term ‘technical scrub’ was used! However higher up once they were established on the ridge there were good deer trails and better going.

At about 500 metres there was a band of cliffs and this proved difficult to climb with the heavy packs. At one point Simon reached down and hauled Stan up a vertical mossy cliff with just a hand grip. At 750 metres they reached the bushline and were rewarded with splendid views down the valley of the three lakes and the surrounding mountains. The day was bright and sunny after the previous days gloom. It was an easy walk across tussock slopes to a beautiful lake at 860 metres just east of Sunny peak which the lads named Lake Gumotex.

They stopped for lunch at a small tarn on the pass above the lake and there it was decided Simon would try to climb Mt Burnett further to the west and would meet up with Stan who was to establish camp down by the lake. Simon left most of his gear and set off. Stan walked down to the lake and put up the tent to dry it and then has a wash. After a while he wandered off to the outlet of the lake and decided to climb the east ridge of Sunny Peak such being his restless nature. It was high up on this that he saw 7 deer mostly stags. He eventually reached the summit which had fantastic views all around and down to Fanny Bay and parts of Dusky Sound. Down below he could see a tiny speck as Simon reached camp and later the gumotex cruising around the lake. Returning to camp Stan stripped off and dived into the lake to cool off. Evening meal was of cous-cous for a change. The night was still and dark and the sky brilliantly lit up by the constellations.

Friday saw our two adventurers up at 6.30 AM and an hour later heading towards the outlet of the lake. They crossed to the true left and descended some cliffs into a hanging valley 100 metres below them. They had planned to descent and sidle to the right towards a less steep ridge dropping to point 149 overlooking Fanny Bay. In theory this seemed straightforward but in actual practice was very difficult. There seemed to be lots of spurs dropping down the face covered in dense forest and not easy to sidle. Lower down the country was exceedingly steep and they plunged down these. Eventually at lunchtime they reached the water where the gumotex was blown up and they took off into Fanny Bay. A yellow sack was tied in a tree marking the site of their food cache. Earlier Geordie, a fisherman friend had dropped it off_ two fish buckets full of food. On top were 6 bottles of beer.

They had lunch here and then set off into a westerly breeze down Cook Channel bound for Cascade Cove. There were small wind waves coming at them and Stan complained of being drenched all the time as they pushed into these. They put in to one spot on the small cliffs on the left side of the Channel where there was a red cloth and found a nice campsite but as it was too early so they pushed on. They went for another hour before deciding to call it a day and pulled in to camp up in the forest opposite Long Island. There was a small beach there and they lit a fire on some small cliffs bordering this. In the evening a boat came up Cook Channel and stopped to fish. They attracted its attention by lighting a fire. The MV Tutoko eventually came over and they asked them to relay a message to Meri Leask at Bluff Fishermen’s radio to say they were in Dusky Sound. Their own VHF radio was not powerful enough to send a message out. They had decided not to bother with Cascade Cove and instead to carry on northwards.

An early start was made next day. They were up at 4.00 AM and on the water an hour later. It was pitch dark and every paddle stroke caused a blaze of phosphorescence. They headed back along Cook Passage and rounded the eastern extremity of Long Island. They steered a course for Passage Point at the entrance of the Acheron Passage. The water was mirror calm. A pod of dolphins saw them and came over shadowing them, diving underneath them and breaching in front and on either side of them. Sometimes they paddled in their peculiar wake. They stayed with them for some time and then were gone. It was lightly drizzling and the tide was flooding down the Acheron Passage.

By lunchtime they had reached Sunday Cove after a 24 km paddle. Here they stopped for lunch and to sort out the buckets of food. Some food and rubbish was left in the buckets on the deck of a barge there to be collected later. Then they carried on up Breakea Sound to Vancouver Arm. It was a long day to reach the head of Vancouver Arm where they camped on a sand bank. This was the longest paddle day _ 46 kms. They had a big meal of new potatoes, vegetables and sweet and sour sauce. They retired at 10PM but at midnight Stan suddenly awoke to find water in the tent, the billy afloat and the seas literally all around them. They had camped below high water mark!. A hasty evacuation into the bush at midnight then followed. Luckily they did not get their sleeping bags wet.

Dawn brought a dismal scene to the upper Vancouver Sound. Rain slanted down upon the now dry tidal flats and in a marshy area on the forest fringe a bleary eyed man emerges from a blue tent. It is mid-day before they get up and then move camp back into the forest to the bank of a river which is high, dry and mossy. Then a fire is lit and brunch made which cheers up the party. In the afternoon Simon went on a recce of the Jaquiery Pass and reported a possible route over this 600 metre pass. Meanwhile Stan had been drying or rather smoking his sodden clothes over the fire. The barometric pressure rose and the rain has eased off. Stan noted an alternative route to Doubtful Sound via Dagg Sound further south if things do not work out on the Jaquiry.

Monday saw our two friends away by 6.30 AM following rather indistinct deer trails up valley. They soon left the valley floor for a rockfall on the right side of the valley. Their idea was to sidle the face to a slip higher up and further along. The going was very steep and mostly straight up as it proved impossible to sidle the face. The going deteriorated into a vertical vegetated grovel up ferns, mossy cliffs and fallen rotten trees and at 330 metres they could not progress any further. Rather then waste any more effort on this they retreated back to the sea, launched the gumotex and paddled nine kilometres back to the “Valley of Sorrows” as Stan later named this valley. On the way they saw deer grazing on the flats of several rivers draining into the sound. Here they set up camp on a flat area and called it a day.

Tuesday dawned overcast and raining. They were away by 7.00 AM following deer trails up valley. The valley is 10 kilometres long and has a saddle at 6 kms in and 400 metres above sea level. Then it drops 4 kilometres steeply to Dagg Sound. They moved up on the true right and got into some awful country of big boulders, mossy fallen logs and ferns under a dense canopy. All the time it rained and our duo were not happy. Then they decided to drop back to the river and there they found easier deer trails again and moved faster up valley. The hours ticked past slowly and it rained and rained and the river roared in flood. By now they were on the true left and moving through some densely wooded country across swamps and sidling hillsides with only a vague impression they were still gaining height. Stan took some GPS readings and the news was depressing_ another 2.3 kilometres to the pass. On and on they plodded soaked, cold, hungry and weary.

Sometime in the afternoon the land suddenly started dropping to the north, the rains stopped and the sun shone briefly. Needless to say this lifted their spirits and more so when they discovered old track markers on trees and a track in places. It has all the hallmarks of an old deer cullers track. Now they were moving along loosing height rapidly but it was still 4 kms to the sea and it took them all day to reach it in fact 13 hours in total. They threw up the tent, lit a fire, had a big meal and crashed.

Wednesday dawned grey and overcast as the “Sound of the Gumotex” echoed out over the still waters. Shortly afterwards a blue boat and 2 hooded men glided out of the river mouth into the dark waters of the Sound. It was about 2 kilometres across to
the head of the Sound to an isthmus about a kilometre long leading to Crooked Arm, a branch of Doubtful Sound. A huge rockfall occurred here several years ago in an earthquake and there is a track across it which they found straightforward. It is a long way down Crooked Arm and they were paddling towards Turn Point when suddenly a hugh white Real Journeys catamaran came around the corner and stopped. There was a bizarre scene played out as the numerous gaily dressed tourists aboard lined the rails gaping at these two desperate fugitives paddling furiously past in a tiny blue boat. The lads had the grace though to give them a wave.

Once in the main channel they had a following sea and fair raced along. Several boats passed. They had lunch on a rock shore on the left hand side before Fergusson Island. Then it was the last leg to Elizabeth Island and Deep Cove. Rounding that last headland the houses swung into view and then the wharf and all the boats. It was with some sadness the gumotex was run up onto the beach. A chap from Deep Cove Hostel arranged for a lift for them to Manapouri and 10 minutes after arriving our two adventurers boarded a bus with all their gear.








An account of the Gumotex Expedition across southern Fiordland from Lake Hauroko to Doubtful Sound 3-15 February 2006 by Simon Marwick and Stan Mulvany. Total distance 215 kilometres, 170 kilometres paddled, 5500 metres of ascent and descent. First traverse of this unique route in Southern Fiordland

Acknowledgments: Thanks for Geordie Johnston of the Cindy Hardy for dropping off our food cache at Fanny Bay, to the skipper of the MV Tutoko for sending out a message to Meri Leask and to Mark, the bus driver at Deep Cove for offering to take us out to Manapouri.

Text by Stanley and Photos by Simon

Gumotex 2 Expedition

The Gumotex 2 Expedition

A Traverse of Middle Fiordland

This is the continuation of a journey which started in the summer of 2005/06 across remote mountains and fjords of Southern New Zealand. On the Gumotex 1 expedition two Invercargill men set out in a small inflatable kayak and traversed a series of lakes across the southern part of Fiordland from Lake Hauroko to Preservation Sound in the extreme southwest corner and then made their way northwards to Doubtful Sound. The next journey took them to the middle fjords in a great arc around the lofty peak of Mt Irene, Guardian of Middle Fiordland.

The two men were Simon Marwick, a fisherman from Stewart Island and Stan Mulvany, an adventurer/doctor from Invercargill. They decided to take two Alaskan packrafts instead of the heavier Gumotex kayak used previously. Inspection of the map of Fiordland shows the Murchison Mountains occupying a great wedge between the South and Middle Fiords of Lake Te Anau and Mount Irene sitting on its western boundary. To the west are five narrow fjords, Bradshaw, Nancy, Charles, Caswell and George Sounds. Their plan was to strike westwards along the southern axis to Bradshaw Sound and then move northwards, climbing across the mountain ranges between each of the sounds and to encircle Mt Irene from the east and finish by crossing the Murchison Mountains back to the South Fiord of Lake Te Anau. Part of their route was in a restricted area and they were granted a special permit by the Department of Conservation to enter the Murchisons.

The morning was cool and clear as the two men arrived on the stony beach of Patience Bay at 6.45AM. Their kayaks were carried down the beach and loaded. They set off on a mirror calm lake heading in the direction of Dome Island at the mouth of the South Fiord.

The kayaks moved rapidly away and soon were seen to enter the South Fiord. It is about 30 kilometres to the head of the fiord and as they neared the top an easterly wind came away and they raised their sails which carried them effortlessly along. At the Gorge Burn they beached their kayaks and sorted out their packs. When all was ready they carried their kayaks into the bush and then set off up an indistinct trail to the falls.

The day was blisteringly hot and soon Stanley was in a lather of sweat and stripped off his shirt and followed slowly in Simon’s wake. The valley rises in a series of elevations each of which has a small lake. At the first level they stripped off and jumped into the river which was most invigorating. Then it was a slow plod on deer trails onto the next elevation. Nearing Lake Cecil there was a stirring in their packraft bags as the boats felt the excitement of their first paddle in Fiordland. There was a faint murmur of “Let me out! Let me out!”

Arriving at the lake they unfolded their packrafts and soon they were pumping them up as they stretched and took on shape. Then the four piece paddles were snapped together, the packs tied on the bow loops and the magic moment arrived as they set off paddling across the one kilometre long lake. This was a great time saver as it only took them a few minutes to paddle across what would be at least an hour in thick steep bush. Moirs Guide says it was 1.5 hours from Lake Cecil to Lake Boomerang but this was incorrect as the excellent deer trials made for a rapid passage. They arrived at a clearing caused by an old slip at the east end of Lake Boomerang and set up camp. Simon went off for a swim as Stan prepared dinner. Later they could hear several helicopters at the head of the valley probably on deer recovery and just on dark they zoomed overhead bound no doubt for Te Anau.

Next morning the boys set off early for Fowler Pass around the south side of Lake Boomerang following the rather vague direction in Moirs. They followed along deer trails that sidled along the base of a steep spur. After maybe 100 metres they headed straight up through very steep bush. Higher up this eased off and they reached a sort of plateau. Here they turned right and up to the crest of a ridge and followed this along to a waterfall on the right which they crossed and then a little higher reached open tussock.

From here there was a great view of the valley below and higher up a gentle valley rose to Fowler Pass at 1085 metres. There were pleasant flats and stands of beech forest. It was overcast and starting to drizzle and once on the pass it was cold and windy.

A long way below was Lake Tuaraki and a strong westerly wind was driving across it. The boys decided not to paddle across but to drop almost to lake level and then climb a bluff on the true left of the lake. Moirs describes a rock gut on the other side of this but it looked evil and slippery so our two adventurers cautiously descended the snowgrass bluff beside it and used their rope to lower their packs to the bottom. Once past this they descended to the forest of the Tuaraki and a little below this reached the margin of a swamp where they stopped for lunch in the trees.

A good deer trail took them down the valley and then dropped to the left crossing a tributary of the Tuaraki coming in from the south. They continued down to a large flat area covered in tall forest where the Torre stream joined the Tuaraki. There were many deer trails here and they followed down the valley till the Tuaraki started to drop steeply where they did a long difficult sidle at the 400 metre contour. This was mostly on a deer trail and butted up against high cliffs. Eventually they crossed a spur and found themselves high above the Camelot Valley. They sidled down valley for awhile before dropping straight down to the Camelot River where they found an open space on its bank to camp.

They had a system established by now. Stan would pitch camp and Simon would have a swim. Then a hot chocholate drink and dinner followed. Clothes would be hung out to dry and sometimes washed. Occasionally there was some repairing done. They tended to head off to bed early as most morning started at 6.00 AM.

Next day dawned clear and they set off at 7.30 AM. There was good travel on the numerous deer trails in the valley. They saw a deer running through the forest and the scenery was magnificent. Its a long way from the Tuaraki/Crozette junction to the navigable part of the river. They passed the Bevidere falls which were quite impressive and found no sign of Murrells hut site. On they walked for several hours till they reached a wide slow part of the river and here they decided to inflate the packafts.

They drifted down the final two kilometres of river to the estuary. There was a strong wind blowing down the valley. Landing they contemplated the white caps out on Gaer Arm. Then they set off in the small rafts closely following the shore at first and later striking further out into the sound. The wind at their backs helped a lot and they covered the 8 kilometres in about 2.5-3 hours of paddling. Landing at Rum Creek they set up camp a little up river. The sandflies were thick there necessitating headnets

Another fine day as the boys had breakfast and broke camp. The going was easy and they covered the three kilometres on the Rum to the junction with the Toddy river in two hours. Here the forest was quite open and they moved on a deer trail into a steep valley.

This deteriorated rapidly into a tangle of huge rocks and gullies covered in thick vines and scrub. After a while they broke out of this onto a slip where they had a break. Then it was into a large flat area covered in forest and on good deer trails till the valley curved around to the left and started to climb towards the Toddy Saddle. Here they went astray and climbed a steep bluff on the left only to descend and move too far right. This eventually took them out onto a small clearing and the easiest way seemed to be to continue upwards. Needless to say it got worse as they struck a band of leatherwood where the only option was to bash straight upwards. At 4.30 PM they mercifully reached the saddle above its high point and onto a clearing. This was ideal for their camp and soon Stan had the tent up and a brew on. There was mossy ground nearby and Simon made a soak here to collect water. There were some pretty mountain gentians in flower. Across the valley rose the Trios Peaks and Mt Namu.

In the morning Simon set off to climb the peaks and Stan decided to have a rest day. It was lovely and warm so he had a bath and washed his clothes. It was too hot to sleep even with the sleeping bags over the tent. He used the VHF to call up DOC at Te Anau for a forecast. At 4.30 PM Simon returned successful after a great day on the tops and suggested they descend to Heel Cove, site of their first food cache. They found good deer trails and descended the 700 metres in three hours. Their food cache was near an old hunters camp where they stayed. They cooked up a big meal and then retired.

It was fine next morning as the boys were up early and got breakfast. Stan had sorted out the food cache. He left a bucket of food that was surplus and to Simon’s chagrin a pottle of honey was left which he did not discover till later. The sandflies hastened their departure and it was a pleasant paddle to Toe Cove. Here they landed on tidal flats and quickly packed up their packrafts and set off into the forest.

Again deer trails provided the easiest going but these tended not to go in the right direction so they were not really sure if it would lead them to the saddle marked at 328 metres on the map. The deer trail wandered about a bit and then took off straight uphill to the 400 metre contour to the southeast of the saddle. This was alright as it was a good route and the trail was well trodden. Crossing the ridge it was decided to head straight down to the Windward River which they struck southeast of the hill marked 110 metres near its mouth. They wandered around it to find a most impressive gorge with the river thundering below into Charles Sound. The entrance was cliff bound so they sidled around for awhile till they found easier access to the sound. Here they launched the packrafts and paddled out to a small island. As there was no fresh water on the island they decided to carry on for another kilometre to a beach on the true right of the fjord against a strong wind. There were extensive tidal flats and they carried the rafts across these. The far shore was poor for camping but they managed to clear an area and set up camp. They got the marine forecast on their VHF radio and it promised more wind.

The alarm went off at 5.00 AM but the wind was strong so they slept in. Later it seemed to ease off so they decided to give it a go. They left at 9.30 AM and at first the winds were light and they made steady progress. However once past Fanny Island the wind gusts grew stronger and progress was at a snails pace for Stan who found it difficult to keep pace with Simon. Every headland was a battle as the wind drove the packrafts back. The waves grew larger but the rafts rode over the swells easily. Then they could see the open sea on a grey morning with waves driven in by the northerly wind. Ahead was Eleanor Island and Friendship Point and here they really battled the seas to get around into Emelius Arm. Once around though the wind dropped and they stopped for lunch on some rocks under a cliff. It was the usual Tortilla wraps with peanut butter, cheese and dried fruit. Although it looked disgusting they scoffed them down. Then they carried on up the sound with the wind on their backs and made steady progress to the head of Emelius Arm. There it was quite shallow and with the tide ebbing it was a hard push up the Irene River for about 1.5 kilometres to a pleasant campsite in the tall forest under the Marjorie Ridge. Simon headed off for a swim as Stan set up camp in the rain.

The rain stopped overnight and they had a late start at 9.30 AM. Stan had a restless night and dreamt of the Taliban though why was a mystery to him! They started up the ridge behind camp and found easy progress at first up a gently ridge climbing towards Marjorie Creek. This climbed up to 300 metres where the going became more difficult in some gullies but eventually they reached Marjorie creek at about 340 metres. There was a steep descent into it and a straightforward climb on big boulders up to the hanging valley above. It was grey and drizzling. After 100 metres they entered a level boggy valley. In one area there was a clearing with stumps of saw off trees evident and likely to have been a helicopter clearing for deer recovery years ago. They picked up a side creek and found deer trails that took them up to Shirley Saddle at 780 metres at 3.30 PM. It rained all day and the lads were cold and wet. The lowest point of the saddle did not look promising for camping so they turned left up a steep gully onto an open plateau still in the bush with several good campsites.

 Simon called up Sue at DOC and had her patch him through to his mum who was having a birthday. Lake Shirley was 150 metres below them. They had a pleasant camp on the ridge.


The route on Google Earth and on their maps appeared to be to the left of the saddle so they set off on a deer trail in that direction. After a while they decided to head straight down and although steep proved straightforward. They got down to a beach at the head of the lake and blew up their rafts. It was a pleasant paddle down the 2 kilometre long lake. There were stunning reflections of the forest on the hillsides in the dark waters.

At the end of the lake which they renamed Lago Alpacka in tribute to their packraft maker they headed off to the left and had lunch on some granite domes at the 630 metres level. From here there was a fantastic view of the whole length of Caswell Sound from the ocean to the head. They set off along the line of the domes and at the end of them dropped straight down to Caswell Sound. The forest was very steep in places and in one spot they stumbled on a nest of bees which attacked them speeding up their descent. They came out on a rocky stream bed on the sound just as the rain came on. Packrafts were speedily launched and a slow paddle was made in pouring rain to the head of the sound.

The current was strong in the river at the head and they paddled up this to the first rapid to land near the Caswell Sound hut. This venerable historic hut was built in 1949 by Colonel J K Howard Wapiti Expedition. In the summer of 2007 Ken Bradley and Grant Tremain restored the hut as it was in danger of collapse. It is a wonderful old place and a welcome refuge in the pouring rain. They got a fire going and welcome hot drink and then it was a bath in the river. The rain bucketed down that evening.

They awoke to a grey day but at least the rain had stopped. At lunchtime they decided to set off up the river to Lake Marchant. There was no wind and the lake was huge and hemmed in by massive cliffs to the south. They blew up the rafts as a weka paid them a visit. Trout was jumping out in the lake which was very still. They set off up the Stillwater which ran slow and deep beneath high banks. They were able to paddle the best part of 3 kilometres up river before the current stopped them. They it was a tramp up the true left of the river towards the Knob. It took an age to reach this and navigation was difficult. They missed it initially and then managed to get a GPS reading and backtracked several hundred metres to the rise to the pass on the south of the knob. Light was fading as they slowly made their way through the swamp in the saddle. At the far end they reached a steep drop off which they avoided by sidling along and then an easy descent took them to an open grassy though very wet area. On the far side they made camp in the forest on the banks of the Stillwater.

The next day dawned fine and the lads were moving by 8.00 AM. They made slow progress up valley through boggy flats and dense bush. Below Ethne Saddle they reached a gorge and expected to find a walkwire so continued up it on a deer trail that climbed quite high and then dropped back to river level past the gorge. Again no sign of a crossing so they retraced their step back to the start of the gorge. Here Simon blew up his raft and he ferried the gear across and then Stan. On the far side they had lunch and then set off up a swampy Ethne valley. Better going was found on the right on a deer trail which they followed all the way to the saddle at 270 metres. Then it was a straightforward descent to the South West Arm of George Sound which they reached later in the afternoon. There was a nice beach there and it was hot so the lads stripped off and went for a swim in the warm water. They picked up their food cache including a previous one put in one and a half years ago which was quite edible. They loading all the buckets into the packrafts and started the six kilometre paddle to George Sound hut. The sandflies were a pest and attacked them even as they paddled. There was a headwind to the junction with the Southeast arm and it took a few hours to get there.

They decided to have a rest day at George Sound hut the following day. It dawned overcast and windy. Simon paddled over to Alice Falls and carried his raft up to Lake Alice and paddled to its head. Stanley spent the day resting, reading and of course eating there being no shortage of food. Surprisingly their old food cache was fine even the pumpernickel which over a year old. Later in the day Simon returned and they sorted out excess food and left a food cache nearby for the following year. It rained heavily that night and was very windy.

They left at 9.00 AM next day for Henry Saddle. It was hot and overcast and thankfully the rain had stopped. Stan walked in just his shorts and made Lake Katherine in one and a half hours. Simon arrived shortly afterwards. It was a short walk around the lake and then a long grind up to Henry Saddle at 830 metres. It was 2.30 PM before Stan arrived to meet Simon who had arrived earlier. Simon called up DOC at Te Anau for a forecast and it predicted a southerly for several days which proved correct. They had lunch on the saddle and then it was a descent to Deadwood Lagoon. Here there were some awesome mudholes and the track was very wet. They carried on down the valley arriving at Lake Thompson Hut at 7.30 PM. This was most welcome as the boys were a bit sick of the track by then not to mention hungry and dying for their hot chocholate drinks.

Next day they continued down the valley. At lake Thompson Simon elected to paddle down in his packraft while Stanley walked around. Below the lake is an awesome walkwire. They arrived at Lake Hankinson Hut and there launched their packrafts into the river to paddle down to the lake. There a very rough lake stirred up by the southerly wind greeted them. It was difficult to make progress at first as the waves literally threw them backwards. The only hope was to claw their way around the shoreline which they managed. There was one dicey part which involved crossing the narrows just over half way down and they were nearly across when the wind increased along with williwaws creating quite a maelstrom. The rest was easy and they landed at the boat ramp. Then it was an easy carry over to Lake Te Anau. Here there was a big wind blowing up the lake. They were going to camp but late evening it eased off so they set off in the rafts. It was hard work in the waves and wind but they made slow but steady progress. The plan was to get around into the South West Arm but night caught them short of the corner so they turned around and surfed back to a beach not far from the junction. This was a good spot so they camped there.

Next morning it was still very windy as Simon set off first. Stanley found just getting off the beach a battle as the waves threw the raft back onto the beach several times. He had to empty the raft which got swamped and then in a lull dashed out and jumped in and paddled like hell. Although the junction was not far it was a huge struggle just getting there as the gusts blew him backwards. Then he noticed his raft seemed to be loosing air as the pack strapped on the front deck was slowly sinking into the waves. It was not looking too good for some time till he was able to claw around the corner and call over Simon who was able to blow up the leaking valve which had worked loose. After this it was a breeze literally as the wind was on their backs and they moved along steadily down the arm. About half way down they were surprised to meet a lone sea kayaker and exchanged some pleasantries with him. They reached the Junction Burn Hut in a few hours after leaving and changed here. Then it was up the Woodrow Burn on a good track. There were a few gorges to negotiate but it was pretty easy after their previous route. At 6.30 PM they stopped at a flat just past a tricky gorge at 580 metres and had a pleasant camp and meal.

It was cool that night and clear next day as they set of up the valley. There were tantalising glimpses of snow covered mountains at the head of the valley. There were extensive clearing and excellent going. Eventually they reached a small lake and a bit further on the disked route ended. Up ahead was a gorge and Simon found a good deer trail up the true left of this. Further on were some lovely clearings and then they were above the bushline and stopping for lunch near the stream.


They traversed around a shoulder of Mt Irene at 1000 metres and sidled across to a small tarn just northeast of Robin Saddle were they camped. As it was early afternoon Simon set off on a reconnaissance of Mt Irene and Stanley elected to have a rest and wash instead. Later that evening Simon returned having climbed to the summit. That night is was cool and clear.

Next morning the lads were up at 5.00 AM in the dark getting breakfast and packing up camp. There had been a light frost during the night. They left most of their gear and for the first time on the trip could move along with feather light packs. They climbed up a ridge straight above their camp which took them across a sort of plateau with several small tarns and then over another ridge to a larger tarn below the main bulk of Mt Irene. There was a massive cliff here with amazing stratification. The dawn had arrived with a lovely alpenglow. Down below them the valley was shrouded in cloud and an easterly wind blew clouds over the passes to the west where the ephemeral strands dissolved into thin air. On they pressed to sidle around the cliffs to the south of Mr Irene where a break let them scramble upwards onto talus slopes to the summit. Here there was a superlative view all around them. In a huge 200 kilometre circle was their route over the past two weeks laid out below them. It felt like a homecoming to a sacred mountain lording it over the lesser peaks of Middle Fiordland. Our two adventurers felt very privileged to be there. On top was a VHF repeater and a small shed with lots of batteries and electronic gear. A freezing wind blew across the summit as they sheltered in the lee of this ‘dogbox’ to have some lunch. Then it was a round of photos before descending back to camp. Here they packed up and set off down the bluffs into the Esk valley and on to lake Duncan and down to Te Au Hut.













Next day the lads started early and sped across the saddle to the Mckenzie Burn and on down to the McKenzie Hut where they had lunch. From here it was a short walk to the lake where they paddled across to the mouth of the Gorge Burn. Their kayaks were in the bush as they had left them 18 days previous. These were hastily loaded as the sandflies were bad. An easterly wind blew up the lake as they set off but this later eased off. Several hours later they were crossing Lake Te Anau where they spotted the welcome sight of Sue waiting on the shore. Simon did two victory rolls in the lake just before they landed for the last time.

An account of the first traverse of a new route through Middle Fiordland circumambulating Mt Irene by Simon Marwick and Stan Mulvany 2-18 February 2008

Acknowledgments: To Sue Lake for looking after us before and after our trip and for keeping in radio contact. Thanks to Lloyd Matheson and the staff of Southern lake Helicopters for looking after our food caches and their concern and interest. A big thanks to the DOC staff at Te Anau including Phil Tisch, Beth Masser, Ken Bradley and the staff on the radios who do such a wonderful job. I acknowledge Simon Marwick who is such a stalwart companion on these trips, who carries the heaviest load without complaint and who often scouts out the route and is so patient when I am struggling to keep up. Lastly but not the least my long suffering wife Belinda who never complains when I dream up these mad expeditions.
Photographs were taken by Simon and myself.

Stanley Mulvany
Invercargill

Deh Cho Journal, a Paddle on the Mackenzie River Canada

Deh Cho Journal, a paddle on the Mackenzie River, Canada

By Stanley and Belinda Mulvany

For some years we have been interested in kayaking down the Mackenzie River ( Deh Cho to the Dene Indians) since reading an account of that trip in Victoria Jason’s book “ Kabloona in a Yellow Kayak”. On further research I found some good articles on the Mackenzie River on the internet, one by Cominco and others by the Pinsons and Peta Owens-Liston. There was some useful information in a book called ‘Canoeing Canada’s Northwest Territories” by Mary McCreadie. Surprisingly there is no published book of the Mackenzie though I understand Jamie Bastedo of Yellowknife is about to publish one soon

Our plan was to kayak to Tuktoyaktuk in the Beaufort Sea, a distance of approximately 2000 kilometres. We estimated it would take us a month and allowed another 5 days in case of bad weather and the return to Inuvik which is the main hub in the western Canadian arctic. Last year Bevan Walker and Russell Davidson from New Zealand kayaked from Hay River to Inuvik in 18 days which is probably a record time and we did not expect to match it.

On 7th July Belinda and I flew from Invercargill to Edmonton where we overnighted and next day boarded a small plane for the 1000 kilometre flight to Hay River. We flew over vast areas of forest and then a huge inland sea, Great Slave Lake opened out in front of us. At the airport Doug Swallow who runs ‘Canoe North’ met us and showed us around town and then dropped us at our motel.

Next morning Doug picked us up and took us to his warehouse where I bought some maps of strategic parts of the river, an airhorn and some bear spray. Then he dropped us off at his house where we found our rental kayaks. Doug’s garden backs onto Hay River. We spent the rest of the morning packing the kayaks and getting ready. The kayaks were Inukshuks which are a large 17 foot polyethylene sea kayak which we found excellent for the trip. I brought along a sail which I rigged to the front of my kayak.

We set off at noon and kayaked down the Hay River which was huge and muddy coloured, and then took the left hand fork around Vale Island to enter Great Slave to the west. The lake is shallow so we moved off shore about 100 metres and headed west. The country is flat and forest comes right up to the shore which is covered in drift wood. At 5.00 PM we stopped at a peninsula which had a navigation beacon on it. I took a GPS reading and found we had only covered 20 kilometres. As it was a pleasant camping spot we pitched our tent. Here we had an unfortunate accident and broke one of our tent poles but luckily we were able to sleeve it. I went for a walk and found a deserted cabin nearby in the bush and more importantly a long drop beside it.

We woke to a lovely day. There was a gentle wind from the east so I deployed the sail and with Belinda hooked on behind me, we moved along steadily reaching Point Roche in 2 hours. We stopped for a break on a small island and then set off along a reedy shore which went for many kilometres. I was only able to use the sail for some of the time as the wind was quartering. It took several hours to reach Gros Point where we pulled into a tiny island with a green hut. By now the wind was blowing hard on the beam and we kayaked into a channel with lots of islands at the outlet of Great Slave. We found an old campsite on an island where there were some poles and a fireplace. I had a wash, shave and dried some clothes. I had a look around for animal trails and noticed an old overgrown trail back in the forest. After dinner I took the food away in 2 pack liners and hid them well away from camp.

I awoke at 4.30 AM, got up, organised camp and later got breakfast ready. Belinda was still in her sleeping bag as I wandered down to the river bank to get something. Then I heard a branch snap and I thought that’s odd as B was still in the tent. I walked back up to the camp and came face to face with a large bear. I’m not sure who was more surprised. I called out to Belinda that we had company and that we’d have to depart promptly. Then as B was frantically packing up gear in the tent I got out the airhorn and gave Smokey a few blasts. He hesitated and then slowly moved sideways into the forest. Then we had a mad panic to pack up everything and take off in case Smokey changed his mind about breakfast. One good thing about this episode is that we made an early start! Belinda finished her breakfast out on the water. It was a gorgeous morning with soft light and vast channels between huge islands that seemed to go for many kilometres. We saw and heard numerous birds and later I hit a large fish with my rudder and saw a huge fish broke the surface.

On we paddled past a reedy shore with no opportunity of pulling in. This went on for 7 hours so that we were very sore and cramped in the kayaks. I used my mug as a urinal but poor Belinda had to use her bowl and perch on the side of her cockpit while we rafted up. O the joys of kayaking! Eventually I spied some rocks at the side of the reed beds and guessed correctly there might be a beach there. What a relief to get out and stretch. As it was quite warm we went for a swim which was very refreshing. We carried on and found the ferry crossing and further on a second one with the ferry going back and forwards. Eventually we reached Fort Providence, an attractive Dene community on a high bank on the right side. There is a park at the southern end of town with a boat ramp and we camped on the bank there. We walked into town and bought a buffalo burger. I felt knackered and we’d only come 121 kilometres from Hay River and 65 that day. My hands were full of blisters.

I slept well and woke to another gorgeous day. It was very quiet as we packed up and had breakfast. We got away at 8.00 AM and had a nice paddle down to Mills Lake with a fast current and many islands. Generally we followed the buoys as they mark the main channel. We stopped at an island for a break near the lake. Then we rounded a headland and were into Mills Lake following the southern shore. It had picturesque forest and some nice shoreline where we had breaks. Out in the lake a coastguard ship passed us and later a tug pushing some barges. We stopped at the entrance of the Mackenzie for a snack and I went for another swim. Belinda was complaining of burning hands and we guessed it was a photosensitivity to Doxycycline which she was still on from her Cambodian trip immediately prior to this expedition. We had a slow paddle down the left hand shore as Belinda was not feeling well. I ended up giving her a tow. Then the wind got up and we decided to cross over to the right hand bank. This became more urgent as we had several kilometres of open water to cross and the wind was building fast from the north creating quite a chop. There was a collective sigh of relief as we closed on the far bank and then had to slog into the wind for several more kilometres till we reached a large open flat area full of birds mostly Arctic terns who seemed to be nesting there. There was an old campsite there so we set up camp. I had a good check around for bear prints but it looked safe enough. Our tally for the day was only 48 kilometres, which was very disheartening.

I slept badly that night and arose at 5.00 AM to a lovely morning. We got away at 6.30 AM and made fast time for the first 25 kilometres. Then we cut across the river to where there was a barge moored with some buildings in the bush. Later we crossed back to the right bank and saw a huge nest in a high tree with a bald eagle in residence. The day became very hot which slowed us down and after 52 kilometres we called it a day at Red Knife Creek. The flies were quite bad and Belinda indicated she was already sick of the trip. Our tally so far was only 221 kilometres.

We arose at 4.00 AM to try to beat the great heat of the previous day. I had slept poorly being anxious about being disturbed by a bear during the night. Set off at a cracking pace upon this endless river. Belinda remarked at one stage that all she could see was a mind numbing paddle to another distant headland. Yes, it was a bit like that! After several hours we reached a lovely tributary on the left called Trout River which flowed deep and tannin stained past a high bank with some picturesque cabins. We paddled up it to a landing and climbed up to wander around a group of cabins spread along the bank. It was deserted and most of the cabins were locked. There was an interesting pit toilet which had two seats and a gallery of children’s art works and newspaper clippings. I were just getting ready to fire up my cooker on a table near a cabin when my gaze locked onto a familiar face swimming across to us_ my friend Smokey!! I could not believe it. When I told Belinda who was down by the kayaks about our lunch guest she did a Haka ( Maori war dance_ very frightening!!) and scared the poor thing which fled back into the reeds. What a meanie!

We left mid morning and paddled another 10 kilometres to Willow Island mid stream. Here the river narrowed and the current sped up. Our speed now doubled to 12.5 kilometres /hour which was great. From far off you could hear the rush of water around the channel buoys where the water was piled up on the upstream side. Then it grew warmer and Belinda more irritable as the temperature rose. I thought she might want to pull out at the next town. Later in the day we reached Jean Marie, a Dene Village on the left bank of Dhe Cho. This is just a small settlement and we were told by Doug there was a B&B there. There were a lot of huskies chained up near the river and when we landed a large husky dragging a chain came to investigate us. I’ve been told one of those brutes can tear a man in half and sledge dogs have been known to eat their drivers but I’m pleased to report butter would not melt in this dog’s mouth! Maybe he was just well fed! The place seemed deserted apart from one local native who was not really very helpful. Having established that no one was at home at the B&B he then proceeded to give us the vaguest of directions to a deserted sawmill down river at Spense Creek. He indicated it was just around the next corner but omitted to say on the far bank!! Maybe half an hour later as we rounded a huge bend I spotted a deserted building on a hill on the far bank. We swung into action to commence a massive ferry glide across a kilometre wide, fast flowing river. We seemed to be loosing ground as we power stroked into a massive current with the far bank slipping past but near the bank it eased off in shallower water and I could paddle upstream to join Belinda.

We pulled the kayaks up onto a grassy bank and then walked up a trail 100 feet to an old two story log house on a bit of a lean sited on a terrace. We pushed open the door and found a rickety stairs climbing to a nice attic with a great view of the river. It looked like heaven to us as we set up the tent against the flies and mosquitoes.



Open windows looked out onto the river. Later we went down to the river and had a wash which was easier said than down as there were large biting insects called ‘bulldogs’ orbiting our naked bodies. This encouraged a rapid undressing and submerging and a reverse performance on getting out. It was heaven to be in the attic out of the sun. Our tally was 83 kilometres that day, our best so far.

We decided to spend the day at the sawmill so slept late. In fact Belinda did not get up till 1.00PM. I woke to a shrill noise of a squirrel like animal which appeared in the window of the attic and which vanished just as suddenly. I went for a swim in the river which was very refreshing. As the day heated up the Bulldogs arrived and made life outdoors uncomfortable as they would bite through your clothing. We also decided to some washing of clothes which turned out to be a frantic scrabble into headnets and into the water where we removed our clothes whilst submerged. A great flailing of arms and clothes ensued with much shouting and slapping. It was even worse trying to get on our wet clinging clothes back on. Those flies could bite!! Lesson learned wash your clothes while still wearing them. We had a good sort out of supplies in the comfort of the attic and decided to try a night paddle to Fort Simpson 65 kilometres down-stream thus avoiding the heat of the day. At 10 PM we shoved off and paddled quickly downstream. Later we met a runabout coming up river with some Indian men in it who were intrigued by us and took our photo. The current was fast and we moved along quickly. It grew darker but enough to see where we were going and to read our watches. It was very quiet apart from the roar of water around the buoys. It took us 7.5 hours to reach Fort Simpson across the mouth of the Liard river.

We pulled up on a muddy foreshore near the official campground. Then we walked around town and had to kill a few hours till the shops opened. At 8.00 AM the grocery store opened and we stocked up on supplies. Then I carried them back to the kayaks while Belinda went off to find an internet site. We visited the information office which was very worthwhile as they had some great photos of the early years at Fort Simpson and also had a birchbark canoe. A bonus was free internet access there. We decided we did not like the idea of staying in Fort Simpson so we left at 1.00 PM. In the afternoon we paddled 30 kilometres and camped on a beach. When the sun came out it was like a furnace in the tent and the only way to cool down was to jump into the river.

I woke at 5.00 AM. Belinda was still asleep so I waited for an hour before trying to get up. All I got for my effort was “ leave me alone” in an angry voice. This was understandable as we had decided the night before to get up at 6.30 AM. Anyway we did get away at 7.15 AM and later found some locked cabins on the right bank about 19 kilometres before the Wrigley ferry crossing. There was a large grassy area which would have been a perfect campsite. We stopped for lunch at the Ferry Crossing. No one was about. We continued for another 10-12 kilometres before camping on a sandy beach ahead of a fast moving thunderstorm. It got very windy and there was heavy rain. We were going to stay here but once the storm passed the sun came out and it got very hot so I suggested we have dinner and carry on. This went well and we eventually camped 13 kilometres short of the North Nahanni River at Campsell Bend. It was picturesque country with mountains in the distance and lovely forest and vistas. We found a nice stretch of beach on the right side at 9.30 PM and set up camp. Shortly after we retired we heard an odd noise like a child speaking and movement outside. When we looked out there was a furry animal the size of a wombat waddling away from our camp. It’s a mystery to us what it was.

We woke next day to a foggy morning at 7.30 AM. We were on the famous Camsell Bend which is reputed to be one of the largest river bends in the world. There was no view of the mountains due to low cloud but this dispersed in a few hours. We passed the entrance of the North Nahanni River and there was no sign of any cabins. It was fairly monotonous with a slow current, numerous islands and few birds or animals though we did see fresh moose hoof prints on the bank. The mountains faded into a low range of hills in the distance. A striking phenomenon was the total lack of sound in this vast landscape. I shouted a few times to see if I could make a noise! We had dinner at 27 mile island about 8 kilometres from Willow Lake river to the east which we never saw as it was behind an island. It was a pleasant evening. We camped soon afterwards. Out total distance was 560 kilometres since leaving Hay River but it felt like we’d come much further.

Slept well and woke to an overcast day. Away at 8.45 AM and arrived at Wrigley at lunchtime covering 48 kilometres. We had wind and rain though the river was running fast. Wrigley was a small settlement of log cabins on a terrace above the river. There. was a picturesque church where we had lunch in the foyer out of the rain.

We bought a few groceries in the tiny store. Walking back to the kayaks an Indian couple stopped in their 4WD to talk to us. They were most interested in our journey and told us to make an offering to Dhe Cho by throwing some tobacco ( or food) with the left hand as it would bring us good fortune. I was careful to do this when emptying out food scraps.

We set off in the dismal afternoon rain across the river to camp at old Fort Wrigley but could not find it in the forest so stopped at an old campsite where there were the frames of a shelter. I draped our fly over the rafters and pitched the tent on the ply floor underneath. It was a nice camp out of the wind which now blew strongly from the north making paddling near impossible. All the left hand bank forest had been burned years ago and was covered in secondary growth and fireweed. Across the river was the 350 metre Roche qui Trempe a l’Eau where there were reputed to be hot springs but these were not evident from our campsite.

Next day I made a bad error in starting. I was bursting to get going and make the Blackwater River where there was supposed to be good camping but I did not appreciate how windy it was in our sheltered posse. So off we went and I immediately regretted it as we struggled into a gale force wind followed by rain. After 8 kilometres we made camp in a not ideal spot with old bear prints nearby. It was rather depressing to think of the huge distance yet to cover and our slow progress to date. In the evening the wind died and it looked like it would fine up so we left. We moved along steadily but unfortunately up ahead cats paws ruffled the water. This quickly built into a gale so we put into the right bank and camped. Out total for the day only 10 kilometres.

Though it was a windy night I slept well. The barometric pressure rose 9 mb but it was still windy. I made use of the day by washing my clothes, having a shave and washed my hair. The rest was also beneficial. In the evening the wind dropped so we decided to leave about 5.30 PM and covered 40 kilometres to camp on a muddy bank under a bluff. The usual operation involved digging out a platform in either sand or mud and pitching the tent on that. We were careful to tie the kayaks to a log or rocks in case they got blown into the river which needless to say would have been disastrous. During the night I had to get up and put on the fly when it threatened to rain.

The north wind greeted us again next morning as we arose but it was not too strong so we set off. We reached the Keele River at 8.00 PM after a long day. I had an anxious time when I got stranded on a rock bar at the entrance to a side channel and was afraid to get out as it was windy and could not gauge the depth of the water due to its siltiness. Shortly afterwards the wind rose to about 25 knots which created a very turbulent chop so we pulled in to a muddy bank, chopped out a platform and made camp. Later 2 large power boats with Indians roared past nearly swamping our kayaks. I was none to pleased with that. Our total for the day was 90 kms.

We had a comfortable night just past the Keele River and overnight the wind seemed to drop. We were away at 7.30 AM. It was Belinda’s birthday but she did not seem to be in a good mood probably from lack of sleep. We made fast progress and the wind was light. We kept mostly to the right bypassing lots of islands on the left. There were two big bends to the west. We kayaked 80 kilometres to arrive at Fort Norman also known at Tulita. We had just pulled in to the boat ramp at the southern end of town when Rod Hardy drove up in his 4WD. He was very helpful and suggested we camp on his lawn. I went off with him in his car to check it out while Belinda looked after the kayaks. Rod has a fantastic place with several acres of lawn spread out on the high terrace overlooking the river with old tractors, trucks and machinery scattered about. We kayaked down to his place and set up camp. Then we walked to the Northern Store and bought some food. The manager was most friendly and was interested in our trip. Back at Rods place we went over for a chat and hot shower.

Rod is an amazing man, a retired oil company executive who has had an extraordinary life and an intriguing family history. On the wall of his lounge are a number of acknowledgments from various First Nations for the work he did in crafting treaties between them and the Federal Government in Ottawa. He was an advisor to Prime Minister Mulroney when that was happening. His father died in his 90’s and was reknowned for having ridden a horse from eastern Canada to Fort Norman after WW2 taking 16 years to work his way across. His mother was a Metis ( a person of European and Indian heritage) and his grandmother was Marie Fisher Gaudet who was an identity in the north and who is buried at the Catholic cemetery at Ford Good Hope. Rod in his youth had travelled with the local Indians on hunting expeditions hundreds of miles to the Mackenzie Mountains off to the west. He told us stories of ancient Indian trails in the mountains.

We had a comfortable night in the tent and made a leisurely start at 7.30 AM. We packed up and went up to the house to have breakfast with Rod. It was 9.45 AM before we got away which was a shame really as I enjoyed talking to Rod so much. The wind had got up as we set off to cross the entrance of Great Bear River with it’s beautiful clear cold water. This runs side by side with the silty Mackenzie for a kilometre or two before mixing. On the other side of the Great Bear River rises Bear Mountain which has 3 large red patches of rock said by the Dene to be 3 huge beaver pelts that a giant killed and stretched out on the mountain. I would have liked to have climbed it but our pressing need was distance. The wind built and we gave up after 30 kilometres and camped. After dinner the wind had dropped so we pushed off at 7.00 PM and had an easier ride in the 10 knot headwind and camped 14 kilometres from Norman Wells.

The temperature dropped during the night and we awoke to a windless day for a change. We reached the township of Normal Wells at 10.00 AM. Norman Wells is an oil town with 6 man made islands mid stream with 19 oil wells. One wonders why they choose to drill under a very large river with so much land about. During summer employees are ferried to work by boat. In winter they are driven across the ice and in spring and autumn they are ferried by helicopter. At the boat ramp was a life jacket ‘tree’, each jacket had a name attached, a memorial to those drowned on the river. A notice displays a safety campaign encouraging boat users to borrow a jacket and return it to either Fort Norman, Normal Wells or Fort Good Hope. There we stocked up on food and then we visited the information centre/museum which had very friendly staff and a great display of photographs, crafts and books. The ladies there were very helpful and let me recharge my camera battery and use the internet. Rod had suggested a Chinese restaurant which also served more traditional food. I enjoyed a caribou burger while Belinda celebrated her belated birthday with a large plate of fresh vegetables.

We set off at 4.30 PM into a 10-15 knot headwind and kayaked 18 kilometres. We spent the night in a hunter’s camp in the bush. This was a large canvas tent on a platform surrounded by plywood walls with lots of nails poking outwards no doubt to discourage bears. Inside were some mattresses but best of all there were no bugs and it was semi-dark at night so we slept well.

The rapids now lay just ahead of us as well as the Arctic Circle. We left early. It was windy and overcast to start with and it just improved all day to a lovely sunny windless day. I spotted the famous metal tepee on a rise on the left bank and pulled in. It was a bit of a bush bash up to it and obviously not many people come this way. It was a small tepee with barely enough room to camp inside.

The ‘hut book’ had only 3 entries this year and dated from 1960. It was a memorial to a young man called Hugh Lockhart who drowned in the San Sault Rapids in 1961. It was quite moving looking at his photograph and reading the account. We made an entry and carried on.

We stopped for dinner just above the San Sault Rapids as we were both tired having come about 100 kilometres that day. After dinner we carried on keeping to the left side of the river looking for the rapids. I was checking my Map GPS which unfortunately does not have the rapids on it. Once I was sure we were past them I told Belinda and we decided to keep going. Further on the river banks were steep and crumbling and with no good campsites so on we went for hours with Belinda getting more vocal and irritable. Late that evening I spotted a beach on an island which proved to have an ideal campsite so we stoped there. This was our best run about 120 kilometres. We were both knackered.

Next morning we had a late start at 8.00 AM and on the water at 10 AM. Another day sunny, warm but not too hot and NO WIND. Arrived at the Rampart Canyon which was spectacular with crumbing sandstone cliffs towering 80 metres straight out of the water topped with spruce forest. As suggested in most written reports we stayed close to the right hand side. The current was fast with boils and large eddies but not a rapid to be seen. We concluded this lack of rapids was due to the risen water levels.

The canyon is about 12 kilometres long and coming out of it we spotted the statue of the Virgin Mary high on a cliff on the right side. We pulled in for a closer look. Down river we could see the striking church of Fort Good Hope on a bend of the river. Arriving at this Slavey community we left the kayaks at the boat landing and walked up into the town and made for the Northern Store to restock and visited Our Lady of Good Hope Church built in 1860’s by the Oblate Missionaries. A missionary Fr Emile Petitot painted the striking murals in the church. Unfortunately this was locked so we did not have a chance to see them. In the cemetery behind the church we found the graves of Marie Fisher Gaudet who was Rod Hardy’s grandmother and also Fr Grollier and Brother Kearney of the Oblate mission. Brother Kearney was from Ireland and spent his life working in this far flung corner of civilisation so far from his native land. I spoke to some men about camping and they suggested we make for Loon River and then Grandview, the Sorensen homestead. They informed me Fred and Irene had died but their daughter was at Grandview. As it was late we set off and camped about 3 kilometres downstream. We had come about 100 kilometres in total that day.

We were dog tired and it was 9.00 AM before we paddled on. Another perfect day with no wind again. It is 350 kilometres to Tsiigetghetic ( pronounced see-ga-chick) also know as Arctic Red and this is some of the most remote country on the Mackenzie. There are no settlements on this section and the country is mostly flat. We kayaked on through pleasant enough country with northern spruce. We stopped at a large deserted Indian encampment on a high bank on the left. There were a collection of cabins, tepees and a canvas tent with beds. Out front were 2 lazy-boy arm chairs which were so comfortable I fell asleep as soon as I sat down, much to Belinda’s amusement. Across the river was a large cliff with a track or road winding up it which seemed odd in such a remote region. Late in the day we passed a tug pushing barges up river. After 90 kilometres we reached the Ontaratue River where I hoped we’d find Grandview but nothing there.

After breakfast I kayaked up river for maybe half a kilometre to get some clean water but no luck. Then we set off and after a kilometre found Grandview on the left bank. There was a red aluminium boat with a large outboard pulled up on the beach and a driveway went back into the bush where we could see a tall aerial. This opened out into a large clearing with several buildings. This was the Sorenson camp. It was very quiet. The main house was boarded up and the others were unlocked. In one I found a note on the table dated the previous year inviting travellers to make themselves comfortable and to leave them a note. Only one entry was on the sheet of paper from the previous month. The house was spacious and clean. The two bedrooms had the beds made up as though we were expected. We had a look around and nearby were two graves of Irene and Fred Sorenson. Irene has passed on in 1998 and Fred in 2001. It was a shock to realise that it was only in 1993 that Victoria Jason had visited and wrote in her book about all the happiness she found at Grandview. Now it was deserted and deadly quiet and all the main characters of that time have left us,
including Victoria.

We would have loved to stay a day or two but the weather was fine and there was no wind. We spent the morning looking around. There were several old tractors parked in the clearing and at the back the old sawmill. It looked like someone had taken a teabreak and you expected to see someone bounding down the clearing. It was like a picture frozen in time. There was a melancholy aura to the area and I grieved for the Sorensons and Victoria. I wrote a note to the Sorenson daughters and at lunch time we left.

We kayaked 40 kilometres in the afternoon and had dinner near an odd collection of prefab huts on a hill. It may have been a mining settlement or maybe a CIA post. No one appeared and it remained a mystery. After dinner we followed along the left hand bank until we came across a lot of islands and on the far bank was a cabin on a hill. I thought it might be unlocked so we ferry glided across only to find it firmly locked. We camped on the beach.

Next morning our old friend the wind was back. It was blowing about 10 knots as we set off at 10.00 AM. We kayaked 75 kilometres to the Travaillant River marked on my GPS map but could not find it. I had only my map GPS and this did not show all the tributaries coming in so it was a bit of guess work figuring out where we were.

I slept well and set off at 8.45AM. We soon came on the Travaillant River flowing broad and clear into the Mackenzie. We deviated up this to get some lovely clear water. In the afternoon we spotted a cabin on the right bank and met a friendly young man called Daniel Andre. He invited us up for a cup of tea. First though he shot off to check his fish nets on a nearby creek. We strolled up to his cabin and met his father. We sat outside while Daniel brewed up a jug of water over an open fire. He is a trapper hunting Lynx, Martin and other fur bearing animals. He told us about his trap line along the Travaillant River to the lake upstream. He also studies geology at Victoria University. He wanted us to stay for dinner but as usual we felt the need to kill more kilometres and reluctantly left. He showed us his smoke house where he was smoking lots of fish. He told us that his sister Julie and her family were camping further downstream and we should call in. We did another 20 kilometres that evening before camping. I calculated we had paddled 1437 kilometres.

Next day we found Julie’s camp 20 kilometres further on. We introduced ourselves and were invited to have a cup of coffee in their camp. Only Julie was up and the rest were asleep. Julie studys in Inuvik and has a house in Tsiigetghetic. She spends her holidays with her family on the river. She showed us the route to the East Channel to Inuvik. She also told us where to find Arctic Chalets near Inuvik which proved to be very useful. We continued into a strengthening wind and reached Tsiigetghetic at 4.30pm. Again the church was a prominent feature but on closer inspection it was run down with broken windows surrounded by weeds. It had a tidy medical clinic, an old peoples home and various building projects underway. We found the local shop, bought some groceries and had dinner on the waterfront near the car ferry on the Dempster Highway. After that we did another 7 kilometres before camping on the riverbank near a side creek.

We set off at 8.00 AM and soon reached the Point of Separation where the Mackenzie widens into a massive delta with many channels and islands. We followed the east bank for another 20 kilometres to the start of the East Channel going to Inuvik. This was marked with buoys but could be easily missed. I had taken a waypoint on the Rengleng River just at the start of the east channel and found it easily. The river here was much narrower maybe 50-75 metres. Oddly enough there were no buoys in the East Channel nor boats all day and I wondered if our map was correct. After several hours we took another right hand turn and moved along steadily around numerous bends. About 31 kilometres from Inuvik we hauled onto a grassy terrace and pitched camp. I was curious about some animal prints in the mud on the bank and it was only when I was in the tent and heard a large splash I realised they were beaver prints. Beavers are funny creatures. They swim about with their snout out of the water and then suddenly their tail flicks up and they smack the water and disappear. They are quite common on the whole river.

Dawn promised another warm day with no wind, and the mosquitoes were bad at our campsite. This made for a rapid departure. We found although it was only 31 kilometres to Inuvik in a straight line it was more like 50 with all the bends. We did not arrive till 3.30 PM. At the first road coming down to the water before Inuvik, next to a beached ship we put ashore and I wandered up and found Arctic Chalets. This attractive place is on a small lake surrounded by trees and is run by Judy and Olav Falsnes.

They were very welcoming and told me we could actually kayak up a side creek to the cabin which we did. What luxury to have a clean bed and our own shower and not have to strip off and jump into the river.

Inuvik is the largest town in the Western Arctic and the main administrative base. It has about 3200 residents, a large hospital and the famous Our Lady of Victory Church also called the Igloo Church opened in 1960. We spent a day at Inuvik resting and eating and then decided to kayak the remaining 200kms to Tuktoyaktuk or Tuk as its affectionally known. Tuk is an Inuvialuit village on the Tuktoyaktuk Peninsula at 69’ latitude north. It is beyond the tree line and faces the Beaufort Sea. Off shore is the polar ice pack some 250 miles away in August and rapidly encroaching in September when the sea begins to freeze.

On 5th August we left Arctic Chalets bound for Tuk. I had allowed for 4 days to take us there. The weather was fine but I noticed the barometer was falling and the forecast was for unsettled weather. We reached Reindeer Station on the right bank near the Caribou Hills. It was run down with broken windows surrounded by weeds and nearby were several empty and partly derelict cabins. It was established as a base for the Alaskan Reindeer herd. We had lunch there and then pushed on. In the afternoon we met our first paddler coming up stream. He was a Japanese man paddling a folding kayak up river and he spoke poor English but it appeared he had difficulty with big seas but we could not figure out if he actually made it to Tuk.

The sky now looked ominous and so we camped on the left bank further along just before it started to rain Our camp was on a dried out mud terrace backed by dense scrub, full of driftwood. The view to the east was of the Caribou Hills a few kilometres away. There were some moose foot prints in the mud but thankfully not bear prints. It blew and rained that night. After mid night I went out to tie the painters to a large log in case the river rose and our kayaks drifted off. I cannot imagine a worse calamity than loosing our kayaks in such a remote place. We had no radio or means of communication so it would be an extreme survival situation. We slept in as it was too windy next morning. Later in the morning I noticed that the barometer had risen and the wind had dropped a bit so we set off at 2.00 PM. To our right was a long stretch of reeds backing a low lying shore and we battled along this for 2.5 hours to cover only 13 kilometres. At the far end there were several kilometres of open water to cross and the 25 knot wind was causing quite a mass of waves. We had to battle across this to a beach which I was very pleased to reach. We went along just a short way and camped on a gravel beach behind some low bushes that gave us a bit of shelter. At least we were beside the Caribou Hills so there was somewhere to wander. We were about 20 kilometres from Tununuk.

It was now very cold and we changed into our thermals. We set up camp and I went for a walk up into the hills. These were about 200-300 feet high and backed a verdant plateau of tiny bushes with lots of berries. There was not an animal in sight! There was an extensive view of the vast Mackenzie Delta full of channels and lakes. It was dark and cloudy to the north towards Tununuk with a bitter wind flowing down from the North Pole. We were quite concerned about the prospects of reaching Tuktoyaktuk in such weather. We had about another 70-80 kms to the open sea and then about 50 kilometres of open sea to cross, a daunting prospect.

It blew like hell next morning, curtains of mist blowing up the river, grey sky and a bone chilling wind. Oddly enough the pressure seemed to be rising but no signs of an improvement. I went off for another walk up on the tundra which oddly enough was not too windy. When I was up there a huge helicopter came low over me heading south and never acknowledged me which I thought strange in view of the remoteness of the place. I went back to the tent later and read Michael Pallin’s book
‘Himalaya’ to pass the time. We were now resigned to not reaching Tuk by kayak and decided to head back to Inuvik tomorrow if no improvement. It felt like we will see pack ice soon!

The 8th of August saw us make the decision to return to Inuvik. There was no let up in the storm and I was concerned we might not be able to get on the water at all in such strong winds. I went out and rigged up my sail which I carried all the way with us and had only used on Great Slave a month previous. The wind had dropped to maybe 20 knot by now as we set off at 7.15 AM. Belinda tied on to my stern by a tow rope and we made fast time as we paddled south. We reached Reindeer Station at noon and had lunch there. We made fast time and could probably have covered the 80 kilometres back to Inuvik but decided to camp 9 kilometres before. In the afternoon the sun broke through. Next day we went back to Arctic Chalets. Then we dropped off our kayaks to the Northern Transportation Company to be barged back to Hay River and we took a tour by plane to Tuk. The flight was well worth the expense as we flew over a vast landscape of channels and lakes, 25 thousand lakes in the delta. We could see our furtherest camp and marvelled at the vast desolate tunda spread over the Tuk peninsula. We flew past many pingoes which are rounded hills 100-200 feet tall caused by underground lakes freezing and expanding upwards. Then we flew into Tuk which is a collection of colourful wooden houses on piles on a barren landscape. It was being lashed by a freezing cold wind. Our host was an Inuvialuit man called Googy who was a village elder and trapper, most informative and helpful.

Next day we said goodbye to the Falsnes and flew to Yellowknife where we spent a day exploring this fascinating town. Then it was on to Edmonton where we had arranged to meet two lovely ladies called Gladys and Sheila Orr that I first met as a wandering medical student many years ago and so ended our northern adventure.



Equipment: Besides the kayaks, paddles, spray skirts and dry bags, we took basic camping equipment including double skin tent, down sleeping bags, thermarests and multifuel stove and 4 litres of Fuel. We had a Garmin MapGPS and only a few maps of the river mainly the Mackenzie Delta and Tuktoyaktuk area. I also had an EPIRB and survival emergency kits. I took a large airhorn and bear spray for bear protection. We did not carry firearms which I consider unnecessary. For water purification we used a Steripen Adventurer hand held water purifier which unfortunately ceased to work during the trip despite being brand new. We also had a supply of iodine pills and we mainly used side creeks and runoffs on the banks which were cleaner. We did not bother with satellite phones, flares or filling out wilderness trip reports with the RCMP. However some people might find this useful if they are not used to remote wilderness travel.

Camping: We found for much of our journey the best camping seemed to be on the right hand bank which tended to be drier, less muddy and have better access to side creeks and generally larger areas for camping. Large stretches of the left or western bank in the middle section of the river had been razed by fire in previous years. Bugs were bad in many places and less of a nuisance on the river banks where there was some breeze but very bad indeed in the forest.


Acknowledgments: First to Belinda for accompanying me on this longest of paddles and enduring so much hardship. To Doug Swallow who provided us with our kayaks and made the arrangements that made the trip possible, To folk we met along the way including Rod Hardy of Fort Norman, Daniel Andre, Judy and Olav Falsnes, Boogy of Tuk, Gladys and Sheila Orr and the nameless folk who waved to us as they passed us on the river. Lastly I would like to mention the Sorensons who were kind enough to make their house available in the wilderness for weary travellers like ourselves.

Stanley Mulvany
Invercargill

Appendices:

Sir Alexander Mackenzie 1764-1820:
Born in Stornaway on the Isle of Lewis he emigrated with his family to Canada and entered the North West Company becoming a fur trader. He eventually found his way across Canada on a series of remarkable expeditions reaching the Arctic and Pacific Oceans.

In June 1789 he left Fort Chipewyan on Lake Athabasca with a company of French-Canadian voyagers and Indians and travelled to down the Slave River to Great Slave and down Dhe Cho River to the Beaufort Sea. He then turned around and paddled back. The great river was named in his honour.

In 1792 Mackenzie again left Lake Athabasca and travelled along the Peace River to the west to what is now known as British Columbia eventually reaching the Fraser River and the Pacific Ocean at Bella Coola on 22/7/1993. He then returned east to Fort York in August 1793. He earned the distinction of being the first to travel across the continent north of Mexico.

The Oblate fathers:
The modern history of the Mackenzie River is intertwined with that of the Oblate missionaries of Mary Immaculate, a French Catholic order which arrived there in 1856. They were part of a worldwide re-awakening of Catholic evangelicalism and they espoused the Ultramontane Theology which opposed liberal secular movements and in particular Protestant Apostacy. They were highly regarded by the aboriginal peoples, the Metis and the Hudson Bay employees in the remote woods of the west and north for their piety, zeal and ascetism.

Spread along the 2000 kilometres of the Mackenzie River are six small settlements and the striking aspect of all of them is their Catholic Church. Once these were the focal point of their communities but it seems today this is no longer so. The Oblate fathers endured a hard demanding life and as would be expected this drew social misfits to these remote outposts. Foremost among these was Fr Henri Grollier who established missions at Fort Simpson (1858), Fort Norman (1859) and Fort Good Hope ( 1859). Fr Grollier is buried at FGH and we visited his grave behind the Catholic Church there on our travels. He was described as having “a scowl on his face and personality” and crossed swords with all and sundry. He had particular scorn for the Protestant minister Rev Kirby who he described as “Satan’s emissary” and he once wrote a ten page diatribe about him to Bishop Tache. He regarded the Indians as a “hopeless, faithless people” and no better than Englishmen.

Another Oblate Father was Emile Petitot who succeeded Grollier at FGH in 1864 when the latter died of an asthma attack. He denounced his colleagues Fathers Grouard and Gascon at FGH. In the course of his career he earned a reputation as a leading geographer. lingiust and antrapologist and wrote 20 books on these subjects. He was also a gifted artist and decorated the inside of the church at FGH with striking murals which unfortunately we were unable to see as the church was locked when we were there. On the dark side he was accused of being a pedophile and seems to have suffered from paranoid schizophrenia. He once tried to kill a colleague with an axe and on other occasions her would run naked into the minus 40 weather and would have to be restrained for up to two weeks till the fit passed.

The Oblate Fathers and the Catholic congregations of sisters and brothers were by and large dedicated to spreading the gospel and worked hard for their communities not only in this regard but also in providing orphanages and schools. Some did remarkable travels of thousands of kilometres by canoe and dogsled. In 1872 Bishop Isodore Clut travelled from Fort Providence to Fort Macpherson and from there to Lapierre House and on down the Porcupine and Yukon Rivers to what is now Alaska. It was a journey of over 3000 kilometres in the wilderness.


The Reindeer Herders of the Mackenzie Delta
In the 1920’s the Government of Canada decided to introduce reindeer to the western Arctic to stave of imminent starvation due to alteration in the annual caribou migration route away from the Mackenzie Delta. They bought a reindeer herd in the western Alaska at Kotzebue, imported Sami reindeer herders from Lapland and in December 1929 in the depths of winter started the great trek. They reached Kittigazuit in March 1935. This proved to be a poor choice and later the reindeer were moved south to Reindeer Station about 70 kilometres from the ocean on the banks of the Mackenzie River. Some of the Sami people stayed on and one of them Ellen Pulk married Otto Binder an Inuvialuit thus joining two circumpolar cultures. The Binders have been associated with reindeer herding ever since. The herd still exists and is now privately owned and thrives in the Mackenzie region. Reindeer Station was abandoned years ago and is reverting into the bush.

Bibliography:
Victoria Jason. Kabloona in a Yellow Kayak Turnstone Press 1995
Robert Choquette. The Oblate Assault on Canada’s Northwest University of Ottawa Press 1995
Gerald Conaty and Lloyd Binder The Reindeer Herders of the Mackenzie Delta Firefly Books 2004
John Donaldson. A Canoe Quest in the Wake of Canada’s “Prince of Explorers” Artful Codger Press 2006


16/11/07
Stanley and Belinda Mulvany
PO Box 6071
Invercargill
eiger@xtra.co.nz