Living on
The wind A FAMILY CANOE ADVENTURE
STORY BY TERRI CAIRNS & MAYA CAIRNS-LOCKE PHOTOGRAPHS BY PETER MATHER
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Mom’s Story The beauty of the Peel Watershed affected me deeply when my partner Peter and I explored the Wind River in 2012. I spent that trip in a perennial sense of awe, but also of longing. My heart ached with the feeling that I was experiencing such a magnificent place without my three daughters. One afternoon Peter and I shared our lunch on a ledge high above the river. Taking in the enormity of the Wind River valley, I burst into tears. I told Peter I wasn’t coming back to the Peel Watershed without the girls. Then and there our 2013 family holiday was decided. Taking three kids on a 28-day canoe trip in Canada’s far north may sound crazy to most parents. Peter and I saw it differently. Raising kids is tough in this era of smartphones and Wi-Fi, when families share the same space but are not always together. As parents, we’re constantly seeking ways to develop courage, individuality, and independence. We fight this battle by saturating the kids with adventure. And so far it’s working. So the 340-mile Wind River canoe trip was an easy sell to the girls. Well, almost. At 14, Kennedy is just under six feet tall and is an outdoor aficionado. She can hike mountains, rock climb, build shelters, kayak and canoe, lift heavy loads and cook over a campfire, all while making witty one-liners and maintaining an aura of self-assurance. The only thing she can’t or won’t do is drink enough water and apply sunscreen. Ava, 13, is a firecracker. Give her something she can’t do, and watch her do it. She will learn the task and then master it. She is extremely competitive, loves a challenge and was packed and ready to go before we had confirmed our travel dates. Then there is 10-year-old Maya. And therein lay the problem: Maya loves her friends, television, the warmth and comfort of her bed, and the luxury of baths. She isn’t the hardest of workers. Don’t get me wrong; when Maya is passionate about something, she inspires everyone around her. Sometimes, it just takes time for Maya to buy into an idea. Our plan was to fly into McClusky Lake, portage to the Wind River and paddle 150 miles to the confluence with the Peel River.
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From there we would continue for another 190 miles on the Peel to Fort McPherson, Northwest Territories. Accompanying us was our entertainer Opa, our gracious cook Aunt Mary, and our dear friend Sophia, a university student of Gwitchin descent who would join us for this trip through her traditional territory. The Wind River is the clearest of rivers. The mountain ranges are majestic, filled with sheep, canyons, waterfalls, floodplains, animal licks, and blueberries. The river was swift and exciting, the sun unforgiving. The girls settled into a rhythm and their days were made up of tearing down camp, paddling, purifying water, gathering firewood, starting the fire, unloading canoes and setting up camp. Recreational time consisted of swimming, reading, eating, climbing mountains, berry picking and playing cards. I would be lying if I didn’t mention that there were some fights, some tears, and an occasional timeout. It was tough at times. It was fantastic all of the time. Peter and I were worried about how the girls would do on the Peel River where the current slows to a crawl and the scenery is mostly forest, gravel bars, mosquitoes, and mud. We shouldn’t have worried; the kids did fine on the Peel. In fact, they swam most of it. During this stage of our trip the girls truly demonstrated strength, family unity, and a sense of pride in the skills they had developed. My fondest memories are of our canoes rafted up alongside each other. Opa and Ava played cards and munched on gorp, while the others lounged across drybags and food barrels, and I read To Kill a Mockingbird aloud. At one point, a family of otters joined us, swimming and dunking alongside our boats—seeming to enjoy the tales of Scout, Jem, and Boo Radley as the Peel gently carried our family downriver toward the end of our journey.
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Maya’s Story BY MAYA CAIRNS-LOCKE Midway through the Wind River, when our posse got rained in, delaying our canoeing adventure. My sisters Kennedy and Ava and I spent at least four hours in our tent playing cards and Battleship, reading, drawing, and giggling. Finally the downpour turned to mist and we were able to leave the tent (mostly because Mom made us). We left the next day to 30-degree weather and a very delicious apple. Our group was scarce on fruits and veggies. That was the first of dozens of scorching hot days. We flew into a place called McClusky Lake and portaged to the confluence of the Wind River and McClusky Creek. As soon as we got there, mosquitos ambushed us. Fifty itchy bug bites and five squirts of After-Bite later, our group was far on our way to a campsite we called “The Caribou Lick.” “The Caribou Lick” was no different than the confluence: buggy. Kennedy got heatstroke on the second day there and slept for 24 hours, not paying any bit of attention to us, and then started being cranky when she woke up for dinner. Actually, I woke her, but she’s a teenager so it makes sense that she was mad. The trip was going by so quickly, so I decided to slow things down a bit. I really enjoyed the scenery around me: the towering cliffs, the mysterious turquoise water, the rubyred rocks, the blue outlined radioactive-looking fish, and mostly the awesome designs I found on the rocks. So, I wrote all that down in a journal. When I was done, I looked at my watch. Five minutes gone. Things were slowing down already. Most of our paddling days involved Ava and me begging Peter to raft up the canoes (again) so we could listen to our mom read us “To Kill a Mockingbird,” or so we could just laugh our heads off. During our rafting days we kids (Opa included) would jump out of the boat and fight over the water pistols my Opa had found in a cereal box. We’d give each other mud baths and laughed when our bare bums hit the freezing cold water when we slipped trying to go to the bathroom hanging off the canoe. The days were pretty slow, which was good in my case. Soon enough, we were pulling up at our last campsite before our final destination: Fort McPherson. My sisters and I spent the day catching frogs and floating down the river until our feet were numb. Before I knew it, I was on the river again on our last day in the marvelous Peel. I had only paddled two minutes it seemed, when we pulled up at Fort McPherson. I was sad that the trip was over, but I found myself kissing the ground. If I turned around and looked back down the river, I could still see those towering cliffs.
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