The Great Whale River expedition – journey with the spirits in Northern Quebec

By Bruce Hollands

We camped about a kilometre down river from the gigantic waterfall.

The portage was tougher than we had anticipated. Were we on the wrong side of the river? It was nightfall by the time we set up camp. The wind and rain ripped at our faces all evening. Leaving the shelter of the tarp to wash the dishes was like leaving the womb — this place was desolate and unforgiving. Without our equipment we would surely perish. I looked forward to getting into my tent. Tomorrow would bring new wonders, and more challenges.

As the deafening, gale-like wind pounded the tent from all sides, I could here the roar of the Great Whale River a few metres away. For the first and only time in my life, I had stood at the base of a rainbow on this river. There was no pot of gold, but there were so many things here that money could never buy.

Witness the wolverine tracks, caribou, bears, hundreds of waterfowl and raptors, sunsets, the northern lights, the unbelievable scenery. There were the otters who lived in a gentle rapid in one of the remotest parts of the river that cut through the tundra, punctuated by occasional 13-metre-high birches.

There are spirits in northern Quebec that live in the oldest rocks on Earth. Rock is one of the foundations of life, perhaps the very essence of life itself. And the other is water. The Hudson Bay and James Bay watershed account for a third of the total flow of all of Canada’s river systems.

When we left Ottawa, the humid 30-degree weather had our shirts sticking to our backs. We drove. We plied our way northward for 1,200 kilometres to Radisson, Quebec, where we boarded floatplanes. They punched us another 400 kilometres into the bush northeast to Lac Bienville. When we reached the big lake, the temperature had plunged to eight degrees on its way to dipping below zero

that night. The chafing cold helped to keep the insects in their dark, wet places, but it made the going rough at times.

My journey along the Great Whale River began on August 31, 1991. The trip etched the minds and spirits of Bob Pygas, Eric Kujala, Benny Preusser, and me. We were touched by the awesome power, beauty and majesty of the river. Its headwaters begin in the Quebec plateau at Lac Duralde, near the Caniapiscau Reservoir in central Quebec. Locals, however, claim that the river’s source lies in vast, island-studded Lac Bienville, 400 rugged kilometres from Hudson Bay.

The drive to Radisson lays bare the grandeur of the James Bay watershed. The immense volume of fresh water

Computer Work Station

Home Furnishings & Commercial Displays

Call for appointment to see showroom, or visit our website at www.LastCanoe.com

Canoe Building Courses

You can build your own canoe in as little as three weeks

• sales / repairs / courses • private and group courses • the last canoe you’ll ever own

Please contact us for your canoe and furnishing needs.

Present this ad for 15% off on home furnishings. *valid until 31/12/04

The Last Canoe Company #1 caesar avenue , ottawa, on

tel: (613) 296-0828 www.LastCanoe.com

flowing into the bay makes the water brackish, and less saline than the ocean. The Quebec government has a plan to tap this resource by creating a huge freshwater reservoir that would quench the thirst of the U.S. south and mid-west. In the newspeak of Hydro Quebec, this proposed project has been dubbed the “Great Recycling and Northern Development Canal.”

With so many challenging and magnificent rivers, I never understood why so few canoe enthusiasts have explored the region. Shortly after Val-d’Or, there is the Harricana, the first of the major rivers of the James Bay watershed in Quebec. At Matagami, the majestic Nottaway River, replete with spectacular rapids and waterfalls, begins her journey northwest to Canada’s inland sea. Next comes the Broadback River, rated average to difficult, with lots of class II rapids. A little further on is the historic Rupert River, whose Cree name (Nemiscau) means, “where fish abound.” The bridge that crossed it was built beside an imposing waterfall, but its voice was silenced when the river was diverted upstream.

The Eastmain is the last large river (read: riverbed) before Radisson. The river runs dry where there was once a beautiful gorge of raging rapids. It has been diverted into the James Bay Project’s LG 2 Reservoir. The Eastmain springs from the heart of the Otish Mountains, which are at the centre of Quebec’s hydrographic hub. Some of the lakes in these mountains are surrounded by 650-metre cliffs. Cree legend dictates that the spirit world intersects with our world in these mountains. The Eastmain begins its course beneath the stark gaze of the Mountain of the Lost Cree.

From Lac Bienville to Hudson Bay, the Great Whale boasts more than 100 major sets of rapids and 30 waterfalls,

numerous gorges, long tracts of flat water and endless portages, with the longest about 15 kilometres. Expect strong winds and very cold water. The river is potable except for the salinity in the last few kilometres before Hudson Bay. Be prepared for strong, fast and deep current, complex and violent rapids, huge canoe-swallowing eddies, counter currents, large whirlpools, and demanding, irregular portages festooned with sharp rocks and steep shoreline. What’s not to love?

Paddling in icy rapids

OUR FIRST four days went flawlessly. An interesting effect, however, is created by the winds that batter the coast of Hudson Bay. The onshore breeze from the west/northwest combines with the eastern flow of the river to create huge standing waves — sometimes two metres high — in the main current. We grew to hate this dreaded combination, but we paddled straight into the stacked water to derive some benefit from the strong current.

On day five it happened. Bob and I capsized at the top of a powerful rapid when his seat broke. The bitterly cold river sucked us six metres under and tumbled us below the surface for more than a minute. My lungs burned as the main current pushed me safely past any dangerous obstacles. Breaking the surface, we sucked air hard and went about collecting our gear. Although it was still early afternoon, we quit for the day and built a fire to stave off hypothermia. Though frightened while blasting head over heels deep in the river’s gut, I felt oddly serene about my fate. The river god could be benign, and sometimes even benevolent.

A palpable fear slowly did take hold of every member of the expedition. We’d have to be much more cautious if we wanted to survive our journey. Though we were skilled whitewater canoeists, our capabilities were piffling compared to the mighty Great Whale. Our close call helped illustrate why North American natives ascribe supernatural powers, or Manitou, to natural elements.

The next five days consisted of strenuous paddling, portaging, lining and negotiating fearsome rapids in a stubborn rain. Even our waterproof clothes and equipment couldn’t keep us dry. It felt like the river was testing our resolve: “You wanted to come here, so deal with the consequences.”

A couple of days later, it was Eric and Benny’s turn to go for a swim. We scouted a class III/IV rapid but remained wary about our ability to run it. It was a horror show of seriously large waves, rocks and souse holes, with little room to manoeuvre. Since Eric and Benny were tired of portaging and eager to find a campsite, they decided to run it.

Sometimes trying to save time has exactly the opposite effect. Halfway through the torrent they crashed against a huge cross-wave and catapulted into the drink. After assisting with gear-recovery, Bob and I decided this was an excellent stretch of river to portage. Sadly, Benny lost the caribou antlers he had been carrying for 10 days.

We could hear the Great Whale’s majestic 25-metre waterfall from 20 kilometres away. Incredibly, the river makes a sharp left turn after the falls, and its water jets through a small canyon no more than 10 metres wide. We took a moment to behold one of nature’s wonders and were amazed to feel the ground shaking beneath our feet. Over 10,000 years of spring run-off had carved out holes in solid rock two and a half metres deep and one metre across.

We encountered an area of scattered islands with so many sets of rapids — both staggered and parallel — we couldn’t determine the direction of the river’s main flow. From one vantage point, we could only see rapids. We felt transported through some sort of portal into another world and another time. It was like nothing we’ve seen before, or since.

Another section of the river ran through a gorge of small hills with water

as black as a moonless night, frothing and boiling, tugging and yanking at our paddles with every stroke. It was an eerie and haunting place. You could feel the river’s immense energy here and we were glad to have it at our stern. Later, Cree elders told me that, according to their legends, monsters inhabited this part of the river. No argument here.

Our last day was one for pushing hard if we were to get off the river and sleep in a warm bed that evening. Snow blanketed the ground. We were still more than 30 kilometres from Hudson Bay with some significant portaging to do, but we were ready to get off the river.

Getting up at 5:00 a.m., we forged ahead like crazed voyagers until we reached the last set of rapids. We stared, mesmerized like rabbits gazing into the yellow eyes of a wolf. We had scouted and assessed so much whitewater over the last 18 days that we had exhausted our decision-making capabilities. Nevertheless, we pressed on. Suddenly our group found itself in the grip of two to three metre high waves, bisected by ripping cross currents.

Alas, our arrival at Hudson Bay was bittersweet — we would miss the beauty of Great Whale, but we were relieved to be beyond her fury.

On our flight home we mused about the experience, the fragility of nature, and the despoiling activities of Hydro Quebec. Hydroelectric proponents claim that only a small percentage of a river is affected by dams, but they cause valleys to flood and affect the most productive

segments of a river’s ecosystem. Today’s greed is setting the scene to destroy an area the size of France. We must put an end to the blind and irresponsible exploitation of our hinterland. Future generations should have an opportunity to experience the wonders of the Great Whale, and other rivers like it.

Shouldn’t they?

Bruce Hollands is founder of the Canadian Association for the Preservation of the James Bay and Hudson Bay Watershed (CAPJHW). The CAPJHW is seeking financial support to produce a documentary on the activities of Hydro Quebec in this threatened region. Funding is also being sought to establish a legal defence fund that will be used to protect the remaining wild rivers of this precious watershed. For more information, call (613) 745-5182 or e-mail: hollands0357@rogers.com