Day 12: We move to higher ground

Not quite sunny, but not quite rainy- and while we didn’t even come close to getting flooded out (phew!) the water had come up another foot. We both slept terribly as we kept waking up to logs and large ice chunks grinding on the rocks along the river bank ten yards from the tent. Time to go!

We packed the gear, donned the dry suits, and began the arduous slog along yesterday’s path. Between the sun yesterday and the rain last night, it was a hideous mix of slush, water over ice, and half-rotten snow. This wasn’t what dry suits were designed for (or rocks paddles) but every time I took a step and cracked through into icy water of unknown depth while carrying 50+ pounds of gear, I was pretty damned glad to have one on.

The first trip was our portage packs, and the second was the food and loose odds and ends; this was a “smaller” load but just as heavy and more wobbly. This was AWESOME on snow that continued to deteriorate as the day went on. It’s a real bitch to crawl through a nest of scrubby trees, see a big open patch, think “oh yay, I can take five easy strides” and punch through up to your waist on the second step because the sun melted the path.

Right before the next rapids is a sharp bend in the river with a big eddy, and over the last few days it’d been a series of thick ice shelves suspended among the trees with a few feet of space underneath. It’d been creepy/beautiful then, but now that the water rose the space between ground and ice shelf is full of river and the ice had turned to slush on top of what solid parts remained. Debris from the river was grinding against the edge. We gave it as wide a berth as we could, but even that meant skirting the inland edge.

My terrible mapping skills provided very little in terms of functional navigation.

New camp is on a bluff of evergreens over the bend in the river. We’re well out of flood range (which is good, since the water has now come up about five feet since we pulled out) and close to a stream for easy water. It’s more open here, we have a good tarp/tent setup, and we should be able to bear bag well and hang out comfortably for a few days while the water recedes.

All told we’ve still only done MAYBE four miles of paddling. The water continues to rise and is going WAY too fast to safely shove off, and there’s a good chance we’ll be here for several days waiting for things to settle down. It’s frustrating watching the days tick by and knowing that with each one our chances of making Halifax are that much slimmer; we both wanted to make it there SO badly, but with this particular set of conditions we can’t risk it. We’d be putting our lives (and the canoe) in danger for no reason other than pride and stubbornness.

It sucks, but we can’t paddle if we’re dead.

Day 13: …Back to waiting

Bear bagging was undoubtedly the highlight of the day. We may actually have hit the “12’ up, 6’ from trunks” prerequisites, but it’s still a little close to camp for comfort. There’s only so many options in terms of large trees near here that aren’t currently surrounded by water.

The weather today is more intermittent rain (big surprise there) so we alternated between being in the tent and kind of bored and standing under the tarp and kind of bored. I filtered some water. We discussed our options in terms of mileage once we hit the confluence. I finished my second Steve Berry mystery. (Verdict: “Venetian Betrayal” is better than “The Alexandria Link”, but not by much.) We played an interminably long round of the “squares game”, which Steve seemed to enjoy but mostly just made me feel stupid.

Eventually we decided that tomorrow Steve will put on his dry suit, take a go-bag, and hike downriver as far as he can to see if he can figure out both where we are and what our paddling options are. (We thought about doing this today, but my knee hurts and the water is high and the weather is shit.) I don’t like the idea of him going alone AT ALL, but he can cover more distance solo and we can’t leave all our stuff unattended.

The low point of the day was when I attempted to practice good dental hygiene and the floss ripped in half and left a tiny chunk wedged between two of my teeth. I got progressively more frantic about it and eventually Steve grabbed the tweezers and dug it out like a champion. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.

Day 14: General anxiety

Steve took off around ten to see what he could find. I was left to worry, filter water, take stock of our food supply, and sing all the show tunes I know as loud as I could in hopes of keeping bears away. (It worked, as far as I could tell.)

Steve returned around four looking absolutely haggard, dragging himself up from the stream at a near crawl. All the color was gone from his face and it was immediately obvious that he’d sweated/dehydrated himself borderline not-okay hypothermic. He got out of his drysuit and sweat-soaked long johns and into dry gear and a sleeping bag, and while I mercilessly forced him full of hot soup and tea and snacks he relayed what he’d found.

Basically, we’re fucked. After our current set of rapids there’s a brief respite, followed by more that go on for about twice as long. He followed the river to that point, then cut inland/east on a logging road that looked like it might lead downstream… but didn’t. There’s no good portage route, the rapids continue, and there isn’t even a decent spot to pull out.

Since the water level is still super high and Steve is wiped out, we’re zeroing tomorrow and hopefully coming up with a plan. This sucks, but we’re surprisingly well-equipped to be this miserable; we still have plenty of food, our gear is (mostly) dry, we have a four-season tent and a zero-degree down quilt in addition to our own sleeping bags, we can travel in the drysuits, and our fuel/TP supply is strong. All we really need to worry about is the scotch. (And, you know, our parents eventually freaking out.)

What are you idiots doing now?

Despite the number of times we could/probably should have died on the Delaware River, Steve and I made it about a month before formulating a rough plan for a second river trip. We spent the remainder of the summer drinking beers in the sun on the local reservoir (or nursing our sunburn in the shade on the porch at Burt’s) arguing about the specifics.

My boat, on a decidedly pleasant camping trip to Maine. Sunny days are okay when taken in moderation.

Our standards are simple: at least 400 miles, goes from source to sea, and involves at least a handful of stretches that guarantee a miserable physical struggle.

We tossed around a few ideas. The Susquehanna (460+ miles, upstate New York to the Chesapeake Bay) was a solid contender, as well as the Potomac (400+ miles, various upper branches draining into the main channel). The Potomac pulled ahead because of the various gnarly upper branches running through national forests and because both of us were sorely tempted by the prospect of pulling the canoe out of the river in Washington DC, sprinting across a few lanes of traffic, and seeing how far we could paddle down the Reflecting Pool at the National Mall before security took us down.

And then we heard mention of the St John River. This “Rhine of North America” runs over 400 miles from the headwaters on the Maine/Quebec border through remote New England wilderness into New Brunswick before flowing into the Bay of Fundy via the infamous Reversing Falls at the city of St John. The farthest reaches of the upper branches can only be successfully paddled shortly after the snow melts when the water is high, and the lower end is subject to some of the most extreme tides in the world.

Barely-above-freezing river water? Black fly season in the north Maine woods? Tides so extreme they change the direction the river is flowing? SIGN. US. UP.

Being a huge fan of Stan Rogers’ song “Barrett’s Privateers” (an enthusiastic drinking song about a miserable ocean voyage… aka all our favorite things) Steve immediately proposed that we end the trip in Halifax. He had no concept whatsoever of the geography of the Bay of Fundy, Nova Scotia, or frankly the Atlantic coast of Canada in general, but once he realized he could be belting out the bit about “I’M A BROKEN MAN ON A HALIFAX PIER” from an actual Halifax pier there was no talking him down. At all. The few times I tried to explain that there was an entire province and a very large, very mercurial body of water between the city of St John and the city of Halifax, he just burst into song.

Steve has to steer on expeditions so he’s forced to remain focused; otherwise our productivity goes completely off the rails.

Lucky for Steve, I love a logistical challenge and my current job involves a lot of time sitting at a computer getting yelled at over the phone by angry tourists. I plotted out some routes, crunched some numbers, and determined that with about six weeks and some VERY careful monitoring of the tides… we might actually be able to pull this off.

We had nailed things down to the point of the trip being mostly-not-sketchy, and then a massive wrench was thrown in the works: I got a job offer in northern Michigan as a park ranger and EMT that requires me to report for duty on May 28th. Since we had originally planned on reaching Halifax sometime around June 14th, this was slightly inconvenient. Fortunately some research into the climatological records of New Brunswick revealed that the ice traditionally goes out on the St John around the end of the first week in April, and since we’d been planning to order dry suits for a while anyways, we decided that we might as well just push the start date back to April 17th. It’s not like the water would have been that much warmer if we started in early May, anyways.

At this point we’ve collected the gear, stocked up on camping food, put together every map we can find, and scraped every last penny out of the couch cushions to throw into our adventure fund. It’s a matter of days until we load the boat on the car and head north, and we look forward to sharing the shenanigans with everyone paying attention to this blog. Since we won’t always be able to update here immediately, feel free to follow us on Instagram via @typetwofundamentals.

We’ve also spent hours trying to convince our friends, families, and coworkers that we (probably) aren’t going to freeze to death, drown, or be eaten by bears. Neither of us can fathom how anyone who’s heard about our past trips would hear “Steve and Emily armed with rocks paddles vs. fully grown black bear” and not put money on us.