Category: River Blogs

Full sun and warm temperatures (maybe 40 degrees, so “warm” is relative) and we packed the gear, donned the dry suits, marveled at how much snow had melted out from around the tent, and shoved off just ever-so-slightly on the Canadian side of the aquatic border. Getting in the water took some doing and a lot of poking with a couple of sturdy sticks, and then we had to break through the ice block. It was almost entirely slush, so I hacked at it with my paddle, we reversed, we plowed in at full speed, repeat… and a few minutes later, we were on the way.

The Northwest Branch of the St John has a pretty good current this time of year, and since we don’t really know anything about the river save what we could parse out from Google Earth and the topo maps (i.e. not very much at all), we scooted from eddy to eddy trying to gauge each bend and riffle as best we could before committing.

We made it through two sets of small rapids within the first mile or two, probably a class I+ or II, with some good-sized standing waves and bigass MF-ing rocks. The spray deck performed admirably, and I was glad to be in a drysuit from the first wave. Both of us were absolutely ecstatic to be on the water and finally underway.

Then we heard water- BIG water. It was around a sharp curve to the right, so we couldn’t get a great look beyond one obvious VERY big rock on the inside of the curve, and since there was nowhere to pull out we made the call to hold left of center and run it.

…This was maybe not the best call.

As we rounded the bend, we plowed into what was easily a III+ rapid and would probably have been a solid IV if it had been longer. The river dropped about ten feet over the course of 20 yards between several HUGE boulders.

The stupidest part was that we came so damn close to making it through without even getting any water in the boat because it was such a short stretch. We easily cleared the first big rocks, bounced through the first two or three massive standing waves… and then clipped something.

Neither of us saw what it was, but either way the boat went out from under me so fast I barely had enough time to reflect on my life choices before it shoved me underwater. I popped back up, skidded off a rock, and within seconds both of us were swimming the upside-down boat to shore with paddles in hand.

It’s worth noting that Steve’s stupid captain’s hat both stayed on his head AND remained dry.

We coasted into an eddy and flipped the boat back over to assess the damage. Thanks to the spray deck, we only lost a loose Nalgene and a stuff sack of tie downs (my bad- it floated past me in the eddy and I failed to grab it before it sank because like a complete moron I reached for our giant bailing sponge first)… but the very tip of the bow was smashed to hell. It wasn’t anything bad enough to compromise the structural integrity of the boat; the protective end cap had been sheared off and while the float tank was no longer watertight, all the damage was well above the waterline. While it’ll probably be an easy repair once we’re back in civilization, it was pretty sobering and it completely soured Steve’s mood for the rest of the day

He did, however, find the “silver lining” to my rubber boot (which I lost while using it as a bailer) and waded back upriver to get some good photos of the rapid that dented his baby.

Shaken but righted, we got back in and made it about another half mile before we heard more big water. This time we managed to pull over; good thing, too. Fast water and more class III rapids awaited, complete with ice chunks sailing through as the lake behind us cleared out, and more of the same visible down the line at the next bend.

Portage it is! …Through a hellish mix of small scrubby evergreens, downed trees, and thigh-deep snow. It took us all afternoon to get the boat about 200 yards, which was the point when it started to rain and we figured screw it: we’re on the highest ground around and we can already say we probably can’t run the next batch of rapids.

We hung a couple lines, tromped out a place for the tent, and just barely got set up and under cover before it started coming down in earnest.

We’re FINALLY paddling… even if we only made it about three miles. So much for the “easy handful of miles” we were hoping for before the confluence. It looks like we’ll probably spend all day tomorrow portaging.

I feel like I need to give Steve some time alone with the canoe. And the scotch. 🙁

We woke up to intermittent rain, moderately warm (about 40 degree) temperatures, and a water level that had come up several feet… making the section of river we faced even less runnable. Good thing the only real plan we had for the day was to move the canoe down past the next set of rapids.

Or, as it turned out, just to pack down the trail so that portage would be a physical possibility.

There’s an overwhelming amount of moose poop everywhere (we haven’t seen bear poop, but we’re AGGRESSIVELY bear bagging just in case) and it took us the better part of the morning to plot the course to the next potential put-in. We DEFINITELY can’t run these rapids- especially in high water.

When we got back to camp for late lunch, the rain had picked up and we were both pretty much soaked. And tired. Postholing is exhausting, especially through Maine evergreen scrub in thigh-deep snow with running water underneath it. We debated moving the canoe just for something to do, but dragging it in the pouring rain sounded like a special level of hell even for us and with the water still rising it doesn’t look like we’re going anywhere soon so we called it a day.

Steve found a spot on yesterday’s portage trail where a posthole punch-through created the perfect set up for an ice toilet with our foam pads as insulation, and had himself a very leisurely poop. He was quite proud. (I was less impressed than he’d hoped.)

The sun came out!!! It was still mostly cloudy for the bulk of the morning, which wasn’t a terrible situation to be hauling a canoe through dense woods in. I dragged from the “front” (we hauled the canoe backwards to prevent further damage to the nose), Steve shoved, and he got some pretty spectacular photos of me struggling through hip-deep snow with the boat

To give you an idea of how miserable this was: the portage of the canoe took about two hours… and the walk back to camp took all of fifteen minutes.

BUT the sky cleared by the time we got back, and we made the call that instead of spending the afternoon moving camp we should hang out our gear and get everything back to “as dry as fucking possible” status.

WORTH IT. It was warm enough that we could leave the tent door open and lie around in our long underwear listening to music while our socks, pants, rain jackets, and soggy odds and ends dried out on the line. If we’re moving at a crawl, we might as well be comfortable.

Once the sun started to go down it began to drizzle again, and we had some collective anxiety about the water level rising and flooding us out in the middle of the night. We opted for “calculated risk”, not moving, and checking on the waterline periodically during the night.

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.

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.

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.

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.)

Steve woke up feeling weak and sore from yesterday’s adventure but felt progressively better as the day wore on; I woke up feeling a little queasy and felt progressively worse.

There’s nothing quite like pooping liquid into a thigh-deep posthole and then collapsing into the tent only to find that the smell of your partner’s mashed potatoes makes you so nauseous you openly weep while scrambling to get your head out of the tent. And then barfing while hanging the bear bag. I feel like absolute shit; the small saving grace is that it probably isn’t giardia because we’ve both been drinking the same heavily-filtered water.

The only thing we can think of to do moving-wise is load the boat, get on the water, and try to get as far as we can. Steve’s confident that if we rig to flip and can navigate from eddy to eddy, we ought to be able to find a line and make it through. We have intel from our pre-trip research saying that the paddling’s easy from the confluence with the Daaquam on (in normal weather, anyways, according to a guy who’s paddled it many times… in summer) so we’re just trying to reach that point. We also know there’s a road that crosses the river there, so if we had to we could pull out to portage.

We’re really hit the perfect storm of shitty weather, shitty snow, shitty river, and literal shit. Our bar for misery is at an entirely new level, and this is turning out to be the longest 14 miles of our lives. Both of us are oddly resigned to it; as much as this sucks, freaking out won’t do us any good and we’re sure as shit not quitting.

Feeling a bit better and waking up to sun and warm temperatures gave us the cojones to pack up camp and brave the river. We figured if we’re lucky, we’d be able to run it (rigged to flip, obviously) and maybe even get as far as Ledge Rapids Camp; if we were only a little lucky, we’d make a little headway, pull out to portage, and potentially find a campsite with some more sun exposure.

We were decidedly NOT lucky.

We got the boat packed (which was a huge pain in the ass, waist-deep in a stream with a stiff current while simultaneously fighting the backwash from the eddy on the edge of the rapids) and pushed off… except we didn’t. It took everything we had to get into the main river, and we immediately discovered we couldn’t paddle hard enough to get out of the damned eddy. Blocks of ice the size of small sedans cruised past us, caught in the swirl of the backwash. It was all we could do not to get sucked backwards and recycled into the rapids.

Forcing our way to the bank (about fifty yards from where we put in), we hopped out and lined the boat downstream through a waist-deep UPRIVER current for another 200 yards until we hit a swampy stream outlet that we could pull into. We admitted defeat for the day, and almost immediately it began to rain because WHY FUCKING NOT.

After slogging around in a charming mix of thigh-deep snow over downed trees and swamp water for about an hour trying to find a straightforward portage/campsite/literally any appealing option whatsoever, we gave up and ended up pitching the tent on the only dry ground we could find within feasible walking distance. “Dry ground” is a relative term, since it was actually a snowbank on top of a downed tree in the middle of a swamp, which meant we both had a moat and were about a foot and a half of river rise away from getting flooded out.

“Exhausted” doesn’t even begin to describe it. I still feel like lukewarm dog poop. Steve’s back has started bothering him, and it’s bad enough that he’s actively pretending to be fine. We were so tired we didn’t even cook dinner; we just ate fistfuls of gummies from our sleeping bags.

That said, we’re still doing surprisingly okay. Our gear is dry. We have plenty of food and fuel. We have clean water and the ability to filter more. This sucks a whole bag of fake-cherry-flavored gummy dicks, but we’re still nowhere near dire straights or dangerous conditions.

At some point Maine needs to make up its mind if it wants us gone or to stay here forever. We can’t leave while it’s super shitty, so if this place hates us so much it needs to cut us a little bit of a break so we can GTFO safely because otherwise we’re not moving.

We woke up to… drumroll… rain.

I was still pretty wrecked, so Steve left to go start plotting a portage route while I stayed in camp to hang the bear bag and filter water before heading out to meet him.

Long story short, even that amount of activity was about as much as I could handle and by the time I met him at a logging slash about a mile downriver that afternoon I was completely exhausted. Getting back to the tent was one of the hardest things I’ve ever physically had to do.

I spent the rest of the afternoon passed out cold while poor Steve played Minecraft on his phone.

Dinner was a sad affair- Steve cooked (which should really drive home how wiped out I am, because there’s a lot of things I’ll do before willingly eating his camp food) and then goaded me through about half a portion of rice before I was convinced I might barf again.

Everything about this makes me miserable. I can’t eat; I can barely move around; my partner is stuck literally carrying my load around while I lie here like a useless lump. I still can’t say I regret coming out here (the bar for “better than being at work” is JUST. THAT. LOW) but the misery level has really hit a new record.

I’m desperately hoping I wake up tomorrow feeling close to normal. And that maybe it won’t be raining.

SUNLIGHT. Fucking FINALLY.

Steve immediately began running laps with small items while I broke down camp. I’m still touch and go but feel significantly more human, and since the water is somehow STILL RISING we have no choice but to keep moving.

We got the essentials to the logging slash and I stayed there to rebuild camp while Steve and his obnoxiously long legs kept shuttling gear.

Putting up our loaned 4-season tent by myself in the snow made me understand why my parents never go camping together any more. There are two kinds of people in this world: those you can assemble a tent with without anyone getting stabbed, and those who you will forever want to slit the throats of before systematically hunting down every member of their family. Also, this tent sucks and there’s a good chance I’m going to set it on fire when we get out of this.

The last order of the day was to move the boat. Dry suits on, waist-deep in swamp, dry-heaving the canoe over logs and through piles of brush and moose shit… and we’re at the slash above the next set of rapids.

We have a rock-solid base camp, a textbook bear bag, and our stuff is still dry. Tomorrow we’re going to find a portage route, and hopefully it’ll be smoother sailing. Or walking. Whatever. Hell, if we have to walk to the confluence from here we will- at least we’re moving forward again.