After some complications that turned (as they often do) into excellent stories and great memories, everything worked out in the end. Like most things in life, nothing works out quite as planned. This element of mystery, of the unknown is often what makes experiences special. Even with the best laid plans things can sometimes go awry, for better or for worse. And I’ll be honest, my packraft journey of the Noire River was not exactly the best planning I’ve ever done.
Start: Noire River - bridge crossing on the Chemin Du Bois Franc
End: Noire River Inn
Distance and days: 185km in 3 days (plus a bit….)
I had a meeting in Ottawa on a Monday night in May, that would wrap up around 10pm. I had a commitment in Kingston on Friday morning around 10am. I decided the best thing to do with this little window would be to squeeze in a 180km whitewater packraft trip. Makes sense right? The biggest logistical hurdle with river paddling is the fact that you start at point A, and end up at point B. If they someday invent an enjoyable whitewater river where you are able to end at the place you started after a couple hundred kilometres of paddling, some Escher like waterway, I guarantee it would be the most popular river anywhere. Anyway, I somehow convinced my dad that it would make sense for him to be my chauffeur for this adventure. I do owe him for being so game! So we make the trip to Ottawa, I attended my meeting, and we continued on to Waltham arriving close to midnight. With a slight detour to Pembroke to make sure we had enough gas to account for all the unknowns. We ventured into the Quebec wilderness along some pretty rough logging roads. I was a little uncertain of the route I wanted, my research being somewhat incomplete and likely completely out of date. But I had my InReach and confidence. It’s amazing how far into trouble a little dose of confidence will take you. We were making pretty good progress paralleling the river, when there was a sudden two foot deep ditch in the middle of the road. Rain had swollen a small stream and washed away the sandy gravel of the track. We smashed into the ditch and bumped through it at speed. My dad immediately cut our rate of travel in half, and with nervous giggles we forged ahead.
At 5 a.m. we pulled off beside a bridge crossing the Noire River at about the spot I had hoped to reach. I set up a tent and we napped for a few hours. I woke, packed up my gear and gave a hopeful wave to my father after putting onto the quick current of the cold water. He seemed surprisingly cheerful considering I’d just put him through a ridiculous backroad all nighter. I found out later in the day that his return journey to Waltham and then Kingston went smoothly. Slowly, but smoothly. I paddled all day on the winding twists of the Noire, encountering almost no rapids. Oftentimes after covering 5km on water I’d have traveled about a K and a half as the crow flies… zoom in on the map below and check out the twists and turns! 40ish km later I was freezing cold and exhausted. A small patch in the bottom of my packraft was leaking and I had my feet and butt in cold water for a good portion of the day, stopping now and then to bail. Finally I had to pull off to warm up. I dragged Peanut my packraft onto shore, nibbled a bagel and dried the bottom of the boat so I could repatch with tenacious tape and aqua seal. After clumping my food in the trees a little ways away, and with one glance at the sky and a prayer that I was correct in thinking it wouldn’t rain, I pulled out my sleeping bag and curled up right there on the sandy bank to sleep.
Day two brought me exactly what I’d been hoping for. Whitewater rapids to challenge my skills and decision making. A river wide log jam (not a specific hope, but it fill the bill for small obstacles to navigate) and downed trees in the river causing ‘strainers’. The winding of the river lessened slightly and overall I made good time. But already I was feeling the need to race against the clock, knowing I had a HARD deadline and had to reach the Noire River Inn by dusk on Thursday. My dad would be waiting in Pembroke for a message from me to come pick me up as arranged. I pulled off the water a little earlier than I likely should have at Targie Rapids and set up a proper camp. The rapid was beautiful and for the only time all trip, I took half an hour to take some photos. But I was again cold and tired, and I slept early that evening as the stars began to fill the sky.
I paddled hard the next day, navigating the class II-III rapids that I could handle and portaging the bigger sets. Mountain Chute was a challenge, but I was grateful to have Peanut with me to carry down the final steep rock face rather than an ABS canoe. As the day slipped away I started to feel a sense of finality and late in the afternoon I realized that I likely wouldn’t make the takeout. It was starting to get dusky around 6pm, and I was again cold after paddling another 50km for the third day in a row on my early spring muscles. I still had a couple of rapids left so I made the decision to pull off the river. My Garmin indicated that about 500 metres through the trees just downstream there was a road of some sort running parallel to the Noire. I paddled to the nearest point and pulled off. I bushwhacked a little ways and, upon finding the road, sent a message to my Dad with the change of plans and my GPS coordinates. I thought he’d be able to find a way to me, as I was only about 15km from the Noire Inn and standing firmly on a logging road that looked similar to the one we’d first driven. In little time I got a reply from him saying that he’d looked at Google maps and thought it would be simple to find me, and that I shouldn’t have to wait more than a couple of hours. So I got my gear up to the road and dried out and waited. And waited. And still I waited. At 11:30pm or so I got a text message from my mom…
“Your dad is fine. Getting a tow truck back to Kingston. Paddle to the Inn in the morning, I’ll come up to get you.”
Oh shit, I thought.
I got a good nights sleep stretched out on the road in my sleeping bag. My dad got home at 4a.m. with two flat tires and a dented front end on his SUV. He drove about 20km out of the bush on the flats it turns out. He was up at 7a.m. for his obligations. My mom had a terrible sleep worrying about him and my sister who was at home had a terrible sleep worrying about my mom worrying about my dad. But I slept well.
Paddling out first thing the next morning was simple, the rapids were fun, especially ‘10 mile rapid’ the final stretch of the river which is near continuous class I whitewater. When I rounded the final bend before the Inn I could see my mom standing on the bridge waving to me and taking pictures. Despite the night’s events she was in great spirits and we had a lovely drive home. I was late for my Friday commitments, but other wonderful folks picked up my slack and I was able to get home in time for the evenings events.
Lesson learned, don’t try paddle 180km in 3 days in early spring when you don’t know the way there and back and your body is still in winter hibernation mode… next time I’ll cut the route down to 150km.
