2000

Wabakimi Provincial Park
by James Smedley

It can be tough in Wabakimi. All we want is three or four small walleye for dinner. But the profusion of large fish emerging from the deep pool at the base of a rapids leaves us wondering if we’ll ever get a plate full of pan-sized filets. But catching chunky walleye is not that annoying. We have plenty of time. Our tents are set on a deep bed of moss and the frying pan waits beside a circular formation of flat rocks. In fact, catching big fish on a secluded wilderness river is the kind of problem I wish I had more often.

I’m with Mike Cotterill, Claude Camirand and Neil Simpson on our first excursion into Wabakimi Provincial Park. This wilderness network of interconnected lakes and rivers has long been a favorite area for paddlers. Recently expanded to almost 3,500 square miles, Wabakimi is now the second largest in the Ontario Parks system. It’s mid-September and we have five days to get a taste of the Wabakimi Wilderness.

Thursday

With canoes strapped to Beaver float planes we leave the town of Armstrong for the interior of Wabakimi. There is road and rail access but with limited time we want immediate wilderness. We find it at Lower Wabakimi Lake. We load our canoes from the floats then make for shore where the outlet of a small river spills over a smooth rock ledge.

The portage trail is littered with blown down trees. The rapids are runnable but we decide to line them to get our feet wet - literally and figuratively. Wading knee deep in cool water is a relief from unseasonably hot weather. The next four miles include a series of short drops over falls, boulder-strewn rapids and swift runs. We run or line all but the falls and fish all the pools.

What could be a quick run takes us all day due to our reluctance to leave pools of pike and walleye. Evening is approaching by the time we portage around a falls into Smoothrock Lake. Finding a campsite is the priority but Neil is trolling and announces a snag. Turns out to be a huge fish. I paddle Neil to shore where he eventually lands an enormous pike. He names the beast Cecil for unknown reasons then holds the 20-pounder up for a few photos before releasing.

Luckily potential sites are abundant on Smoothrock. Eat supper, set up camp and swim from a gently sloping rock shelf. Thoughts of huge pike mean I’m in and out quickly. We dry by a crackling pine fire then sink into beds of thick moss.

Friday

We rise at 7:00 am. Our destination is an out-flow at the north end of Smoothrock Lake 12 miles away. Fortified with bacon and eggs, we weave through a maze of islands, bays, inlets and narrows. I’m in the bow, ostensibly to navigate, but really to rest while consulting map and compass. At Outlet Bay we have to search for the portage trail to the river. At 400 yards it’s the longest of our trip but even under a brief shower of rain it’s an easy carry.

We run a short set of rapids, set up camp next to a deep, swirling pool, then start fishing for our lunch. It’s here we’re delayed in trying to catch fish small enough for the pan. It’s about 2:30 pm before we finally have a plate-load of golden brown filets. After lunch I take a nap on the fragrant ground beneath a cedar. Claude catches walleye from shore. Mike and Neil paddle upstream to explore.

I wake and take a short walk. I stay close to the river, fearing being lost in the rolling landscape of jack pine, lichen-covered granite knobs and depressions of thick moss.

Neil and I fish the shallow, fast water with success in evening. When we see that Claude and Mike have a fire going and food on we head in to eat in a riverside grove of cedar.

Saturday

A bald eagle circles overhead as we load canoes. I wrangle stern from Mike and we paddle through a few narrow chutes before the river widens between sandy banks. It is warm and sunny again today. We portage 200 yards around wide falls. The water cascades over a steep gradient of flat rocks. The river becomes lake-like for a mile or so then narrows down between steep rock and gravel banks. Neil lobs out a jig and instantly hooks a big walleye. The narrows keep us occupied with double and triple headers. Claude hooks a pike on Neil’s Rapala. It breaks the line but Neil catches the fish 10 minutes later and gets his lure back.

We are trying to make time today, but so far we’ve gone less than 4 miles. We stash the rods and continue. Wide, slow and sandy sections are separated by short drops between rocky outcroppings. Mike and I display great skill in navigating a short boulder garden without touching a single rock. Neil cuts his hand on a sharp rock while lining same stretch.

The river is slow and meandering for the final 3 miles to its junction with the Ogoki. Even in low water the Ogoki is big. We head upstream where the only obstacle is a fast water narrows. In an impressive display of brawn Claude and Neil paddle straight up the middle. Mike and I try but fail and walk our craft up along the shore.

Beyond, the Ogoki is wide and deep with steep rocky banks. Within a few hours we reach the falls that crash through a wide and jagged gap in the shoreline. We set up camp, swim, watch eagles overhead and grouse in the bush. I walk a portage trail leading upstream to Oliver Lake, past some serious white water.

Park literature claims that there are close to 1,500 miles of canoe routes. We pore over the topographic map in the evening. The abundance of lakes and rivers cradled in the low boreal landscape means we could travel hundreds of miles in any direction with only the occasional short portage. We lament not having more time/supplies.

Sunday

It is hot and sunny again. Downstream the Ogoki is wide, slow and sandy but narrows and quickens towards Whitewater Lake. We go to shore to scout the first boulder-strewn rapid. Claude spots a large animal making its way up the far shore. It’s a large male caribou with an enormous rack. I set up my tripod and 300mm telephoto and wait as the accommodating ungulate walks right past on the opposite bank. Apparently there are approximately 300 woodland caribou in the park.

Soon after we make another siting, almost as rare: humans. A canoe appears and slips through the rapids, the first people we’ve seen since being dropped off several days ago. After shooting and lining several more sets of rapids we meet them on the portage down to Whitewater Lake. They are lucky enough to have seen a handful of caribou. They are into day five of a 12-day trip. We display greenish tones of envy - we’ll be flying out the next day from the opposite end of Whitewater Lake.

Although it is hot and sunny, we pull large walleye from the mouth of the Ogoki. We finally drag ourselves away to try and log at least half of 20-mile-long Whitewater Lake. She has a reputation for being rough, but today it’s flat calm. A huge swath of charred trees stand along the south shore, evidence of a wild fire that swept through the area this spring.

Neil and Claude step out of their canoe in the middle of the lake onto a huge sandbar looming inches below the surface. From our vantage point it looks like they are performing miracles. The water is very low and large rocks lurk just below the surface. I wouldn’t want to drive an outboard on this lake, certainly not my own.

After six miles of straight lake paddling, Neil accuses Claude of "dipping" his paddle. We stop on a point to feed and rest. Re-fortified, we enter a series of long narrow inlets connected by portages that link with the eastern basin of Whitewater Lake. We eat high bush cranberries and twice we hear the nasal calling of caribou on islands.

We make camp on a broad plateau of granite. Our famished state means even the dried food dredged from the bottom of our pack tastes surprisingly delicious. When night falls we sit with our backs to the fire watching the stars.

Monday

Under cloud and thick fog we make our way to the east basin of Whitewater Lake. Within a few hours we land on Best Island where we had been told of an odd group of buildings where a man dubbed "the hermit of Whitewater Lake" once lived.

What we find are three very interesting log structures, one built partially underground. We spend a few hours poking around and find all sorts of odd contraptions that shed faint light on Wendell Beckwith’s life of research on Best Island. I use the rest of my film photographing the unique buildings.

Beyond Best Island we see the lodge where we’ll fly from. We hear the drone of the generator and see a long row of neat horizontal log structures. We’ve either been in the depths of Wabakimi too long or not long enough - but none of us are looking forward to heading back to civilization.

For more information on Wabakimi Provincial Park contact:

Park Superintendent
Wabakimi Provincial Park
Suite 221d, 435 James St.
Thunder Bay, Ontario
P7E 6S8
807 475-1634
www.wabakimi.on.ca
www.OntarioParks.com