Missinaibi River Day 4 - From A Good Good Day

• Posted on June 23, 2009 at 6:35 PM
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This will be a short description of a perfect day. It will be short because, in addition to being perfect, the day was tiring.

The sun was well above the pines and birch of the Peterbell Marsh before we finally left the tent for breakfast - multiple cups of tea and bannock cooked over a snug morning campfire. Somehow, the temperature was just right - too hot for blackflies, not quite right for mosquitoes, cool enough to sit comfortably in the dappled shade of a tree. Only the barest smudge of muskol was needed to enjoy our meal outside the protection of the dining tent. Reluctantly, we agreed we had to leave sooner or later and that the second option was the only one we had left.

But first we swam. If you can call our combination of belly flopping, dunking and breath holding contests swimming. I do. And I am an expert swimmer AND belly flopper.

Finally, we agreed that it was now neither sooner, nor later, but after that. Time to go.

Down the Peterbell Marsh, we passed a huge bull moose whose rack was at least three feet across. Grazing in the weeds, he looked up at us like a mobster disturbed from his antipasti as we floated by.

The Marsh ended with a roller coaster ride down the Swamp Rapids. With Sean taking the bow, we then played in a series of class 1 waves that took us most of the way to Deadwood Rapids. Here Sean took a look at the flood swollen C1 tech and ceded the front chair back to Janine. We rode through the frothing haystacks without incident and paddled down to Allan Island, bypassing its broad chute on a slightly overgrown portage.

Next up, we rocketed through the heavily haystacked Wavy Rapid. Though scary, it had the convenience of dumping enough water on us that we didn't have to change our underwear at the end of it.

From Wavy, it was clear sailing to our camp above Greenhill Rapids from there. Dragonflies buzzed around us like a fighter plane escort, nipping at any lingering mosquitoes and blackflies. Ducklings trailed their mothers in obedient rows of fluff. A bear swam across the river in front of us, abruptly changing direction and returning to shore as soon as he saw us.

Evening was maturing as we pulled into camp. We ate supper quickly, talking over the idyllics of the day. Now we've hit the hay, both in fatigue and in anticipation of the early rise and 1500 meter portage around Greenhill tomorrow.

We're tired, we're aching, but we're settling into a rhythm that is empowering and comforting. It's a standard pattern on any canoe trip. By the time we leave, we'll be just toned and at ease in the bush enough to want to stay for another week.