"Far enough away to gain seclusion, yet within reach of those whose genuine interest prompts them to make the trip, Beaver Lodge extends a welcome to you if your heart is right."
- Grey Owl, conservationist and author
(This story originally appeared in the December, 2000 issue of Canoe & Kayak Magazine)
Following
in Grey Owl's wake
By
John Geary
There
it was again … there was no mistaking it this morning.
A
pack of wolves serenaded us as we finished our breakfast on Bagwa Lake. There is
no sound that says "wilderness" more than the howl of a wolf on a
distant shore …or in this case, a not-so-distant shore.
On
a more easterly shore, the morning before, I thought I had heard wolf howls, but
they were too faint to tell if the sound was really wolves or just my
imagination giving me what I wanted.
A
desire for these kinds of experiences took us into the heart of one of Canada's
less-visited national parks, in early October. By canoeing in Prince Albert
National Park, in central Saskatchewan, we were paddling in country renowned as
the last stomping ground of the famous - or infamous, depending on one's
perspective - Englishman Archie Belaney, better known to the world as Grey Owl.
While
Grey Owl is remembered for many things, his enduring legacy is his love of
nature. It was in his cabin on Ajawaan Lake in this park, inspired by the wild
beauty of the boreal forest and aspen parkland surrounding him, that he wrote
the books Pilgrims of the Wild, Sajo
and the Beaver People, and Tales of an
Empty Cabin.
We
planned to visit his cabin, Beaver Lodge, as part of a three-day trip that
included the Bagwa Circuit, one of two backcountry canoe routes in the park.
Light,
wispy snowflakes greeted us the morning we headed out. When we checked into the
park office to register for our backcountry canoe trip, the registrar gave us a
funny look and asked us if she had heard us correctly. Yes, we told her, we were
indeed registering for a backcountry canoe trip.
You
would have thought it was winter or something, the way she reacted.
There
are three ways to visit Grey Owl's cabin: by foot, by canoe, or by a combination
of paddling and hiking. We chose to paddle up the east side of 12-1/2 mile long
Kingsmere Lake. A trail follows the eastern shore, with five campsites
distributed along the lake's edge.
Our
trip turned out to be one of the first made by canoeists since the park removed
the Kingsmere River dam in September, to help restore the fading walleye
population.
Removal
of the dam had another effect: more difficult access to the lake. Putting into
the river south of the dam followed by a leisurely 20-minute paddle upstream led
to a hand-powered railcar. Using the railcar, visitors used to be able to push a
canoe or boat about a mile through the bush to a dock above the dam. From there,
it was an easy put in and paddle into the lake.
With
the dam gone, the river level was too low to float a craft past the old dock, so
we had to portage the canoe away from the river, about another mile to the
southern shore of the lake.
When
we arrived, we discovered that the lake level was so low, we had to doff our
boots, roll up our pant legs and guide the canoe about a half-mile out into the
lake before it became deep enough to resume paddling. No cup of coffee ever
served as a better wake-me-up than that half-mile walk through icy lake water.
Two
hour's-worth of paddling brought us to the Sandy Beach campsite.
Although it was only 5 o'clock, fall canoeing makes for shorter days.
Fall
canoeing also makes for more solitude. During our two hours of paddling, we had
seen no other canoes on the lake. We did see numerous waterfowl, such as
red-necked grebes, cormorants, ducks and an occasional loon. Their presence was
just a taste of what was to come.
While
hauling equipment from our canoe up to our campsite, my eyes spied something
that my brain registered, "cat" because of its calico color. A
millisecond later, my common sense kicked in, telling me there is no way a cat
could be out here, at least not a housecat.
It
was a calico fox. Red foxes and gray foxes I have seen; but until then, I had
never seen a calico fox. I froze about 20 yards away and watched it for a moment
or two before it sensed me, then darted back into the safety of the trees.
Nature
was rewarding me already.
It
rewarded me again later that evening when I went down to the lake. There, about
20 feet out from shore, was an otter lolling casually about in the lake, looking
for all the world like he was taking his evening bath.
A
quote from Grey Owl came to mind: "Remember, you belong to Nature, not it
to you."
The
trip was reconfirming that arrangement is one I embrace quite willingly.
While
preparing the next morning's breakfast, I thought I heard a long, drawn-out howl
far off to the west. As I did not hear it again, I thought perhaps I was trying
too hard to hear wolves. The next morning, of course, would prove my first
instincts correct.
We
had shared the Sandy Beach campsite with a pair of hikers but after leaving to
continue our paddle to Beaver Lodge, they proved to be the last humans we saw
for two days.
It
was approximately three miles across the lake to the access point from Kingsmere
to the trail that led to Ajawaan Lake. We took our time, pausing often to sit
and listen to the silence, to watch hawks and bald eagles fly overhead. We
eventually landed at the portage, then headed into the woods with canoe and
packs to find the pristine lake from which Grey Owl had drawn inspiration. He
described it thus:
"Ajawaan; a small, deep lake that, like a
splash of quicksilver, lies gleaming in its setting of the wooded hills that
stretch in long, heaving undulations into the North, to the Arctic Sea."
As
Grey Owl would have done, we paddled across the lake to Beaver Lodge, rather
than walk around the lake on a 1-1/2 mile trek.
As we touched the shore by his cabin, a sense of reverence washed over me.
Here was the spot at which one of the early conservationists of the 20th century did much of his work. We stepped inside his cabin, trying to get a sense of the ghosts of those who had lived here 70 years before. The grave site is located in the woods near the cabin where Grey Owl, his wife Anahareo, and their daughter, Shirley Dawn, lie buried.
After
a leisurely lunch, it was time to head back to Kingsmere and on to Bagwa Lake,
another three hour's worth of paddling.
Halfway
across the mouth of an inlet in the northwest corner of the lake, the gray skies
that had been threatening rain for the past two hours finally made good on their
threats. We paddled through the misty veil of rain, past the Pease Point
campground on the west side of the lake and into marshy Bagwa Channel.
Paddling
through the marsh provided us with plenty of up-close views of waterfowl,
especially ducks. We eventually glided into the waters of Bagwa Lake. As we
pulled ashore to our campsite, we were treated to an absolutely glorious sunset.
Eagles, hawks, otters, foxes, and now this - could a canoe trip offer anything
more?
The
sounds of an owl hooting and ducks quacking intermittently answered that
question, providing a natural lullaby to soothe us into slumber that night.
Those
arias proved to be merely the opening overture for next morning's concert. Twice
while we ate breakfast, our lupine singers serenaded us. Then, as we pulled out
from shore to head into Lily Lake, they howled one final, wild aria, a grand
finale to bid us farewell and raise the curtain for our trip's final act.
As
we entered Lily Lake through a connecting channel, we spied a lone eagle sitting
on a brush pile not 30 yards to our left. He spied us too, and treated us with a
majestic rise into the air across our bow.
Out
in the middle of the lake, we again took the time to stop and listen to the
laughing cries of the grebes that surrounded us.
A
portage to Clare Lake, a short paddle across the small lake, and another portage
brought us back to the southwest corner of Kingsmere. Paddling toward the
Southend Campground, three monster lake trout swam by, just a few feet beneath
our canoe.
All
too soon, we were taking our canoe ashore for our final portage and short paddle
back to our waiting vehicle. Our thoughts remained back at Clare Lake, however.
As we had approached the portage back to Kingsmere, we sat in silence, contemplating, reflecting, meditating and giving thanks, this Friday prior to the Canadian Thanksgiving. Thanks for a safe journey, thanks for all the beauty of nature we had experienced, and thanks for people like Grey Owl, champions of conservation, without whose efforts we could not enjoy the treasures that nature offers so freely.
Interested in going? Visit http://www.waskesiu.org/explore.shtml for travel options, lodging info, etc.
(For more samples of destination-oriented features, visit my Journeys into Nature website.)
