Our first camp spot on the Thlewiaza River was just above Seal Hole Lake where we set our tent up on a fine, high, tundra riverbank with rolling hills in the background, and the river in full view. We had just run a very big Class II+ rapid, after a thirty-two mile day, and we were thrilled to be in such a beautiful spot. Then, out of nowhere, a male caribou with a huge rack wandered onto the top of a nearby hill. On seeing us it started to move closer. . . and closer. . . and closer. . . until I literally had to back up to fit the curious creature in the viewfinder of my camera. Every night for the entire trip we would find the caribou at our campspots, and grew somewhat used to their visits. Several mornings we could see where they had walked through the area while we slept.

Along the length of the river we found several places where there were ancient Inuit and Dene camp sites. One spot displayed a gorgeous old handmade canoe paddle (still there I hope), and some other paddlers we met found the remains of an old kayak at another. We found an old cabin which was no doubt the home of one of the white trappers in the thirties written about in When the Foxes Ran.

Perhaps the most memorable event for Lynda and I occurred after four hours of paddling into a ferocious headwind that literally blew us back up the rapids. We stopped for an early lunch at a very marginal spot - the kind of spot we would pass by a hundred times in a row unless we were forced to stop. We made a hurried windbreak, and as we made tea and bannock on our gas stove, I saw a couple of caribou on the far shore less than one half mile away. I mentioned this to Lynda, but we were so"ho hum" about seeing caribou she didn't even look. Besides, we had just seen a group of thirty or more minutes earlier. As I drank my tea, a few more moved into sight, then a few more, then a few more, and within twenty minutes the entire far shore as far as we could see, and up to the edge of the river bank, was covered in caribou - well over six hundred. After lunch we paddled across the river, got out of the boat, and walked into the middle of the herd. They didn't run, and really didn't seem to care if we were there or not. The herd simply drifted off at a constant distance of about thirty feet or less. Lynda came upon a sleeping calf, and when it got up on its wobbly legs it looked at her with big brown eyes, then at the herd, then at her, then lay down again, finally getting up and slowly walking over to its mother. Lynda could have easily patted it on the head. As impressive as this small throng was to us, one can only imagine the feeling of the Dene and Inuit who depended on the presence of the caribou for their very survival.

The last day's paddle to Hudson Bay was spectacular. The river bank is deeply cut, and there are huge sand and gravel ridges, and at each turn there are gigantic boulder trains extending out into the river. On the tops of the fifty foot banks of the river are to be found willows and scrub brush scoured and uprooted by the ice at breakup. We saw severall seals on Ranger Seal Lake, and had a marvelous final six mile paddle to the Bay through a series of braided channels of constant 1+ rapids.

A final treat for us was three windbound days at Hudson Bay where we camped next to a 73 year old Inuk and his son, both from Arviat (Tony and Lute Otuk). They had caribou meat and arctic char with them, having just been down the coast hunting at Nunalla the night before. During the night four polar bears smelled the meat, and kept them awake all night long. The Inuit can't shoot the bears without a permit, and they only had small-bore guns in any case, so even though the weather was atrocious, they set out in their twenty-two foot freighter canoe in seas that would have made me scared were I in a much larger boat. After six hours, and almost sinking once after a wave swamped them, they realised they would not make it to Arviat, so they came into the Thlewiaza to camp. Lute was nearly hypothermic, and couldn't quit shaking  part from cold, part from fear. The old man, even though awake all night and thoroughly soaked, seemed none the worse for wear and had a huge smile. Later, when Lute told me they had a wave break over the front of the canoe nearly sinking them, I stated that he must have been terrified. In a matter of fact voice he said, "I was scared half to death."

We already have our maps out and have so many possible trips planned for next summer it is hard to settle on just one. It is quite likely we will do the Kazan River from Kasba Lake to Baker Lake, but then there is the Dubawnt, and the Thelon, and the Coppermine, and the Tha-anne and all those other subarctic rivers. The only certainty is that wherever we go it will be into "the land of little sticks" somewhere.

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