Nahanni River July 1999 - Blog Flashback

Surf and Turf on the Wild Nahanni

by Eldon Gemmill

“So you’re going up the big Nahanni? Boy, you’ve bitten off something this time! 

They say there’s canyons in there thousands of feet deep, and water coming through faster’n hell.

But, people have just got through – there must be some ledges or something where a man can tie a canoe and camp and sleep?

I don’t know. There ain’t many that have come back to tell about it.

Men vanish in that country. There were some prospectors murdered in there not so long ago, and down the river they say it’s a damned good country to keep clear of  . . . “

Advice given to Raymond Patterson on his way to the Nahanni in 1927.

In: The Dangerous River

From: Hartling, Neil. 1993. Nahanni:  River of Gold – River of Dreams.

     The De Havilland twin engine Otter aircraft roared across Rabbit Kettle Lake toward a solid wall of trees. Just as it seemed too close to be able to stop, Jacques eased back on the stick, and the canoe sized pontoons broke free from the water’s surface. We skimmed over the tree tops and a magnificent landscape came into view before us. Mirror like lakes embedded in an emerald green sea of sea of spruce, willow, and alders with rivers sometimes, sometimes with shining rapids, gliding down nameless valleys. A startled bull moose frantically splashed out of a pond into a willow thicket below us. The jagged 200 million year old granitic peaks of the Ragged Range demarked the distant western horizon. This is the Nahanni Country of Canada’s Northwest Territories – a remote, unspoiled wilderness where my daughter, Marin, three old canoeing friends, Don Jacobs, Frank Carpenter, and his son Justin, and I had come for two weeks of adventure, personal challenge, and contrast to our comparatively routine lives in suburban Maryland. We were on our way home now. I couldn’t help but remark to the pilot that the view from his “ office window “ was much better than the one from mine back in Maryland. Of course, it isn’t always that way. On the trip in, we were dodging storms and snow squalls as the single engine Cessna we were aboard plied its way among the high peaks – sometimes just off our wing tips. A small mishap there compounded or an engine failure could mean certain death. This too, is all in a day’s work for a northern bush pilot.

     Some of our group had been to the Nahanni in 1996. For that trip, Jacques and his Otter dropped us onto a gravel bar along a narrow stretch of the river about midway on its 310 mile journey from high in the Selwyn Mountains to the Liard River at Nahanni Butte. We had portaged our canoes and gear around Virginia Falls at 390 ft. in height – twice as high as Niagara Falls, and paddled down the four narrow canyons, ranging from 3,000 – 4,000 feet deep that seemed to close out the sky overhead. We ran the six foot high standing waves that left little room for error in the 52 degree F. water. The South Nahanni or Nahanni, as it is usually called, was considered by the late Bill Mason, artist, film maker, and author of “Path of the Paddle” as “still the greatest canoe trip in the World”. It was designated as the first World Heritage Site in 1978 in recognition of its unique, diverse, and spectacular character. The Nahanni is legendary with a rich heritage of human prospect, toil, and tragedy in their efforts to unlock her secrets. Places such as the Headless Valley, where the McCloud brothers’ headless skeletons were found in 1908, Hells Gate, the Funeral Range, Vampire Peaks, and Cirque of the Unclimbables reminisce of past events for those prospectors, trappers, and explorers who once ventured into this vast, brooding land. Like so many others, we too, became incurably drawn to this pristine wilderness, and vowed to return someday.

     In early July of 1999, we came back to Fort Simpson, NWT – the main jumping off point to the Nahanni. From this small outpost at the junction of the Liard and Mackenzie Rivers, we would fly approximately 300 miles northwest to the Moose Ponds – a series of small glacier and snow pack fed lakes (elevation ~ 4,000 ft above sea level) in the mountains at the source of the Nahanni River. At Ft. Simpson, we met Mr. David Hibbard, our outfitter and guide, and his son Joel. Also joining us were Conrad Janzen, who guides for David, and who would be guiding Mr. Les Morgan and Mr. Ted Wiedener, both from Calgary. David owns a company called Nahanni Wilderness Adventures having a sub-base in Ft. Simpson during the Summer season. We Marylanders opted for a guided trip due to the logistics of obtaining the canoes, food, and gear that all would now be taken care of for us. Further, David was experienced on the upper Nahanni, and the named Rock Gardens that consist of about 30 miles of wild, challenging, boulder strewn white water rapids descending at a strong gradient averaging over 30 ft. per mile. This stretch is recommended for expert canoeists. Unlike the middle and lower Nahanni, there are only two or three small groups who do this trip by canoe each year. The second part of our journey was to be an overland hike/climb up into the Cirque of the Unclimbables in the Ragged Range among the highest peaks in the Northwest Territories. As we were told and eventually learned first hand, this too is a challenge – of a different kind.

     Due to the high winds and snow at 5,000 ft in the mountains on July 4, it took the next couple of days to get us all flown two–by–two, into the base camp at the Moose ponds via. A single engine, Cessna. As we passed through narrow gusty passes and snow squalls we were glad that our pilot, Mr. Ted Grant was so experienced and capable with the controls. Ted was very knowledgeable about the area and during the flight he shows us numerous points of interest. We heard more of those descriptive place names such as Portrait Lakes, Broken Skull River, and Sunblood Mountain. Our tiny plane with our canoe attached to a pontoon and gear touched down on the Lake about 10 PM, after a 3 hour flight. The midnight sun had dipped below the horizon, but this far North, there was plenty of light to see by. After a quick, 15 minute off-load, Ted was back up into the air, and his navigation lights soon faded into the southern horizon. Meanwhile, Conrad and Joel had already cooked up some hearty stew. The long flight had peaked our appetites and we devoured it handily. This first campsite was very picturesque, because the majestic, snow capped image of Mt. Wilson, rising 4,000 ft above the western side of the lake was perfectly mirrored in the water.

     During our stay at the Moose Ponds, we spent a day bushwhacking up onto Mt. Wilson. From that vantage point right on the Continental Divide, we could look down on the Ross River just beginning its journey westward through the Yukon Territory on its way to the Gulf of Alaska via. the mighty Yukon River. In a marshy flat below, there were two caribou  grazing on the summer vegetation. The youngest set of our group climbed almost to the summit of Mt. Wilson until a lightening storm forced them to retreat. We “more mature and seasoned” individuals with our  collected ailments chose to be happy with making to the base of the steep, boulder armored part. That night, we all appreciated our warm sleeping bags as the temperatures dropped enough to frost by morning. We had timed our arrival here for early July in order to catch the narrow window between ice-out of the Moose Ponds, and the later decreased river flows following the early snow melt runoff.  

     The next morning was one we had long anticipated. We were going to paddle down river into the Rock Gardens. We loaded the five 18 foot long plastic canoes each with two plastic olive barrels of food, tents, stoves, sleeping bags, and other gear in preparation for the next two weeks. We paddled down the outlet of the Moose Ponds, negotiating over two beaver dams on the way, and on down the narrow, winding Nahanni. The River started out being no wider than a canoe length. As we continued along, it gradually increased in size, volume, and velocity as in flowing tributaries added their waters to the still fledgling river. Eventually, Mt. Wilson passed into the background, the river changed and a few small rapids began to appear. Mile after mile, the river and rapids grew. We camped that first night on a shoreline just above Initiation Rapids, the true beginnings of the Rock Gardens’ challenging whitewater section.

     On the morning of July 9, we secured all cargo, fastened on the spray decks, donned wetsuits and crash helmets, and headed downstream. We soon reached Initiation Rapids – a steep, boulder choked rapid that merited scouting. Everyone ran it successfully and was exhilarated by the level of capability this rapid demanded – bracing, back paddling, and eddying-out skills were absolutely essential. With our courage stoked, we continued down river through raids with names like Descente, and Thread the Needle. The volume and pushiness of the river steadily increased. The heavily laden canoes were hard to maneuver among the omnipresent boulders, turns, cross currents and souse holes of the rapids. Fortunately, the slippery ABS plastic hulls of the canoes usually slid off the boulders that we hit. Still, a serious injury of damaged hull was a concern, because we were days away from any kind of outside help should such a mishap occur. We were glad that David, with his knowledge and experience in the Rock Gardens was with us to help guide us along. By the end of the day, everyone was pretty tired and glad to make camp. We had put in a lot of hard work, including the intense concentration required to read the water ahead for hours on end.

     The third morning some of us noticed a few butterflies in the stomach as we wondered what was in store on this final day in the Rock Gardens. We weren’t disappointed. We worked our way through Danish Dynamite, Junction, and Bailing Rapids – also known as the White Mile – a long, long, long rapid. Then a break – 7 miles of just fast current. This, however, was a prelude to the grand finale - Hollywood and Sequel Rapids. These were very powerful and tricky Class 4 rapids. The former had the full current of the river thrown into a sharp, boulder ridden right hand curve. It then funnels through narrow chutes and over ledges with high standing waves. Hollywood is reported, to have already claimed a canoeist. Sequel also had a tricky approach to a narrow chute that suddenly comes into view. The entire river gushes through and over a high ledge. The water plunges through like a fire hose forming a huge reverse hydraulic at the bottom. Without fail, the entire front half of our canoes dove underwater as they shot down into the tumultuous maw below. Thank God for the spray decks! We bounced, one by one, down the diminishing series of standing waves below Sequel as we were at once, exhilarated, relieved, and saddened knowing that the Rock Gardens were now behind us. We made camp that evening just as a rain squall hit. By dinner’s end, the sun was back out and a rainbow arched overhead and down the valley somewhere. Upon seeing that, our Canadian travel mates related a favorite saying, “At the end of every rainbow . . . is a rapid”.

     Sunday, July 11, Journal Entry: “We broke camp in a light drizzle. Water and air temperatures both 50 degrees F. We proceeded down river toward Island Lakes ( appx. 40 mi.). The current was strong and we reached the outlet by 7 PM. We wound our way up the outlet, hauled over the obligatory two beaver dams, and onto a tranquil, narrow lake. Soon camp was made and Joel and I took a canoe over to the inlet near a large beaver lodge where we caught some nice lake trout for dinner on small metallic spoons and spinners. Later, as we sat around the campfire, a lone wolf howled somewhere across the valley. There is something very ancient that seems to stir deep within the human soul, upon hearing that wailing sound rising and then falling into the silence of the wilderness night. The next morning, Joel and Eldon went back and caught more 15” sized trout for breakfast. Also, in the early morning hours, a black bear visited camp and got into the dishwater. He managed to inhale a snout full of the sudsy solution and went off in a huff – shaking his head and frothing bubbles out of his mouth and nose. Wild bears see to hold a fascination for soap. We were happy enough that our only encounter with Mr. Bruin ended humorously.”

      On July 12 we left Island Lakes to the beaver, the trout, and the bear. Our first stop was at Moore’s Cabin, built in 1978 by its namesakes, a newly wed couple who chose an unusual honeymoon. They came to this location, built a cabin, and spent their first year of marriage hunting, fishing, trapping, and living off the land. They relate the story of this adventure in “Nahanni Trail Head” (see Further Reading List). Their cabin is still in fair condition, and those who stop by often leave their names on miniature carved paddles that they suspend from the rafters by fish line. A short distance below the cabin is Moore’s Hot Springs – a shallow tributary that has a geothermal source near its confluence with the Nahanni. The water ranges up to 140 degrees F. Since we all could use a bath by now, we spent a relaxing hour or so wallowing in the hot mud and then rinsing in the clear water of this unusual stream. The heated ground and surrounding air creates a micro-environment here that supports a lush growth of cow parsnip and other unique species not seen elsewhere except at Krause’s Hot Springs farther down river. An endemic mosquito population seems to come with the package here as well.

    After two more days paddling and lazily drifting (often rafted together) down the fast current of the Nahanni, we reached Britnell Creek and the beginning of the overland phase of the trip. Our group split up with Conrad, Ted, and Les who headed on down river. The rest of us crammed four days of provisions, stove fuel, tents, and other gear into our back packs and headed into the bush generally following Britnell Creek. The trail was a literal obstacle course with constant fallen trees to crawl under or over, swamps to slog across, and thickets to tunnel through. It was easy to lose the path or confuse it with game trails. Ever alert for grizzly, especially in low visibility areas, we kept the bear spray handy. After a punishing six hour slog up the valley, we came out upon Glacier Lake, a narrow, three mile long, milky green colored body of water fed by several glaciers emanating from the nearby peaks. To reach the campsite at the opposite end of the lake, it meant either to walk along the rough shoreline or patch over two of the canoes we found stashed at our end of the lake. One canoe needed the keel line sealed with duct tape, and the other needed extensive patch work on the bow where a grizzly had chewed on it. With this handiwork done, we continued by water, bailing the leaky canoes as we went. The prodigious leaking was due, in no small part, by our loading them with four persons plus gear each. The meaning of freeboard was stretched to the limit! Camp that evening was among the tall spruces at the upper end of the lake. Soon after a quick, hot meal, only the snoring from out tents broke the twilight silence of the boreal forest.

     The next morning we arose stiff and sore, broke camp, and headed up the valley. Eventually, we turned up onto the foot of a huge boulder slope that seemed to rise forever. After several hours of hard and treacherous climbing up the 50 degree slope, the boulders ended. A landscape of green, rolling meadows opened before us as an amphitheater surrounded by towering, vertical walled peaks jutting up from the valley floor for hundreds of feet. These cathedral like granite towers are a renowned challenge among expert climbers worldwide who come by float plane to Glacier Lake to scale these heights. To the left, a large glacier, retreating grudgingly in the July heat, supplied a medium sized brook that meandered through the high meadow. Blooming alpine wildflowers were everywhere, and dark, house sized boulders covered with lichens dotted this surreal landscape as if placed by a divine hand. This area is known as the Fairy Meadows. It seemed like a fantasy world evoking parallels with J.R.R. Tolkien’s tale of “The Hobbit” where Gandalf, the wizard led his little group into the Misty Mountains of Wilderland. Even Glacier Lake had its counterpart as the “Gateway of the Long Lake” at the head of the “Running River”. We spent the night there and hiked, and photographed this unique place the next morning. The “fairies” of the Cirque even made an appearance. They are scattered colonies of Richardson’s Ground Squirrels who live seemingly idyllic lives sleeping underground through the long winter, and frolicking in the long, warm days of summer. In the afternoon, we refilled our water bottles, and headed back down the boulder field toward the lake. An occasional unstable boulder and steep gravely patches made the descent difficult and a bit treacherous. We knew we were out of our element when we looked to the side and spotted two mountain goats watching us with some amusement we conjectured. Don got himself bloodied up when he lost his footing on one such area and fell over an eight foot ledge. Shaken, but not deterred, he and we continued on, reaching the lake camp by our usual stopping hour – 11 PM.

     Two days later, we found ourselves swimming and relaxing in the 70 degree F., clear blue waters of Rabbit Kettle Lake and the end of our journey. Jacques and his Otter landed to whisk us, all too abruptly, back to civilization. The combination of canoeing and hiking overland during this 15 day trip from Ft. Simpson was ideal. Using different sets of muscles, requiring different skills worked out well both physically and psychologically. We felt we were able to sample some of the best of both worlds in terms of natural features, plants, and wildlife in this unique and diverse subarctic region. We had only scratched the surface, but we learned a few more of the Nahanni’s secrets. Someday we hope to return to learn more.

ERG: Dec., 1999

Further Reading

Hartling, Neil. 1993, Nahanni .  .  .  River of Gold, River of Dreams. CRCA., Ontario.

Jowett, Peter. 1993. Nahanni .  .  . The River Guide, Rocky Mountain Books, Calgary.

Mason, Bill. 1980. Path of the Paddle. Toronto: Van Nostrand – Reinhold.

McCreadie, 1996. Canoeing Canada’s Northwest Territories. Canadian Recreational Canoeing Association, Ontario.

Moore, Joanne R. 1980. Nahanni Trail Head. Ottawa: Deneau and Greenberg Publishers Ltd.

Morse, Eric W., May, 1967. Summer Travel in the Canadian Barrens. Canadian Geographic Journal. Ottawa.

Patterson, R.M. 1966. The Dangerous River. Toronto: Gray’s Publishing.

Turner, Dick. 1989. Nahanni. Surrey, B.C. : Hancock House Publishers Ltd.

Other Resources

Nahanni Wilderness Adventures. David Hibbard: Phone: 403-678-3374. Website: nahanniwild.com

Little Nahanni River (105-1). 1:250,000 scale Topographic Map with 100 meter contour intervals from the Moose Ponds through the Rock Gardens to just downstream of Moore’s Hot Springs to the top of the Nahanni National Park ( in 1999). Available from: The Canada Map Office, Dep’t. of Energy, Mines and Resources, 615 Booth Street, Ottawa, Canada, KIA 0E9., 1987 Series.