The Mackenzie river is more of a highway through life than it is a river. It is the longest river in Canada and has no dams, no roads to speak of and almost no population. The one thing it has is life. Living on the river is easy.  It is totally navigatable and has enough fish and wildlife to support everyone who lives along it.  Firewood  is delivered annually to cabins along the way. Every year the violent break up of ice throws driftwood logs up on shore, not only to be used for firewood but also for lumber. Fish are easily netted and in quantities enough to feed the people and a team of dogs for winter travel. Moose and other mammals provide food and fur. Depending on which part of the 1200 mile river you live on the sun shines all day and night for 4 months a year near Inuvik. Dusk comes around a little more often in the southern region near Ft Simpson.  It's been this way for the people for thousands of years.

It was against this backdrop that I chose the Mackenzie as my own rehabilitative journey. It is a downstream trip with just enough current to take the work out of paddling.  I added a small outboard motor and a sail to my "rig" and set off  from Ft Simpson heading to Inuvik, 1000 miles away and 32 days down river. Past Inuvik the river empties into the Beaufort Sea, part of the Arctic Ocean.

From the Journal :

    "Tuesday June 29, 2004 - Finally on the river @ 12:15.  I was ready to leave three days ago but a storm blew in. Yesterday I could have gone but there were many more last minute details I  overlooked - even after a year of planning. The 24 hour daylight helped a lot and yet also slowed me down.  It seemed there was no hurry to get things done before dark. Linda moved back to the territorial campground and paid for a month.  I bought gas at $5.00 a gallon, thanked and blessed my friends and family who made this trip possible through their donations.  I wouldn't have stood a chance were it not for their help.

    Ft Simpson had record temps this summer.  Today it was 92 and no wind.  I traveled 42 miles and camped under a full moon at the last ferry crossing on the southern river.  The dirt road goes on from there another 80 miles north  and ends at the town of Wrigley."

Day 2 :

    "Wednesday June 30, 2004 - Making camp is still tough. I fell down twice this morning. It took three hours to pack up the boats.  Had a visitor last night.  Damn black thing going through my stuff! I yelled from the tent and heard it go away. This morning I took a picture of his tracks. I hope this is not a sign of things to come. Today was short, only to Camsell bend.  The rig works perfectly!  Gas mileage is much better than I thought it would be - 50 miles per gallon!  I am getting stronger everyday.  I've lost 60 lbs since after I was out of rehab sitting around the house doing nothing for 4 years. I was 228 a year ago and started this trip at 172.  The mosquitoes are bad and there is smoke coming down to river level.  It's hard to tell what the weather is,  the smoke is so thick.

   I have a leak in the air mattress. What a drag, getting up every two hours to blow it up again.  The pain gets so bad I have to take extra methadone to sleep.  I hope I have enough to last! Oh well, all and all everything is better than I could have hoped for. Going solo and being so isolated is going to be interesting. "

Wrigley is the first village you encounter along the river after Ft Simpson.  Since the road has been upgraded from a winter road to a year round one the town has shrunk instead of growing. With the greater ease of travel people left, the RCMP, the hotel, and anyone else who wanted to. Those who do live there are mostly the elders who have, for generations lived off the land and river.  Anyone else who wants to come to Wrigley can now just drive there. It is sad really, to see the old ways vanish with the simple advent of a road. It isn't that civilization is moving in but that the old ways are moving out.

I bought some gas and UHT milk, which I sorely missed even though I had only been on the river 5 days.  I could feel the changes in my body.  I felt trimmer and more agile. I could now get around camp, often without my cane. Even the pain in my back and arms seemed to be diminishing.  I felt so good I somehow left my cane on the beach at Wrigley. 

Leaving Wrigley I encountered my first big winds of the trip.  They were out of the south and while my catamaran rig of canoe and kayak was incredibly stable, when the 2 ft waves began breaking over the stern I decided it was time for camp. I got lucky.  Most of the shore here was tall banks and the river was about one mile across.  I spotted a creek coming in on the other side at the end of an old burn and made a run for it. It was just like running rapids but without the rocks. When I finally made it to the shore it was mud, clay, rocks and quicksand. I sank, and sank.  My boots were quickly sucked off and I felt I was going down for good.  On hands and knees I managed to crawl over to shore holding the painter rope for the canoe between my teeth.  On reaching somewhat solid ground I stood up and surveyed the situation.  What a mess!  How was I going to get my gear out of the boats and onto shore? 

I made a ground ladder out of driftwood and after an hour or so had the boats unloaded. One quick picture and off to bed.  The next day broke sunny and dry with no wind.  The water was down 2 feet and even the mud and quicksand had dried up quite a bit.  All and all it was a beautiful day and except for the smoke from the fires near the Nahanni it was a great day to travel.

    "Monday July 5, 2004 - 

    4:00  AM  - wind picking up and temp dropping - decided to get up. The sun is surrounded by a circle of smoke making it look like a moon  For a while, I thought it was.  I'll wait an hour and have my coffee before I begin to break camp. Can't find the damn brownies I made last night!

    5:00 AM - Found the brownies !  This time of year the sun rises in the north. It's too strange for me.  I'll never get up early again. 'when your physical life becomes what your imagination envisioned a strange feeling comes over you.  It's a timelessness, a real sense of other worldliness'.

    6:00 AM - Temp dropped to 49. Packed up camp and left before it started to freeze.  Wore my woolen long johns and Kokatat dry suit. Soon I added my down vest and parka. I saw old snow pack on the river in two places.

    Long day - 50 miles.  I sailed for the first time.  What a gas!  Just enough wind for the first time, not too much or too little.  Boy could I get used to this?  My rig is so perfect for this river and this kind of travel. The temp rose to 85.  It's starting to feel very 'northern' - the trees are getting smaller and there is a large glacial moraine at the mouth of the Black River.  Sand bars are popping up everywhere now.  They come out of nowhere.  They are hard to see until you're on them.  I slept, drifting for an hour.  I feel so comfortable here. I feel it is a real part of me.  I have absolutely no fear. I made camp at 9:30 PM"

Having lived on the Finlay river in BC which is more or less isolated I expected more camps or cabins along the Mackenzie.  The ones I did see were bigger and nicer for the most part.  1000 miles of river is a big territory.  It is roughly the distance from LA to Seattle. So the 20 plus camps along the way is pretty sparse. Almost each and everyone is at the end of a freshwater creek or river that flows into the Mackenzie. Still, all and all - there is still lots of room in the "neighborhood" for growth. There are 5 communities along the 1000 mile stretch so they average about 200 miles apart. At 30 - 40 miles per day we're looking at about a week apart. Close. If you plan on that pace you won't be disappointed. Also in that 5 to 7 days between towns you will probably have one or two days when it's better not to travel.  

I tried to send an email to my wife at each stop.  The best place and probably the only place in each village is the band office. These are modern, up to date facilities that take care of all the business for the natives in the area. Except for Norman Wells and Inuvik all the villages are native run.  Since the land claims settlement this is the only government along the river. These offices are open 9 to 5 Mon. to Fri. Herein lies the 'rub'. I found myself "hurrying" to reach a town to do my email business by Friday afternoon.  I often traveled when I shouldn't have in order to meet this time frame.  It's silly when you think about it - or just poor planning on my part.

I was trying to reach Tulita (Old Ft Norman) by Thursday and pushed it a little hard. It was a gloomy day with smoke still covering the sky and chilly.  Were it not for the wind a good day for traveling - nothing else to do. Remember it is light out 24 hours a day so the only time constraints are the Mon to Friday thing or your own. The wind began to come up depending on which direction the bend of the river you were on. Heading north it was calm but then when the river changed to an east - west direction things got bad. 

I was coming up to Tulita and the river changed from a calm, north - south direction to a westerly direction.  It wasn't too bad at first but I decided to wait it out and pulled over to shore.  After a short period of time a tug boat and barge came around the bend behind me.  As they got close I waved them off thinking I was OK and they needent stop for me.  With my two boats tied up to the shore the wind came in harder and harder. The barge chugged and chugged along the river and began to pull over just down stream from me.  By this time the waves had pounded my boats together and swamped them. The poles that pontooned them together broke.  They quickly filled with water and gear began floating away.  

I watched in complete dismay. I was still safe, but it was ugly.  Three guys from the barge came by and helped me haul boats and gear up on shore.  We salvaged all we could. They offered to help and put all my gear on board the barge.  I acquiesced. After an hour or so we had it all loaded and I joined them in the pilot house for a cup of coffee. We all watched the rain and the wind beat up upon the boats. 

I asked them finally why they had stopped after I waved them off.  They never saw me! The only reason they pulled over was to avoid damage from the wind and they did not want to chase their barges all over the river. They never saw me!  Now, for a guy who has been crippled for five years and has had nothing but bad luck, that's a sign.  

Crew of Miller Delta - the barge (a 70 ' Push Tug with twin diesel cats) that picked me up
Greg Martel - Captain
Peter Greaves - mate, he's an excellent driver!
Darrell Settee - Engineer
Tim Isiah - seaman
Vince Hardisty -seaman

          "Friday July 9, 2004 - After being picked up by the Miller Delta I decided to take them up on their offer to go on to Norman Wells.  It's cheating a bit but I don't care.  It's nice to talk with other people after being alone. Plus they are interesting.  Greg Martel has been on the river since he was 19 years old - he admits to being 50.  Darrell is a Cree Indian who grew up on a reserve in Manitoba, went to college in the US but has never been in a canoe. Peter has sailed on the west coast of British Columbia all his life and this is his first trip to the Arctic.  The two deck hands were from Ft Simpson and not too impressed with any of this adventure stuff - they were happy just to dress up a bit and go to town to try to meet girls.

    Norman Wells is an oil town, complete with artificial islands where they drill and pump oil to a refinery that then ships it by pipeline to Alberta. There's lots of stuff about it on the net.  The thing that is not on the net is that it is the most fun town I've been in since Prince Rupert, BC back in the 70's.  I had more fun here than I've had in ten years!  The people were beautiful and warm. They made me feel like family in a very short time. Between the long talks in the pilot house of the Miller Delta, walks to the bars  and the 'family' attitude in town you couldn't ask for a better time. Because of my age, my disability and my solo trip everyone treated me with respect and admiration.  It was a nice feeling for me -  something not usually experienced in this day and age. 

    Everyone worked, both white and native, and there was money all around.  There was no racism. There was no snob-ism. Everyone was equal. They all respected each other in a way I don't think I've seen before.  It was a world we have all dreamed about - in the future, but here it was - in reality, on an Arctic river flowing north and in a small village that seemed like a page out of a Jack London novel.  Every weekend the young people in town would get into their new boats in the summer, or snow machines in the winter and go camping - or just have picnics up and down the river. I'd go back to Norman Wells anytime even if I wasn't on a canoe trip to the Arctic circle."

I left for Ft Good Hope on Monday morning, a little saddened to be leaving the 'friends' I had made at Norman Wells. I was off again - to be alone again for another two weeks.  I needed the rest. A few hours of traveling and behind me came a boat with Lexi and an African priest heading to Ft Good Hope.  I had met Lexi in Norman Wells on the beach my last night there.  He said he'd see me on the river before the San Sault rapids.  Well here he was.  The priest was in the front fondling his rosary beads or are they 'worry beads'?  I asked him. He laughed and said he was just praying. Hmm! We were both headed through the rapids and he was to show me the way.  "I'll make a fire on the shore and wait for you." he told me.  I was still a few hours away and it was getting late. By the time I got to the head of the rapids he had left.  Another boat was there to see me through. 

The Sans Sault rapids were big but not much to worry about.  They were a bit long but then they were over.  Rough water, whether it be rapids or wind swept waves cause you to pay attention.  Pay attention and figure out where you are going - you'll be alright.

I camped below the rapids and got back into the river routine. I developed a new system that was working out well.  After setting up camp at night I would cook the dinner I had picked the night before and stored in my kitchen bag. After that I would heat water and clean all pots and pans.  By now I had given up plates.  As I sat by the evening fire I would bake in the dutch oven, a snack for that night and a breakfast thing for morning. Next was pack and get ready for morning time.  Everything was put in dry bags placed at water's edge near the boats so all I needed to do in the morning was have coffee, take meds, break down the tent and pack the sleeping bag.  It worked out pretty well. I cut down morning time from three hours to 30 minutes. Having done all this I still spent an hour and a half drinking coffee and waiting for the methadone to kick in. Was there anything gained? Yes, mornings were more pleasant and relaxed.  When I loaded the canoe and hit the water for another six or seven hour day things went a lot smoother and I could cover more territory in a day.  This was the system I would use from then on.

After two days I came to the part of the river just above the Ramparts.  The rapids of the Ramparts are the beginning of a seven mile stretch of river most often pictured in Mackenzie river journals.  I made camp just above the rapids and was preparing for the canyon the next day.

I can run! 

Having set up camp I happened to look back, only to see the canoe and kayak floating away down river. I jumped up, went to the river and dove in after them. The current was too swift.  I couldn't catch them. I turned back and tried to get  to shore. The rocks were too slippery to walk on. I tripped, stumbled and fell. After more of that I did get back to shore.  The boats were gently floating downstream.  The current was about 3-4 mph.  It was surreal. There I was,  alone in the middle of a 1000 mile canoe journey through one of Canada's greatest wilderness areas, a cripple who could just barely walk again and my boats were floating away.  I hadn't seen another person in the last two days. Soaked, I began to follow the boats downstream hoping they would get caught in an eddy and I could retrieve them. They kept going and going.  I knew the Rampart rapids were just a mile downstream. In flat water they would just drift until they hit an eddy, but the rapids put a new spin on the situation.  I could see them being smashed against the rocks and destroyed.

I had to hurry. I ran. I don't know how but I did. As I realized what was happening I felt like Forest Cump and the shackles of my disability seemed to fly off my legs with each step I took.  I ran/trotted/jogged one half  mile. As I watched the two boats, neatly pontooned together, turn around a bend and disappear I stopped.  I'd gone a mile or so and was tired.  I turned back, casting fate to the wind as it were.  The boats were gone but I could run!  What a long strange trip it's been? Solo to the Arctic - a journey from paraplegia. 

Going back to my camp I began to think about what I would do.  Clearly, there was nothing I personally could do.  I had food, clothing, shelter and was camped on the shore of the largest river in Canada. Somehow, sometime, someone would come along. I would get a ride down stream and see what was left of my Mackenzie River Rig. Depending on its condition I would either get it and repack to continue on or go to Ft Good Hope and catch a plane back to Ft Simpson and the motor home calling it quits. 15 minutes later while I was still walking back to camp a boat came down river.  They waved and went on.  I was in too much of a daze to realize anything.  I just walked back to camp. Well, sure enough after just a short time I heard a motor coming back up river.  It was the two natives who had just passed me towing my boats.  As they pulled over to shore with the boats I went to greet them.  They asked what happened and all I could say was "stupid white man."  We all had a laugh, I thanked them and they left.  I tied the boats up a little better this time and went to bed.  To all those doctors at rehab who said I'd be in a wheel chair for the rest of my life - well not only can I walk again but apparently I can run!

The Stops along the way

I took the Mackenzie river down to the sea
this time to the Arctic Ocean and not Big Sur.
Times have changed since '69.

Inuvik is a long way from Monterey.
The Arctic is a long way from California.
the Tundra's different than Hwy 1.

In San Francisco I loved Haight-Ashbury
On the Mackenzie I loved Fort Good Hope
Churches and faith - the things that bring all men together.

There are little outposts here and there
places to visit when on a trip
refreshment stops along the way.

You start from here and go somewhere
goals no longer matter,  the journey gets you there
what really counts is all the stops along the way.

                                            greg allen 2004

Morning came and it was time to hit the rapids.  The smoke from the fires had come down again.  I could not even see the shore when out on the river.  I could barley make out the 300 ft cliffs that defined the canyon. And the rapids?  The thought came to me that I had probably not made the best decision in leaving.  It was too late - I couldn't pull over owing to the cliffs and certainly couldn't go upstream.  Oh well, "in for a penny, in for a pound." 

The waves came pounding over the bow of the canoe and splashing right over the kayak.  The descriptions of the Ramparts led me to believe this would go on for seven miles through the canyon.  The cliffs were becoming visible as the smoke floated over the walls and could no longer reach water level. Thankfully the rapids only lasted 3/4 of a mile and then it was just swift water.  I wished the smoke was gone and the sun was out because it sure was a beautiful stretch. It looked just like all the washes I had ridden on horseback in the desert southwest.  I'd been there 100 times but on a horse with no water. Soon it was over and in a short time I pulled into Ft Good Hope. Checking in with the RCMP I went for gas and emailed Linda from the band office.  

I went back down to the landing and my boats.  Soon Lexi came by on his atv.  We chatted some and then went to Our Lady of Good Hope church where I asked the nun if I could take pictures.  She was more than gracious and let me in.  I was blown away!  The pictures and story will appear here under another chapter.

Sleeping on the Arctic Circle.

    "Friday - July 16, 2004  It was getting late in the afternoon and I heard a deep thump, thump.  There must be a barge coming upstream.  I pulled over to shore trying to avoid the wake. Getting to shore I realized it was also a good place to camp.  The barge was taking a very long time to come around the bend.  It must be one giant boat.  Finally after 40 minutes I saw a large bow come around the bend.  It was the Norweta, a tour boat that travels up and down the Mackenzie to Inuvik from Hay River on the Great Slave Lake.  It carries about 20 passengers and is the only cruise ship on the river. There are state rooms, a dining room and over all a very pleasant accommodation for a leisurely trip along this majestic northern river.  Well I figured they were looking at something and had just stopped for awhile.

    I decided to spend the night there owing to the hour and the lack of bugs along the shore.  It is 220 miles from Ft Good Hope to Tsiigehtchic, or Arctic Red River as it used to be called.  More than half my trip was over and I was suddenly in absolutely no hurry to finish.  I feel so good and comfortable, its like I've lived here all my life or at least some lifetime. I can now understand the scene from "Patton" where George C. Scott looked over the plains of Corinthia and knew he had been there before - a hundred times.  I'd been here before and I will be back!  Every time I dip my paddle in the water I know I've done it a million times before.  The sight of the bow cutting through the water is as familiar to me as a postman's route."

    "Saturday - July 17, 2004  I awoke, packed and left.  As I turned the bend, 50 yards, I realized why the Norweta had stopped for so long.  On shore was a large sign that said "Arctic Circle - Norweta Stop."  I'd made it!  Solo to the Arctic - a Journey from Paraplegia - 2004. I slepppt on the Arctic Circle - unbeknownst to me at the time.  It began to rain and the smoke was finally gone.  I am beginning to see more cabins along the shore. I guess people want to live along the Arctic Circle, either that or the fishing and trapping are better here.  Maybe it's just too damn far away from anything and you have to build a cabin to stay here for any length of time.

    My fingers are cracked bad and hurt.  I can't do much with them. Pain is always with me, has been for five years.  It's a constant companion, a foe to be fought daily.  I'm never alone.  It has to be overcome, vanquished - cast away!  Only then will I be truly free."

On July 22 I arrived at Tsiigehtchic or Arctic Red River.  The days getting here were the kind of river travel I had learned to love.  Pack, travel, camp - day after day, mile after mile. It became a rhythm of life. Boy do I miss it,  now that the trip's over.  I arrived at Tsiigehtchic at 5:30 pm and I pulled my canoe around the bend to the Arctic Red River where the campground was. I met 2 Canadian Couples who had made the trip down the Arctic Red. We visited for awhile and then went to bed.  They were to leave in the morning, whereas I had to charge batteries, email my wife from the band office and get gas.  It would take me a few hours longer so we said good bye's and decided we'd meet again later, downstream.  

This was the last village before Inuvik and the end of our respective journeys. There was some confusion between us on how long it would take to get to Inuvik. I thought it to be about 80 miles. Michael Pitt placed it closer to 100.  I had my gps and laptop.  All he had was topo maps and experience.  From Arctic Red to the east channel of the Mackenzie River Delta can be a bit unnerving because if you miss Point Separation you end up going up to the Arctic Ocean and then have to come back upstream to Inuvik.  There are no sign posts along the river and all this stuff gets sketchy after Point Separation. The whole complexion of the river changes.  It becomes civilized with many cabins and a much narrower river.  Suddenly there are boats everywhere and you can 'feel' that you are back in civilization, or least near it. At some point my gps said I was 8 miles past Inuvik. I couldn't have missed it. Just before turning around in frustration a boat came by. I asked "where is Inuvik?" 

"15 miles more. You can't miss it."

The software was wrong in regards to the location. Michael was right. So much for modern techno. It added those extra miles that were in contention. I was five hours later getting into Inuvik but I had done it. I made it. I went solo by canoe to the Arctic Circle and beyond even after a spinal cord injury. I arrived in Inuvik, NWT at 10:30 pm on July 31, 2004.  I had truly made a journey from paraplegia to much better mental and physical health.  I can Run!

              Tsiigehtchic                              Cabin at Prairie Creek                      Cabin at Travaillant River                    Point Separation 

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