On July 8th we took part in a very different kind of canoe trip from those we usually embark on at least once every summer. The hamlet of Fort Assiniboine, once site of one of the oldest forts in Alberta, celebrated its bicentennial, and to help mark this occasion the ‘Athabasca River Brigade’, a group of voyageur canoes, stopped for a couple of days on their way from Whitecourt, where they left on July 7th, to Athabasca where they arrived on July 13th. Johann’s cousin Walter, who was part of the organizing committee for the bicentennial celebration, got in touch with the brigade organizers and managed to get spots for all three of us to paddle for a day in one of the big canoes.
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It is 5:40 in the morning when we turn off the highway on the south side of the Athabasca bridge near Blue Ridge. We know this place quite well: over the years it has often been our starting point for canoe trips on this mighty river. The sign ‘Canoe Brigade’ points us to the right instead of the left, where we would usually have gone for the river access. Since we’re not quite sure where we are supposed to meet, we follow it and the subsequent signs along the road curving between ponds created by the excavation of gravel in an earlier time. After a few minutes we come to a clearing filled with a LOT of vehicles, many of them campers. Obviously we have arrived at the brigade camp. It is still quiet, but we can see people walking around, and a man is sipping coffee by one of the first campers along the line. We introduce ourselves, tell him we will be part of today’s ride, paddling with Matt Webber’s crew. He greets us, but the name doesn’t seem familiar to him - no wonder given the amount of people congregated in this spot. ‘Go to the boat launch back up the road,’ he advises us, ‘this will be a madhouse soon: all these vehicles are going to leave within 15 minutes.’
Back to the parking area we have used on previous trips, then, where, swatting mosquitoes, we eat our breakfast. A pickup with BC licence plates drives by and down to the boat launch area, comes back a few minutes later. Johann decides to walk down the 100m or so to the river and check things out, and I follow shortly after to find him engaged in conversation with an energetic woman of about my age. She doesn’t know Matt either, but I remember that ours is the 36-foot canoe, and of course she can point it out then in the group of turned-over boats nearby: it’s the biggest boat of the brigade. Its broad back looks reassuring, like that of a Belgian draft horse in a herd of warmbloods. Since she just told us that one of the boats capsized the day before (‘oh, no big deal, we hauled them back in quickly; they were all good sports …’) this reassurance comes not a moment too early. The Athabasca is a magnificent river, still fairly high and flowing fast now after the flooding a couple of weeks earlier, and its water is not warm like the Red Deer’s in midsummer. I really don’t want to think about tipping over and having to be rescued.
Fortified by strong coffee from my thermos during the drive I’m reasonably awake by now. 3:45 a.m.is not my preferred time to get up, but Walter wanted to leave Bloomsbury at 4:45, and it made sense to leave for Fort Assiniboine together; there we’d drop off one car and travel together to Blue Ridge. I almost forgot how special early mornings can be, how peaceful it is to see the mist rise from fields and meadows. We are headed west, and I have to turn around to see the sun rise, deep red, at 5:06 am. Like a fireball it is suspended above the horizon for a little while: there is still smoke in the air, even if it is now lush and green in our area after plentiful rains that make you forget how different it must still be in many areas of Alberta and BC.
Driving in twilight, especially with the layer of fog in low lying terrain, is always a bit unnerving in these forested areas: lots of animals love these hours, too. I count seven moose on the 45 minute drive – among them a cow moose with a small calf, a rare treat – and at least that many deer. The moose are a bit easier to spot with their dark fur, but the light brown coats of the deer are a much better camouflage in the tall grass. Thankfully none of the animals decides to cross the road suddenly.
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We don’t have to wait long until the long line of vehicles makes its way down to the water to drop off people and gear before turning around and past us up the hill again. There are fifteen big canoes to haul the few metres down to the water from where they spent the night; ours, at 36 feet, is the biggest, but there are also a couple of 29-footers. Most of them are 25 or 26 feet long, the smallest 22. This means a lot of people, too, somewhere between 150 and 200. We got acquainted with Matt, our team captain, and most of the rest of our crew at two Zoom meetings, so we find him eventually in the crowd and introduce ourselves. He will be in the stern, steering our rig. The boat belongs to his dad Lorne, seated right behind the bow paddler where he can give advice should it be needed. He has taken part in many brigades steering big canoes; he loves to tell stories about the voyageurs, but also about the many adventures he has had in his life. Everybody pitches in to carry the canoes down to the water, ten or more people per boat, depending on the size. One by one they are launched and loaded, the packs and gear secured with tarp straps, carabiners, belts and ropes.
As so often in the early mornings on our canoe trips, the river is still shrouded in mist, the sun a hazy yellow glow. Will this be a problem for the brigade? On yesterday’s short stretch from Whitecourt to Blue Ridge the boats had some trouble staying together as a group through the many braided channels, and fog would make it worse. We need to stay together because of the ‘grand finale’, our arrival at Fort Assiniboine at 3:15 this afternoon. From here on the river widens more and more, however, with less chance of ‘getting lost’. Also, every boat is equipped with a satellite radio, and contact is made regularly from the lead boat to the other thirteen or fourteen, especially the ‘sweep’, the one in the back, which will be our boat today. Let’s hope we won’t have to put this into practice and pick up floating people or gear!
Much as I wanted to come on this trip and have been looking forward to it, I’ve also been a bit apprehensive. My canoeing experience has been limited to our 16 or 17 foot canoes, always with Johann at the back, steering. I’ve never received formal paddling instructions, don’t know any fancy strokes. Would I be good enough to take part? Would I need to paddle hard all the way, and would I have the stamina to do so? Would we all paddle in unison? And how difficult would that be? Seemingly Walter and Johann are not plagued by such qualms, and once we have taken our seats in the canoe mine dwindle quickly, too. Our crew varies in age and ability, and only very few of us have extensive voyageur canoe experience. The youngest are nine and eleven, the oldest is 76, several like us in their sixties, I assume, a few younger ones. I’m placed on the left side of the last bench, right in front of Matt, beside Liz, Matt’s wife, with their 11-year old daughter Heather in front of us; their 9-year old son William is sitting beside his grandfather close to the front.
We brought our own paddles; only bow and stern paddlers need extra-long ones (6 to 7 feet long, I’d guess). Yes, ideally we all would paddle in unison, match our strokes to those of the bow paddler, but this seems to work only part of the time. It’s also okay to rest for a few strokes from time to time; with this big canoe and the fast flow of the river we’ll still make good time. With manoeuvrability more difficult for this huge boat Matt volunteered to be the sweep today; that way he can hold back and not get into the jumble of boats getting ready to land, especially at our point of arrival, Fort Assiniboine.
7:20 a.m.
Finally all boats are in the water and we can push off. We’re all in a happy, anticipatory mood, and there is a lot of friendly banter between the members of the brigade. Some are still a bit sleepy, and I can see that it is not so serious if we are not all paddling full tilt. Still, we have a destination to reach at a certain time, and we cannot slack off too much if we want to make the 68 km to Fort Assiniboine by 3:15. Our arrival has been advertised for that time, and people will be expecting us.
Once in a while a canoe stops for a ‘bio break’, and since we are last we get to rest a bit every time that happens. I come to admire Matt’s capabilities in steering our big boat, getting it right to where he wants it to be. Calmly he gives instructions when we get ready to land: ‘Left side five strokes forward, right side rest (or back). Both sides forward five strokes. Maybe another five. Bow pull left (or right).’ There. That’s all it took. Amazing!
At about noon we stop for a bit longer break. A few canoes will exchange part of their crew here, and we’ll eat our lunches. Many of us change into ‘voyageur gear’ already: wide-sleeved white or light coloured shirts, red voyageur caps or any other kind of ‘historic’ looking head gear – the three of us have decided on red bandanas –, Métis sashes. We are a motley crew, much like the real voyageurs must have been. One boat looks especially nice, with everyone wearing white shirts and red caps plus their sashes.
After lunch we have a bit of trouble keeping up with the rest of the brigade. Is it because the river has widened and is slower now? Or are we slacking off? I don’t think we are paddling less than in the morning. Again Matt reminds us that it is helpful to watch the bow paddler and try to match his stroke. Johann has taken over this job for the afternoon to give Jamie a rest; paddling in this position requires a slightly shorter stroke, plus you can alternate sides, of course, which the rest of us can’t unless we switch the side we sit on. Some of us do, getting up and moving to the opposite side without any noticeable effect on the boat’s stability. That’s a definite advantage: it is about 5 feet wide, and three can easily sit beside each other except close to the stern and bow. To get us in a better rhythm Matt and Liz start singing, soon joined by others: ‘The ants came marching one by one’, ‘Row, row, row your boat’, ‘Kumbaya’, and more. It helps, especially the ant song: soon we have caught up with the next boat and now have to slow down a bit because we keep passing them.
About fifteen to twenty minutes before our arrival we all stop one more time. Whoever hasn’t put on his or her voyageur attire does so now while we wait for the jet boat that is going to bring the piper. He will be in the lead canoe, playing his bagpipes when we turn the last bend. The instructions are to travel in ‘string of pearl' position, one bow close to the stern of the boat before. We hear that this has been tried on the first day with only moderate success. Now, we do fine. We have a nice view of the whole brigade from our position in the back. William, our youngest crew member, turns on the ‘GoPro’ camera to film the “triumphant” arrival. Finally we round the last bend, and I can’t believe my eyes: hundreds of people are lined up along the high bank, cheering loudly. Ululating and rhythmical paddle banging emanates from the crews, the piper plays lustily, and we are greeted by musket salutes, little puffs of smoke lingering in the air. We do the voyageur salute Matt had us practice a few times before: Johann (who is supposed to lead us in this but needs to watch Matt to do it right) turns around to face us, then we all lift our paddles, lower them and bang on the gunwale once, up again, then bang twice, up again, then bang three times, and lift up one more time calling out ‘Salute!’
To my surprise I find I am strangely moved, carried by the festiveness of this moment. How much more so must it have been for the voyageurs after weeks of travel in perilous waters, enduring weather calamities, blackflies and mosquitoes, portaging the heavy canoes around difficult stretches, not to mention the two 90-pound packs of furs each is obligated to carry, a condition if they wanted to sign up for this job. How they must have looked forward to a break from the monotonous diet of peas or beans, pemmican and/or salt pork, to some fun, or even to be in the company of people other than their crew.
We turn into the narrow opening leading into the marina at Woodlands RV park and line up in a reasonably recognizable half circle to listen to the welcoming words of “Sir George Simpson” (Scottish explorer and governor of the Hudson’s Bay Company for several decades in the mid-1800s), played by a member of the brigade, flanked by the “Fort Factor Ronald MacDonald” and an RCMP constable in dress uniform. The slopes around the marina are filled with people, some women in historical costume with long dresses, bonnets and aprons: the hamlet of Fort Assiniboine has certainly drawn a lot of people to celebrate its bicentennial.
Finally we pull our canoes up the muddy slope and get out to be part of the parade walking into town, many of us carrying our paddles, hot and sweaty now in the afternoon heat we didn’t feel so much while we were on the water. A great meal awaits us at the arena where more than a thousand people are expected over the course of the evening.
Speeches by local dignitaries, the organizers of the bicentennial and the brigade take up nearly an hour before the music starts for the evening entertainment. We, tired and ready for a shower, are headed home, enjoying the drive through the summer-green landscape, bright yellow canola and ripening grain fields in the golden evening light.
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It was a great experience, and we are thankful for the
opportunity to be part of it, if only for a day. Would we do it again, we are asked.
Yes, it would be fun to do it another time, maybe on a different river (the
brigade, with people coming from as far as Victoria, gets together once a year,
not only on the Athabasca – in fact, many of the participants haven’t paddled
this stretch of the river before – but also on the North Saskatchewan, the Bow
and others, sometimes for much longer than a week). Paddling with the brigade for
the entirety of a trip would be a different experience yet, camping together,
sharing meals, getting to know our fellow paddlers better, but our summers are
so busy with other things we enjoy, like hiking, biking and our canoe trips
with family and friends, not to mention travels to Germany, that it is unlikely
that we’ll get to do that.
