Camping in the Arctic Watershed

The locals all gave us more than a passing glance as we marched down to the river. Several Indians had small boats that taxied people up, down, and across the river. I had no idea, but I could see Tidewater Provincial Park from the bank. We made the deal for the ride and had to take a round-a-bout way as the tide was low.

We unloaded our gear on the dock of Charles Island. The whole island is a provincial park. We were met by the park ranger, Jean-Francois. He is the only person I have met who has two names for a first name. There are 28 campsites on the island and he told us to go pick one out and let him know which one. Only two other sites were occupied. Jack talked us into a site that is on a bluff overlooking the Moose River. We set up our tents and started to explore the island. We met an elderly man who was camping alone on the island for six weeks. Kaley O’Mahoona spoke with an Irish accent and told us to take care of our food because there is a bear patrolling the island. The next morning with our food still hanging from a tree, I got a close look at the bear. He and I were walking down the trail toward each other and got close enough for me to see his nostrils flaring before he ran off into the woods.

I was thinking about Kaley. He was spending six weeks alone on an island with birds and bears. He saw beluga whales and seals swim upstream from Hudson Bay. What he had on the island for comfort he had to carry on his back. I wondered if he had family, was widowed, or was a writer. I was going to be away from my family for six days. He was away for six weeks. What does he know that I don’t know? I miss my wife and kids after six hours. I couldn’t imagine not talking to my son for that long. Kaley wouldn’t go out to eat for six weeks. No newspaper, no CNN, no carbonated soda. After a few days of eating dehydrated food I long for a cheeseburger. After a few days I miss my son waking me up during a thunderstorm. I miss my daughter tying up the phone line all night. I miss my wife telling me to take out the garbage. Kaley apparently was the kind of person who could be on his own and be just fine. He was like an adventurer who was able to explore the unknown on his own.

The Hudson Bay Fur Trading Company had offices and warehouses on a nearby island where there is a small Indian town called Moose Factory. Our maps showed a trail around the island so we hailed a water taxi and rode over there. The island is part of the Moose Cree First Nation Reserve. The trail was not well maintained but passable. We got all the way around the island and back into Moose Factory where a convenience store/bait shop/pizza restaurant/transmission shop had a teepee set up outside. There was an old Indian woman making bread on a stick called bannock. It tasted like a dry biscuit. Her picture is on a brochure that I picked up. That is the first person I met who is on a brochure. We looked at the Anglo cemetery and the Hudson Bay Fur Trading Company offices and headed back to Tidewater.

The next day we explored all of Charles Island. We walked both the trails and the beach at low tide. Hudson Bay is twelve miles to the north, which makes it close enough to have a several foot difference in the water level between high and low tide. Great blue herons take advantage of the situation. They wade in the river and stab at fish and frogs. We saw some good birds including the boreal chickadee and black and white warbler.

Getting off Charles Island and back to Moosonee for to catch the Little Bear back to Cochrane is a must. We made arrangements with a water taxi driver to pick us up at 8 AM. The train leaves at 9. By 8:15 we were ready to flag down any water taxi and get back. Our driver showed up and asked if we were worried. We backpacked our gear to the train station and found our seats. We reflected on what we had done and seen and what we had missed.

The sunrise was at an angle that we had never seen before. But Jack said it would be better with a decent cup of coffee. Besides a hot shower, Jim missed the sweet sounds of symphonies and the rhythm of rappers. But he had the soothing sounds of a flowing river and sweet calls of the warblers. Joe said the rice and beans he made for dinner for three straight nights was just as good as he had when he was in the Peace Corp in the Dominican Republic. The only thing missing was the rum. And I am still pondering on this paradox: I couldn’t wait to get away from home, work, and family obligations, but while I was gone, I couldn’t wait to get back.

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