Return to the Peel Journal Day 9

Our campsite inside the Peel River Canyon.

July 25, 2018, about 5pm. Temps around 30c and sunny.

We’re camped on a gravel bed in the Peel River Canyon, dwarfed by sheer rock faces hundreds of feet high, topped with spruce forest. From the cliffs, swallows swoop down feasting on the clouds of mosquitoes and black flies. High above peregrine falcon circle looking for their own prey.

Swallows feeding from nests in the Peel River Canyon.

In the Gwich’in language, the canyon is called Tshuu Tr’idaodiichu, which means “rough hateful waters.” The rapids feature a sharp turn against the canyon wall and two large whirlpools. In the faster, high waters of spring, this could be very treacherous.

A century ago, as the Gwich’in came through the canyon loaded with pelts and supplies from their winter hunting on the Wind, they would send their women and children on an overland route to avoid the dangers of the canyon. In the lower waters of July, it should be much easier going.

The rapids in the Peel River Canyon.

Here is how Charles Camsell described it in his 1905 field notes:

“The canyon is about 2 miles long. It’s average width is 500 feet, bordered by almost vertical walls of thick bedded black slate...except at the entrance where a little rough water and heavy swells occur. The stream. though swift, is perfectly smooth. About halfway through the canyon, on the right hand side, a lobstick stands to mark the position of two whirlpools, which are said to be exceedingly dangerous when the water is high.”

I ask Terry what a lobstick is. He replies, “I haven’t heard that term in a long time. It’s a tree used as a marker. The Dene would trim the branches almost all the way to the top so it stood out to mark an important spot.”

Given that this particular important spot is called “rough hateful waters,” we decided to climb up to the top of the cliff over the main rapid and whirlpools to get a better idea of what lies ahead.

A very steep climb to get a view of the rapids in the Peel River Canyon.

We took a route up the cliff that was nearly at a right angle, and which had been burned out by forest fire a couple of years back. It was hot, it was covered in thorn bushes, but somehow after a lot of scrambling and cursing, we got to the top. The view down the canyon was spectacular. From this viewpoint, the rapids looked less ominous, and there was a pretty clear path through, skirting the whirlpool on the right.

David and Terry with the Peel River Canyon behind them.

Looking back down the route we’d come, Terry wisely announced there was no way he was returning that way. We opted for a gentler, more roundabout route down to our campsite. It took us along the ridge and then down a wooded stream valley to the canyon below. It was muggy and buggy in the woods. The forest was dense and hard to get through in places. We mostly followed the stream when we could, but it was often blocked with dead fall. At some point, hot, dehydrated and definitely feeling bewildered I somehow managed to start going upstream. I shouted to Terry, “It makes no sense. Why is the stream going uphill?” Terry looked at me, paused, and said, “How about we just follow it down the hill.” Solid advice that I immediately followed. It was a good lesson in how quickly you can get disoriented in the bush.

Terry and Graham taking the long way back to the Canyon floor.

It is great having Terry on this trip. He is a natural storyteller with a deep love for the Arctic, it’s history, land and people. Terry is Metis, not First Nations, but he grew up on the Slavey reserve in Hay River, on the southern shores of Great Slave Lake.

His father was Metis, his mother half Inuvialuit. On our first day of the trip, as we huddled from the rain under the tarp Terry had tied to bushes and driftwood poles, he shared with us two stories from his childhood, when he would often hunt and fish with his neighbour, the local Slavey chief Daniel Sonfrere.

“One time we were hunting for moose in the forest. We tracked and killed one. I immediately moved toward the moose to start working on the carcass, but Daniel stopped me and said, ‘let’s make some tea, give the spirit some time to leave the body.’ So we made tea in the snow, in the middle of the forest and waited.”

Paddling in the Peel River Canyon.

The second story Terry told was about ice fishing for whitefish several miles out on Great Slave Lake.

“We were so far out you couldn’t see the shore, pulling the nets from holes in the ice, pulling fish from the nets. It’s freezing work and I’m sitting on the ice working the nets and this rabbit hops up to me and sits between my feet. What’s it doing out here five miles from shore? Daniel looks at the rabbit and says ‘He’s asking for your help.’ So, with that, we pick him up and calmly put him into a backpack, stopping all our fishing work, and take him the several miles to the shore. We walk into the woods and open the bag. The rabbit calmly sticks its head out, sniffs the air, looks around and hops out. It’s like it knows this is a good place and starts to hop away into the distance, but not before stopping and looking back over its shoulder at me and Daniel, as if to say 'thanks.'”

To me, both those stories were Terry’s way of reminding us that we are now in a special place of incredible natural beauty. It’s up to us to slow down and appreciate it for what it is. My hope is that we’ve been doing just that on this trip.