As in previous launchings we were not wearing our life jackets and this almost cost us our lives.

The canoe tipped into the river spilling us and our gear into the current.

I watched our gear float away as I entered the water, clutching my paddle and believing that I'd just float downstream and by keeping the paddle that I'd have an easier time when I landed since I wouldn't have to search for my paddle before righting the canoe and paddling away.

Two factors entered the equation here; first, the currents were so turbulent that it was impossible to stay afloat and second, we were at the top of a big eddy.

Kathy was lucky enough; and strong enough so that she got near enough to shore to grab onto some roots. The bank was very steep here so she had trouble just hanging on and trying to extricate herself. She had seen me drift away more in the middle of the river and assumed that I'd exit further downstream.

soon realized that I was not able to stay afloat as I spent more time under water than near the surface. I was struggling just to get to the surface to get a breath of air before I'd be sucked back down by the swirling currents. I also realized that I was now caught in the eddy as I began to be carried in an upstream direction.

I could see that I was going to pass close to Kathy and I knew that I was just about out of energy.

I came up within a few feet of Kathy and croaked out "Can you help me Kath?"

She turned and saw me there and I extended the paddle to her grip first. Taking the grip she watched as my fingers slipped off the blade.... Another attempt to extend the paddle saw the same result and now I was drifting out and back down the eddy.

At this point I had almost no energy left. I came back up to the surface, turned on my back and let out a moan as I tried to clear my lungs to get some air.

Kathy watched and listened in horror as she was sure she was watching me drown.

It's strange what goes through your mind in times like these. I kept my eyes open most of the time so that I could see the lighter surface water and know which way was up. I also realized that I was in dire straits but I was not flailing. I thought clearly enough to think that the stories I'd read about how heavy your boots were at a time like this were true.

After that moan I sank and I thought to myself "It would be so easy to drown here. All I'd have to do was relax". I could feel myself start to relax a little and then I thought "I do not want to die here!"

I don't know what happened next but it was almost as if something reached into the river and dragged me shore because I went from an almost certain underwater grave to a position where I realized that I was struggling to shore in waist deep water and calling out to Kathy.

As you can imagine, we were both pretty distraught. Kathy was sure I was going to drown and I was wondering what miracle had just occurred that got me from mid-river to shore.

We checked each other for injuries; Kathy was OK but I had suffered a rib injury making it painful to take a deep breath. There was no discontinuity in my ribs so we began to search for our gear.

Our pack and barrels were easy to retrieve; the life jackets, paddles and fishing gear were all in one place and although they were a pain to retrieve we got them all back.

The canoe was pinned against the alders and took a lot of pushing to get it to kick free.... Thank god for ABS.

We gathered everything up and did an inventory. All we were missing was our axe, a water bottle and the map we were using that day.

We had a spare map set and were carrying two water bottles so we were OK on those fronts but our axe was an important piece of equipment since we'd used it to clear several portages already.

To say that I was shaken would be the understatement of the decade. I had stared death in the face and was not sure that I wanted to continue.

Moving downstream, we camped at the first available spot so that we could sort ourselves out.

I was sure that I wanted to quit but Kathy urged me to sleep on it and see how I felt the next day.

I went down to the shore and left two offerings.
With the first I thanked the spirits for saving my life and with the second I asked the spirits to send me a sign to tell me whether or not to continue.
I was prepared to wait for that sign.

We had just resupplied so we had 17 days worth of food and it was only a one day paddle to a good pickup place.

We spread out all our stuff to dry and realized that something had happened to our satellite phone. The battery had expanded so that the phone was not useable.

Drying the battery was not the solution. It would not attach to the phone properly. This just added to my feeling of impending doom.

That night it began to rain and the next day dawned overcast, rainy and foggy.

I had not slept well and was feeling really depressed. I told Kathy about asking for a sign and she encouraged me to have patience. You see, she was worried that if we quit that it would mark me for the rest of my life … and she was probably right.

At about noon I went down to the shore to get some water and looked up the lake. There in the fog, perched on a small island, was an eagle.
We had come to believe that eagle was our spirit and I commented to Kathy that it was there.
However, I was not prepared to accept that this was the sign.
It just didn't give me a feeling one way or the other.

Around three I was sure that I could hear voices coming from up the lake and after a while three canoes came paddling out of the mist.

It was a group of nine girls from Minnesota … a Voyagers' group that was out for a 28 day trip. It was their third day out and they sure were a soggy, bug bitten group of teens.

They stopped to chat and we compared trips, each talking about what we had planned.

As we talked about our quest to visit the First Nations communities and they marveled at the fact the just the two of us were attempting that journey, I could feel my spirits rising.

They paddled off to camp further up the lake and I turned to Kathy and said, "That was the sign. I'm ready to continue".

These were the only canoers we saw during our journey and I thank the spirits for putting them there for us.

We paddled over to a nearby lake that had a fly-in outpost and left notes for Chimo Air and Goldseekers to tell them that we were behind schedule and that our satellite phone was not working.

Seeing that we were supposed to phone in once a week we asked for an extension so that we could reach the community of Little Grand Rapids and phone in from there.

Shaken but not defeated we continued down the Keeper River.

The journey was a white knuckle affair that saw us run few of the rapids that might be attempted in lower water levels.

All the portages were a ticklish affair with having to land well above the normal take out point and put in far below the normal spot.

We finally exited the Keeper river as it emptied into Moar Lake. We were two days behind schedule but the day was bright and clear with just the hint of a breeze from the southwest.

As we crossed Moar Lake we saw some boat from the Norse Lodge out on the lake. One of the boats approached us as the occupants wanted the usual information.
"How did you get here?" "Where are you going?"
There were three occupants in the boat; a native guide and his two clients.

We described our trip and said we'd be heading for Meegeesi rapids to continue down the Berens River.

Upon arrival at the start of the Meegeesi rapids there's a nice waterfall there. The fishermen called it Eagle Falls (meegeesi is the native word for eagle).

We stopped for lunch and left another offering because the water here was also very high and we were thankful for finishing the Keeper.

Portaging around the falls we were faced with very fast current that led directly into Meegeesi Rapids. From the seats of our canoe we could see that the river was a foaming mass that frequently sent geysers of water into the air as it hurtled downstream.

Disembarking on the south shore we took our map and compass and headed for what looked like a pool at the end of the first drop. There is no portage here so we work our way through the bush to the top of the pool.

To our dismay the river is rushing into the pool in such volume that it's crashing directly into the steep wall on the opposite side before exiting in another curling mass.

From our vantage point that seething foam lasts as far as we can see.

Since there's no portage here we retrace our steps to try the north shore. The northern banks of the river are steeper and the current is very powerful so we work our way along looking for a place where we feel that we can safely disembark.

We're almost back to the falls where the river splits so we look along the leftmost incoming fork for a spot.

The river here is even faster and we're very nervous about establishing even a slight angle to the current since the river is full of big swirls.

Not finding a suitable or safe place to land we retrace our steps; we actually allow ourselves to drift backward rather than trying to turn; back to the fork where we pull into an eddy to discuss our next move.

Retrieving the map I look for a logical way around the rapids but all I can see is a lake to the south that would require a three hour paddle to look for a portage that might not even be there.

At this point we discuss our possibilities and decide that this is probably not the year for us to be doing this trip. The strain of the Keeper River and now this is more than we want to bear.

Deciding to paddle back to the falls and camp there for the night before paddling over to the Norse Lodge and getting them to fly us out we push off against the powerful current.

As we approach the falls who appears there but the native guide and his two clients. By the time we get to the falls they are well into a catch and release session.

Deciding to give it one last try we take our map and approach the guide.

His name is David Green and he resides in Little Grand Rapids, the community just to the west. A short map session and he shows two routes past the rapids. Both are used by his community in the spring to bypass high water.

Thanking him profusely, we portage back up the falls and set up camp.

There will still be one more rapid to do on the Berens but it looks manageable and David says that there's a portage there if we need it.

We set up camp and return to the falls but David and his clients are gone. Sitting on the bare rocks we discuss what has just happened.

Of all the people that might have appeared to help us why was David sent?

Moar Lake is a big body of water and David could have taken his clients to any number of places including several rapids that empty into the lake … why did he choose to come here?

We leave another offering to thank the spirits.

Along this section we also found that our satellite phone worked if we plugged it in to our solar panel.

So even though the battery was no longer useable we could call out as long as the sun was out.

We therefore called Goldseekers and told them that we'd be calling on every sunny day and they could reset the doomsday clock to seven days after each call.

This turned out to be a good choice because at one point later in the trip we had rain and mostly cloudy conditions for eleven days in a row.

At each sunny break during those days we'd scramble to get the phone hooked up and hope that a cloud didn't pass over the sun while we were calling because it took all the power the solar panel could generate to operate the phone.

Our passage up the Bradburn River, across the height of land to Black Birch Lake and down the Black Birch River to Deer Lake was a pleasure compared to our earlier tribulations. Our days were shorter as we took time to fish along the way and enjoyed several walleye dinners.

On Deer Lake there were several passages we could have chosen to get to our intended destination for the day. The path we took led us to discover a series of pictographs …. The spirits were indeed guiding us.

>We had arranged to be resupplied on Deer Lake and our supplies were to be brought out to us (a two hour motorboat trip) the next day.

As we paddled along we spotted a boat in the distance, near where we had indicated that we'd like to camp.

The boat came down the lake to meet us and guess what? Our resupply was here.

Even though the barrels were clearly marked with the resupply date there had been a miscommunication that resulted in the barrels being brought out a day early.

Deer Lake is a big body of water and had it not been a perfect day for paddling we might not have been able to get our resupply.

Were the spirits still with us?

The passage up through Cochrane Lake and Cobham Lake was marked by the discovery of another set of pictographs, a series of falls and some more great fishing.

We were wind bound on Cobham Lake for a day but used it to catch four nice walleye from shore and stuff ourselves with Cajun walleye that night.

The next 14 days were spent going downstream on the Cobham River as it starts out in a westerly direction and then turn back east to Finger Lake and Sandy Lake.
This was our rainy section as the last nine days were very soggy.

There were a few portages that were difficult to navigate and a couple of fast water sections above ledges that required some care but we handled it well.

The land here is low lying providing not many good camping spots but there were some native hunt camps scattered along that provided enough of a clearing for us to erect a tent and get our gear inside the camp to try to dry it out.

The rain stopped as we crossed Finger Lake and the wind held off until we were on our way down the inlet to Sandy Lake.

We pulled up to what looked like a public dock and were immediately greeted by some of the locals. When we said that we'd been out on the land for 45 days we got their immediate respect. They were very interested in our journey and had heard of no-one that had attempted what we were undertaking.

This was a common reaction. The younger people could not imagine tackling a journey like that while the older residents got a far away look about them and recalled that their grandfather had talked about long journeys to other communities, to hunting grounds and to trading posts.

We inquired as to the location of the Band Office and the Northern Store (we needed junk food) and were given directions. We left all our gear at the dock and walked about a half a mile to the store.

I should say here that at no time did we feel that our gear was in danger of being stolen or did we feel unwelcome at any of the communities we stopped to visit. As soon as we started talking about our adventure it was as if a connection was made and people were more than happy to provide directions and ask us about our trip.

We arrived at the Northern Store, got some fruit, peanut butter, bread and potato chips and inquired if there was a local hotel or motel where we could stay for a couple of nights (at this point we were one day ahead of schedule).

The Northern Store staff brought out the local phone book, got the number of the Sandy Lake Motel and allowed us to use the store telephone to place the call.

The motel owner (Joe and Linda Fiddler) agreed to house us for two nights and actually drove over to the store to pick us up … we also drove back to the canoe to get our belongings. The canoe was left by the dock.

The motel was straight out of any episode of North of 60; a six room affair with two shared bathrooms, a laundry room and a common room that was used for serving meals and TV viewing.

The cast of characters here was also very interesting. Two guys that were in from Winnipeg to repair the school roof, a construction consultant that was training some of the band members to build their own housing and a substitute native constable.

Now the story gets interesting again.

Officer Kris was reading a non-descript book that evening as we sat around the table after dinner and chatted. We had regaled the guests with our stories (not the drowning part) over coffee when Kathy asked Kris if he'd read "Dancing with a Ghost". It's a book written by Rupert Ross, a crown prosecutor who traveled all over the north trying to dispense justice in the native communities. The book offers good insights into the native psyche; it was the only book we brought with us and we were re-reading it as we traveled to try to get an insight as to how to interact.

Kris' face lit up, "I've always wanted to read that book, and as a matter of fact not only did I grow up around the corner from Rupe but I often see him as he's now a judge and I get to present cases before him".

Kathy handed over our book with the request that Kris take it to court some time and have Rupert autograph it for us. Now we had no book but we were happy to have provided Kris with some enjoyment over his next few weeks.

So now we're short a book, an axe and a satellite phone battery.

The next day we phone Joe Fiddler (another Joe Fiddler, you see the Fiddler name is common here) he's the guy that has agreed to do our resupply here. He's to go to the airport and pick up our stuff when it arrives.

He reports that our supplies are here and he's picked it up so we get some directions and walk over to his house. His wife Jean is at work so Joe entertains us with the grand tour.

On the way he shows us where he was born and drives us around the community.

He tells us that there's a wedding going on that day and we inquire as to where the wedding feast is to be held. It seems that it will be at the local school so Joe drives us over there.

We're feeling pretty lucky just to get to see the preparations so we boldly walk into the school and to the gym where the feast is to be held … you see, anyone from the community can attend the feast, you don't need an invitation.

The tables are set-up and the wedding party is there so we just march over and I extend my hand to the groom "You won't believe this but we're your southern cousins and we've paddled for 45 days to get here … congratulations"

That got a big laugh from the wedding party but it broke the ice as we spent the next half an hour talking about our trip and the preparations for the feast.

We got some pictures and an invitation to the feast (which we declined citing another dinner engagement).

As we drove around we were telling Joe about our practice of leaving offerings and inquiring of him if anyone in the community practiced the old ways.

He was pretty tight lipped about old practices so we told him about some of the experiences we had on our Woodland Caribou Park trip around the pictograph sites and dropped the subject.

Joe dropped us off at the motel and we agreed that we'd come over to his house after dinner to meet his wife.

After our dinner and another coffee we walked over to Joe's house.

We brought gifts of tobacco, maple syrup and some chai tea. On the way we were wondering if we had offended Joe by asking about old practices before we should and resolved to stay away from that subject.

We arrived and gave Joe and Jean the tea. They asked how it was made and we told them "the usual way, just drop three bags in your teapot full of hot water". They accepted the tea but made no move to prepare any so we began, what to a white man would have been a very strained conversation.

We made a few comments and told them about our journey so far … we eliminated any reference to our spiritual adventures but we did tell them that we had left offerings at pictograph sites and when we changed river systems.

This is where "Dancing with a Ghost" was a real blessing to have read. We didn't rush into any questions or make any observations other than to tell our stories as they happened to us.

There was a lot of silence during this part of the evening as Joe and Jean sized up these new people and we gave them time with their thoughts.

We gave them the remainder of our gifts … the tobacco and the syrup. Joe was very interested in the tobacco as it had been made by the Tuscarora people of upstate New York and I told him that I had acquired it on the reserve there.

After another silence I shifted the conversation to the history of Joe's family and asked about his recollections of being out on the land and what he knew about the travels of his ancestors.

He began to tell some stories about his parents and some cousins of his and how they had traveled the land around Sandy and Finger Lakes in their hunting and trapping expeditions. He never said anything about his own experiences but soon he paused and said "Whenever I traveled on the land I only needed two things".

At this point he rose and went over to a cupboard, opened a door and brought out the two things.

As he gifted the objects to us he said "I always carried this hatchet and this book".

Kathy and I just looked at each other with dumbfounded expressions.

The axe we had lost 33 days ago was now coming back to us (in slightly different form) as was a book that we had given away just a day before.

The new book was "Killing the Shamen" a history of the clans of Sandy Lake with particular attention to the Fiddler family and to Jack Fiddler, a shaman who was arrested and charged with murder in about 1900.

These were both very old possessions of Joe's. The hatchet was sharp and had been well cared for and the book had notations in the margins.

Our "white folk" instinct would have been to recognize that these items obviously meant a lot to Joe and therefore we shouldn't accept them … but we also recognized that Joe was carrying on a long tradition of gift giving … and that somehow the spirits had intervened once again to see that we were protected during our journey.

We accepted the gifts and used both of them during the remainder of our journey.

On the way back to the motel we were so elated that we must have seemed like kids.
How could the spirits have prompted Joe to give us those particular items?
We stayed up way too late reading the book, drinking coffee and celebrating our good fortune.

We began the next phase of our journey the next day … but not before Joe took us to the airport so we could send our returning items back to Red Lake.

On our way back from the airport he began to tell us about leaving offerings and shared with us what his people considered the proper way to leave offerings.

The next three days were … wind and rain …steady drizzle with no wind … and wind and rain filled.

The two windy days had us trapped first on Sandy Lake and then in Rathouse Bay but we used the time to read the book to each other and I showed Kathy how to start a fire even though it had rained steadily for three days by using the hatchet to shave an old stump and start a fire at the base of the stump.

We now had all our possessions back … except for our satellite battery … but the phone worked if the sun was out so we felt quite content as we started to ascend the Flanagan River toward North Spirit Lake.

The Sandy Lake community consists of about 2200 residents whereas the community of North Spirit Lake is about 325 so we were not expecting to find as many amenities there.

I had spoken to Darcy Kejick on the telephone earlier in the year to ask about potential routes through the area and he had been very helpful. I ended our conversation by asking if we could come for coffee or tea when we got there and he agreed. With all the wind on Sandy Lake we were two days behind schedule so we used the satellite phone to let Darcy know that we were behind schedule but were on our way.

We camped on North Spirit Lake near the outlet to Pakwan Lake and within sight of the community and paddled over the next morning.

Picking a dock, we pulled up and quickly located the gas station. To our surprise the store was next door so we went there first to get our usual restock of peanut butter, bread and potato chips. We approached the counter and the woman there said "You must be the Warners".

As it turned out, this was Susan – Darcy's wife. She told us that Darcy was waiting for us just across the way in their house, that we should just go over and she'd join us in a bit.

We spent the next couple of hours talking about our journey and discovering that their 10 year old son, Brandon, had shot his first moose about two weeks ago.

This gave us a lead into talking about the customs surrounding a boy's first big kill and how the elders were involved in the butchering and distribution of the kill.

Since I'm a moose hunter too it gave me a chance to talk hunting with Darcy and Brandon.

After talking about the elders participation we began to tell the story of the things that happened to us … all the things you have just read about … and how things were coming back to us.

Susan looked at us and said "What kind of satellite phone do you have"?

When we replied that it was a Globalstar she got up, walked into an adjoining room, and returned with a Globalstar battery.

It seems that Darcy had purchased a Globalstar phone and after a few uses it proved to be defective. He removed the battery and returned it for replacement. When it came back it had had a new battery so they now had a spare battery.

You can just imagine our amazement. How could we possibly deny that the spirits were looking out for us. We now had all our missing pieces back … but the story does not end here.

From here to the conclusion of our trip was to be a rigorous section as it started out with portages of 1700 and 1000 meters just to get us to Loree Lake

The next two days saw us work our way west toward our next resupply which was to occur at Warwick Lake on August 28.

>We got as far as Copper Lake on August 27 and were back on schedule when the weather took a turn for the worse. The sky closed in and it began to rain in earnest as we set up camp on Copper Lake. Warwick Lake was within a few hours paddle but with the weather the way it was there was no way that a float plane would be coming with our supplies.

The 28th arrived and we were in a fog bank. The rain had turned to showers but there was no sign that the ceiling would lift.

We decided to move over to Warwick Lake to await our supplies so that we'd be ready to turn our empty barrels around if they wanted to fly them out immediately.

Packing up our soggy belongings we pushed off and headed up Copper Lake only to encounter some fly-in fishermen. Stopping to chat we learned that they were from Wisconsin, a group of eight, and that one of the women had a son that was stationed at Camp Pendleton. He was due to be sent to Iraq within a day and Chimo Air had forgotten to leave them with a satellite phone.

Are you starting to get an eerie feeling about now?

That woman was also fishing on Copper Lake and so we paddled along until we found her and approached her boat.
"You won't believe the whole story" we said, "but we've been sent to you with a satellite phone"
She was able to get in touch with her son and had a very tearful conversation.

In the end they demanded that we come and stay with them until our supplies arrived.
They cleared out a room for us and we were well fed and watered.

After what they had just witnessed they were more than anxious to hear our stories.
Their eyes were almost as wide as ours as we related the series of events that led to our arrival on their doorstep with a fully functioning satellite phone.

The rest of our trip was arduous as we faced long and poorly marked portages, wind and waves and a couple of dicey passages through fast current where the opposing wind had built up some dangerous waves … but the spirits found a way to guide our steps and to keep us from harm.

We began the trip not knowing what we would face.
There were no recorded descriptions that we could find so we trusted that there would be a way to get through even though we were told that in certain instances that there would be no portages.

As it turned out the spirits were looking out for us by providing the vision to see evidence of where others had passed and by providing guides at appropriate times to keep us on our journey.