We move out of Wrigley on high spirits and a fast current. We've committed ourselves to long days if conditions permit as a gusty 40km north wind and a 1C temperature morning remind us that safe travel conditions in the Arctic are a privilege not a right.
After an easy hour we sweep past the 366m Roche qui-trempe-a-l'eau with its giant slabs of Devonian limestone plunging into the waters of the river. It stands in stark contrast to the regular riverscape of a gravel and sand beach with a forest backdrop we've become accustomed to. We are told that despite the name there are no pools to soak in.
With our new found enthusiasm for long days we manage to push out 85kms to a sandy beach on the west bank just before the Blackwater River.
We're promised a bump up in river speed after the Blackwater and are not disappointed the following morning. We manage another good day of 70km but are tired and feeling the effort.
Our current remains discernible through the bulk of day three and the longer shifts are paying dividends. By 7:30pm we've reached Police Island on a big bend before the town of Tulita. We're 26kms out from the community but already have 74kms in the bank. It's a perfect evening with little wind and clear skies. We decide to go for it. When we arrive in Tulita we're exhausted but thrilled. We've managed to travel a stretch of river in three days that our guidebook suggests will take seven.
Our plan now is to push when we can and rest when we can't. The weather is fickle up here and the summer season short. Push we must if we stand any chance of making it to Inuvik.
We begin setting up our tent on the beach near the boat launch of Tulita. As with Wrigley there's no sense of a town other than a gravel road leading to the water.
A large white pick up truck arrives and approaches. Inside is a big man and a young girl.
"My granddaughter couldn't sleep so we took a drive," says the man, "Keira saw your girls and wanted to come over."
It's near midnight and it's still very bright out. I can understand why little ones have tough time falling asleep, us big ones do too.
"My name is Edward Kenny," he continues, "I think it's good for Keira to meet new people."
There's an ease in Edwards way. He's quick to laugh and tells us stories of his life and that of his family. He tells us the importance he places on learning and how he's encouraged his kids to get an education.
"University is free for them," he says, "I tell them to take advantage of it. My youngest is down in Grand Prairie now studying accounting. Keira's her daughter."
Edward is retired but is being drawn back into work. He's skilled in the oil operations of Norman Wells, is a river boat captain, a boiler repairman and even made it to a Canucks training camp when he was young.
"We have a lot of talented hockey players in town," he says, "My son plays in Saskatchewan."
We watch a large white tail fox investigate our camp just before we lay down. Caitlin is thrilled.
"Daddy, I really wanted to see a fox on this trip and now I have."
We spend our following morning walking through town and enjoying the rest. Tulita sits high atop the west bank at the confluence of the Mackenzie and the Great Bear River. It's a spectacular location with the impressive Bear Rock dominating the view to the north.
As is custom when visiting a town we pay our visit to the Northern for snacks. It opens at 1pm - today being a Sunday - and there's a lineup waiting to get in. We meet Edward and his granddaughter in the aisles and he kindly drives us back down to our boats for departure.
We had planned to spend the night in town but the weather forecast is calling for periods of rain to begin within 24-36 hours and with that likely wind.
I explain to the girls we'd like to shove off this afternoon and get as far down river as we can. Norman Wells is only 80km away and promises to be a better rest spot than a windblown gravel bar. They are reluctant but understand the logic of the decision.
We push off at 3:30pm with the intent of avoiding the bad weather. Little do we realize there's something more intense in store.
After an easy hour we sweep past the 366m Roche qui-trempe-a-l'eau with its giant slabs of Devonian limestone plunging into the waters of the river. It stands in stark contrast to the regular riverscape of a gravel and sand beach with a forest backdrop we've become accustomed to. We are told that despite the name there are no pools to soak in.
With our new found enthusiasm for long days we manage to push out 85kms to a sandy beach on the west bank just before the Blackwater River.
We're promised a bump up in river speed after the Blackwater and are not disappointed the following morning. We manage another good day of 70km but are tired and feeling the effort.
Our current remains discernible through the bulk of day three and the longer shifts are paying dividends. By 7:30pm we've reached Police Island on a big bend before the town of Tulita. We're 26kms out from the community but already have 74kms in the bank. It's a perfect evening with little wind and clear skies. We decide to go for it. When we arrive in Tulita we're exhausted but thrilled. We've managed to travel a stretch of river in three days that our guidebook suggests will take seven.
Our plan now is to push when we can and rest when we can't. The weather is fickle up here and the summer season short. Push we must if we stand any chance of making it to Inuvik.
We begin setting up our tent on the beach near the boat launch of Tulita. As with Wrigley there's no sense of a town other than a gravel road leading to the water.
A large white pick up truck arrives and approaches. Inside is a big man and a young girl.
"My granddaughter couldn't sleep so we took a drive," says the man, "Keira saw your girls and wanted to come over."
It's near midnight and it's still very bright out. I can understand why little ones have tough time falling asleep, us big ones do too.
"My name is Edward Kenny," he continues, "I think it's good for Keira to meet new people."
There's an ease in Edwards way. He's quick to laugh and tells us stories of his life and that of his family. He tells us the importance he places on learning and how he's encouraged his kids to get an education.
"University is free for them," he says, "I tell them to take advantage of it. My youngest is down in Grand Prairie now studying accounting. Keira's her daughter."
Edward is retired but is being drawn back into work. He's skilled in the oil operations of Norman Wells, is a river boat captain, a boiler repairman and even made it to a Canucks training camp when he was young.
"We have a lot of talented hockey players in town," he says, "My son plays in Saskatchewan."
We watch a large white tail fox investigate our camp just before we lay down. Caitlin is thrilled.
"Daddy, I really wanted to see a fox on this trip and now I have."
We spend our following morning walking through town and enjoying the rest. Tulita sits high atop the west bank at the confluence of the Mackenzie and the Great Bear River. It's a spectacular location with the impressive Bear Rock dominating the view to the north.
As is custom when visiting a town we pay our visit to the Northern for snacks. It opens at 1pm - today being a Sunday - and there's a lineup waiting to get in. We meet Edward and his granddaughter in the aisles and he kindly drives us back down to our boats for departure.
We had planned to spend the night in town but the weather forecast is calling for periods of rain to begin within 24-36 hours and with that likely wind.
I explain to the girls we'd like to shove off this afternoon and get as far down river as we can. Norman Wells is only 80km away and promises to be a better rest spot than a windblown gravel bar. They are reluctant but understand the logic of the decision.
We push off at 3:30pm with the intent of avoiding the bad weather. Little do we realize there's something more intense in store.
Caitlin and Arianna playing with their new friend Keira in Tulita
View to Bear Rock from Tulita
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