The Slave River

Hi, I have had the luxury of paddling the Slave River on two different occasions. The first time I paddled the Slave River I had come down the Athabaska River, paddled around Lake Athabaska, and then down the Slave River, and on to Hay River where I ended my trip. I did this late in the season, and this trip was to prove vastly different than my next one. The second time that I paddled the Slave River I started at the Southern end of Willoston Lake, and paddled the length of the Peace River, the Slave from the confluence of the Peace River, and then around Great Slave Lake via Yellowknife, and dolwn the Mackenzie River to within sight of the Arctic Ocean. I paddled back upstream and ended that trip in Inuvik. That time I paddled the Slave in late June. The Slave is that kind of river, linking major river systems. The one similarity of this trip was that I got portaged around the aRapids of the Slave by a man named Ernie. Other than that the trips were different.
When I paddled the Slave in late September the River was moving well, but I still had to contend with some steady headwinds. The winds increased as I headed down river, making the latter part of the trip a challenge. The Slave River moves with a kind of magesty. I always get a sense of the great power possessed by large rivers when I paddle them. Its not anythig obvious. It is more like a silent rumbling that goes on under the surface, and occasionall manifest itself when the rocks of the precambian shield appear. The Slave River borders the Precambrian Shield up until Fort Fitzgerald. On this part of the river there would be sculpted island and rocks popping up every few miles. The bluffs were quite steep in other parts, and the first time I travelled the river the aspen and cottonwood trees were a golden, or a burnt yellow blaze on the hillsides. The willows added a blaze of red, and all of the other bushes added different shades of coulor creating one of natures beautiful mosaics. At Fort Fitzgerald the subtle power of the Slave is turned into a raging powerhouse. This is the point where the Slave turns vicious until it reaches the rapids of the drowned in Fort Smith. I chose to bypass this rapid and re-start my trip downstream from there. The residents were netting the spawning run of Kona as I headed out and I was told how the fish posessed so much oil that they would not freeze solid, even in the coldest winter. This made them ideal winter dog food. I fought my way down the Slave River that fall, stopping for a couple of nights rest at an open cabin when I needed to recharge my energy. This lower Slave was a lesson in mud. I had recieved a gift of rubber boots in Fort Chipiwan when some new friends had heard I was heading donw the Slave River. It was not until I was on the lower Slave that I understood the importance of that gift. I had several meters of gumbo-mud to traverse befor I could make it to shore at any location on the river. In some spots there were trees that had fallen into the river that I would use to get to shore, but there were spots that were an all out challenge. In these spots I would ease my way into the mud and try to move my canoe forwards. I would then suck my feet out of the mud, move forwards and repeat the process until the bow of my canoe was close enough to shore to climb over. I would build a walkway of old sticks to launch with. It was quite a process that continued until I made the lake. This river is still a hiway for boats and I taked to one couple who were planning a pleasure trip from Fort Smith to Inuvik the next year, they just use more powerful boats now than they did in the old days.
The next year I camped at one of the same spots on the upper Slave River and noted that the water was lower than it had been the year before. This gave me some trepidation as I thought of the mud that was in store for me. I got a lesson on the effect of Great Slave Lake as I headed down river. The mud I had been dreading never appeared that summer. I knew the flow volume was lower than it had been the year before, but the river was higher. The reason for this was that the lake was also higher and its influence extended upriver almost to thetown of Fort Smith. This time everything on the banks were green, and dry. The highlite of my whole trip was when a dry ightning storm went through and started columns of smoke rising all around me. I later read that the storm had ignited 27 fires in Wood Buffalo National Park. The swarms of dragonflies that would swarm around me were also welcome. Swarms of hundreds of them would often fly by my camp and banish the mosqitos from my camp. I was always sad to see them go as there departure would signal the return of the mosquitos. This trip I was heading East, and so I took the Jean River branch of the river. The Slave breaks into many channels as it approaches the delta, the Jean River being the first to branch off of the Slave. The difference between the Slave and the Jean River is imediatly apparent. The banks of the Slave River are practically devoid of plant life. The breakup of the winters Ice scoures the banks each year, and the current has carved out many steep mud cliffs. These rise from six to twenty feet in hight, and are common the length of the Slave River. The Jean is a smaller River and the vegatation that lined the shores was welcome to see. This river was linned with lilly pads, bull Rushes, and cattails. I spent a pleasent day paddling the Jean River, and continued a few miles out onto the Lake to the first Island of the Canadian Shield that existed on the Lake. I then got to watch the sun go down over the Lake thatwas too big to see accross. It turned into a big red ball, and then sank slowly until it was just a thin red line on the horizon. That thin red line seemed to hang there for an impossibly long time befor finally slipping out of sight.
I would be interested in hearing anyone elses experience of paddling the Slave River, as I am sure that every experience will be different.