Chronicles of Paul Kiefner – 1992 Albany River Canoe Trip – Realm of the Ojibway

Realm of the Ojibway 1992 Albany River Canoe Trip Province of , Written by Paul Kiefner January 2014

Loading the Beaver at Nakina Air Services for our flight into Makokibatan Lake.

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Chronicles of Paul Kiefner – 1992 Albany River Canoe Trip – Realm of the Ojibway

Ojibway Prayer

Oh Great Spirit, whose voice I hear in the winds

And whose breath gives life to everyone,

Hear me.

I come to you as one of your many children;

I am weak, I am small, I need your wisdom and your strength.

Let me walk in beauty, and make my eyes ever

behold the red and purple sunsets.

Make my hands respect the things you have made,

and make my ears sharp so I may hear your voice.

Make me wise, so that I may understand what you

have taught my people and

The lessons you have hidden in each leaf

and each rock.

I ask for wisdom and strength,

Not to be superior to my brothers, but to be able

to fight my greatest enemy, myself.

Make me ever ready to come before you with

clean hands and a straight eye,

So as life fades away as a fading sunset,

My spirit may come to you without shame.

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Chronicles of Paul Kiefner – 1992 Albany River Canoe Trip – Realm of the Ojibway

Prologue

This is the sequel to my story, “Paul Kiefner’s 1983 Expedition”, where no one was injured or died but where the probability was ever present.

In that story I swore I would never paddle another Canadian River again - or something along that line of thought. But I did. I gave in to my irresistible attraction to the Canadian wilderness.

After I completed the Magpie story I mailed a copy to Dr. Hubert Yockey in Bel Air, Maryland, whom I had not seen in thirty years. He was a member of the 1983 Magpie River Expedition. I received a voice message from his daughter, Cynthia, indicating they received the story. I returned the call and spoke to her and Dr. Yockey. He was well and we picked up right where we left off thirty years ago. After the Magpie he wrote a book and traveled to both North and South Poles. This is impressive for a man who’s going to be ninety-four years old in April. That puts him at sixty-four when he was on the Magpie Expedition! And it makes me realize I have a lot more to do.

In this story I share more about myself. If that’s not enough to scare you away, then read on. I also talk more about my brother, Mark - one of the few people on earth who may actually understand me - besides Dr. Hubert Yockey, of course. My sweet wife, Johanna, understands me – proof of miracles.

Attention Adventurers!

Welcome aboard the Ontario Northland Air Express!

We shall journey far from the creature comforts of home and the sickening trash called television. No electronic communication devices available. No cry baby live-at-home men waiting for mom to pack them a nice lunch with chocolate milk allowed. You’re better off joining the military – it’s much easier.

Now I dare you. Go ahead and trash that remote.

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Chronicles of Paul Kiefner – 1992 Albany River Canoe Trip – Realm of the Ojibway

Realm of the Ojibway

The Ojibway elder handed me a cigarette, struck a match and lit it for me. I drew in the smoke and exhaled thru my nose, imitating my mother. Considering what I had just been through, I would have done anything to calm my shattered nerves.

Two hundred miles north of , the untamed Albany River flows east from Lake Saint Joseph to the for six hundred miles through the Ontario wilderness. The Albany is one of several wilderness rivers flowing into the western side of James Bay. These rivers were made famous by the Voyageurs who transported furs in freighter canoes along many water routes during the 18th and early 19th centuries. The land appears to have changed little since then.

From the time I developed an interest in canoeing, I had always wanted to canoe a Canadian river, but circumstances were never in my favor. I did participate in a kayaking expedition to Quebec’s Magpie River in 1983 which is chronicled in Paul Kiefner's1983 Magpie River Expedition.

After the Magpie Expedition I withdrew from whitewater sport as I had other priorities. But I never stopped thinking about Canadian rivers. There was still that dormant seed of an idea of wanting to canoe a wild river in Canada; an idea that birthed the Albany River trip.

Enough time had passed since the Magpie River trip and I was getting the itch to do something exciting. What else could be more exciting that a Canadian wilderness trip? All I had to do was convince my brother Mark, and that was easy enough. There would only be the two of us on this trip. This was the first of several classic mistakes we made. But we were risk takers and no strangers to mistakes, always recovering and moving on.

Now older and perhaps wiser, I often think about why I enjoyed taking risks when I was younger. I do not come from a lineage of adventures and I believe that ignited a desire in me to take risks. This desire was ultimately manifested starting with motorcycling, then whitewater canoeing, progressing to the advanced stages of whitewater kayaking.

My short-lived motorcycling phase came to a crashing halt one afternoon while powering thru a sharp turn on the serpentine perimeter road at Loch Raven Reservoir. I was riding my 1974 Kawasaki Z1 900, the reigning superbike at the time. There was a college girl on the back whom I had recently met at a Towson, Maryland bookstore. I leaned into a left turn but could not maintain the lean angle. I missed making the turn forcing the bike to the outer road edge; the front wheel went into a V-shaped concrete drainage ditch. We crashed into the side of a hill. She broke her nose and was taken to the hospital by some passersby in a car. My father came to pick me up. Her father called my father and said that ever since his daughter went away to college she had been nothing but trouble and that he was bringing her back home. Don, my father, read me the riot act, as I so well deserved. To further compound the situation, my girlfriend at the time, Barbara Volk, was extremely angry that I was out with another girl. It was not exactly an official date. It’s not as if I asked this girl out by saying, “Hi, would you like to go for a ride on my motorcycle to see if I can crash and break your nose?” The experience really shook me up and after my motorcycle was repaired I decided the sport was just too risky. Then I developed an interest in paddling whitewater which I considered less risky. The logic of youth on display. Page 4

Chronicles of Paul Kiefner – 1992 Albany River Canoe Trip – Realm of the Ojibway

As boys, Mark, my older brother and I took an interest in canoe design when we lived in Kingsville, Maryland. There were a couple of ponds nearby and having a canoe would enable us to explore new watery worlds. The preliminary design phase for our homemade canoe started with a plastic coated table cloth courtesy of our mother, although I cannot recall if it was given to us or if it was absconded under the cover of darkness. The hull design, by any standard, was flawed from the start. It was V-shaped from bow to stern with no chance of remaining upright. Not to be deterred, we proceeded to the build phase. Our materials list was, shall I say, non-existent. We cut one inch diameter saplings and essentially formed the canoe frame by bending them to shape and lashing them together with small diameter rope. The table cloth was stretched over the frame and sewn into place.

We launched the canoe in Von Paris’ pond. It tipped over immediately and thus began our tortured history of brotherly canoeing. Yes, we violated every rule of today’s hovering, risk-adverse parents.

Years later in my adventurous twenties, I purchased a fifteen foot Grumman aluminum canoe. One winter weekend I was looking for a canoeing partner to run a short section of the local Big Gunpowder River. I called my uncle Timothy but he wisely declined. So I called Mark and he agreed to run the river with me. There was a foot of snow on the ground and the water level was quite sporting. We wore thick wetsuits and lifejackets. After a short drive to the river in Kingsville, we launched just above the Belair Road Bridge. The river was full and we moved swiftly down several miles of class I and II rapids. Pot’s Rock was a full blown class III which we could not negotiate and capsized. One quarter of a mile later we got to shore just above the Philadelphia Road Bridge. I have never been colder. Mark managed to walk to Big Falls Tavern and called my father who came to get us. They piled blankets on top of hypothermic me after I got into bed. My father was vociferous in his criticism of our stupidity. He never forgot this and it became his benchmark for every trip we took thereafter. Had my uncle gone with me and died, the fallout would have been unbearable. So I am grateful he declined. After this mishap I joined the Greater Baltimore Canoe Club and whenever I told my father I was going paddling, he would shut down like the U.S. government.

The Albany River canoe trip was purposely limited in scope and difficulty. It was going to be a short distance trip with very little whitewater; more of a canoe camping fishing trip rather than an arduous whitewater expedition.

We scheduled our trip for September and chartered Nakina Air Services in Nakina, Ontario to fly us into Makokibotan Lake. The plan was to paddle only twenty miles because we wanted to fish a lot along the way. The trip would start at the outlet of Makokibatan Lake, down the north river channel through Washi Lake then down to a fishing camp at Teabeau Lake above Kagiami Falls. This was going to be a very relaxing and manageable trip.

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Chronicles of Paul Kiefner – 1992 Albany River Canoe Trip – Realm of the Ojibway

Teabeau Lake

Canoe route from Makokibatan Lake to Teabeau Lake for a distance of twenty miles.

Every wilderness trip has its unknowns – that is part of the allure of these adventures. In a 1992 context, there were no cell phones, texting or personal computers or internet access. Communication with Nakina Air was by long distance telephone and was expensive. Other than calling Nakina Air, there was no way to determine the water level of the river. River levels are typically lowest during the summer months and going there in early September seemed logical. We did not give this a second thought.

Planning the trip went well and we had all of our food, clothing, sleeping bags and tent in Northwest River Supply dry bags. We’d be paddling my eighteen foot Old Town Chippewa Tripper canoe, perfect for this trip. There were fly and spinning rods and assorted artificial lures. The Albany is an excellent fishery with Northern Pike, Walleye and trophy size Brook Trout.

We drove the twelve hundred miles from Boston, Massachusetts to Nakina, Ontario. When we arrived at Nakina Air Service we were informed that the river was very high because it had been raining all summer; not exactly what we anticipated, but at this point we were committed to our plan.

The canoe was lashed to the float struts and the gear loaded into the Beaver. Under throttle, the plane was skimming across the lake and was airborne – always a very exciting feeling. I watched as the rivets in the aluminum panels rotated from the engine vibrations, then turned to gaze at the expansive wilderness. The flight to Makokibatan Lake did not take long and soon the lake appeared – it was enormous! Our pilot started the descent toward the eastern edge of the lake, just above the outlet into the river. With the plane nose-up, he deftly placed the Beaver on the surface of Makokibatan, skimming along the rippled surface until the plane came to rest.

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Chronicles of Paul Kiefner – 1992 Albany River Canoe Trip – Realm of the Ojibway

This picture illustrates the enormity of Makokibatan Lake as the Beaver starts its descent.

The canoe was un-lashed and put in the water alongside a pontoon. Equipment was removed from the Beaver and carefully loaded into the canoe. We bid farewell to the pilot and began paddling east toward the outlet of the lake into the main river. We planned to meet the pilot five days later at a fishing camp on Teabeau Lake, just above Kagiami Falls.

As the lake tapered down the river split into two channels around a large island. We entered the north river channel. I would not say the river was flooded, but it was full to the brim and was moving quickly; no paddling to speak of - just steer the canoe. The current slowed as we entered Washi Lake where we had to paddle more to offset the effects of wind.

When a river’s water is high it is harder to locate fish because they are more dispersed. As the water level drops locating fish is easier as there is less surface area. Blind casting, we located fish in the current seams and eddies, catching Walleye and Pike on fly and spin rods. Using a three-inch red and white Daredevil spoon, I cast to a large

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Chronicles of Paul Kiefner – 1992 Albany River Canoe Trip – Realm of the Ojibway

swirl in a deep eddy and caught a trophy size Brook Trout. It was a beautiful fish - resplendent in coloration. Unfortunately, I do not have the photographs Mark took of the fish.

Mark is landing a Walleye on a fly rod. The Albany is a wonderful fishery. This illustrates a small side channel in the river. The river was one-quarter mile wide in places. Notice high water surrounding the plant behind Mark.

There were no rapids to speak of the first day. Finding a camp site was our challenge. There were too many trees too closely spaced for a nice camp site. The uneven ground was covered with rock and Caribou Moss, but we managed to work around this and set up camp - not exactly ideal but functional. After a long day on the river sleep comes easily if you are fed, dry and warm.

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Chronicles of Paul Kiefner – 1992 Albany River Canoe Trip – Realm of the Ojibway

Bush campsite replete with creature comforts.

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Chronicles of Paul Kiefner – 1992 Albany River Canoe Trip – Realm of the Ojibway

Mark at the stern as we turn downriver. The Albany has a mean discharge at James Bay of 50,000 cubic feet per second, nearly twice that of the Colorado River’s Grand Canyon.

We had paddled and fished throughout the day and were covering distance quickly in the fast current. Teabeau Lake was less than three miles away.

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Chronicles of Paul Kiefner – 1992 Albany River Canoe Trip – Realm of the Ojibway

Early morning fishing waiting for the fog to lift before getting underway for the day.

Later in the day we heard the low rumbling of a rapid. High water covered most of the rocks in the river; the rapids were washed out. The rumbling sound became louder; we paddled the canoe closer to the left bank where the current was slower. From here we could see the rapid. There were no exposed rocks in the rapid and from our vantage point there was a very wide single standing wave perhaps two feet high. The only way through the rapid was through the wave. We began paddling and as we approached the rapid the wave appeared more as a hydraulic. It was not that big or deep but is was very uniform. The bow of the canoe slid into the hydraulic and as it did water filled the canoe and it remained upright for several seconds before gently rolling over. This event seemed to happen in slow motion. Here we were, floating down the Albany River. Perhaps subconsciously I wanted this to happen so I would have something good to write about: “Paul Kiefner’s Guide to Swimming Wilderness Rapids”.

Mark and I held onto the canoe and we began talking through an action plan. Moving downstream we saw a large rock in the river and we worked to align the canoe so we could get it into the narrow eddy behind the rock. Minutes later we succeeded. Resting in the eddy, the magnitude of the situation exploded in my mind like a paintball hitting concrete. Page 11

Chronicles of Paul Kiefner – 1992 Albany River Canoe Trip – Realm of the Ojibway

Immediately we decided that Mark would take the dry bags, float down river with them, and meet me on the left shore which is where the current would carry him. I would stay behind and work to get the canoe into the current and float down river to meet Mark.

Mark had the dry bags and began his descent, soon disappearing from view.

I was as alone as anyone could possibly be - in the Realm of the Ojibway.

The bow of the canoe was directly behind the rock in a narrow eddy and the canoe was parallel to the current direction. All I had to do was swim and push the canoe into the current and hold on once the current grabbed the canoe. I was near the stern of the canoe and as I tried to move the canoe it seemed that the bow was stuck. To my horror, I realized that a small rock anchor I made was holding the bow of the canoe in place behind the eddy! The anchor was crafted for fishing to hold the canoe in the moving eddies.

I had to get to the bow of the boat to cut that rope! As I started moving toward the top of the narrow eddy, the current kept pushing me back, even though I was holding onto the canoe gunwale. Next, with my knife in my right hand, I tried to get on the bottom of the canoe from the stern. Then, I would be out of the current and could work my way to the bow and cut the rope. This proved very tiring and I knew that to survive I had to conserve my waning energy. It was me or the canoe.

In the most decisive moment of my life I let go of the canoe and floated down river.

At first, I was floating and swimming face down getting too much water in my face, unable to see clearly. I rolled onto my back and backstroked to guide me toward shore while keeping my head above water. Rounding a bend in the river I saw Mark on the left bank and he saw me. The current was really moving, my energy was very low and I was getting cold. Mark was on shore with a rescue throw rope and I had to get closer to reach the rope. I commanded every ounce of energy into my backstroke as I ferried my body across the current. Mark kept throwing the rope but when it hit the water the current would sweep it away. As I kept drifting down river, Mark would run along the river bank trying to keep up with me. I could see the river disappearing from sight and was certain there were more rapids. I felt doomed to a watery death being that I was completely exhausted and could barely swim.

The end of the throw rope hit the water dead smack near my hand and finally I got hold of the rope!

Mark pulled me to shore where I stood shaking uncontrollably and started my conversation with the Supreme Being. Can’t recall what I said but it would put to shame any of the prayers I learned in Catholic Parochial School.

During my ordeal, Mark had come ashore on a small island not too far from the river bank where he rescued me. A channel of water separated the island from the river bank. Mark had put the gear on the island. We walked across this channel to get to the island. I stripped off my clothes and got into a sleeping bag to get warm. The sun was quickly setting. Then it started raining. Mark pitched the tent and we got into it with our gear. It rained and the wind blew so hard it was incomprehensible. That night I had a nightmare of being washed off the island. Pouring rain had us tent-bound through the following night into the last morning of our trip. It was terrifying in the keenest sense of the word. We had enough food and water to survive for a few days. Page 12

Chronicles of Paul Kiefner – 1992 Albany River Canoe Trip – Realm of the Ojibway

Capsize Location

Teabeau Lake Fish Camp

Rescue Island

Dawn broke on day five, our last day, and the sun finally appeared. As the fog lifted, so did our spirits. We were upriver from our rendezvous point at the fishing camp, and no chance of getting there on time. The terrain was just too difficult to walk. We stayed put. Later on, our plane came up river looking for us. We got on a large rock where the pilot could see us and we signaled to him. We were certain he saw us. The plane turned away.

What a way to spend the last day of our trip – stranded in the wilderness. Sure, it was a gorgeous day but we had no idea how we would get off the river. Later in the day it looked like we’d be spending another night and that feeling of dejection started creeping in. Hope was in short supply at this time. Sitting on a rock talking, we thought we heard a sound and listened intently.

Distant engine noise could barely be heard and as it became increasingly louder we became increasingly hopeful. Within minutes a V-hulled aluminum skiff with a twenty horsepower outboard motor came downriver around a bend headed toward us, slowed, and deliberately ran up on a flat rock. The operator stopped the engine, and then stood up. He was a very rugged and dark-skinned Ojibway wearing an Atlantic Falcons brimmed cap and camouflage clothing. He removed a cigarette from between his lips and while lowering his hand, exhaled the smoke and stared at us. Calmly he said, “Looks like you guys need some help” - the understatement for 1992.

A nonsmoker, I politely asked him for a cigarette. I smoked it like my last day on earth as I jabbered nonstop. Shaking with excitement, I thought to myself, “We’re out of here!”

He spoke again. “You guys look pretty good compared to some of the people I’ve rescued. Some were wearing only T shirts and were close to death!” That remark made us feel so much more accomplished.

There were actually two Ojibway, a father and son. They had been moose hunting when they received a call from Nakina Air to pick us up. They came to transport us up river to Washi Lake where the floatplane would be waiting. Page 13

Chronicles of Paul Kiefner – 1992 Albany River Canoe Trip – Realm of the Ojibway

The elder instructed us to break camp and load our equipment into the boat. We proceeded enthusiastically. Two things I noticed loading the boat: blood and several rifles not secured to anything. Great, I thought. All I need now is for a gun to go off and blow me to kingdom come. Mark, please explain this to dad.

To round out our trip we experienced the thrill of going upstream through rapids in a motorized boat. The elder was a river master and under full power ran through a whitewater slalom course to Washi Lake. We were most impressed and even more grateful.

The Beaver met us as planned, icing the cake on an unforgettable adventure.

Thus we concluded our existential crisis.

In the Realm of the Ojibway.

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Chronicles of Paul Kiefner – 1992 Albany River Canoe Trip – Realm of the Ojibway

Epilogue

We never got the canoe back. We were just happy to be alive. Mark’s cameras were lost forever. This is why there are no photographs of me or the giant Brook Trout. My camera was in a watertight Pelican case tied to a thwart.

Several months after the trip I received a phone call from a stranger in Ohio. He had been moose hunting along the Albany River. He was using his binoculars to glass for Moose when he saw a canoe. He investigated and found my Pelican case which had my phone number indelibly printed on the outer case. He sent me the camera which contained the pictures in this story.

After going back to work I shared my adventure with anyone who would listen. Oh no, another Kiefner story! Years later someone said to me, “Hey, remember when you were lost on that river in Canada?” I replied, “We were not lost. We knew exactly where we were, but we could not get out.”

Mark goes to New Brunswick once or twice a year to fish for Atlantic Salmon on the Miramichi River.

I fish Outer Cape Cod from a very stable center console boat. Mark joins me on occasion.

We’ve been considering a fishing trip to Quebec or Labrador.

I am not one to make New Year’s Resolutions; I make resolutions on an as needed basis. After this trip, I resolved to never again get into a canoe with my brother!

With gratitude to Mark for saving my life on the Albany River

Groton, Massachusetts, the first day of January, 2014

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