Lost in the Barrens for a Day

David Lazar

Content
3

Prologue

Day One - City to the Bush

Day Two - Relaxing on the Rocks

Day Three - Hiking to the Small Lake

10 High Ridges and Huge Swamps
12 The Swim to Wild Rice Junkyard

14

Day Four - Compass Lines

Chapter 1

Prologue
After a long winter by almost any standards the possibility of a nice short spring trip to the boreal forest
northeast of Winnipeg was a near constant thought. Would it happen? Will the black flies be fierce? All rain,
all sun or a mix? A trip that was planned originally as a short float-plane flight from Silver Falls to
Lundmark Lake in Nopiming Park was changed at the last minute. When several regular and founding
members of the group dedicated to the Lundmark cause dropped out last minute the trip costs ballooned on
the remaining group of four, forcing a change in plans. A quick substitute itinerary was place on the table
consisting of a canoe trip into Woollard Lake for some simple camping and fishing, via the well established
Seagrim Lake canoe route. Wednesday June 4th was dedicated as the travel day to Woollard, with a return
to Winnipeg set to depart early Saturday June 7th to be in time for drinks at a benefit party. The gang was
not allowed to bring Gunnar the dog, and consisted of Chris, Gord, Mark and Dave.

Chapter 2

Day One - City to the Bush

Arrived at the Fort Garry Lepa house Tuesday night. Plan was to pack up the two cars with all the gear and
sundries and leave early with a 6:30am wake up call with the arrival of Gord and his car for Donna. Packing
and drinking did not end until about 4:00am so there was not much sleeping before the big day ahead's
adventure. We managed to get it all together before the kids headed off for school, in time to pick up Mark
and merge into the Winnipeg rush hour scene. It was pretty benign to say the least, compared to a Montreal
rush hour.
We were on Hwy 59 with a nice sunny day of travel ahead. A pitstop at the Silver Falls Gas and
Convenience store was the first decision I really had make other than Lager or Ale. To buy a fishing licence
or not? I decided that since it was cheap ($28 non-resident) and since this was a fishing trip, I would
indulge. With that legal bit of paper in hand, two topped up gas tanks for the Hondas and some minor
extras like batteries, we headed to the float plane base just a few kilometres up the road. Steve was there to
greet us and we happily unloaded our supplies to be flown up to Woollard in the Cessna, a much more
affordable option than the Otter. Our expedition dropped from $1800 to $400 to split four ways doing it this
way. With some hindsight we remember the pilot suggesting that we were heading off to a weight loss
clinic, by which he meant how much blood we were each to lose to mosquitos up there.
With the equipment drop-off complete we headed our caravan up north, looking for the turn-off to the
Trans Licence road through the Nopiming bush. This road bisects the park in a way hooking up with Hwy
#314 just around Cat Lake. The road is clearly marked not maintained and travel at your own risk and that
has been the case for many years now. It is deteriorating in places to the point where there are obvious risks
of impeded travel. Luck was with us as we managed to navigate the 4x4 vehicles with no major issues. A
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few breaks along the way were needed; beer and smoke breaks along with trying to keep the canoes
onboard. They got tossed around in places. As for nature we saw a small muskrat like creature poking his
head out of the ditch weeds, and a huge black bear rumbling down and across the road in front of us. I for
one would NOT like to see one of those beasts up close and in or around my campsite.
With the Trans License haul completed we were then able to travel faster on the much nicer 314 gravel road
headed north up to near the Black Lake campground. The Seagrim Lake canoe route has a parking area at
the trail head and it was empty. No one was up the river. Having done this trip many times before it was a
pleasure to start this trip off with a sense of calm excitement. A little canoeing, a little portaging and it
would all be rewarded with some good times camping and fishing.
We blew through the first few portages and headed for the shortcut between a small unnamed lake and
Elton Lake's far western reaches. This custom portage saves many hours of paddling on that lake. I was
surprised to see so many official campsites on Elton. Someone went a little crazy with the canoe camping
signs and dropped a pit and picnic table off every couple of hundred metres it seemed. A portage out of
Elton Lake leads to a small lake that sources a decent sized creek running into Woollard Lake. The creek
was not running high water anymore but it was navigable without much more trouble than watching out
for boulders hidden just under the surface and some pushing off through thick weeds. The final push into
Woollard was a nice reward as the creek drains into the lake with a pleasant small waterfall over a ledge
instead of a drawn out rock garden. The acoustics of this waterfall at night are amazing. The wind can push
the sound of the waterfall around the lake such that it sounds like an approaching truck or train speeding
on a nearby highway.
Woollard Lake tilts slightly to the northwest and our camp was on the northeastern shore on a sizable and
nice rock. We arrived in advance of the arrival of the Cessna and all our supplies. Any worries that 4:30pm
would be too difficult to achieve as an arrival time were gone and for once we were waiting for the bush
5

taxi. The pilot that has served our deliveries to Lundmark Lake was pretty much right on time and we got to
watch the whole show as he scouted the lake for himself as he had never previously landed on it. Two good
looks and on his third round he settled in nicely to coast up to our campsite. He glided in and near the
shoreline was promptly hung up on a boulder he could not have seen. The north shore is shallow and there
are boulders and we did not have any chance to alert him. He emerged from his plane to survey the scene
and seemed a bit puzzled about his next move. We all jumped into action and shuttled our empty canoes
out to the plane's pontoon and soon emptied the plane of all our goods in a ballet of canoe shuffling. With
the plane emptied we were able to pivot it to the southwest and give him a push off the rocks. He started his
motor and within minutes was taking off after another successful bush party supply and delivery mission.
We had a lot more cold beer now and had a very nice camp for the next few days in the bush. The site has a
huge firepit complete with bench seating. A large flat sleeping zone is perfect for the tent and there is no
shortage of firewood nearby. Pretty much a perfect setup.

Chapter 3

Day Two - Relaxing on the Rocks

We decided to do a canoe tour around the lake. With some luck we caught fish right away and the winning
combo was a jig with live leaches. Leaches seem delicious to fish, but handling them is disgusting. You slice
them in little pieces with your knife, and wend them onto a hook while the slimey and sticky leach meat
seems to want to latch onto you and suck you dry. Not only that but with barbless fishooks the leach comes
off with any slimey little Jack you might pot between better fish.
I had what I can only assume was a pretty decent sized Wally on my line, as it stayed deep right up until the
end. It got off the small jig hook with a quick twist just before I could see it. A real tragedy on this leg of the
journey. Would've been tough to land anyway with no net. Should've maybe played it longer and tired it
out, but you never know with fishing, patience is sometimes not such a virtue and you just rip it up to the
surface.
Paddling back to camp after touring the lake we ran into some pickerel pretty right off of the camping rock.
Woollard Lake is clearly healthy and a fish producer, even though it is shallow. An interesting note to this
short canoe journey was that Gord and Mark explored a bit of the western outflow of the lake. A marsh and
creek that flows to eventually meet the northwestern flowing Black River. Chris asked them how it looked
for navigation and the answer was a resounding meh.
The night was one of cold drinks, tunes around the fire, more great food and lots of star action in the dark
and clear skies. Turning in after this great day in the bush and it was much much easier to sleep.

Chapter 4

Day Three - Hiking to the Small Lake

On the map there are two lakes to the northeast of Woollard Lake. A rough guess is 500 meters of travel as
the crow flies and we have the opportunity to explore different territory. We tossed around another option
of just fishing, canoeing around, drinking and exploring the nearby cool rock formations, versus doing this
short hike and having a drink with some new scenery. We chose the hike and packed up some cold beer, the
saws, a first aid, a camera and a bottle of water. We were off but before exiting stage right Mark asked if we
should bring the map and Chris replied, "If you want to carry it."
Mark commented that he briefly checked the trail that Chris said had been made a decade ago, and that
there were cairns so that gave me some confidence this was a simple walk in the park. Nothing more than
an off-site beer break. Go with the flow, do some fishing later. We can fit both activities into a nice long last
day in the bush right?
Some brilliant hot sun and a cold beer on a rock. We had a really nice selection of beer too. Always a few
interesting cans coming out. Pints of dark ales, pints of IPA, pints of pilsner, even some nice Tequila drinks
that had a ginger beer flavour. After the beers and chillout we discussed the option of hiking to the nearby
big lake on a decade old portage trail Chris once made versus returning back to camp to try our hand at
pickerel fishing and relaxing at camp. Since it was 3:30pm we decided to return to camp and continue the
day from there.

As we leave the small lake I hear Chris say something like "There's another way back following this ridge
and it's a bit shorter". As we traversed some nearby ground we stumbled across a cut tree that clearly
inspired confidence that indeed this alternative route back to our camp, a mere 500m away, is correct.

Once in hiking mode we are bush crashing and chewing up the metres. It is strange but true that for some
time no one questioned why it was taking so long to return to camp. By the clock it was not until a full hour
and a half had elapsed before we encountered our first obstacle. We stumbled to a creek and happened
upon a nice waterfall over a small ledge. It was flowing and the question that arose was "What creek is
this?" A question was posed to Mark and Gord if the exit creek from Woollard could support a flow such as
we were seeing. Based on the flow the only matching local feature near us meant this had to be the Black
River. That meant we had missed our lake and were now situated slightly to the south and west of
Woollard, perhaps even past the small exit creek and swamp from Woollard that drains into Black River.
Had we all agreed that we were looking at the Black River, or even the exit creek out of Woollard, our
reaction should have been to retreat to the east. Retrace our steps if possible. Set a compass line east or even
northeast. We did no such thing and all four of us just set off on a line to the west, following the sun. In my
mind, the question was posed as to whether this creek in front of us could possibly empty into Woollard
from the east. I thought we just headed south by accident and so heading west was not such a bad choice in
my mind. Strange considering what that would've meant in terms of geography, but it was all I had in my
head without a map.

High Ridges and Huge Swamps

The four of us started off following the sun and we continued to bush crash for a couple of hours more. Out
of beer, with no map, we really stuck to our guns and continued to chase the sun. The creek on our left
continued to dog us and as we ascended high ridges and trudged through huge soggy bogs we kept
encountering this feature no matter how much we strayed from it. A funny anecdote was Mark asking Chris
if he wanted the compass. Chris's response was succint "pffft! Compass. The only compass we need is right
there (pointing at the sun)".
10

We need to find our camp soon as the sun is getting lower and lower in the sky. Each ridge and bog slog is
draining energy and we are all probably getting frustrated that camp still eludes us. At one point we are
high on a ridge and can see the creek bend to what appears to be a small rapid on the left. I can read the
terrain and feel somewhat elated that whatever awaits around the corner, we are close to stopping this bush
crash.
Some minutes later, we stumble across a small campsite overlooking the creek entering a lake. The campsite
indicates some civilization. Closer inspection reveals a new large dock and some overturned boats and other
signs of man just across the lake. There is speculation of a float plane being there, a lodge and even the sight
of a fishing boat off down the lake. As the sun drops into a beautiful sunset the lake turns a brilliant orange
and we are faced with another test before the end of the day. Clearly we are not at our camp, so where are
we? The fact there is a dock across the lake gives some hope that there is a lodge/cabin or something where
we can ask someone to tell us where we are. Perhaps even put us up for the night out of the bugs and
maybe provide a beer or two? We are at Black River Lake. More than few kilometers from our camp at
Woollard Lake, but we don't really know that for sure.

11

The Swim to Wild Rice Junkyard

At peak mosquito hour we decide to venture to the dock to see what is there. It means crossing the lake
where the creek empties into it. What's a quick swim across the lake? Anything for some relief to this issue
of being lost, a quick quest for some answers. I stripped down for the swim and was immediately attacked
by mosquitos. Nothing like turning black in a second. I wiped my hand across my arm and smeared a thick
layer of dead bug goo across it. Yikes! I held my clothes above my head and managed to trot quickly across
12

the lake, where I dressed again in record time. Amazingly on the opposite bank of the lake there were no
bugs. It was funny at the time when we learned that Gord did the traverse with his lighter and smokes in
his hand in addition to his clothes. Imagine what could've happened if our only lighter became wet?
Once across the lake a quick hike brought us to the boats and newly installed dock, where we found a single
paddle, some garbage and a well established portage trail. With the sun setting Chris and I trudged the
portage trail. After about 200m of good trail we were rewarded with a view of another lake. There was a
structure! A locked junky cabin and a shed. All of it locked down. A pile of junk nearby. A junky old wild
rice rig. Nothing to tell us where we were, and no obvious decent shelter. No key to open the locks hidden
under the mat. Bummer. This wild rice lake was named Cigar Lake.
We retreated back up the portage trail to the Black River Lake and decided to float across in one of scows
sitting there. With the one paddle we made it back to the other bank where we had previously stashed the
few things we had with us like the saws and camera. Faced with dwindling sun, we gathered as much
firewood as we could and settled in for a long night. Darkness was not total though as we had a nice moon.
It was due to hit about 6 degrees C that night according to CJOB earlier in the day and Chris had nothing
but a t-shirt. Time to build a blazing fire!
The bugs retreated and we re-hydrated with lake water. The local wildlife was a beaver slapping its tail
many times near us as it moved around clearly pissed off with us. Its lodge was right behind our campsite
on the river. There were also two large swans noodling around Black River Lake, slowly approaching our
end of the lake at a leisurely pace. As night fell and the temperature dropped, getting some sleep and
staying warm were the obvious priorities. Chris lucked out as the first-aid kit had an emergency space
blanket. He was able to wrap himself in that to keep warm and ward off the chilly night. Amazing how one
can fall asleep and snore away for 15 minutes or more on the cold ground near a warm fire. The boat was
dragged a little closer to the fire to reflect the heat better too.
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Chapter 5

Day Four - Compass Lines

With dawn breaking and both the moon and swans departed, Mark was eager to kick-start the departure.
Together we launched the scow and he paddled us across to the dock to scout the canoe once again as a
possible escape vehicle. The aluminium seat of the scow was damn cold that early in the morning chill.
Together we dragged the heavy scow up the boat launch logs and flipped it over, thinking the canoe was
our saviour. We portaged to Cigar Lake one last time and checked the canoe out again. It was indeed rotten
with busted seats and a large hole at the waterline. Defeated there we trudged back to the dock, flipped the
scow and dragged it back into the water and paddled our way back to the warmth of the still blazing fire.
Some brief chatter of paddling our way up the Black River with the scow was quickly squelched. We used a
nearby plastic bucket to douse the fire for Smokey the Bear, packed up our meagre collection of belongings
and began the fateful discussion of what to do next.
As luck would have it, we had a decent working compass, and a forestry grad who knew how to use it.
What's the declination set to? That is pretty important since it affects the direction of travel with an offset
from true north. We hoped it was set right and Mark had some confidence it was set for Lundmark, lying on
the same topographic map and therefore a good setting for us. We had bush crashed from 3:30pm - 8:00pm
or so so we knew roughly the amount of time a return journey to camp should take. We also knew we were
south and west of our destination. The crazy ad-hoc route we took to get to Black River Lake left us with no
idea how far along we actually were from our camp. Chris set a NNE direction on the compass and we
decided to follow that line back to our lake. The departure was hasty and energy levels were surprisingly
good that early in the morning. The line we chose was a continuously repeating experience of crossing bogs
replete with ice cold water, crocuses and other flowers, thick mosses and scrubby pines, climbing ridges,
picking through dead forests, young forests and lots of ridge walking. Each high elevation moment when
14

we reached the top of a ridge presented a panoramic view of boreal forest and bog as far as the eye could
see. Every single time it seemed. Water was becoming scarce as it was almost exclusively the bogs that had
any. Only once did we run into a small bit of flowing water and Mark promptly scooped some into our
empty one litre water bottle. It came out a nice amber colour with bits of floaty particles in it but it tasted
good and it was cold. The large animal trails cut through the bogs afforded the odd opportunity to slog with
a bit less effort. Once we descended a ridge onto a massive beaver dam to traverse a pond. It must've been 3
meters high and 30 meters long. Quite the structure. After about four hours of hiking it was time to convene
and think out loud what was happening. We were following the NNE line and there was no indication of
anything changing in the scenery to hint of any water bodies nearby like a river or lake, so we had to come
up with other ideas. Crashing out and catching some snooze time on the high ridge rocks in the hot sun was
nice while contemplating the next moves. Amazing how even with a million bugs around you can still catch
a 10 minute catnap and snore the day away.
Airplanes are flying up over there, so maybe the lake is over there? Are there any eagles in the sky? They fly
over lakes right? At some point you just have to talk of giving up and what that means but we could not go
there since there was no give up button around. We left that back at camp. Chris's suggestion was to switch
the compass line to SSE since it was obvious that not hitting our lake in 4 hours meant the NNE line was
done as a tactic. By how much we may have missed we had no idea, but we all agreed we needed to change
it up. So a change to a SSE line was made. No turning back. To turn back would've been mentally draining
and defeatist.
Heading in a new direction and we were all surely singing songs about being lost in our heads. My song
was New Direction by the Black Lips. I could not stop singing that in my head with each step. The SSE
direction was the correct decision and paid some dividends fairly quickly. The terrain nearby was changing.
The forest was slightly different. It was obvious something was offering itself up to us and soon enough we
were rewarded. Through the trees, the brilliant white of not another rock ridge over there yonder in the
15

distance, but it was the real reflection of sunlight off a lake! We rejoiced by stumbling to the water in a hurry
since at that point water was the primary important need of the moment. At the least with water we could
make a big fire and hang out somewhere not in the middle of a bog or on a rock, thirsty.
As soon as Chris arrived at the shores we all heard the best news of the day. He recognized the lake as one
he had camped on a decade ago, and to boot it was the big lake beside the small one where the whole
journey started, almost exactly 24 hours earlier. We must've drank a litre or more of water each out of that
lake. The sense of relief all around was obvious. Smiles for once!
A quick half hour of winding through the terrain from those lakes to Woollard and we emerged to our camp
in the same condition as when we left it. No animals raided our stores, the cooler still had cold beer in it,
even the Falafal balls from yesterday's lunch remained for snacking.

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17

Woollard Lake - Bush Crash 2014

David Lazar
Copyright (C) 2014 David Lazar.