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GREAT SLAVE LAKE ADVENTURE PART TWO
The death grip in which I held the paddle would not, try as I might, loosen. No matter how much I focussed on relaxing the grip, my fingers would not release the carbon fiber lightweight paddle and ease the strain on my arms. In particular, my right arm. Less than a week into the trip, I woke in the middle of the night, which in the north meant still very light out, with a pain I’d never felt before. My right arm was searing with pain. From my shoulder right down through my tricep, through my forearm and then down into my fingers, it was agony.
The first time it happened, I bolted upright, grasping my arm and wondering what in the world these shocks of sheer agony were that were running down my arm. After about ten minutes of moving my aching fingers, the pain seemed to subside. Back to sleep for twenty minutes, and the shock of pain returned. Over and over again. It went on all night long.
Twenty years in sport, on ice and on the bike, with countless crashes, a few injuries, and a lot of very hard training, had never brought me to my knees like this pain in my arm did. I rocked back and forth and cried with the pain. It was unbearable. I could not get out of the tent because of the bugs and was stuck sitting there, all night long, just waiting for the time to get up so that at least I could move around.
I was sure the trip was over. It seemed impossible to paddle with such an acute injury. Strangely enough, after rising and moving around, the intense pain seemed no more than a distant nightmare. We decided to take a day off and let my arm rest, for the sake of me, and the sake of the trip.
This rest day happened to be our anniversary. Number nine. Peter and I have spent many of these occasions on opposite sides of the globe due to my sports and his affinity for travel. Though it was a day of forced rest, we both thoroughly enjoyed spending a special day together in a beautiful place. I’d take camping on an island with no one or nothing around but water, birds, wind and fresh air over any resort or restaurant. Luckily, Peter and I feel the same.
We explored the island and caught our first fish. Actually, we both caught the same fish. It was the dreaded Northern Pike who first ripped a hook off my lure when I dragged the monster to shore, and then moments later nearly pulled Peter into the Great Slave Lake with its sheer strength. How do we know it was the same fish? It still had the same hook in it’s lip from my failed attempt.
The Northern Pike, or Jackfish, is one of the scariest fishes I’ve seen. I remember pulling it to shore and looking at this thing that resembled more a baby alligator than a fish. It was a monster. It looked me in the eye – it really did – before breaking that lure in half. Still, we grilled the fish on an abandoned grill we found near our camp. Though bony, it was delicious. A perfect anniversary meal.
That evening I was alarmed to wake with the same pain. With little sleep, I decided I was okay to paddle again the following day. The pain only happened at night, and I thought it was worth the risk to paddle. Though fear of the waves lingered in my thoughts, something inside of me wanted to get back on the water again.
It went this way night after night. Serious pain and little sleep blended with hours of paddling on the lake. We had many days of flat water with heat so intense it felt like we were anywhere but north. Each rest stop saw me stripping off sweaty clothes and dunking full body, head and all, into the frigid water. As cold as the water was, it was a relief to cool the core temperature and not feel like a dormant volcano.
Some days I felt the groove of paddling, but most days were spent in frustration feeling the grip of death on my paddle that would inevitably lead to another sleepless night. This sleep deprivation led to my completely unreasonable reaction whenever the water became rough. Rough for me was fun for anyone else with limited paddling experience. Poor Peter had to deal with my near hysterics.
I focused on getting to Lutsel K’e, the only village of any size in the entire East Arm. The more we paddled, the further this small Dene village seemed to get. With only 375 people, we weren’t sure what to expect. I longed for a few days of rest, a shower, a roof over my head, a bathroom…. anything but the tent that felt like a prison each night I passed, rocking back and forth in serious pain. Unrealistically, I thought a few days of normal existence would heal my wounded arm.
Peter had been emailing a couple in Lutsel K’e named Steve and Tracey. We connected with them through another friend, Todd, in Yellowknife, who we had met while bike touring up north back in 2002. We met Todd in Inuvik during our Dempster highway trip. Somehow Todd had heard we were kayaking the East Arm and had sent Peter and email that read something like ‘Word on the street is you two are heading this way. Let me know. It’s a big lake, and I know people out there.’ And that’s how we met two of the coolest people imaginable. Well, actually, three of the coolest people. They also had a four year old named Hawk.
To be continued…..
