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On my return to Chisasibi, I set out to find someone who would take me for a day trip on James Bay with one of those boats by the shore. I spoke to Sherman, who kindly invited me to join him on his hunting trip with his son and grandsons the next morning.

Morning apparently comes at 2pm in Chisasibi, because that’s when Sherman’s son finally came to pick me up, long after I had given up hope for our hunting trip. We launched his boat and headed for his father’s cabin, in a bay a few kilometres away. There, tucked in the middle of the wilderness, lay a barebones cabin, a tepee (of course), stands for drying fish and the ATV Sherman had used to get there. Several rifles and shotguns were scattered about his cabin. Sherman grabbed a humongous backpack, a large kettle and instructed his grandson, approximately 12 years old, to grab certain guns, and we headed back to the boat.

No trees to tie onto in these islands

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Read more of Part IV-B: Adventure with the Cree of Chisasibi

I must admit, I didn’t know what to expect when I stepped out of the canoe in Chisasibi. I was pleasantly surprised to find a nice and clean town that looked relatively affluent. With over 2000 Cree, Chisasibi is much larger than Radisson, and Hydro Québec workers from Radisson drive the 120km dirt road here to buy supplies at the town hardware store. This village was like nothing like the native reservation I’ve seen near Montreal, here, there were only nice houses (not prefabricated, like in Radisson) and clean streets.

But it soon became clear that this is no ordinary village. Life here, as I discovered is completely different from even the urbanized towns closer to Montreal.

My first surprise was to learn that 98% of the people here speak Cree as a first language. Some only speak a little bit of English (the main second language). Everything here is spelled out in Cree, from street signs to store names, and this is clearly not for the rare tourists who occasionally make it this far North.

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Mercifully, my tent, food and change of clothes stayed dry in my sturdy seal-line pro. And my feet, though submerged, stayed dry in my trusty old gore-tex boots… For about 5 minutes.

Stepping out of the canoe to empty it, at the very start of our canoe trip, in 10 degree weather, is the precise time that the seal around the sole of my old boots decided to finally crack. On both boots. Instantly wet. The gore-tex, of course, stayed intact and impermeable, but ice-cold water now rushed in all around the former seal, marking the end of dry feet for the rest of the trip. I resolved never to leave again without shoe sealant.

Taiga: Even on the river shore, where the forest is thicker, the trees are not large and sparse enough that you can carry a canoe right through them. The underbrush is completely absent, save for lichen and moss, making improvised portaging a breeze.

We met a cold rain and a brutal headwind (the river runs West) at around two and both stayed with us for the rest of the trip. The temperature dropped and never rose above 12 again. Overall, the conditions were pretty miserable but I hadn’t set out for Virginia Beach (which would be closer), I had set out for the North and this is what I had come to see. In this weather and with the cold, that becomes wet nothing ever dries, so extra care was taken to keep everything protected from rain and river. I tucked my raincoat into my wetsuit gloves, which I favoured over poggies since water can penetrate poggies and run down your arms. By never delaying to put on my rain jacket, my upper body stayed dry and comfortable throughout the trip. But having never really believed in rain pants, I had taken only quick-drying polyester pants for my legs. I now believe in rain pants. My “quick-drying” pants can dry really fast, but like my boots they never had the chance to do so in the constant rain, and I my legs were mercilessly battered by the icy rain every day for the rest of the trip.

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La Grande river lives up to its name. It is a gigantic, fast flowing river, half a km across river that feels no smaller than the St-Laurent. But for all that, it is not too technically demanding. Before setting off, I made sure to call Hydro Quebec to find out how I can legally get to the river. Upriver from LG2 is nothing but an endless artificial freshwater sea called the Robert Bourasssa reservoir (see picture of Dam, above). I figured I would canoe the river part from LG2 to the James Bay, somehow portaging around LG1 along the way. I learned from Hydro’s helpdesk that I could access a boat launch behind the security portal if a native Cree dropped us off, since the Cree have access rights. So I hired a man from Chisasibi to drive us in and to drive the car back to Chisasibi. As a bonus, this would eliminate the need to call in a bush plane to fly back to the car at the end of the trip since a new dirt road connects Chisasibi, on the bay, to Radisson on the James Bay road.

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Part 1: The Road

I took the 15 North out of Montreal, past the ski hills to where it becomes the 117 and continued northward towards Parc La Vérendrye. The last town before the 200km of untouched nature in the parc is Grand-Remous, a living ghost town since the recentclosure of the local saw mill. So far, I was still on familiar grounds, having been as high North as Senneterre for canoeing trips in the past but that changed after the parc.

I got to Val d’Or near sunset, and noticed that I had been driving straight West, not North, for the past little while, so I bought a map to see what’s going on. You’d figure I would have bought one before leaving, but hey, I already knew how to find the 15.

As it turns out, the 117 heads West from Val d’Or towards Ontario. If I wanted to go North, I had to take another, smaller country road (by now, the 117 was no more than a two-way street itself) called the 111N. That led me to Amos, where I once again had to pick another road to avoid going west. It was 200km of night driving before I reached Matagami, which used to be the end of the world before the James Bay road was built. The cold dark road seemed eerily deserted and I was glad I had a jerrican, just in case. In the sunlight of the return trip, I would find out that this segment of the road actually presents the last northern agricultural communities, tiny and sparsely distributed but beautiful, where the northernmost farms reach the limits of arable land.

Rush Hour on the James Bay Road: Note the fire damage to the forest

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It is with pleasure that I present you a blog mini-series by Jean-Yves Domenjoz. A four part series detailing his adventures travelling through Northern Québec, we'll publish one part per week.

Enjoy!

Juan Altitude

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