We eddy in behind a boulder, twist around, shoot down a narrow channel and sideslip to the right, just missing the bottom ledge by half a paddle length. We shout urgent, terse commands as Scott pries with his paddle at the bow and I brace mine in to shift the canoe sideways. The teamwork pays off as weʼre spit out the far end right side up. The two canoeists in the other party arenʼt as successful. They bounce down the centre of the run like a steel ball launched in a pinball machine. By the time they reach calmer water beyond the rapid, theyʼre in the drink and gripping the gunwales of their overturned canoe. Their weekend has officially begun. About five minutes downstream, our foursome disembarks once again to survey Little Thompson Rapids and carry our packs over the steep, 165-metre portage to the left. Since we walk alongside the larger rapids to scope out our route anyway, we take the packs with us and leave the canoes behind. It makes it easier if we do capsize because our equipment doesnʼt need to be rescued. And an empty canoe has more buoyancy, which can help when the river is squeezed into a raging torrent. The low water level works against us at Little Thompson, too, so we attach lining ropes to the bow and stern and walk the canoe down the left bank like a dog on a leash. Below the Thompson Rapid series, the current slows down for 26
about six kilometres, interrupted only by a small swift and the level one Grillade Rapids. Both areas are easily run, but they do have portages of 130 metres and 425 metres marked to the right. Soon, the Crooked Chute appears to tear down the confidence weʼve slowly been building. Itʼs a dangerous piece of work regardless of the water level. Thereʼs a boneyard of battered canoes scattered at its base that attests to its cranky character. Paddlers without a great deal of whitewater acumen should watch for the take-out marking the 1,580-metre portage on the right bank. Skilled canoeists have the option to paddle through the upper stretch and use a second take-out 400 metres downstream, or even a third take-out at a campsite just prior to the chute itself. Donʼt shoot the chute. Once youʼre on the trail, the remaining 600 metres splits soon after the campsite. The main trail is to the right, and leads away from the river up a steep knoll. Our foursome is planning to stay near the base of Crooked Chute at the old rangerʼs cabin, built in the early 1920s and probably the oldest cabin left standing in the park. Somehow, the metallic helmet fanatics beat us to it. All the other campsites at Crooked Chute are occupied as well, so we head downstream and run a short swift with a 120-metre portage marked to the right. Tired and sore, we pitch our tents at an inferior campsite near the take-out for Rollway Rapids. This is one of the most technical rapids on the river, and the low water levels make the run a shallow, sloppy mess
O T TAWA O U T D O O R S S P R I N G 2 0 0 4
littered with unseen rocks. We decide to carry the canoes through the 840-metre portage before dinner. There is still enough evening light to search for the side-trail that leads to the Blair Fraser memorial. The bronze cross set into cement commemorates the journalist and member of “the Voyageurs” who drowned here during a springtime trip in 1968 when he missed the landing and capsized. The Ottawa press corps coined the groupʼs name after wellknown paddler, Eric Morse, founded it in 1951. Fraserʼs comrades on his ill-fated journey, which included former Prime Minister Pierre Elliot Trudeau, erected the cross in his memory.
BILL MASON’S FAVOURITE SPOTS
With Rollway at our backs next morning, we come to a double set of rapids called the Natch. Both sections have portages of 275 metres and 250 metres marked on the left bank; the first one is more rugged. The campsite close to the take-out of the first portage was a favorite filming location of the late Bill Mason. The artist, canoeist, and filmmaker banked lots of footage at the Natch for his contributions to the National Film Board. And it was here, under the overhanging cedars opposite the impressive cliff, that Masonʼs cover photograph for Song of the Paddle was taken by his son, Paul. Masonʼs first book of the series, Path of the Paddle, provides a horrific account of an accidental drowning on the Petawawa:
