Paddler's Guide to Happy Camping

Kopka River - Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow (Part 5)

• Posted on June 10, 2008 at 2:25 PM
• Previous
• Next

Last falls on Kopka's Seven Sisters

 zoom  zoom out

Part 5

Not far downriver of the last falls and remaining rapids was another section of whitewater, where the Kopka enters the far eastern end of Wigwasan Lake. A 150 meter portage was marked on the left bank but we actually ran this one, rating it a technical CII. None of us were all too eager to be at this spot, exiting the rock chasm below the Seven Sisters. We were leaving some breathtaking scenery. But it wasn’t just that. This portion of the route meant that Anne and Bill would be leaving us soon. They only had enough time off work to paddle to Highway 527 leading into Armstrong; and for Andy and I, it meant our river portion of the trip was soon to be over. We had planned to continue on to Lake Nipigon – something we were quite excited about – but there’s something to be said about keeping with a river rather then paddling across big water. The mood is more intimate and you feel more connected to the landscape around you. We had spent a good chunk of time on the Kopka at this point, ingesting so much of it, that it felt unnatural to leave it. The Kopka wasn’t a mean river. Sure, it had some nasty portages. But it wasn’t one of those fast and furious waterways with a killer current always trying to grab hold of you. It was an honest river, always letting you know what was coming up next. In retrospect, I think we were all somewhat grateful when we found ourselves wind bound, right where a 440 meter portage links Wigwasan Lake with Bukemiga Lake. It meant we could spend more leisurely time gawking at the scenery all around us, and it gave us a good excuse to snack on all the munchies Bill and Anne had left over in their food pack. Our unscheduled layover was made even better when our shuttle driver, Clement Quenville (working for Jim Pearson’s Wilderness Connections), decided to boat over and give us an unannounced visit and treat us to the small bottle of rum we had left behind in his cabin prior to our trip departure. The only downfall was the campsite on the portage wasn’t the best, forcing us to move to a better location further down the lake after the winds had died just after 10:00 pm. Paddling that late wasn’t an issue, however. This far north in June it really doesn’t start getting dark until after 11:00 pm. By mid-morning Andy and I were on our own. Clement had dropped off Bill and Anne’s truck at the Bukemiga Lake access point (reached by a rough but drivable dirt road leading in from Highway 527) and we continued downstream – equipped with Anne’s surplus chocolate bars and Bill’s remaining supply of Baileys.
Andy and I were traveling blind on this next section, where the Kopka River exits Bukemiga and enters Obongo Lake. Our map just indicated rapids, with no portages. But by taking it slow, and even getting out to wade, line and drag the canoe through the bush in some sections, it was all quite doable. On the opposite end of Obongo Lake it was a different story. There would be no question of running anything. We took the long (unmaintianed) 1250 meter “Hell’s Portage” which avoids a steep drop into Kopka Lake. We knew just as little about this stretch as the one upriver. What we did know, however, was that a woman paddler drowned here two year before. So we kept to the trail. The victim was Jane Ferguson, an Outward Bound Instructor who was paddling the Kopka with her husband, Gary, a nature writer from the United States. http://www.wildwords.net/. The river exits Obonga’s southeast bay inaudibly, and without warning turns an abrupt corner where the whitewater instantly pours over a massive cascade – and there’s no turning back. It’s not exactly known whether the couple agreed to try running this wild section of whitewater or missed the portage. Missing the take-out is fairly likely though since it’s only recognized by a modest sand beach and is a good distance to the right of where Kopka drains out of Obonga Lake. One outfitter in Armstrong, however, told us that Jane just slipped on a rock while they were viewing the falls from shore and fell into the boiling froth. What is known is that it was May, making the water extremely cold and the river levels higher then it was for us – yikes! Gary, who couldn’t locate his wife after the accident, and who himself smashed his leg and used a paddle as a crutch to make it out and go for help, wrote only briefly about the event in an article titled Outbound. His only note was after a descriptive paragraph explaining how his wife truly enjoyed the wild country. “This was Jane’s country. A wind-sharon mix of rock and wind and sky that changed her utterly, turning her at 18 from a Midwest farmer’s daughter into an outdoor educator. An Outward Bound instructor. A national park ranger. “You know if something ever happens to me,” she said shortly before she died, relighting a conversation we’d had years before, “I want my ashes scattered in my favorite places.” Five years later she was gone, lost in a canoeing accident on the Kopka River, in the dark woods of northern Ontario.” “Hell’s Portage” heads straight up and over a large hill and ends where the Kopka tumbles into Kopka Lake. Andy and I found the portage very rough, with a number of trees blocking the path. In fact, it wasn’t pleasant at all. But at least we didn’t have the haunting task of retrieving Jane and Gary’s canoe and gear at the base of the falls, which is what exactly happened to writer and canoeist, Erin Altemus when she and her friends paddled the river three weeks after Jane’s drowning.

"Matt and Josh each hoisted a canoe onto their shoulders, disappearing up the hill. John and I shouldered two large portage packs, clutching paddles and fishing poles in our hands. I struggled over tree after fallen tree, first sitting on the log, swinging one leg over at a time, while untangling my fishing poles from the branches. Sometimes the trees were piled so thick, I had to shove the pack through a space between the limbs and then crawl through after it, tearing my pants and scratching my arms. Finally, I reached the bottom. At the water’s edge, Jane’s abandoned canoe floated eerily, as if she could be back for it any time. The canoe was an Old Town Tripper, good for running whitewater, with its tough plastic hull and shape that allows quick turns. Though half full of rainwater, the canoe appeared unscathed. I knew I was intruding, but I couldn’t help looking in the canoe and picking up their Nalgene bottles, still full of water. I thought of Jane taking a sip before nearing the falls. I opened the dry bag marked with her name and found extra clothes, packed in case the weather changed. There was a pair of binoculars and two netted bug-shirts, just like the one I wore. Part of me thought I would like these things, but I quickly re-packed the bag, pushing it from my mind. As a favor to the outfitter who needed to retrieve the canoe, we decided to pull it to the nearest road, towing it around the next set of rapids and across Kopka Lake. Before leaving, we paddled around the pool at the bottom of the falls to see if anything else had washed ashore. I believe we were the first people there since Search and Rescue pulled out Jane’s body. We paddled without speaking, all four of us caught by the still air, imagining what had happened."

…to be continued.