Bonnet Plume – Heritage Jewel of the North

By Tony Shaw

Grand dad, what’s your favorite animal? asked my six-year old granddaughter. I was in Prince George, British Columbia – visiting my daughter while travelling home to Victoria. This followed an extraordinary adventure on the Yukon’s newly designated Heritage River, the Bonnet Plume.

My response was immediate: “I just love the caribou!” I said. Bryn’s question took my mind back to the awesome surroundings of the Bonnet Plume watershed a world away. It was midday on August 22, 1998. Six fervent canoeists had landed at Bonnet Plume Lake. From the very beginning this adventure would keep our senses roused to fever pitch and fill us with a heightened sense of being alive. The daily spectacle of wild creatures, the awesome mountainous vistas, the clear night skies, the dazzling aurora borealis, and the challenge of the canyons and water white made this river adventure a truly extraordinary experience.

Only a month before on July 22, 1998, the Yukon News had featured an announcement of great significance to the integrity of the watershed. After many years of dedicated work by local conservationists, First Nations and a consortium of environmental associations, the Canadian Heritage Rivers System finally granted the river the richly deserved “Heritage” designation. This action secured it a place among the exclusive ranks of twenty-nine other great Canadian rivers that have been nominated since January of 1984.

With only a day and a half allowed for the task, exploring the headwaters at Bonnet Plume lake was a daunting task. However, we got to it and shortly after our arrival in the warmth of the early afternoon began by exploring the lake. We soon discovered that the best fishing was at the outlet of the lake where schools of arctic grayling were gobbling up mosquitoes and competing voraciously for our artificial offerings. By supper time, we had taken a couple of plump fish and had already experienced a benign encounter with a lone bull moose.

After dinner, as the bright stars emerged out of the persistent glow of the late evening we mapped out plans for tomorrow. Weather permitting, we decided to hike up the north side of the lake. By the time we had finished our planning and completed the chores, it was quite late. The temperature was already dipping below zero celsius. Now for the first time on this trip we retired for the night, putting to the test our choice of camping gear....

In the morning, we woke up to ice in our water buckets and frost-covered tents but with an accompanying cloudless baby-blue sky. Even this late in August the sun had already been up for hours. It was great to have the benefit of the long light-filled days. After a hurried breakfast we hauled ourselves into frost-stiffened PFDs and headed straight for the brightly lit tin roof of the hunter’s lodge that was directly across the lake from our campsite. Here we were hoping to find a trail that would allow us easy access to higher ground above the lake.

The summit afforded us panoramic views. The precipitous mountains streaked with glacial creeks and rivulets completely surrounded us. South was the Hess Range with several unknown pinnacles rising over 2,000 metres. The MacKenzie Mountains fronted by the rugged and spectacular Backbone Range dominated the northwest horizon. We could see Rockslide Canyon down below to the north east. It was the first of three gorges along the upper section of Bonnet Plume River. We noticed a narrow black line that marked the rivers torturous path through the gray masses of fallen boulders. It was testimony that a great chunk of mountain had broken free way back in geological time relinquishing millions of tons of crumbled rock to the valley bottom. Earthquakes reaching a magnitude of 6.5 on the Richter Scale have been recorded in this area. Yet, it is still not sure if these rumblings were the cause of this massive rock slide. We knew that tomorrow we would be down there too, twisting ourselves through the first of the Bonnet Plume’s spectacular wild canyons.

After lunch, the air around us began to stir and the lake below us began to whiten in the stiffening wind. Peering through the glasses we could see our blue tarp strewn out tugging at its semi secure anchors. We had to get down and do some reconstruction.

Our location at the very edge of the tree line made it difficult to scrape together enough firewood to operate our reflector oven. It was a team effort that made certain our Whitehorse chicken got a thorough baking. During dinner preparations – a cow moose with her calf emerged near the outlet and lured the “off duty” staff away from the smoky kitchen. They launched a canoe and approaching from upwind, were able to observe and photograph the moose at very close quarters. From the kitchen it looked like they were having a tete a tete with them. By the time they returned, the chicken was well baked. We all sat down to a very satisfying offering complete with baked potatoes, carrots and broccoli.

The rapids in Rockslide canyon were significant enough to warrant careful scouting. This in turn led us to work the lines twice. The river had been low all summer, reportedly one of the lowest seasons on record. Fortunately for us, recent heavy rains had raised the level of the river by half a metre This allowed us to canoe where previous groups had been lining for want of water.

As we left the canyon, the river changed to a more sombre mood and, as if to parallel this, dark brooding clouds emerged. We felt the first cold splash of rain. Surprises now punctuated the rest of the day’s journey: first a lone caribou, then a dangerous sweeper that forced us out of our canoes. Finally, just before our destination, we encountered a grizzly bear wading across the river ahead of us. The bow paddler in the lead canoe got more than a little nervous as we floated closer and closer to the bear. At thirty metres, he picked up our scent and bolted across the river into the scrub forest. Meanwhile the rain had increased in intensity. Finally three cold and tired crews beached their canoes and scurried around setting up camp furiously trying to overcome the penetrating cold and damp.

Questions about running or not running drops came thick and fast during the next three days as we negotiated two more canyons and numerous rapids. After careful scouting and animated discussions, we did attempt most of the white water. There were some notable exceptions. We lined one unexpectedly difficult stretch of river. Though short, it was complex. It consisted of a ‘doable’ approach through a ‘rock garden’ followed by a critical eddy just above the final chute. That final chute was a problem, with a meter high drop creating a dangerous hole in the bottom. The run out was fairly clean with a big eddy on river left; but for someone swimming, it would not be easy to reach shore before being washed into a class II rapid just below. We decided to carry round this drop over on river right with our canoes still loaded. We created a simple but ingenious system for skidding the canoes consisting of a series of slippery, portable shoreline logs. This way we avoided sharp rocks and effortlessly returned the canoes to the river.

The class II now faced us. We had to decide whether to run right or left of a prominent house-sized boulder. Tim and Tom ran to the right and Gordon and Mike followed them. I wanted the left side of the boulder and the eddy behind it. We found the left channel but missed the eddy. Damian and I were now way over to the left and realized we needed the right shore immediately as Tim was signalling to eddy out. “Get over here, Tony” he yelled. “Right now!” In the safety of the shore we heard a distinct roar and saw the telltale mist of spray on the horizon line. It was portage time. We were at the first falls.

There are several options for negotiating this canyon open to the canoeist. The safest is to pack gear and canoe over a rough 1.5 kilometre trail and put in at the lower end of the canyon. However, it is also possible to put in by lowering canoes and gear down to the river in a steep cleft formed in the canyon walls a short distance beyond the falls.

We chose an intermediate option. First, we took the gear down to the end of the portage trail, then we launched unloaded canoes down the rock crevice into the canyon. The river hissed mockingly and whenever the water crashed against the canyon walls large waves loomed. It was irresistible to a white water canoeist. Eddy turns, back ferries, S-turns and jets were the skills needed along with a cool head and good partner. It is a wonderful stretch of canoeing and Tim and I were fortunate enough to be able to run it twice. Meanwhile, we were using up a lot of time and energy. So very shortly after emerging from the canyon, we camped. We had enjoyed a sun-filled exhilarating day. For the first time we didn’t need the tarp, and we were able to bathe in the frigid water as we took advantage of the persistent warmth of the late afternoon sun.

We all heard noises during the night. When we got up, fresh moose tracks meandering between our tents came as no surprise. The clear skies had stayed with us and we continued confidently through a series of buoyant class II rapids. Towards the end of the morning, we reached a serious rapid that required more careful appraisal. Class III rapids on a wilderness trip are not to be taken lightly. Once we had decided that we would run the loaded boats through, we made a plan of action that included some sensible ‘what if’ safety precautions. There was an important back ferry to do and a couple of useful eddies to catch. The run terminated with a neat drop into a large escape pool. We took the canoes successfully through one by one. Finally we ran out of high rocky banks and white water as we advanced towards Goz Creek. Passing by the clear waters of Goz Creek we entered a calm braided section of river.

The last day of significant white water on the Bonnet Plume had arrived. Shortly after launching we came upon a stately wolf. As we focused our attention on this proud creature, he stared us right in the eye as if to determine whether we were a threat or not. We were close to the first set of rapids and we wondered what kind of omen this legendary creature represented. Caution? Stealth? Eventually the easier rapids led us unerringly to a significant river wide ledge followed by a class II rocky section immediately before the falls. We decided to start the portage above the ledge. We carried the canoes and gear to a large eddy directly below the falls.

Back in the river, we picked our way cautiously through the remainder of the canyon. We began the run by assembling in the first eddy behind a huge mid-river rock whose upper surface had been carved into a massive bowl by eons of erosion. The recent rains had filled it up and we nicknamed it the hot tub. There was one nagging concern on this run — a large standing wave that we could only avoid by making careful ferries and catching critical eddies. Each canoe followed a perfect route. Now the rapids slowly petered out and the clearing water carried us expeditiously down to Corn Creek. We camped across from the wide valley of Corn Creek coming in from the east and could see clearly up the valley. We noticed a caribou browsing lazily, lingering watchful silhouetted against the Werneke Mountains.

During the next two days we would leave the mountains behind; leave the land of the First Nations people, the Nacho N’y’ak Dun. First, we must look for Dall sheep and a mining camp. You need a very keen eye to spot sheep in the mountains. Gordon had seen Dalls in Kluane National Park on his way to a previous expedition on the renowned Tatshenshini. His experience paid off. Only a few hours after leaving Corn Creek, Gordon pointed toward a group of scattered white spots against the cold gray cliffs. Dall sheep. The high rocky outcrops kept them perfectly safe. As we glided swiftly by, we saw several clusters of sheep dotting the high bluffs. A group of lambs came close to our canoes and we watched them lunch at very close quarters.

We had passed by Pinguicula Creek, named after a rare orchid of the area, and Delores Creek. Just before Louie Creek, we noticed a rustic log cabin with white smoke curling out of its makeshift galvanized chimney. Charles Stricker, operator of Bonnet Plume Outfitters, owned this property. Two neighbourly occupants came out to greet us and invited us in for coffee. No arm twisting needed. We were grateful for the warm bench and the radiant oil drum stove. It felt like we had entered a sauna. In due course, our discussions turned towards the all important news of the river’s new Heritage status. This initiative had not pleased everyone and there seemed to be a lack of understanding about the implications. Alice an older white-haired lady from Alberta, who cooked for the outfitter, expressed her concern that this cozy log cabin might be destroyed in the name of heritage. We could not assure her of anything; we did not really know what it really meant either.

“Next thing you know, they’ll be burning down this little cabin.” Alice said. The young wrangler from Teslin, Darren was nodding in agreement.In their sense of impending doom, they seemed to fear that change was not going to stop at this cabin. In contrast to our faith in the heritage program, it was strange to hear this much concern. It was strange to anyone who wasn’t paddling with us. They were surprised to learn about the places we called home: three from Victoria, two from Wenatchee and one from Salt Lake City. “We had a hunter come in this year from Salt Lake City...I have a relative in Wenatchee...,” Alice continues her engaging story telling.

We needed to move along. So, we left the two of them with their wealth of stories watching us leave from their vantage point on a high cut bank. They took photos as we peeled out of the eddy in close formation and in return we waved back appreciatively.

The river moves quickly along; but for the next forty-eight hours one prominent landmark dominated the downstream view. It was Copper Point, the primary base of a great deal of mining activity over the past few years. The exploration for resources has a long history in the watershed and has occurred since just before the turn of the century.

After a day of paddling through the complex braided section we reached copper point. High up on the abutment we could see an unused drilling platform and Dall sheep wandering close by it. A short time after, we heard the drone of a motor and, for the second day in succession, we lucked into hot coffee and a warm campfire. This time we were talking to a survey crew at the very place around which much of the business of mining exploration had centred. We learned that the surveyors, who might previously have been involved in mining activity, were now involved in drawing the boundaries belonging to the two native groups whose territories share a common border. The recent settlement of land claims in the Yukon had created the need for their territories to be delineated so that jurisdictions could be assigned. We would soon cross one of the lines they were preparing to draw and we would be entering the traditional lands of the Tetl’it Gwich’in of Fort McPherson.

We would also cross a more visible line, a winter road that was punched in to facilitate exploration for oil, gas and coal in the lowlands between the Bonnet Plume and Wind rivers. At the Wind it divided into three spurs and one of these followed the Wind upstream almost to its source high in the Werneke Mountains. These roads and cat trails accessed more than a dozen separate coal claims with names as bizarre as Pan Ocean, Garlic Ring and Spaceship.

Many windfalls and sweepers littered the lowest section of the Bonnet Plume below Noisy Creek. Erosion had caused what we believe to be a new main channel that led to the Peel. I called it the ‘river through the forest’ and considered this to be potentially the most hazardous part of the trip. The wind was screaming and small ‘twisters’ were picking up copious quantities of sand and dust. Our efforts to use river ferries were out-muscled by the wind and indeed we began to use the wind to power our river ferries. The awesome snap of a tree breaking and the vision of this green monster tossed fifty feet in the air was a reminder of our true insignificance. A new jade green shade in the water was the only indicator that we had finally left the Bonnet Plume and were now bucking head winds on the Peel.

We spent three nights on the Peel beginning at the end of the first canyon about eight kilometres past the confluence. Here a wary Peregrine falcon watched us until darkness came. We were thrilled to see several Peregrines in our short journey down the Peel. Twenty-five years ago the Peregrine was extinct in most of North America due to eggshell thinning caused by DDT and other pesticides and only a few remained in the Yukon. North America banned the use of DDT in 1970. We were now able to observe the Peregrines that had been introduced to their former range in the Yukon in 1978.

Early next evening we picked a sun-drenched beach and stayed there amid a puzzling array of grizzly tracks. Finally on the last night, we camped as directed by our pilot.

“Just beyond the confluence of the Snake River you’ll find a small gravel bar near a deep slough.” He had marked the place on our topo map with a short stubby pencil. “You will know you it when you see the large cut bank on the right. Be there!” I remembered his directions clearly. I also remember his concern about ice flows.

“It’s late in the season. I hope there’s gunna be no chunks of ice on the river, brother.” There wasn’t.

On that last evening, a group coming upstream on the Peel in a large aluminum boat invaded our campsite. Eight bundled-up passengers came ashore. Half the group was first nations from the Tetl’it Gwich’in band of Fort McPherson, the other half was Caucasian and stood around while their guides lit a fire and prepared dinner. James Ross was leading the group through a series of workshops focused on interpreting and understanding the culture and history of the Fort McPherson peoples. He introduced himself and in the spirit of the Gwichin’ culture, promptly invited us for dinner.

James and I exchanged e-mail addresses, and he wrote down his web page address. With that exchange out of the way, and promises made to give some publicity to James operation, they reembarked. They would go back to base camp near Fort McPherson a few hours downstream. It would take three long days to reach Fort McPherson by canoe. Next morning it only took three short hours to reach Mayo. The plane was buffeted incessantly as we flew back above the Bonnet Plume and the Wind. “Will you show me pictures of the caribou?” It was Bryn shaking my arm and dangling my Nikon in front of me. “One day, you can go and see them for yourself,” I assured her. “You see,” I told her. “The Bonnet Plume is now a Canadian Heritage River.”

Tony Shaw is a British Columbian paddler, writer, and most importantly, Bryn’s grandfather.

Trip Planner

Skill Level: Canoeists need to have solid white water paddling skills. If this river is high there will be plenty of difficult rapids. At median flows there are several class III rapids and two class IV – V falls. There are sections with large waves and spray covers are recommended.

Access Points: The only access is by float plane at Bonnet Plume Lake. It is 135 air miles from Mayo. There are a couple of float planes operated by Blacksheep Aviation and Cattle Company. Phone: (867) 668-7761, Fax: (867) 668-4697. It was impossible to pay by credit card in Mayo, bring personal cheque or cash! For vehicle storage and shuttle services contact Rick’s Enterprises in Mayo, Phone (867) 996-2445.

Exit Points: There are three options for egress. The float plane company can pick up canoes off the Peel at its confluence with the Snake. It is 175 air miles back to Mayo by float plane. There are operators in Ft. McPherson who are willing to take canoes by boat from the Snake-Peel confluence to Ft. McPherson on the Dempster Highway. It is strenuous paddling from the Snake to Ft. McPherson. If you decide to do it, allow three full days of paddling from the Snake-Peel confluence to Fr. McPherson. You will need to shuttle a vehicle to Ft. McPherson to take advantage of the last two options. Try contacting James Ross at his e-mail address for general shuttles and river pick up to Fort McPherson <jrossnco@cancom.net>. The web site is www.jrossnco.com (It was under repair last time I visited). You can phone to Ch’ii Adventures, PO Box 377, Fort McPherson, NWT  X0E 0J0. Phone (867) 952-2440, Fax (867) 952-2024.

Outfitters: There are several outfitters in Whitehorse although some are reluctant to rent canoes for this river. I was told that the canoes are returned very experienced’ Try any of the following: The Kanoe People (867) 668-4849, Up North (867) 667-6334, A good web site is http://yukon.web.com/tourism/ There is lots of canoeing information on this web page.

Guided Trips: At this time there are no guided trips scheduled for the Bonnet Plume River on a regular basis.

Maps and Guides: Rivers of the Yukon, a Paddlers Guide, by Ken Madsen available from Canadian Recreational Canoeing Association $19.95 + 7% GST, $2.50 p/h; $3.50 p/h for USA and $8.00 Air Mail overseas.) Call (613) 269-2910 Fax: (613) 269-2908 or write to CRCA, P.O. Box 398, Merrickville, Ontario  K0G 1N0. This book provides the reader accurate information about the river. It is a must read. There are two maps in the 1:250,000 scale that adequately cover the river from Bonnet Plume Lake to the Snake Peel confluence, they are: 106C – Nadaleen River and 106E Wind River. For hiking at Bonnet Plume Lake we used the 1:50,000 map, 106-B/5.

This story is from Kanawa Magazine.