OUR GROUP OF FOUR has just come ashore after a day of paddling on a three-week trip from Behchokǫ̀ to the tundra near the headwaters of the Yellowknife River. Grey clouds hurry overhead as though late for a forecasted shower. A gust of wind hits me and, two seconds later, a tent blows by on its way into the lake. I run to the canoe, grab a paddle and set off to rescue it. When I reach the tent, I manage to collapse its poles, but then lose my grip on it as another gust pushes hard on my canoe. I reach for my paddle, but I realize that it slipped overboard in my fury to collapse the tent. Now, I’m alone in a canoe in a strong wind without a paddle. Two of my fellow paddlers watching from shore realize my predicament. They jump in the other canoe and come out to quietly rescue me and the tent.
A year later, while on a two-month paddling trip from Behchokǫ̀ to Kugluktuk, I make another serious mistake. Stepping out of the canoe to find a portage trail, I decide I don’t need my bear spray. I walk slowly, looking for signs of an old trail, and reach an area of vegetated sand and sparse trees with an old fallen tree freshly ripped apart by a bear looking for ants. Seconds later, a black bear walks out from behind a bush. My first reaction is one of admiration, but the animal spots me and immediately charges.
I do have an air horn, so I briefly blast it. The bear stops and I slowly take a step backwards. It charges again. The process repeats a second and a third time, the bear halting its third charge a mere two metres away. At this point, I hold the button on the air horn, deciding not to let up until the bear runs away. But air horns go super-cold as the propellant expands, and then they lose pressure. My air horn dies in this heart-wrenching moment that seems to last an eternity. My mind skips back to many bear behaviour books I’ve read and to many bear encounters on the farm when I was a child. Words explode in my mind: “All I have left is intimidation.”
I raise my arms in the air, take a large step forward to halve the distance between me and the bear, and yell more loudly than I’ve ever yelled in my life. “GO!” The bear spins and runs, and I chase it until it reaches a tree. The bear doesn’t climb, but looks around indecisively. I choose this moment to retreat, slowly walking backwards to the canoe, keeping my arms in the air and continuing to yell with my already hoarse voice. “GO! GO!” Back on the water, I spot a cub wandering near the shore and I finally understand why the bear charged me: I was too close to its cub.
These events, early in my canoeing life and more than a decade ago, still stand out as the most foolish things I’ve done in the wilderness. My bear spray should have been in a holster on my belt, and if I’d taken a few seconds to think and assess the tent situation, I would have realized that going solo was likely to fail. I’ve now hiked and paddled more than 10,000 kilometres in the Northwest Territories on numerous multi-week and multi-month adventures, including one 41-day, 800-kilometre solo hike that was the Royal Canadian Geographical Society’s Expedition of the Year in 2020. And, as a Canadian Ranger, I’ve spent months patrolling on the land in both winter and summer and now teach wilderness first aid to rangers. Over the years, I’ve developed a set of rules that I diligently follow and which I credit for keeping
me alive and relatively incident-free.
How to stay safe in the wilderness:
*Never rush. In any scenario, think through the options, consider the risks and make a calculated decision.
*Drop the ego. Nature doesn’t care how good you think you are and overconfidence is likely to get you into trouble.
*Manage risk. Remember that help could be a day or more away, depending on your location, the weather and the time of day, so lower your risk tolerance. If you’re injured, you won’t get to a hospital in an hour. Even a minor injury could mean an early end to the trip for you and your friends or even an expensive flight out. On my solo hike in 2020, I was fully aware that calling a plane would cost me around $5,000.
*Prepare for the worst. Practice what you can and visualize the rest. You can work on skills such as recovering
a flipped canoe, navigating and fire-making. You can only visualize what you might do when your boat flips in the 5°C waters of Great Slave Lake with a baby and a toddler on board and the toddler is still under the boat. Having practiced or visualized a scenario and how you would deal with it shortens your reaction time, makes you calmer and more confident and improves your mental resilience in these tough situations.
*Take a wilderness first aid course. You’ll be more aware of potential risks and be better able to prevent injuries. You’ll also gain the confidence to calmly assess and treat a patient and differentiate minor issues from those that truly require an evacuation. And if you do need an airlift, you’ll be able to relay more information to your rescuers.
*Stop when tired. Fatigue contributes to bad decision-making. Most emergencies are the result of multiple factors that are likely to include fatigue and poor decisions.
*Pay attention. In urban settings, we learn to filter out a lot of noises, lights and movements to avoid sensory overload. But, in the wilderness, paying attention to all the details may save your life: See the storm before it hits, spot the fresh bear scat and don’t pitch your tent next to an old dead tree.
*Go with friends. Don’t go on solo adventures until you’re confident in your abilities and have experience dealing with difficult scenarios. Travelling solo is much riskier.
*Be animal aware. Understand animal behaviour and keep your distance. If you’re travelling in bear country, always carry bear spray. And keep in mind that other large animals such as muskoxen, bison and moose also injure people. I know someone who used bear spray, successfully, on a muskox. Don’t underestimate the danger that these animals pose if you get too close.
*Carry a satellite communication device. This could save your life, avoid public money being wasted on a long search and save you from moaning in pain for days with a broken leg as searchers try to find you because you’re overdue.
*Leave a trip plan. Even a communication device can fail or fall overboard or be in a bag somewhere downriver after your canoe overturns. Help will come and find you more quickly if folks know where you’re going, who you’re with and when you’re expected back.
