Cycle and Paddle Saguenay to the Ontario Border.

May 26/22 to Sept 17/22Cycle Newfoundland 2022
May 17/23 to July 9/23Cycle & Paddle Saguenay to the Ontario Border.
July 10/23 to Oct 6/23Paddle Ontario Border to Parry Sound
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The map of my 2023 route. From Saguenay west to Senneterre and then to the Ottawa River. I chose this route for two reasons. I wanted to visit Lac Tiblemont, where my mother’s family lived, during the ’30s and ’40s, and Fugerville, her birthplace. This route also offered the water of the Gouin Reservoir, a portage-free 113 kilometre paddle. From Ottawa, I used the Rideau Canal and Trent Severne waterways to reach Lake Huron.
It’s April 4, 2023, and I’m back at cousin Barb’s in Vernon. This was my 2013 starting point when I first set out with the canoe. The canoe is stored in Saguenay, Quebec and I hope to be paddling again by mid-May. This bicycle is the first actual touring bike I have ever owned. I want to take to Chile for the winter, once my Canada travel season ends. My destination is Winnipeg so I will not have to return to B.C. in the fall.
It took a month to get to Winnipeg. My travels are supposed to be all about enjoying the day and not about putting a mark on the wall. This trip was more about getting there, there was not a lot to enjoy. Cycling across the Prairies in April is rather boring. Too many chilly nights, a prevalent north wind, and long distances between places to buy supplies or even get a cup of coffee. It did give the legs a good tune-up for canoe pulling though.
I couldn’t chance encountering a heavy snowfall going through the Rockies so I hitchhiked to get from Revelstoke to Canmore. (The pink line above.)
I made a cardboard sign and rode to the outskirts of Revelstoke hoping to catch a ride. Plenty of pickup trucks passed by and I never gave a thought that anything but a pickup would be stopping. After five hours of trying I was ready to give up and choose Plan B – take the bus the next day. At first, I didn’t even notice that Joseph had pulled over ahead of me. I laughed when he opened his hatch, it was already half full. I thanked him and said the bike and all my gear couldn’t possibly fit but he was determined and repacked and juggled things until it did. Good on ya, Joseph! He was rewarded with a gas tank fill when we reached Canmore.
Where do you camp out on the bald prairie? I used, not yet opened, municipal campgrounds when I could find them. Twice I was inside picnic shelters to avoid wind or rain. My tent is not ‘free standing.’ I needed some make-do creativity to set it up on the concrete floor. There was very little rain during the month but I had to hole-up in Maple Creek, Saskatchewan for a week waiting for a ‘Colorado Clipper’ to dump its snow load and melt. Overnight temperatures dropped to freezing most nights. A lingering cold had me choosing to stay in motels for three nights. Something I rarely do.
This was also rare! Not only a place to lean the bike but a lunch stop windbreak too.
Camped here I decided to try out an alcohol burner that I intended to take to Chile. Try it out inside the tent. I often cook inside my tent due to the wind. I found a flat rock to set the burner on and I put the pot on to boil. It looked secure but suddenly fell over towards me. Fortunately, the water wasn’t yet hot enough to burn. It diluted the alcohol that spilled. That quickly extinguished the fire. However, the stove was hot enough to melt a four inch diameter hole in my sleeping bag. It could have been much worse, it could have destroyed my air mattress. The sleeping bag was easy enough to patch.
Pronghorns but not pronghorn antelopes. They are closer related to giraffes than antelopes. Said to be able to run at speeds up to 90 kph!
The bicycle is now stored in Winnipeg and I’m in Kingston at the home of Carol and Glenn. They paddled across Canada during the same three years that I did. They named their effort Canoe for Change, and raised more than $30,000 for a Kingston non-profit, working to alleviate local food insecurity. I discovered them online in 2019. When I realized that we would both be doing sections the other had already completed I knew we had to talk and exchange route info. During that phone call, I was surprised to learn that they already knew of my existence. At dusk on the night, I first arrived in Kingston, they watched me row to and camp on the island, pictured in the background, across from their place.
It’s a pile of firewood I’m splitting to give back a little for some unexpected hospitality. I would have needed to split many cords of wood to repay all the hospitality I received in Quebec. Here I am at the home of Tobi and Marine south of La Malbaie. En route to Saguenay, I got off the bus at La Malbaie as I wanted to visit the cemetery in the town where my grandfather’s grandfather was buried. I was going to need to hitchhike to get there and I had come prepared with a sign. I was walking out of town with the sign facing the traffic when Marine stopped and offered a ride. She scoffed at my rebuke for picking up a strange man. That ride resulted in an invite for dinner and to spend the night.
This wouldn’t be the only ride I received from a young lady. The bus was infrequent between Tadoussac and Saguenay so I decided to try hitchhiking again. Cars were infrequent too that morning. One car had gone past me, but turned around and returned to offer a ride as far as Sacred Couer. When she dropped me off at a fast food place, she mentioned posting my need for a ride to Saguenay on a Facebook site. I barely had time to order before a fellow asked if I was the one wanting to get to Saguenay.
I’m at the Marine Mammal Interpretation Centre in Tadoussac. An unexpected sequence of events got me here. I took the bus from La Malbaie to Tadoussac. Tadoussac, at the mouth of the Saguenay Fiord, was a place I wanted to visit because a population of beluga whales frequents those waters. Before I boarded the bus, a fellow approached and asked if I was going as far as Tadoussac and if so would I mind taking the personal flotation device he held in his hand. He said someone would be waiting at the bus stop to claim it. A lady met me there and offered me a ride closer to the town centre. At the time I wasn’t aware of what existed in Tadoussac in the way of whale-interest tourism. As I was soon to find out my good karma had led me directly to the above whale interpretation centre. Lise, who came for the PFD, and her partner Patrice were co-founders of the centre. I accepted her offer of a place to stay. The next day, they gave me a tour of the centre, even though it wasn’t open.
Saguenay Quebec at the head of the 105 kilometre long Saguenay Fjord. The water in the fjord is mostly salt due to tidal flow from the Gulf. The freshwater from the Saguenay River floats on top of the saltwater.
The end of the first day after setting out from Saguenay. A 20 kilometre bike ride got me here. This is the base of the dam at Lac Kénogaumi, which is 25 kilometres long. It will be my first paddle since leaving the Gulf of St. Lawrence last October.
Waiting out an unexpected blow on Lac St. Jean. I had stopped for a break on this tiny bit of beach – one that wasn’t in front of somebody’s property, when the wind quickly picked up from calm to white caps. There was barely room to get the canoe out of the wave action. Luckily it was a short-lived blow and I was able to continue to a better campspot before dark. Unexpected hospitality extended here too. A nearby resident noticed me and drove me about five kilometres so I could get something to eat.
I’m in Saint-Félicien, the end of my Lac St. Jean paddle. The Gouin Reservoir is about 250 kilometres from here and only 90 kilometres of that road is paved. The rest is gravel logging road. Pulling the canoe on gravel roads is not pleasant. I wanted to lighten the load. I posted to a local Facebook page. I asked if there might be someone intending to travel to the community of Obedjiwan. They would need room to take a hundred pounds of things not needed for road travel. In a few days that post garnered an unbelievable 1000 shares, 200 comments and 900 likes. It found someone working in the community who was happy to help out. Merci Pierre!
The stop here also provided time to give the hull a paint job – except for the very bottom. The paint was cosmetic only, so why paint if it’s never going to be seen. The gray patches on the bottom are JB Weld which I use to repair any hull damage. Any paint applied to the bottom would need to be sanded off before using JB Weld.
I was on the highway about 40 kilometres from the start of the gravel road when Mario stopped and asked if I needed a ride. He lived in Obedjiwan, situated on the Gouin Reservoir and was returning there from a long drive to Quebec City. I thanked him and declined his offer pointing out that it would take at least half an hour to load the canoe and his trip had been too long already. He insisted though and I finally accepted when I realized how determined he was. This was not Mario’s only act of kindness. More was to come and now I think of him as not just Mario but Super Mario. During the drive Mario told me of the buzz in the community when Ray Bourque, Terry O’Reilly and other Boston Bruins Alumni came to take on the Obedjiwan hockey locals in December 2018.
I am camped on the Gouin Reservoir awaiting the arrival of Pierre who had volunteered to deliver my load-lightening items, left with him in Saint Félicien. Thanks to Mario’s help I have arrived here with a few days to spare. From here I will be able to paddle 130 kilometres before I will need the bicycle again. The Gouin Reservoir covers 1500 square kilometres with an average depth of only 5 metres. It was constructed in 1918 and the water level was raised in 1948 which diverted its outflow from flowing north to the Arctic to flowing south to the St. Lawrence. It is a popular fly-in sport fishing mecca with numerous outfitters scattered along its shores. Later I would learn, from one of the outfitters, that the reservoir was now within an area closed to all visitors due to nearby forest fires.
After Pierre’s arrival, a two-day paddle got me to the First Nations community of Obedjiwan. A much larger populace than I had expected. I bought groceries in Saint Félicien thinking that the grocery selection here would be limited and expensive. I was surprised to find a well-stocked supermarket with competitive prices. Another surprise, when I walked to the supermarket to bolster my supplies, was meeting Pierre in the check-out line. He kindly offered to drive me back to the canoe. I had one more stop to make before paddling away from the town. Mario had described where he lived just off the beach and had asked that I stop and say hi when I arrived. Unfortunately, no one was home when I stopped in.
Previously, I mentioned that Mario would soon become Super Mario to me. That he would show up unexpectedly with another deed of kindness. Two days after leaving Obedjiwan, I heard a motorboat coming from the direction of the town. I thought it would just be fishermen so I ignored their approach and kept paddling. To my surprise, it was Mario and his son and they had something for me. A big thermos filled with moose meat stew along with half a bannock loaf. Super Mario indeed! They had travelled about 25 kilometres to catch up with me.
In the following days, I thought of Mario’s acts of kindness and thought of those like him who we might call Good Samaritans. I wanted to acknowledge his kind acts somehow. It occurred to me that perhaps if I were to donate $100 to the high school they might create an award, in Mario’s name, to recognize a graduating student who best exemplified good samaritanism. Pierre acted as my go-between with the school and I e-transferred him $100. Go figure, when Mario heard of my idea and donation, he contributed an additional $100! We have now done this jointly for the past two years.
An unexpected additional 25 kilometres of paddling. The body of water east of the 1008 road is the southwest corner of the Gouin Reservoir. I had thought that beyond there I would have to portage and was surprised to find that the lakes ahead were all linked with cut channels. This was part of the diversion that had changed the flow of the entire reservoir from northward to southward when the water levels were at their highest.
The forest fire situation also had me believing that my paddling would be coming to a complete stop. At an overnight stay with an outfitter further up the lake, I learned of the forest fire closure recently imposed. I wasn’t supposed to be there. I was told that there was a fire camp at the outfitters located where the reservoir ended. Approaching that camp, late in the afternoon, I anticipated being hailed and told I was going to have to stop my journey there. However, nobody was visible anywhere on shore. Was anybody there? I don’t know but unless I was told, by someone of authority, that I had to stop I wasn’t going to. I had to paddle right past the camp to gain access to the stream leading to the next small lake, Lac du Poete, but for whatever reason, I went unnoticed and so continued on.
I have left the Gouin Reservoir and am past the fire camp although I am still anticipating the possibility that I have been seen and a motorboat might soon catch up with me and tell me I must stop. That never happened but something I hadn’t expected was ahead and it could have prevented me from going any further. As I approached Lac du Poete the channel narrowed and the current increased. Looking upstream I could see where the water from the lake was entering the narrowed stream and it was producing a fast current. Game on! This was a battle I couldn’t lose. With the kayak paddle, I can go seven kilometres per hour. Luckily the current was just a little less than whatever my speed was at the end of that day. It was at least five minutes of full-on exertion before I could let up a little. It wasn’t only that I would be stopped if I couldn’t overcome the flow. Having to turn the canoe around in the narrow canyon with that current would have been very risky. If one end of the canoe were to hit the rocks the effect could be similar to being caught by a sweeper and I could have been tipped over despite my best efforts.
I have reached the road where I intended to take out and resume cycling. From looking at the satellite photos, I assumed the road crossing was a bridge and hoped there would be minimal grade involved with getting the canoe up to the road. Instead, there were three large culverts with very steep rocky banks. I was able to paddle through one of the pipes and found a place with no rocks but getting the canoe to the road was still a challenge.
It was late by the time I had the canoe onto the road and so I camped right there. In the morning, about six vehicles of Quebec’s finest drove past. (They were heading to search for the remains of someone who went missing in the winter and whose snowmobile had recently been found.) One vehicle stopped to ask why I was there, within the bounds of the recreational closure. They accepted my explanation that I had entered the area via the open back door and I assured them I would be making all haste to reach Senneterre. I had only gone about fifteen kilometres when at mid-afternoon they returned from their successful quest. However, now they thought it best that I return with them to Senneterre. There was certainly no argument from me with that decision. Another 100 kilometres of despised gravel travel was eliminated from my journey. With so many available hands, loading the canoe was quickly accomplished.
Before paddling the Gouin I stowed the bicycle in the bow. Tearing it down, to make it fit there, included removing the pedals. When I put it back together I forgot that I had only finger-tightened the pedals to the cranks. By the time I realized my oversight the threads in the left crank were too damaged to allow the pedal to tighten properly. That was the reason for my low mileage prior to being picked up. To not damage the threads further I removed the pedal and walked all of the hills. On the flat and the downhills, I could pedal but on the left side that was accomplished only with a rather ineffective downward push on the knob of the crank. Once back in Senneterre, I used JB Weld to bond the pedal to the crank permanently.
The many hands involved in getting my things into the trucks resulted in all the pieces of the puzzle being scrambled. A chance though to do an even better job of organizing the canoe’s contents. They dropped me off at a place where they had a storage shed and said I could camp there if I liked.
I am at the home of my cousin Robert and Margot on the shore of Lac Tiblemont about sixteen kilometres south of Senneterre. They build ultralight aircraft. The original family homestead, where my mother lived as a child, is only a few kilometres to the north. My grandfather made a living fur trapping until the mid-forties when the family moved to Vernon.
My grandfather Ovila Napoleon Desbiens. (1895-1974) I don’t know the date of the picture but if he’s thirty it’s 1925.
I am visiting old gold mine works on an island on Lac Tiblemont. The mine operated from 1932-1939. My grandfather worked here, likely in the summer months when there was no trapping. After leaving my cousin’s, I paddled to the island where I spent the night before continuing south on Lac Tiblemont. I had hoped that my travels would include paddling on the same lake my grandfather would have paddled.
It’s a 500 metre portage trail from the south end of Tiblemont to the next lake. A portage route my grandfather likely used many times. Very little use evident now. Snowmobile winter use is likely what has kept it defined. I had to make three trips but did them in short back-and-forth segments. The portage took three hours to complete.
It’s the morning after the portage day and looking down the lake on the far side I spot my first moose. After a month of paddling, I have only tallied, that one moose and two otters (both in the water). I wonder what the count would have been 100 years ago. It is obvious that bird life has been decimated by the pestilence of mankind too, and by more than the 70% that those in the know report. I’ve seen only five eagles, very few ducks, and my first heron yesterday.
South of Val d’Or, and my route to Fugerville required more gravel road use. It’s generally flat but some hills are too steep to ride or push the bicycle up like I do on paved roads. My feet could slip on the loose gravel or the push could cause the front wheel to slide sideways, and tip the bike. When on gravel, I disconnect the bike from the canoe and push it ahead fifty metres or so. Then I pull the canoe up by walking backwards with my hands holding a stick attached to the bow for that purpose. Doing this, my feet can’t slip. Before leaving the vicinity of the bicycle, I find a suitable rock and place it where I want to stop the canoe. I then back the cart wheel onto that rock to hold the canoe in place while I push the bike further up and repeat the process.
Back to paddling for a little while. This hydro dam at Rapid Sept had a huge reservoir but I would only be using twelve kilometres of it that paralleled the road somewhat. Late in the afternoon, the previous day, I was five kilometres from this spot when one of the small tension wheels on the rear derailleur lost its bolt and fell apart. Luckily I was able to walk back and find all the pieces. I hoped to reach the lake before dark and thought it best not to stop and fix it. Instead, I opted to push the bike the final distance. I surmised a descent down to the lake would allow me to coast for half the distance. It ended up being a long push and I arrived at the lake with dusk turning to dark.
Another not-so-easy takeout location. This one required the use of the swede saw to clear windfall from the rise leading up to the road. Once a path was cleared I ran the bowline around an uphill tree and back to a loop close to the canoe. Call it a poor man’s block and tackle. It works! Yank on the canoe, take up the slack on the rope, and repeat. But when I reached this berm at the road edge there was no place to tie ahead to. For a time I was stuck. I couldn’t lift it enough from the stern or pull it down enough from the bow to make it even inch forward. However, a combination of both worked. I tied the bow to the small bush and tensioned the rope to the limit of its roots holding power. Then with an all-out lift and wiggle from the stern I was finally able to get it to tip towards the road.
I arrived by bicycle at the First Nations community of Winneway on the upper Ottawa River just at dusk. Plan A, was to arrive with enough time to get the canoe into the river and find a suitable campspot downriver. Too late for that, I just camped at the edge of a big parking area along the river with my tent in view of numerous houses. The next morning, I was up early, preparing to get the canoe in the water, when a car pulled up. Wow, look what that dear lady had prepared for me!
Plenty of water to paddle once I reached Winneway and there would be no more gravel roads for the remainder of the summer. Fugerville, the birthplace of my mother, is where Highway 382 turns north.
I paddled a short distance east from Winneway to reach this small dam on the Ottawa River. Here the water is clean and clear and I expected Lac Simard to be the same.
Lac Simard. Not only was the water a dirty brown it was also choked with bullrush. I wanted to head west into the main lake but couldn’t find a way through. The map above shows my eventual route to open water, I paddled completely around Winneway Island. I must not have noticed the entrance to a channel through the rushes for boats heading west. The Winneway boating community likely used it all the time.
An unexpected campspot with all the amenities. It was built for hikers on a trail system that paralleled some of the shoreline. It included a water tank replenished from the roof however with the dry conditions the few inches of water in the tank was not potable. I rested here an extra day and with water from the lake I did what I could to flush out the tank. I also washed the roof. Somebody had put a lot of effort into making this campspot.
Furgerville, my mother’s birthplace, or more likely the closest church site to where her folks lived at the time of her birth. Her grandfather was also born here. I visited the cemetery but was unable to find any Desbiens headstones.
A much-needed restock of the now all but emptied larder. I have arrived at Ville Marie on the Ottawa River. Here the centre of the river is the border between the provinces of Quebec and Ontario. The Ottawa River is no longer a river. Hydro dams long ago made it into a series of long narrow lakes that extend for 400 kilometres.
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