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There
probably was never an “Old Methye Portage” – but I like
the name. The Methye Portage is named after Methye
Lake, also known as Lac la Loche. A methy is a burbot
(eelpout), and loche (Fr) or loach is an Old World fish
that can look similar to a burbot. Because the “Old
Methye Portage” does not begin or end anywhere near
Methye Lake, the name is suspect. My wife heard the name
from a pilot who said he flew in some geographers around
25 years ago who “had a grant to do some work on the Old
Methye Portage”. This is the only name I’ve heard for
the portages we took over the height of land, and the
name seems good enough for now.
Before
we began the trip, I did not even know there was a trail
- we had planned to bushwhack across the divide. While
the discovery of these trails was a great relief, they
were not a complete surprise. Anyone who carefully
inspects a map of the Clearwater-Churchill region should
recognize that the classic voyageur route over the
divide is circuitous: a traveler heading northwest up
the Churchill River makes a major detour to the south on
Ile-à-la-Crosse before heading back to the northwest. An
alternate route could utilize the string of lakes north
of Churchill Lake that extend far closer to the
Clearwater River than Lac la Loche, and if one looks
more closely, there are two long lakes that bridge this
gap. There is less than 4-km of land separating the
Clearwater River from Wasekamio Lake: why would the
classic voyageur route follow the 19-km Methye portage
when a 4-km crossing was available farther upstream? Did
they not know about the route?
Pond
knew about the route; the route is depicted on a
detailed map he intended for the Empress of Russia,
currently held in the Public Record Office in London.
Pond mapped large areas that he did not explore, but the
features are more or less accurate, so much of his map
must be based on native accounts. On his map, Pond shows
“L. Clair” separated from the Clearwater by two small
lakes, I believe these are the two small lakes between
Wasekamio and the Clearwater. Under this interpretation,
“L. Clair” encompasses Wasekamio, Turnor, Frobisher, and
Churchill Lakes. This is no great misrepresentation of
the practical geography. Wasekamio and Turnor are
essentially one lake, as are Churchill and Frobisher,
and only a short segment of river separates Turnor and
Frobisher lakes.
Pond
also maps the ultimate value of this route. A traveler
coming up the Churchill could circumvent the circuitous
route on Ile-à-la-Crosse by entering the Mudjatik, and
after a short ways, turn to the northwest and enter “L.
Clair” via a smaller lake (Flatstone). I have not
explored the route, but imagine one still exists. The
reasons these routes are maintained is because the area
is actively trapped, hunted, and fished by people from
the nearby communities of Turnor Lake and Patuanak.
This
alternative to the Methye had at least one other draw,
our trip would follow a relict spillway for glacial Lake
Agassiz. Lake Agassiz was an enormous lake that
persisted for around 6,000 years, but finally drained
8,400 years ago. The expanse of the lake varied in
time, but it stretched from the Red River valley in the
south, almost to Lake Superior in the east, and
northwest to the Clearwater River. The great ice sheet
in Hudson Bay blocked the Churchill and Nelson
watersheds, so water backflooded until an outlet was
reached. When the ice front was farther south, Agassiz
drained via the Minnesota River. When the front receded
to the north, water drained east into Superior, or
northwest down the Clearwater River.
Around
11,300 years ago, the ice sheet had receded just north
enough to let waters from Lake Agassiz overflow into the
Clearwater River Valley. This new outlet was around
50-m lower than the previous outlet, so Agassiz’s water
levels dropped over one to three years and roared down
the Clearwater River Valley. Because Lake Agassiz was
so huge, and the drop in water level so great, the
amount of water released by this flood is beyond
comparison to any floods on the modern planet. Around
21,000 km3 of water spilled down the Clearwater River,
enough to raise global sea level by six centimeters. At
peak flow rates, the discharge down the spillway was
around nine times the discharge of the Amazon River, and
post-flood baseline discharge was around 42,000 m3/s.
This water carved out the Clearwater Valley. Steep
cliffs of limestone and dolomite rise 600 feet above the
valley floor, and between them meanders the Clearwater
River, a veritable trickle compared to the waters that
carved the river’s valley.
Those
floodwaters began their descent at around the “Old
Methye Portage” From near the modern divide to Contact
Rapids the river drops over 320 ft, yielding a gradient
of over 9 ft/mi (~1.7 m/km). This is why the “Old
Methye Portage” was never a viable alternative to the
Methye. Ascending the Clearwater River above Contact
Rapids (the first rapids upstream from the Methye
Portage) would test the stubbornness and patience of
even the most resolute voyageur. In stark contrast,
travelling down the Clearwater over the old Agassiz
spillway offers a pleasant trip for the modern paddler.
Our
journey over the divide and down the Clearwater was a
trip of many moods, we have never paddled a route that
offered so much diversity over such a short length. The
first few days were on large lakes, which offer the open
horizons that I greatly enjoy. The divide trails are in
decent shape, but they course predominantly through
sphagnum and spruce muskeg, so there were several muddy
and wet sections - but there were also pleasant stints
through dry, mature polar uplands or jack pine and
caribou moss. We did not find a trail out of the last
small lake to the Clearwater River. A large burn,
perhaps twenty years old, has swept across the land
between this lake and the river. Young jack pine offer
enough clearance that a bushwhack would not be terribly
difficult, but the beaver-dammed creek draining the lake
offered enough water to float our canoe and we opted to
paddle the final leg to the Clearwater.
Cont'd
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