August 13, 2009: Day Four

My notes for this day are pretty sketchy.  It was our longest day on the water and I had a problem with, of all things, the heat.  But I’m getting ahead of myself.  I don’t remember anything special about the night or the morning.  We were packed and underway at our usual eight-thirty. 

The weather was mild.  We were dressed for the very cold water, all of us in either dry suits or wetsuits.  Because I had been expecting cold weather and because it’s just more comfortable, I wore lightweight long john bottoms and a long sleeve wicking shirt under my Farmer John.  I always wear heavy socks in the mukluks for comfort and to keep my feet from sliding around inside the boots.  I’m repeating this detail because it becomes important later in the day. 

The night before, we had again voiced our concern about the long distance to be paddled on our last day; a day when we hoped to see Beluga whales.  The sequence of camping spots we were following was determined by selecting from a menu of trips listed on the Fjord Maritime Trail.  The sequence appeared fixed and inflexible.  Gaetan wondered if this was in fact true.  We decided to stop at the village of L`Anse Saint-Jean (Saint John) to find a phone (no cell service on the fjord) and call the Maritime Trail Office asking for a modification.

The paddle was lovely, but uneventful.  We pulled into the picturesque village sometime before lunch.  The landing was on a clean sand beach.  Just up the beach was the office of an outfitter Gaetan had used on an earlier trip on the fjord.  We got permission to refill our depleted water bags from a hose outside

the

For a brief video of the approach to L`Anse Saint-Jean (69 seconds), click here.  I was feeling pretty bad after the next section of the paddle, so no more videos!

office, and directions to the nearest telephone. 

We all filled water bags and deck bottles and stowed them in our boats.  Gaetan, Bruce and Alan went to find the phone while I stayed behind to keep an eye on the boats.  There were picnic tables and beach chairs behind the outfitter’s office, so I found a chair in the shade and relaxed while I waited for the others to return.  It was getting hot, so I peeled my Farmer John down to my waist to cool down a bit.  At some point I took a long drag on my water bottle and nearly spit it out.  It was nasty!  The water was potable but had been decanted through a plastic hose that had been lying in the sun for some time.  It had a strong taste of plastic.  This detail becomes important later also. 

Soon Gaetan and Bruce returned, with Alan just behind carrying a stack of four large boxes, each filled with a burger and fries.  This was a big lunch, Alan’s treat.  Soon we were all stuffed to bursting.  Gaetan had been able to rearrange out itinerary.  We would by-pass Anse a` Tabatiere, our original stop, go on to Anse a` Tidee, which was to be tomorrow’s stop and add Anse aux Petites Iles as our last campsite.  This would make our final day’s paddle only about ten miles. 

Back on the water, we soon came to Anse a` Tabatiere.  We paused long enough to check out the landing, then went on.  It was hot and I was thirsty.  But the water tasted so bad I wouldn’t drink it.  I set a strong pace and was out in front of the group, moving quickly.  I stayed in front for the entire distance, close to eight miles.  By the time we arrived I was pooped.  I had no energy left and I felt bad. 

I went through the motions of unloading my boat and went looking for a campsite.  I was moving so slowly that the first two sites were taken by the time I got there.  I stood next to Gaetan’s platform and looked at the long line of steps

snaking up the hillside to platforms three and four, which were out of sight.  I sat down, unable to go any farther just then.  Gaetan took a long look at me and said, “Here, you take this platform.  I’ll go up to the next one.”  I must have looked bad.  I was very thankful for that gesture of kindness. 

I put my gear on the platform and sat down to rest.  I was sweating profusely and

Stairway to the stars!

my resting heart rate was nearly one hundred.  I stripped off the heavy clothing and rested some more.  I mixed up some

Gatoraid, which only sweetened the nastiness of the water, and drank as much as I could.  Still my heart rate would not come down and I was still sweating heavily.  Then it dawned on me; heat exhaustion.  I’d been there twice before.  Each time it had sneaked up behind me and kicked me in the butt.  Each time I swore I’d be smarter in the future, and here I was again.  The antidote was to cool down

Yackman’s tent platform.

the body, rest, and take in fluids and electrolytes.

At some point I set up my tent and other gear.  I don’t remember dinner or if we had a campfire, when I went to bed or what the night was like.  I just know that after some hours, my heart rate was back to normal and I was very tired. 

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