The National Geographic Channel's executive vice president for content, Sydney Suissa, has been paddling Canada's Quetico Park over the past three decades. Here's a report from his latest trip; click through for his photo essay.
A four-hour flight delay, a lost bag and a sky of flat gray soup; not an auspicious start to our canoe trip. But wilderness trips are all about improvising and we'll have to make do. There are four of us on this trip -- my longtime friend and fellow canoeist Steven from Montreal, his 24-year-old son Ben, my 20-year-old son Aaron and myself. As we load up our rental car, we know it's going to be one of those trips where we'll use a lot more bug juice than sunscreen.
The wilderness area we're going to is an immense swath of the Canadian Shield carpeted with century pines, spruces, and stands of birch. Dark lakes pure enough to drink from, bogs tucked behind long sheltered bays where moose feed, orchid-lined creeks and small rivers that ebb and flow with the seasons all weave together into ever-changing networks that make this wilderness a haven for canoeists. In Minnesota, this protected area is called the Boundary Waters, and where it extends into Ontario, Canadians know it as Quetico Park.
We drive west from Thunder Bay, cross the Atlantic Watershed demarcation into the Arctic Watershed, and in about two hours arrive in Atikokan, population 700 and falling. It's the kind of town that Neil Young had in mind in his song "Helpless" ("There is a town in North Ontario/All my memories are there...") We go through our equipment and maps with our outfitter and spend the night in the bunkhouse. We rise early and after our ritual breakfast at the Outdoorsman, we load up our canoes and head out to the access point on Beaverhouse Lake. We push off into a stiff westerly wind wet with rain.
A four-hour flight delay, a lost bag and a sky of flat gray soup; not an auspicious start to our canoe trip. But wilderness trips are all about improvising and we'll have to make do. There are four of us on this trip -- my longtime friend and fellow canoeist Steven from Montreal, his 24-year-old son Ben, my 20-year-old son Aaron and myself. As we load up our rental car, we know it's going to be one of those trips where we'll use a lot more bug juice than sunscreen.The wilderness area we're going to is an immense swath of the Canadian Shield carpeted with century pines, spruces, and stands of birch. Dark lakes pure enough to drink from, bogs tucked behind long sheltered bays where moose feed, orchid-lined creeks and small rivers that ebb and flow with the seasons all weave together into ever-changing networks that make this wilderness a haven for canoeists. In Minnesota, this protected area is called the Boundary Waters, and where it extends into Ontario, Canadians know it as Quetico Park.
We drive west from Thunder Bay, cross the Atlantic Watershed demarcation into the Arctic Watershed, and in about two hours arrive in Atikokan, population 700 and falling. It's the kind of town that Neil Young had in mind in his song "Helpless" ("There is a town in North Ontario/All my memories are there...") We go through our equipment and maps with our outfitter and spend the night in the bunkhouse. We rise early and after our ritual breakfast at the Outdoorsman, we load up our canoes and head out to the access point on Beaverhouse Lake. We push off into a stiff westerly wind wet with rain.
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