Free Extreme Frontiers: Racing Across Canada from Newfoundland to the Rockies by Charley Boorman Page B

actually,
     although Cam said it belonged to a small sturgeon. It was pretty savage-looking, but Cam reckoned it was all that remained
     of a catch an eagle had brought up. We were close to some slabs of stone that formed the entrance to the rapids, and in order
     to simulate what it would be like if one of us got tossed out of the boat, they got me to walk out and plunge in. Once in
     the running water, I had to lie on my back with my feet up and ankles together, my arms spread in a crucifix shape. That’s
     the most efficient and safest way of riding the water, because your feet are a far better buffer for obstacles than your head.
     Withyour arms spread out you have the least amount of body mass under the water, so there’s less chance that you’ll snag on anything
     hidden below. Assuming the position, I rode the rapids to deeper water and was relieved to find that, unlike Lake Huron, the
     temperature was beautiful.
    Following my lead, Russ rode down next but somehow whacked his coccyx on a rock – I reckon you could hear the yell all the
     way to Winnipeg. Nat and Mungo came down safely. Back at camp, Dave was cooking steak and potatoes with carrot and onion all
     fried in olive oil, and the smell was really enticing for a bunch of hungry explorers like us. After taking that early bath,
     some good food in the open air was just what the doctor ordered. The dining table was the hull of an upturned canoe and we
     were serenaded by the rapids as we ate. It was good eating, as they say, and I really felt like I’d earned it, driving up
     to Bissett, packing the gear, flying in and paddling, not to mention floating over the rapids.
    When dinner was over, it was time for the plastic bag of toilet paper and the walk of shame; deep into the forest I went,
     reminding myself to be careful with my mobile phone. The last thing I needed was to lose that to the waste pile, as had happened
     on camping trips in the past.
    ‘Turn your mike off, Charley,’ Nat called. ‘We don’t want the soundtrack from back here.’
    It was an eventful first night: we were using hoop tents, where you don’t need to put pegs in unless the weather is really
     bad. We’d gone to bed with the sky clear, so that was all right. Sometime later, though, I woke to howling winds, pouring
     rain and thunder. I leapt up, secured the tent and made sure all mystuff was inside and the tent was zipped against the gazillion mosquitoes that occupied the riverbank. I was nicely snuggled
     down in my sleeping bag again when I realised I’d forgotten to have a pee. Oh well, there was no way I was going to venture
     out again. Somehow I managed to make it through the night without the needs of my bladder overwhelming me.
    Cam told me that Akeeko is a First Nations word that means ‘kettle’ – apparently because of kettle-shaped formations in the
     granite rocks bordering the rapids – and that these rapids were running at category four. That was too steep for the kind of
     open boats we were paddling, so, like the Voyageurs of old, we had to portage the canoes around them. Dave carried a canoe
     on his own; grabbing the central seat strut, he hauled its weight on to his thigh, then, with a bend of the knees, flipped
     it up and carried it over his head. I watched him make his way through the trees to the other side of the white water without
     any help. Then it was our turn, Russ and I taking an end apiece and walking it between us.
    There was no livestock up here – no sheep to contaminate anything – so we filled our water bottles straight from the river,
     then sorted what we needed for the day into the waterproof bags we’d been given and prepared to get on our way. The gear barrels
     were sealed with a locking device that made sure they were watertight, even if one happened to go overboard. Fitted with a
     harness, they were carried like a backpack when you were ashore.
    A good way downriver was the Bloodvein community, one of the First Nations