The next morning, the Fretz contingent was up early, packed up and across the portage by 7:00 a.m. as agreed. One last pot of Mike's super oatmeal porridge awaited. It was consumed before we packed up and carried all the gear to the agreed pick up location.
Peter had contacted TransWest the night before and learned that the twin otter that had been scheduled to pick us up at 9:00 a.m. was down, but they would send a single-engine turbo otter. They said it would probably require three trips instead of two but assured us that we would pay the amount quoted.
It was well past the agreed pick up time when we finally heard the drone of the engine, but the pilot and his helper were extremely friendly, competent and helpful as we ferried our gear out to the plane in our canoes. We had less weight than the pilot anticipated, so as they loaded, the plan changed. On the first trip south to the fishing camp at Carswell Lake, the plane was loaded down with more half our packs and pretty much all the pails and kitchen gear, the small solo canoe and four people inside the plane and one big canoe on each pontoon.
I was happily surprised when we managed to lift off the lake.
At our request, the pilot flew over the tangled web of the Williams River delta before turning south. We were able to trace part of our route from the air. Occasionally the rigid lines of the land portion of the Semchuck Trail, the winter road to Uranium City, cut across the boreal forest. These dead straight constructions provided a sharp contrast to all the natural organic shapes. With that one exception, there were no signs of humankind from the air. As we neared Carswell Lake, the increased wind made for a bumpier ride which combined with the heat and fuel smells from the engine caused a little nausea for some of us.
At our request, the pilot flew over the tangled web of the Williams River delta before turning south. We were able to trace part of our route from the air. Occasionally the rigid lines of the land portion of the Semchuck Trail, the winter road to Uranium City, cut across the boreal forest. These dead straight constructions provided a sharp contrast to all the natural organic shapes. With that one exception, there were no signs of humankind from the air. As we neared Carswell Lake, the increased wind made for a bumpier ride which combined with the heat and fuel smells from the engine caused a little nausea for some of us.
The fishing camp was occupied this time by Joseph who was very helpful in offering us a wheel barrow to help transport the awkward paddles, by Brian McDonald, the owner of the camp, and by his young daughter who was celebrating her 5th birthday and was delighted to have outsiders with whom to share the celebration.
We washed hair, changed clothes and began to pack up as we waited for the others in our crew to arrive. Arrive they did about an hour later, and a short time later we were packed and back on the road.
The trip south on the Semchuck Trail was just as challenging and stressful as it had been on the way north. An added concern was the smoke which emanated from fires at some unknown location or locations. At times, it became relatively thick.
It was a longggg... trip home. At dusk and after dark, rivers and "shotguns" kept themselves alert playing "dodge the deer.: The Alberta contingent made it to Mavis's house around 2:30, and the Saskatoon crowd, having stopped for some sustenance at Timmy's in PA, did not make it home before the sun began to rise at 4:00 am.
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