Rupert River Canoe Trip

When I summon the nerve to rejoin Eric on the side of The Fours, I ask him what he thinks is the worst part of the project. He says, begrudgingly, “Water will be poisoned.” I remember our second day together, when Eric taught us how to lift our paddles toward the sky and drink from the shaft, rather than stopping to fill water bottles. This way, we could paddle farther without getting dehydrated. We won’t be able to drink from the Rupert after the dams. The soil is full of mercury, which will leach into the water where it is backed up in reservoirs. The Cree who continue to drink from what is left of the Rupert, and eat what is left of its fish, will experience numbness in their limbs, trembling hands, reduced peripheral vision, and a lack of coordination in the muscles and eyes. We know this because it happened when the Eastmain and LaGrande rivers were dammed.

Hydro-Quebec says that mercury is a naturally occurring substance, slightly increased by weather patterns that carried fallout from factories north and dropped chemical-laced acid rain on Cree lands. They recommend eating less fish and buying bottled water. Many Cree live several hours away from the nearest store, and depend on fish for the majority of their summer food. Not being able to sip fresh gulps off of paddle shafts will be the least of their problems.

The poisoning of the water is just one example of how the true impact of the diversion can’t be quantified in a neat 400-page Environmental Assessment. It is one thing to mention clean power, jobs, and billions of dollars in revenue, but what’s this compared to the value of one of the largest trout spawning territories in the world, of habitat for 300 species of migratory birds, of healthy populations of moose, bear, wolves, beaver, mink? How can you place a monetary value on the traditions and customs of a people?

To be fair, the vanishing of the Cree lifestyle has been delayed far longer than those of many other North American tribes, and they have been compensated more than most for their losses. Perhaps the demise of their hunting culture was inevitable, as new generations embraced the ways of the south and fur markets evaporated. In part because of hydro development, the Cree now have one of the most generous social security systems anywhere, and live for the most part without the poverty-related problems so common in aboriginal communities. Most Cree now have modern homes, and the Income Security Program guarantees a minimum income to those Cree who stay in the bush. As part of the Paix des Braves treaty, Hydro-Quebec agreed to build a water treatment facility in Waskaganish. But there are no taps in the bush. A traditional Cree life becomes less and less reasonable every year.

Those of us who have seen the river will lament the loss of such rapids as Thirty-Foot Falls, White Beaver, The Fours, Cat, Bear, Loon, Plum Pudding, and Smokey Hill. Each of these drops is not just a set of rapids, but an entire landscape of water. Scouting them, one sees veritable mountain ranges of holes, waves, chutes, falls, haystacks, swirling eddies as big as lakes, and river features for which there are no words. The final hole at Oatmeal is 500 feet wide. The second drop of The Fours can only be compared to a steep mountainside that just let go into a perpetual avalanche. The third drop is bigger still.

Of course, we paddle the easier and safer “cheat chutes” around most of these rapids. The portage trails are a great excuse for the campers to feel the energy of a true wilderness for the first time. For me, senses return like old friends: the boat feels at home in the grooves it has carved in my shoulders, the tump strap creates just enough pain to make me walk faster, the smell of Labrador Tea is a tonic in my nostrils, the uncertain squish of muskeg feels just right beneath my sore feet. To watch the campers bound down the trampoline-like taiga mosses, carrying boats as heavy as themselves on top of their heads, is to watch all the humility and pride of being a teen distilled down to one instant.

On our last day together, I urge my campers to remember the Rupert in all their actions. “Each time you leave your lights on all night, or run the washing machine with only two shirts in it, you’re voting for projects like the diversion of the Rupert,” I tell them. In return, they ask me if there’s any chance to save the Rupert. I don’t have an adequate answer for them.

Although the Grand Chief of the Cree, Mathew Mukash, had planned to fight the Rupert project when he took office, he now seems to have thrown in the towel. The three chiefs of the villages that will be most affected by the project, Abraham Rupert of Chisasibi, Robert Weistche of Waskaganish, and Josie Jimiken of Nemiscau are the only ones continuing to fight. Last year they released a report claiming that the 2001 vote authorizing the Paix des Braves treaty is not valid, on the grounds that it was held before the Environmental Assessment had been released. How could the people make so momentous a decision without understanding the effects of the project, the chiefs asked. In a non-binding referendum in 2006, 81 percent of the Cree in the three villages voted not in favor of the project. Now that three band chiefs and the Grand Chief all oppose the project, many people believe Quebec should vote again before construction commences.

As soon as we take our boats out at James Bay, I start making plans to run the Rupert yet again next summer. Perhaps this summer will really be the last, or perhaps the summer after that. Like the 300 species of birds from trumpeter swans to delicate warblers who migrate here to mate, paddlers in the know will feel the timeless pull of the Rupert dragging us north each spring to tumble down splendid rapids, even long after they’re gone.

Boulder, Colo., resident Steve King is organizing a film expedition down the Rupert to document the majesty of the rapids and the plight of the Cree. rupertriver.blogspot.com.