I took a 200km canoe trip on the Bloodvein River in Canada

We paddled the rapid-rich river   back to civilisation, with no phone reception   or likelihood of seeing other mortals.

As the float plane dissolves into the summery   pastel sky above us, the mission ahead seems   suddenly overwhelming: 12 days paddling   a red canoe 200km along Canada’s truly   isolated and rapid-rich Bloodvein River,   back to civilisation. No phone reception   or likelihood of seeing other mortals.

We’ve flown 20 minutes from Bissett, southeast Manitoba, itself a three-hour drive north of provincial capital Winnipeg. With rudimentary whitewater experience, I’ve put my trust at the river-sandal-strap-tanned feet of Garrett Fache, owner of Wild Loon Adventure Company, who’s been in canoes for most of his 30 years. He says the grade 2-3 Bloodvein, currently in medium flow, is a fantastic expedition river with doable options for tenderfoots as well as drops to scare the boardshorts off experienced kayakers.

Garrett’s responsible for four of us, split into two open-topped whitewater canoes, unassuming boats that are actually bears in beavers’ clothing, made to be “slammed, used and abused”, says our guide. In one boat are the relative beginners, Manitoba local James and me, proving that you really only need to be half-fit with a sense of adventure – accompanied by a great guide – for this expedition. The other canoe is stacked with talent and experience: Judith and Julian, the latter a former German national team canoeist. Garrett kneels for the entirety in his sporty single, a nimble catcher’s mitt waiting for us at the bottom of rapids come misadventure.

We pack provisions like Tetris blocks into the canoes’ bellies – hulking watertight, unrefrigerated barrels hold 180 meals for five energy-burning humans. We also stow five tents, to be pitched on rocky ground in forests frequented by black bears and, according to First Nations lore, Bigfoot/s.

Whitewater Canoe 101 is in session. Before rapid one of 90, we clamber onto the riverbank to scope “lines” – the trajectories through the whitewater – and hazards, pondering whether to “run” (navigate) or portage, when unloaded canoes are muled along paths to calmer re-entry points. So far away from help, Garrett embraces the “don’t-run-rapids-you-wouldn’t-swim” philosophy.

James (rear, steering) and I (front) strap into kneeling positions, lowering our centre of gravity so, in theory, we can “steer with our hips”. We flukily ace our first “chicken line” – the easiest/safest way down any rapid – and a few more, before stopping to pitch tents on pillowy, deep-green moss between dense jack pines. We bathe in the warm water, fill drink bottles through the filter, and gobble flame-roasted hot dogs like stoned vultures, wriggling into sleeping bags by 8.30pm: the dreaded Mozzie Hour.

A loon wails, a haunting call so integral to Garrett’s upbringing that he named his company after the bird. (The Canadian $1 coin is called a loonie because the bird is on its back.) Loons mate for life so it’s either looking for love or mourning love lost. Another loon squawks into the sunset, a portent of rain. The sky glows long after our snoring symphony begins. The forecast precipitation begins early AM.

We huff and puff northwest, 20km days along lake-wide sections with no discernible flow, intermittently squeezing into rapids and tamer “swifts” bracketed by lichened, pink/red-veined granite – the “blood” vein that gives the river its name.

North America’s largest protected boreal forest filters every inhalation. Unesco granted Pimachiowin Aki (Land that Gives Life) World Heritage status for both natural and cultural significance. To run this expedition through the Anishinaabe people’s land, Garrett works with the Bloodvein First Nation community. “It’s cool that this waterway has been travelled since humans have been alive,” says Garrett, who is Métis, a Canadian Indigenous group of mixed European and First Nations heritage.

He pinpoints artefacts easily missed in this wilderness. A teepee frame, where Knowledge Keepers pass on stories. Time-worn pictographs of canoes and birds, painted on rock walls with ochre and sturgeon fat. A non-native oak tree on a river bend, perhaps sprouting from a “gift to the land” – an acorn.

The Bloodvein’s upper reaches flow effervescently. We portage hairy Stonehouse Rapids, camping above the double drop’s noble thunder. At dawn, as we silently munch oats and sip campfire brews, the rapid mist dances an otherworldly groove.

At sinisterly named X Island, Garrett takes a petrifying, experts-only line, cutting his arm on the steep rocky bank mid-rapid as we watch, our mouths agape. Twigs pierce shin skin, ankles flex precariously wrestling the 5m canoes past four-tiered Goose Neck Rapids. We devour wild blueberries, avoiding two similar-looking fruits that Garrett warns are toxic.

Near halfway, spasming forearms appreciate the converging Gammon River’s pinch of added flow. On approach, otters plop off boulders into the water, scattering mussel shells they have prised open with their forepaws. They leave behind stinky poos, too. We explore an abandoned trapper’s cabin, spookily frozen in 1999, judging by the magazines strewn inside.

Garrett offers to steer me down a lively rapid, overcautiously classed as “do not run”. I overbalance on the drop, flipping us, helmet-first, into the seething churn. Seven swirling seconds later, my lifejacket pops me into breathable atmosphere again – an incident ripe for exaggeration over dinner around the campfire.

With a cast-iron pan and real-world chef experience, Garrett conjures dishes like Spam pad Thai (it’s so much better than it sounds). We toast to adventure with plastic cups of goon. Garrett recounts his First Nations friends’ tales of Sabe (Bigfoot) – actual sightings and footprints “too big to be a bear”.

Sheer esprit de corps drags me through a monumental 29km, 17-rapid, headwind-hampered day. Next morning, I find rhythm, forget what day it is, and reflexively paddle thousands of strokes.

Using topographical maps in waterproof sleeves, laid out on Garrett’s canoe like a mini-office desk, we explore the meandrous river’s byways, including a shortcut to outrun a storm, past beaver dams in various stages of construction.

I transfix on dragonflies flying sentinel off the bow as huge bald eagles soar over our whitewater capers. The trees they perch on are no longer under threat from mining companies, but Garrett says wildfires have charred the “lungs of Canada” recently. We paddle past formerly “five-star campsites”, now a pick-up-sticks of charred trunks.

Early grunt work done, we reach camps earlier each day. At Namay Rapids, those with talent surf the constant wave at the front of our campsite with juvenile spirit. Those without swim, snooze and read the afternoon away. We leave places as we find them, more or less, recycling and carrying out rubbish. Garrett admits that leaving no trace whatsoever is a lofty goal. “The biggest thing I can do is just get more people out here, get them physically attached to these places. Then people are going to be passionate about protecting them.”

The river relaxes, rapids still lively but fewer and further between. James and I still flip semi-regularly but now on slightly harder lines. My rapid-phobia has morphed into a semi-educated respect.

Garrett finally spots a black bear (they’ve been smelling and hearing us coming), but the berry-engrossed beast trots away from camp before we get our shots. We stuff tents into sacks for a final time. Symbolically, a flock of Canadian geese ushers us into the final day’s paddle – “only” 8km. With Julian at my helm, I stay upright in the final rapid – one I wouldn’t have considered running two weeks ago. Around the bend, the sight of a concrete bridge punctures my natural euphoria. The transfer van awaits.

The writer was a guest of Travel Manitoba and Destination Canada.

What is the best way to get to Winnipeg from Australia?

Air Canada flies to Winnipeg from Sydney/Melbourne, via Vancouver. 

How much does Wild Loon Adventure Company’s 12-day Bloodvein River trip cost?

Prices for Wild Loon Adventure Company’s 12-day Bloodvein River trip start at $C4600 (about $5000) a person, transfers extra.

What is the checklist for this trip?

You need to be a confident swimmer, happy to rough it, and reasonably physically fit.

Originally published as I took a 200km canoe trip on the Bloodvein River in Canada