{"id":38457,"date":"2026-02-20T00:00:47","date_gmt":"2026-02-20T08:00:47","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/community.nrs.com\/duct-tape\/?p=38457"},"modified":"2026-03-02T13:30:10","modified_gmt":"2026-03-02T21:30:10","slug":"an-amateur-meets-the-arctic-part-1","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/community.nrs.com\/duct-tape\/2026\/02\/20\/an-amateur-meets-the-arctic-part-1\/","title":{"rendered":"An Amateur Meets The Arctic \u2013 Part 1"},"content":{"rendered":"

In the northern regions<\/span><\/i> of Canada\u2019s Northwest Territories, where the Roscoe, Brock, and Hornaday Rivers carve ancient paths through tundra, lies Tuktut Nogait National Park. Established in 1998 to protect the calving grounds of the Bluenose-West caribou herd, this remote wilderness sees fewer than 20 visitors annually. This July, Evan Lefebvre and his expedition-mate Steve embarked on a two-person packraft expedition that traversed the park from east to west, documenting the park\u2019s timeless beauty and the troubling signs of a rapidly changing North.<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

The float plane touches down on crystal-clear water 300 kilometers north of the Arctic Circle. Our pilot, Simon, from North-Wright Air, taxis to shore on Nunavut Lake, uncharted territory for both the charter company and for me. I’ve never ventured this far north before. We’re in Inuvialuit territory, approaching Tuktut Nogait National Park where the Inuvialuit and Saht\u00fa Dene have hunted and traveled for millennia. In Inuinnaqtun, the park’s name means “young caribou,” a fitting description for a place where these magnificent animals still roam in abundance across the tundra.<\/span><\/p>\n

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As Simon refuels, a chunk of ice drifts toward our makeshift landing. It\u2019s the middle of summer here, a brief period when the ice retreats and reveals what’s hidden underneath. The shoreline is a mosaic of rocks in every color imaginable, many encrusted with crystals that catch the never-setting sun. We make an offering to the land after pushing the aircraft away, watching it disappear over the horizon, and with it, our last connection to the outside world.<\/span><\/p>\n

The four of us\u2014Jim and Brian in a PakCanoe, Steve and I in packrafts\u2014have shared the substantial charter cost from Norman Wells, though Jim and Brian plan to take a longer 28 days for a similar route that we’ve compressed into just 14 due to our lighter packs and watercrafts.<\/span><\/p>\n

I fill my bottle from the cyan-blue lake. Looking around, there is an overwhelming feeling of gratitude for the fresh water, good people, and beautiful scenery. The landscape reminds me of my home in the Ottawa Valley, but stripped of trees.<\/span><\/p>\n

We inflate our packrafts, zip into dry suits, and push off. Almost immediately, we discover the Roscoe River’s true character. What <\/span>should<\/span><\/i> be 90 kilometers of paddling becomes an endless series of shallow dragging sessions over rounded rocks. Our packrafts grind against the riverbed as we hop in and out, scrambling over stones with lines in hand. The four of us stop for lunch, then part ways until later on as it\u2019s hard to keep up on the flatwater with Jim and Brian in their much faster, and more elegant, PakCanoe.<\/span><\/p>\n