Canot du Maître to Fort Pontchartrain du Détroit, 1797

In the sweltering August heat of 1797, as the sun baked the cobblestone streets of Montreal, ten hardy French-Canadians gathered at the notary office of Louis Chaboillez. They were men of the river: Jean-Baptiste Gagnier, the seasoned steersman from St-Constant, with his sharp eyes and callused hands; young Gabriel Pinsonneau from Laprairie, eager for the pay to support his growing family; and their comrades—Pierre Senecale, Julien Dupuis, François Fontaine, and Pierre Laporte, all Laprairie boys with the same parish mud on their boots; Ignace Robert di Lapommeraye from the Turtle lands nearby; Antoine Madore from Châteauguay's wilder shores; Jean-Baptiste Leber from Montreal's bustling faubourg; and Jean-Baptiste Tallard from St-Philippe. They'd each inked their marks on crisp contracts with the Lasselle brothers, Jacques and François—shrewd merchants who'd built a trading empire in Detroit, bridging the old French world with the new American frontier.

The Lasselles promised good wages—400 to 550 livres for the year—and advances to tide over families left behind. In exchange, the men received humble équipments: woolen blankets to ward off lake chills, bolts of cotton for mending shirts or trading, and tough beef-hide moccasins for the muddy portages. "To the strait," the papers read, but they all knew it meant Detroit, that bustling outpost on the narrow waterway between Lakes Erie and Huron, where furs flowed like rivers and fortunes awaited the bold.

By late August, they assembled at Lachine, the launching point west of Montreal where canoes bobbed like eager horses. Their vessel was a grand canot du maître, a 35-foot birchbark behemoth loaded with barrels of pork, flour, and trade goods—axes, kettles, and beads for Indigenous partners. Ten strong, they shoved off at dawn, paddles slicing the St. Lawrence in unison, singing old chansons like "À la claire fontaine" to keep rhythm. Gagnier barked orders from the stern, his rudder guiding them through the river's swift currents. The milieux—Gabriel and the others—dug deep, their shoulders burning as they powered upstream against the flow.

The first leg was familiar torment: battling the Lachine Rapids, then portaging loads over rocky trails where mosquitoes swarmed like black clouds. They pressed on to Lake Ontario, where open waters tested their nerve—winds whipping waves that could swallow a man whole. Days blurred into a grind: rising before sunup, paddling 50 miles or more, camping on sandy shores with fires crackling against the night. They shared tales around the flames—Leber spinning yarns of Montreal's taverns, Madore boasting of Châteauguay hunts, while Gabriel spoke quietly of his wife Marie and their little ones back in Laprairie. Bonds formed fast; in the canoe, they were brothers, sharing the ache of blistered hands and the thrill of spotting beaver lodges along the banks.

Crossing into Lake Erie meant skirting British forts and new American patrols, but the Lasselles' reputation smoothed the way. Portages around Niagara's thundering falls were brutal—each man hauling 180-pound packs twice over the mile-long trail, sweat mixing with the mist. Finally, after weeks of toil, Detroit's wooden stockades rose on the horizon. The town buzzed with traders, Odawa and Ojibwe allies, and French holdouts like the Lasselles, who greeted them with rum and relief. There, the crew unloaded goods, perhaps wintered over repairing canoes or clerking in warehouses, before the spring return with precious pelts—beaver, otter, and marten.

For Gabriel and his kin-like crew, the voyage was more than work; it was a rite of the river, etching their names into the fur trade's fading French legacy. Though hardships loomed—storms, sickness, the pull of home—they returned changed, pockets heavier, stories richer, in a world shifting from canoes to canals.

NOTES:

The voyageurs listed in our search were French-Canadian men from the Montreal region, primarily from small parishes like Laprairie (now La Prairie), St-Constant, St-Philippe, and nearby areas. They were hired in the summer of 1797 by brothers Jacques and François Lasselle, who were prominent French-Canadian merchants involved in the fur trade. The Lasselles operated out of Detroit (then recently ceded from British to American control in 1796), trading goods like furs, fabrics, and supplies across the Great Lakes region. These contracts, notarized by Louis Chaboillez in Montreal, were standard for the era: one-year engagements for a voyage to "the strait" (a reference to Detroit, as "Détroit" literally means strait in French). The men were part of a single canoe crew, with Jean-Baptiste Gagnier serving as gouvernail (steersman, a position requiring experience to navigate rivers and lakes), and the rest as milieux (middle paddlers, responsible for the bulk of the propulsion in large birchbark canoes).

Voyageurs like these were essential to the North American fur trade, hauling trade goods (such as blankets, tools, and cloth) westward from Montreal and returning with pelts. They faced grueling conditions: long days paddling, portaging heavy loads over rough terrain, exposure to weather, and risks from rapids or wildlife. Contracts often included wages in livres (French currency still used in Quebec at the time), cash advances for family support, and "équipements" like blankets (couvertes), lengths of cotton fabric (aunes, an old unit roughly 1.2 meters), and sturdy shoes (often souliers de bœuf, or beef-hide moccasins). Most of these men were in their prime working years, drawn from farming or laboring backgrounds in interconnected rural communities where fur trade stints supplemented income.

Here's a summary of each man based on the contract details you provided, cross-referenced with historical context from voyageur records:

• Jean-Baptiste Gagnier (likely a variant of Gagné): From St-Régis or St-Constant parish. Signed August 4, 1797. As gouvernail, he earned 550 livres, with advances of 72 livres at signing and 28 upon departure. Equipment: 3-point blanket, 6 aunes of cotton, deer shoes. Note: Paid 30 livres monthly until 100 livres reached. He would have been the crew's leader on the water, steering from the stern.

• Gabriel Pinsonneau (contract above, our 4th great-grandfather, normalized as Pinsonneault): From Laprairie parish. Born August 5, 1770, in St-Philippe (part of La Prairie-de-la-Madeleine), son of Pierre Pinsonneau and Marie Louise Vielle. He married Marie Viau dit L'Espérance around 1793 and had several children before his death on August 19, 1807, in La Prairie (Notre-Dame parish). Signed August 11, 1797, as a milieu for 500 livres, with a 24-livres advance. Equipment: 3-point blanket, 6 aunes of cotton, beef shoes. This was likely one of his fur trade ventures, common for men in his region.
• Jean-Baptiste Tallard: From St-Philippe parish. Signed August 4, 1797, as a milieu for 500 livres, with a 36-livres advance. Equipment: 3-point blanket, 3 aunes of cotton, deer shoes.
• Pierre Senecale (normalized as Sénécal): From Laprairie. Signed August 11, 1797, as a milieu for 400 livres, with a 24-livres advance. Equipment: 3-point blanket, 3 aunes of cotton, shoes (type unspecified).
• Ignace Robert di Lapommeraye: From "La Tortue" (likely a local nickname for a area near Laprairie, possibly referring to Turtle Creek or a farm). Signed July 28, 1797, as a milieu for 550 livres, with a 60-livres advance. Equipment: Blanket, 3 aunes of cotton, shoes.
• Antoine Madore: From Châteauguay (listed as "China," possibly a transcription error or old spelling). Signed August 16, 1797, as a milieu for 450 livres, with a 24-livres advance. Equipment: 2.5-point blanket (or "tips and covered 2 emy"), 3 aunes of cotton.
• Jean-Baptiste Leber (or Lebert): From Faubourg St-Joseph (a Montreal suburb). Signed August 7, 1797, as a milieu for 550 livres, with a 48-livres advance. Equipment: 3-point blanket, 4 aunes of cotton.
• Pierre Laporte: From Laprairie. Signed August 4, 1797, as a milieu for 450 livres (no advance noted). Equipment: 3-point blanket, 3 aunes of cotton.
• François Fontaine (possibly Peras, normalized as Fontaine): From Laprairie. Signed August 11, 1797, as a milieu for 500 livres, with a 30-livres advance. Equipment: 3-point blanket, 3 aunes of cotton, shoes.
• Julien Dupuis (normalized as Dupuy): From Laprairie. Signed August 11, 1797, as a milieu for 400 livres, with a 30-livres advance. Equipment: 3-point blanket, 6 aunes of cotton, beef shoes.

These men represent a typical voyageur crew: mostly young, fit laborers from tight-knit French-Canadian communities, motivated by adventure and pay (averaging 450-550 livres, equivalent to several months' farm wages). Records of similar contracts show many returned to farming or took multiple trips, though dangers like drowning or illness were common.

Regarding relations to Gabriel Pinsonneau: Historical searches didn't uncover direct, documented blood ties (e.g., siblings or first cousins) between Gabriel and the others, but that's not surprising given the fragmented nature of 18th-century Quebec records. However, the shared parishes (especially Laprairie, where Gabriel and at least five others hailed from) and the presence of surnames like Gagnier (Gagné), Leber, Sénécal, Dupuis, and Pinsonneau in our ancestral tree strongly suggest interconnections. In rural Quebec during this era, families intermarried frequently within small Seigneuries, leading to extended kin networks through cousins, in-laws, or godparent relationships. For instance, the Pinsonneau family had deep roots in Laprairie since the mid-1700s, with marriages linking to other local clans. It's very plausible that several were distant relatives or family allies—perhaps through Gabriel's mother Marie Vielle's side or via common ancestors like early settlers from France. Genealogy resources like WikiTree and Quebec church records (Drouin Collection) often reveal such links with deeper digging, but based on the patterns, our intuition about relations seems spot-on.

Voyageur canoe crews were teams of 4–12 hardy French-Canadian and Métis paddlers who transported fur trade cargo along Canadian waterways in large birch-bark canoes. Led by an avant (bowsman) for navigation and a gouvernail (steersman) in the stern, these brigades, often under a bourgeois (partner), worked from sunrise to sunset. 

Crew Roles and Structure

• Avant (Bowman): Experienced paddler at the front, responsible for scouting, navigating rapids, and setting the pace.
• Gouvernail (Steersman): Located at the stern, steering the large canoe.
• Milieu (Middlemen): The "middlemen" or avant-milieu who provided the main paddling power.
• Brigade: A group of 4 to 8 canoes that traveled together for safety.
• Size: Crews typically managed large canot du nord (North Canoes) or larger canot de maître (Montreal canoes). 

Key Aspects of the Crew

• Language: French was the primary language of the fur trade, used by all crew members.
• Physical Demands: Voyageurs were known for their strength, paddling up to 3,000 miles, often singing to keep pace.
• Apparel: Frequently wore red or blue tuques, moccasins, and arrow-head sashes.
• Cargo & Navigation: Transported 2,000 to 3,000 pounds of goods, requiring expert skills in portaging and running dangerous rapids. 

Thank you to Grok xAI and Gemini AI for updated material.

Nor’ Westers Trip from Michilimackinac to Fort William

 

In a recent post we examined the Voyageurs Highway, circa 1750, and a voyage from Lachine to Michilimackinac.

Now, we’ll look at a later period, circa 1803, when there were reasons why some North West Company (NWC) voyageurs might have traveled from Lachine to Michilimackinac and then on to Fort William, though this was not the standard or most direct route for the annual brigades heading to the rendezvous. The primary voyageur route from Lachine to Fort William (or its predecessor, Grand Portage) typically followed the Ottawa River, Mattawa River, Lake Nipissing, French River into Georgian Bay, then northward through Lake Huron's North Channel to Sault Ste. Marie, and finally westward along Lake Superior's north shore.  This avoided Michilimackinac (modern Mackinac Island), which lies at the straits connecting Lake Huron and Lake Michigan, southwest of the main path.

However, Michilimackinac was a major fur trade hub with NWC presence, especially for trade routes extending into the southwestern Great Lakes region (e.g., Michigan, Illinois, and Fond du Lac areas).  Voyageurs could have detoured or been rerouted there for several reasons:

• Supplying regional posts or intercepting trade: NWC operations included posts around the Great Lakes, and some canoes might have stopped at or originated from Michilimackinac to collect furs, provisions, or personnel before heading north to the rendezvous at Fort William, especially during competitive periods or disruptions like the War of 1812 (when NWC forces helped capture the U.S. fort at Michilimackinac). 
• Alternative or seasonal routing: While the Ottawa-Georgian Bay route was preferred to bypass Niagara Falls and Lake Erie, some traders used southern Great Lakes paths that passed through Michilimackinac for access to Lake Superior via Sault Ste. Marie. This could occur for express canoes, smaller groups, or when avoiding hazards on the northern route. 
• Exploration or expansion: During NWC's push westward (e.g., under Alexander Mackenzie), some voyages connected multiple hubs, including Michilimackinac, before converging on Fort William. 

These instances were more exception than rule, as the bulk of the "pork eaters" (Montreal-based voyageurs) aimed directly for the rendezvous without the detour, which would add time and risk to the already grueling 2,000+ mile journey. 

Description of the Trip from Michilimackinac to Fort William

If voyageurs did make this leg (roughly 400-500 miles, taking 2-4 weeks depending on weather and crew), it would involve navigating the unpredictable waters of the upper Great Lakes in birchbark canoes (canots de maître for larger groups, holding 8-14 men and tons of cargo). The journey emphasized endurance, with crews paddling 12-18 hours daily, singing to maintain rhythm, and subsisting on cornmeal porridge (rubaboo) or pemmican.  Key stages:

• Michilimackinac to Sault Ste. Marie (about 100 miles, 3-5 days): Paddling northeast along Lake Huron's shoreline or through the straits, avoiding strong currents and islands. Crews might stop at indigenous villages for trade or repairs. At the Sault, they'd portage around the rapids (a mile-long carry of packs weighing 180 lbs each, done in stages). 
• Sault Ste. Marie to the North Shore of Lake Superior (initial 100-150 miles, 4-7 days): Entering Lake Superior, the largest and most treacherous freshwater lake, with sudden storms, fog, and high waves. They'd hug the rugged northern shoreline, passing rocky cliffs, forests, and bays like Batchawainon or Michipicoton for shelter. Portages were fewer but demanding, often over uneven terrain. 
• North Shore to Fort William (200-250 miles, 7-10 days): Continuing west past slate islands, black bays, and peninsulas, dealing with cold winds and potential ice in early season. The final approach followed the Kaministiquia River mouth near modern Thunder Bay, Ontario. Hazards included wildlife (bears, wolves), mosquitoes, and fatigue-related accidents. 

This segment was part of the broader two-stage system: eastern brigades met western ones at Fort William for cargo exchange before returning. 

Fort William During the Annual Rendezvous

From 1803 to 1821, Fort William served as the NWC's inland headquarters and site of the summer rendezvous, a massive gathering in July-August drawing up to 2,000-3,000 people for 2-4 weeks.  The wooden stockade enclosed warehouses, great halls, residences, shops, a jail, and a hospital, sprawling over 40+ buildings on the Kaministiquia River.  It buzzed with activity:

• Business and Trade: Montreal agents and wintering partners held meetings in the Great Hall to negotiate shares, plan expansions, and resolve disputes. Canoes arrived laden with furs from the west (exchanged for eastern goods), with tons of pelts sorted and packed. 
• Social and Cultural Hub: Voyageurs, Indigenous peoples (Ojibwe, Cree, Assiniboine), Métis, and Scots mingled. Feasts featured venison, fish, and rum; there were dances, music (fiddles, bagpipes), storytelling, and contests like canoe races or wrestling. Tents dotted the grounds for overflow. 
• Atmosphere: Chaotic yet organized, with celebrations contrasting the isolation of winter posts. It reinforced alliances but could turn rowdy with alcohol-fueled fights. 

After the 1821 merger with the Hudson's Bay Company, the rendezvous declined, and the fort fell into disuse by 1883. 

Partners of the North West Company

The NWC operated as a series of evolving partnerships (not a chartered corporation like the Hudson's Bay Company), with shares distributed among Montreal agents (merchants handling supplies and sales) and wintering partners (who managed interior operations and traded directly with Indigenous groups).  Profits were divided by shares (starting at 16 in 1784, expanding to 46 by 1799), and partners met annually at the rendezvous to vote on decisions.  Key aspects and figures:

• Structure: Partnerships renewed every 5-7 years, absorbing rivals (e.g., XY Company in 1804, where old NWC partners got 75% shares).  Winterers started as clerks and rose based on performance; agents were often Scots merchants. 
• Founding Partners (1783-1787): Simon McTavish (dominant figure, held up to 4 shares), Benjamin and Joseph Frobisher (3 shares combined), George McBeath, Robert Grant, Nicholas Montour, Patrick Small, William Holmes, Peter Pond.  After merging with Gregory, McLeod & Co. in 1787: Added John Gregory, Norman McLeod, Peter Pangman, Alexander Mackenzie (explorer, 1 share). 
• Later Key Partners: William McGillivray (succeeded McTavish as director by 1796; Fort William named after him), Roderick Mackenzie (Alexander's cousin), John McDonald of Garth, Donald McTavish, John George McTavish, John McLoughlin (later HBC chief factor), Aeneas Cameron, Duncan Cameron, John Forsyth.  By 1812, there were 38 wintering partners. 
• Dynamics: Aggressive and innovative, they pushed exploration (e.g., Mackenzie's Pacific crossing) and competed fiercely with HBC until the 1821 merger, where many NWC partners joined the new entity. 

Pierre Lefevre’s Fantasy Rendezvous Adventure as told by Grok

The sun hung low over the churning rapids of Sault Ste. Marie as young Pierre Lefevre, barely nineteen and on his first full brigade as a voyageur for the North West Company, hefted his pack onto his broad shoulders. The air was thick with the roar of whitewater and the sharp scent of pine, mingling with the sweat of men who'd already portaged their canots de maître around the falls. Pierre's hands, calloused from months of training on the St. Lawrence, gripped the birchbark canoe as his crew—eight burly French-Canadians and a stern bourgeois named Monsieur Duval—prepared to launch into Lake Superior's vast, unforgiving expanse.

"Allez, mes amis! Paddle like the devil's chasing you!" Duval barked, his voice cutting through the chatter. Pierre dipped his paddle into the cold, clear water, syncing with the rhythm of the others. The song started low, a familiar voyageur chant to keep time: "En roulant ma boule roulant..." Their voices rose and fell like the waves ahead, propelling the laden canoe westward along the lake's northern shore. Superior was a beast of a lake, they said—moody, with storms that could swallow a man whole. Pierre had heard the tales around campfires: canoes dashed against jagged rocks, crews lost to hypothermia in the icy depths.

The first days blurred into a grueling haze. They hugged the rugged coastline, a wild tapestry of towering cliffs, dense forests of spruce and fir, and hidden bays where they'd beach for the night. Paddling from dawn till dusk, eighteen hours some days, Pierre's arms burned like fire. They portaged over rocky trails when bays turned to impassable headlands, each man carrying two ninety-pound packs in relays—back and forth, muscles screaming, blackflies swarming in clouds that left welts on exposed skin. Meals were hasty: rubaboo stew of cornmeal and grease, or pemmican pounded from bison and berries, washed down with spruce beer to ward off scurvy.

Nights brought little respite. Under canvas tents or the open stars, Pierre lay awake to the howls of wolves echoing off the granite shores, or the eerie calls of loons skimming the water. Once, a sudden squall hit near Michipicoten Island—winds whipping the lake into frothy peaks, waves crashing over the gunwales. "Bail, boy! Bail or we'll swim with the fish!" a veteran voyageur yelled as Pierre frantically scooped water with his hat. The canoe pitched wildly, but they rode it out, emerging soaked and shivering into a rainbow-arched calm. In quieter moments, they'd trade stories with Ojibwe hunters at makeshift camps, bartering beads for fresh fish or moose meat, the firelight dancing on tattooed faces and fur bundles.

As the days stretched into two weeks, the shore grew more dramatic: slate-gray islands rising like sentinels, black sand beaches fringed with wild blueberries that stained their fingers purple. Pierre's wonder mixed with exhaustion— this was the pays d'en haut, the upper country, far from his family's farm in Lachine. Finally, as the Kaministiquia River's mouth appeared on the horizon, a haze of smoke and distant shouts signaled their destination: Fort William.

The rendezvous was in full swing when they arrived in mid-July, the air alive with a cacophony that made Pierre's heart race. Hundreds of canoes lined the riverbank, their bows painted with NWC crests, while tents sprawled like a makeshift city around the wooden palisades. The fort itself loomed grand—a stockaded compound of warehouses bulging with pelts, a great hall for the partners' meetings, barracks, a smithy, even a makeshift hospital. Flags snapped in the breeze, and the smell of roasting venison, pipe tobacco, and rum punched through the pine-scented wind.

Pierre's eyes widened as he stepped ashore, his legs wobbling from the journey. Everywhere, a whirlwind of humanity: burly winterers from the Athabasca country, clad in buckskin and beaded sashes, haggling over beaver furs with Montreal agents in fine coats. Métis women stirred massive pots over open fires, serving feasts of wild rice and bannock, while children darted between legs, laughing. Indigenous traders—Ojibwe, Cree, Assiniboine—displayed stacks of glossy pelts, their canoes laden with birchbark crafts and quillwork. Scots partners, like the legendary William McGillivray himself, strode about with ledgers, negotiating shares amid clouds of cigar smoke.

The revelry hit like a wave. Fiddles and bagpipes wailed in competing tunes, drawing circles of dancers—voyageurs stomping in moccasins, arms linked with Indigenous women in colorful shawls. Pierre watched, awestruck, as a wrestling match erupted between two giants, bets flying in French, English, and Cree. Rum flowed freely from barrels, toasts raised to successful hunts and safe returns. "To the North West!" men cheered, their faces flushed. But beneath the joy, Pierre glimpsed the grit: a jail for rowdy drunks, weary clerks tallying furs by lantern light, and hushed talks of rival Hudson's Bay men lurking nearby.

As night fell, bonfires lit the sky, stories unfolding like the stars above—tales of Arctic explorations, bear attacks, and fortunes made. Pierre, nursing a mug of grog, felt a swell of belonging. This was the heart of the fur trade, where worlds collided in trade, alliance, and chaos. Tomorrow, they'd unload their cargo and prepare for the return east, but for now, in the glow of the rendezvous, he was no longer just a boy from the river—he was a voyageur, forged by the wild.

Thank You Grok xAI. — Drifting Cowboy

North West Company 1803: From Fort William to Lac la Pluie

 Imagine embarking in the summer of 1803 as a voyageur with the North West Company, fresh from the annual rendezvous at the newly established depot on the Kaministiquia River—soon to be christened Fort William in honor of chief director William McGillivray.  Your brigade consists of several birchbark canot du nord—sleeker vessels around 25 feet long, lighter than the grand canot du maître, built for the narrower rivers and frequent portages ahead, each carrying about 1.5 tons of trade goods like blankets, kettles, beads, and firearms bound for the pays d'en haut.  You're one of 5 or 6 paddlers per canoe, a mix of seasoned hivernants (winterers) and green mangeurs de lard (pork-eaters) like yourself, still uninitiated into the ranks of the true "north men." Clad in capotes, sashes, and deerskin moccasins, you shove off from the fort's bustling docks, where Scottish bourgeois oversee the loading amid the clamor of Indigenous allies, clerks, and fellow voyageurs singing to lift spirits.

The journey westward to Fort Lac la Pluie (later known as Fort Frances) on Rainy Lake covers roughly 200 miles of rugged Canadian Shield terrain—a vital link in the fur trade chain, avoiding the now-American Grand Portage and tapping into the rich beaver grounds of the northwest.  You begin by paddling up the broad Kaministiquia River, its waters swollen from spring rains, for about 30 miles through gentle riffles and fast currents. The air hums with blackflies, but the rhythm of 40-50 strokes per minute propels you onward, with occasional décharges where you line the canoe through shallows using ropes from the banks.  Soon comes the first major hurdle: the thunderous 120-foot Kakabeka Falls, bypassed via the grueling Mountain Portage—a long, muddy trek on the west bank, hauling packs and canoe over rocky paths, perhaps using the company's rough road for heavier loads. Over the next 23 miles, the river steepens, dropping 10 feet per mile, demanding seven more portages and two décharges around rapids, each carry sapping strength as you shoulder 180-pound loads in the double-carry style.

Reaching Little Dog Lake, you tackle the steep Great Dog Portage, clambering up a 400-foot hill for a breathtaking view down the valley, past an ancient Indigenous effigy stone resembling a massive dog.  Then it's onto Dog Lake itself, a 50-mile stretch of open water dotted with islands, where winds can whip up waves testing your birchbark hull—quick patches with spruce gum if needed. The route winds up the marshy Dog River, then Jordain Creek and Cold Water Creek, their twisting, shallow channels requiring poling or lining, until you reach the icy depths of Cold Water Lake, a spring-fed respite amid the pines and granite.

Here begins the crux: the height-of-land divide, separating waters flowing east to the Great Lakes from those draining north and west to Hudson Bay. Three boggy, hilly portages await— the 3-mile Prairie Portage to Height of Land Lake, the half-mile de Milieu to Lac de Milieu, and the 1.5-mile Savanne Portage—each a test of endurance, with bonuses paid for the extra toil.  It's at this watershed crossing, amid the mud and mosquitoes, that the ritual unfolds for novices like you. The seasoned north men halt the brigade, declaring it's time to "baptize" the pork-eaters into their brotherhood. You're sprinkled with water from the first westward-flowing stream—symbolizing your passage into the wild interior—and made to swear a solemn oath: never to kiss another voyageur's wife without her consent, and to uphold the codes of the north.  Failure means a dunking in the creek or paying a "régal" (treat) of rum to the crew. The ceremony erupts in laughter, back-slaps, songs like "À la claire fontaine," and a shared dram, forging you as a true north man, no longer a mere Montreal paddler but an hivernant ready for wintering in the pays sauvage.

Descending the Savanne River into island-strewn Lac des Mille Lacs, the going eases with downstream flow. A short quarter-mile Baril Portage leads to the Pickerel River, then Pickerel and Deux Rivières portages into Sturgeon Lake, followed by the swift Maligne River to vast Lac la Croix.  From there, you take the Loon River route for heavy freight—through Vermilion and Sand Point Lakes, with three portages turned marine railways in later years—or the wilder Namakan River for speed, both emptying into Lake Namakan. Bypassing Kettle Falls via a newer eastern outlet with two small portages around rocky bends, you finally glide into Rainy Lake's expansive waters, teeming with sturgeon and walleye, its rocky shores home to Ojibwe bands who trade furs for your goods.

Arriving at Fort Lac la Pluie—a modest post of log buildings, warehouses, and a palisade on the lake's north shore—you unload amid the scent of drying pelts and pemmican.  Here, brigades exchange cargoes: your trade items for bundles of beaver, marten, and otter bound east, perhaps lingering for repairs or resupply before pushing farther or turning back. This leg might span two to three weeks of 12-14 hour days, covering dozens of portages totaling miles of carries, but the ritual's bond and the wilderness's raw beauty—towering pines, moose calls, and northern lights—mark it as a voyageur's rite into legend, sustaining the North West Company's empire until its merger in 1821. 

Thank you to Grok xAI for the updated information and narration.  -- Drifting Cowboy