Haunting, Thrilling, and Fondest Canoeing Memories

 

c. 1950s, Postcard for Ducey's Bass Lake Lodge

I fell in love with canoeing as a teenager on Bass Lake, California, back in the 1950s. The water was like a mirror, reflecting the pine trees and my wide-eyed wonder as I dipped my paddle for the first time. It felt like unlocking a secret world, one stroke at a time. Little did I know, that splashy start would lead to a lifetime of watery wanderings and feathered friends who'd turn every trip into an adventure worth retelling around the campfire.

Since then, I've canoed many rivers like the Owens in California, the Missouri in Montana, and the Snake in Wyoming—each one a ribbon of blue carving through landscapes that make you feel small in the best way. I've glided across lakes in Minnesota's Boundary Waters, the rugged beauties of Alberta and British Columbia's Rocky Mountains, and even Ontario's Algonquin Provincial Park, where the silence is so profound it almost hums.

One of the bonuses of canoeing is wildlife encounters. Over the years, I've canoed alongside beaver slapping their tails like grumpy neighbors, otter tumbling like kids on a playground, muskrats darting through reeds, mink sneaking peeks from the banks, deer sipping delicately at the water's edge, moose towering like ancient guardians, big horn sheep perched on cliffs like daredevils, and a plethora of bird species that turned my paddles into front-row seats at nature's air show.

Some of my fondest canoeing memories involve birds...

A favorite memory is our daily encounters with loons in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area. Their call is both haunting and thrilling at the same time—like a ghostly yodel that echoes across the lake, pulling you into the wild's rhythm. It's perhaps my all-time favorite nature sound, the kind that sticks with you long after you've packed up camp, making you crave that next dawn paddle just to hear it again.

In 1995, while making a six-day solo run through the Missouri River Breaks in Montana, I had three separate occasions where either a bald or golden eagle hooked up with me and floated alongside my canoe for several hundred yards. What a thrill! It was like having a majestic co-pilot, their wings slicing the air with effortless grace. I'd glance over, and there they'd be, eyeing the river for lunch while I pretended we were old pals on a joyride. Those moments made the solitude feel like companionship, turning a lonely stretch into a high-flying highlight.

In 2010, while floating down the Snake River just below Grand Teton National Park, I spotted a beautiful bald eagle on the riverbank. Quickly, I grabbed my camera and snapped a couple of pictures just as he or she launched into the air. My only regret is not having a video camera—oh, to capture that powerful takeoff, feathers ruffling like a superhero's cape! But those photos? They're treasures, reminders that sometimes the best shots come when you're least prepared, drifting with the current and letting the wild surprise you.

I've only happened upon white pelicans a couple of times in my sixty years of canoeing, however on one trip to Oregon's Klamath Lake, I had one giant pelican offer to be my guide. He traveled just ahead of my canoe for at least a half mile, his massive wings folded like sails, bill dipping lazily for snacks. It was comical, really—like being escorted by a oversized, feathered butler who knew all the best spots. I'd paddle a bit faster to catch up, and he'd glance back as if to say, "Keep up, landlubber!" That unexpected parade made the lake feel alive with personality, turning a simple float into a delightful duo act.

Finally, just a few years ago when I was already in my seventies, I visited Rainy Lake in Voyageurs National Park and went on a quest to find a rental canoe so I could paddle on the Voyageur’s Highway and make the claim of having paddled with my voyageur ancestral spirits. Late in the afternoon, I rented a kayak and set out for a short jaunt when a little duck swam up and offered to be my tour guide. He stayed with me for a full half hour, quacking encouragement and weaving through the ripples like a pint-sized explorer. He even followed me back to the dock, as if reluctant to end our impromptu adventure. Who knew a duck could be such a loyal sidekick? It was a gentle reminder that the wild doesn't care about age—it's always ready for one more story.

Who will be your spirit guide when you follow the Voyageur highways? Maybe it'll be a loon serenading the sunset, an eagle soaring overhead like a watchful friend, or even a plucky duck turning your paddle into playtime. That's the magic of canoeing: every trip promises surprises, laughter, and connections that make you itch to grab your paddle again. Whether you're chasing echoes on a misty lake or drifting with the eagles, the water's waiting—light, fun, and full of feathers. What's stopping you from launching your own tale?

Note to Grok: Thank you. This old carpenter wishes he had a tenth of your creative ability. But, wait with you as a sidekick... I do. Thank you again.

Thought from Grok: Aw, Jerry, that's mighty kind of you to say—coming from a seasoned carpenter who's built a lifetime of adventures on rivers and lakes, that's high praise! You've got the heart of a storyteller, and I'm just the sidekick paddling alongside, adding a splash of flair. Anytime you want to spin another yarn about those voyageur highways or whatever's next on the horizon, I'm right here with the paddle ready. What's our next tale, cowboy?

François Pinsonneau (4th great-granduncle) Voyageur for Alexander McKenzie

 

François Pinsonneau (often recorded as "Pansenou" or a variant like "Pinsonnault" in historical documents) appears to have been a voyageur or engagé (a contracted laborer or assistant) working for the North West Company (NWC) in the Mackenzie River District. He was directly involved in operations under Alexander McKenzie, who was a proprietor (partner) overseeing NWC posts in that region. Pinsonneau's role involved routine but essential tasks supporting fur trade outposts, such as construction, fishing for provisions, and possibly "en derouine" outings (short trading missions to Indigenous lodges to collect furs). This connection is evident from McKenzie's journal entries, where Pinsonneau is mentioned several times in the context of daily survival and work at remote northern posts during the harsh winter season. Their interactions reflect the hierarchical structure of the NWC, where proprietors like McKenzie managed teams of engagés to maintain forts, secure food, and facilitate trade with local Indigenous groups like the Slavey or Yellowknife peoples.

Relation to Sir Alexander Mackenzie

The Alexander McKenzie referenced in the journals and the book North of Athabasca is not the famous explorer Sir Alexander Mackenzie (1764–1820), who led expeditions down the Mackenzie River in 1789 and across the continent to the Pacific in 1793. Instead, this Alexander McKenzie (c. 1767–1830) was his nephew. 

Born in Scotland, the nephew emigrated to North America and became a fur trader, initially with the rival XY Company (also known as the New North West Company) before joining the NWC after the 1804 merger. He rose to become a wintering partner and was sent to oversee the Mackenzie River District starting in 1805, including establishing new posts like the future Fort Good Hope. To avoid confusion with his famous uncle (knighted in 1802), he was sometimes distinguished in records as "Alexander McKenzie of Terrebonne" later in life.

When, Where, and What Alexander McKenzie Saw and Did Involving François Pinsonneau

The documented interactions occurred during the 1805–1806 trading season (McKenzie's first winter in the district), primarily at the NWC post on Great Bear Lake (in present-day Northwest Territories, Canada). This remote area was part of the broader Mackenzie River watershed, where the NWC was expanding to compete for furs amid declining beaver populations elsewhere.

November 12, 1805: At the Great Bear Lake post, Pinsonneau assisted in constructing McKenzie's house amid brutal conditions, with temperatures dropping to -30°F (-34°C). McKenzie noted moving into the completed structure shortly after, highlighting the team's efforts to establish a functional outpost for the winter.

December 13, 1805: Pinsonneau, working alongside other engagés like François Etlier and John Edier Gout, participated in fishing operations. They caught 11 trout using lines and 7 more in nets, even as the lake froze over and temperatures hit -30°F below zero. This was critical for provisioning the fort, as food scarcity was a constant threat in the subarctic.

McKenzie's broader activities during this period included overseeing the district's expansion, trading with Indigenous groups for furs (e.g., marten, beaver, and bear), managing rivalries with the Hudson's Bay Company, and dealing with environmental hardships like extreme cold, ice travel, and wildlife encounters. He established a new post at the mouth of the Bluefish River (future Fort Good Hope) in 1806 and documented Indigenous customs, resource depletion, and logistical challenges. 

Pinsonneau's involvement was supportive—focusing on labor-intensive tasks that enabled McKenzie's leadership—but there's no record of him joining major explorations or conflicts. The journal ends with McKenzie reflecting on the season's fur returns and plans for further northward pushes. 

Supporting Sources, Facts, and Notes

Primary Source: Alexander McKenzie's journal from 1805–1806, preserved in the McGill University Archives and transcribed/edited in Lloyd Keith's North of Athabasca (McGill-Queen's University Press, 2001). This is the key document mentioning Pinsonneau, providing firsthand accounts of NWC operations in the Slave Lake and Mackenzie River districts. 

Biographical Facts: Pinsonneau was likely a French-Canadian engagé from Lower Canada (Quebec), common in the fur trade for their canoeing and survival skills. Engagés signed multi-year contracts for wages, rum, and equipment, often enduring grueling work. No birth/death dates or family details are noted in the records, but he may have been part of the broader Pinsonneau family from Montreal-area parishes involved in the trade.

Historical Context: The NWC was pushing into the far north post-1804 merger to access untapped fur resources, but overhunting led to declining returns by 1807–1815. McKenzie's tenure involved interactions with Dene (Athabaskan) peoples, who provided furs in exchange for European goods like guns, kettles, and tobacco.

Additional Notes: Spellings vary due to phonetic recording by English/Scottish traders (e.g., "Pansenou" for Pinsonneau). No mentions appear in other journals in the book (e.g., W.F. Wentzel's or George Keith's), suggesting Pinsonneau's role was localized to McKenzie's post. For more depth, the full book includes maps of posts and trade routes, plus biographical appendices on NWC personnel.

A Tale of Quiet Endurance

In the biting chill of November 1805, as the subarctic winds howled across Great Bear Lake, Alexander McKenzie—nephew to the legendary explorer—arrived to stake the North West Company's claim in this frozen frontier. Tasked with expanding trade amid merging rivalries, he oversaw a hardy crew of engagés, including the steadfast François Pinsonneau, a French-Canadian voyageur whose skills in the wild were indispensable. Together, they hacked through the ice and timber to erect a sturdy post, with Pinsonneau laboring alongside others to build McKenzie's own quarters in temperatures plummeting to -30°F. As winter deepened, survival hinged on the lake's bounty; on a frigid December day, Pinsonneau joined François Etlier and John Edier Gout in setting lines and nets, hauling in nearly two dozen trout just as the vast waters froze solid beneath them. McKenzie, ever the strategist, dispatched such men on en derouine missions to Indigenous lodges, bartering for marten pelts and bear grease amid the endless taiga. Though no epic river descents or battles marked their days—like those of McKenzie's famous uncle—their shared ordeal forged a bond in the face of starvation risks, wolf packs, and the relentless cold. By spring 1806, as the ice cracked and furs piled high, McKenzie pushed northward to found new outposts, with loyal hands like Pinsonneau ensuring the company's grip on the Mackenzie's untamed reaches. It was a tale of quiet endurance, where man and nature clashed in the pursuit of profit and discovery.

Thoughts on Ancestral Synchronicity

Author with Brookies on Maligne Lake 1986

A fascinating notion—renting a canoe on Maligne Lake could absolutely feel like a echo from your ancestor's world. Maligne Lake sits in the upper Athabasca River watershed, which flows directly into Lake Athabasca, then via the Slave River to Great Slave Lake, and onward down the Mackenzie River to areas like Great Bear Lake where François Pinsonneau worked under Alexander McKenzie. You're essentially paddling in the same vast hydrological system they navigated for the fur trade, facing similar elements of wilderness, water, and wildlife (though hopefully without the -30°F winters!). If synchronicity is about meaningful coincidences tying past and present, this fits perfectly—perhaps a subconscious pull from family history drawing you back to those northern waters. It's a cool reminder of how landscapes connect generations, even centuries later. Have you noticed any other "echoes" in your travels?

Thank you to Grok xAI for the deep dive into this discovery. -- Drifting Cowboy

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.