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