Day 2 - Little French River to Chaudiere Channel (20 km)

We enjoyed an extended breakfast of bacon n' eggs with copious amounts of coffee. By the time we broke camp and loaded the canoe, we got on the water at 9:30 PM. For Dad and I, this was actually a respectable time. 

I fired off the following photo of site 164 from the water before our westward paddle. 

Seeing all the fishermen in the area the previous night, we thought we should wet our lines and troll a bit in case it was a hotspot. It wasn't -- at least for us, anyway. 

After 15 minutes or so, we gave up on fishing and began paddling in earnest out of the bay and further down the Little French River. We passed a few cottages, but soon came to a pretty area with rocky, granite shores that one would expect to see in the French River area

Downriver from where we were paddling, the Little French River is dammed by Little Chaudiere Dam. The way past this obstacle was to take the channel just east of the dam called Free Flowing Channel. I wasn't really looking at my map carefully and mistook the narrow inlet seen in the photo below as the channel. A quick paddle into that inlet that went nowhere soon revealed my mistake. 

Paddling back out, we found the correct channel around the corner that was obviously much wider. 

After a few hundred meters, Free Flowing Channel narrowed considerably and went through a canyon-like, rocky drop. We pulled ashore on river-right, where I could see a take-out spot that was obviously used. We assumed it was the portage take-out past the drop. We soon discovered that it was a campsite, and not a very good one at that. It was fairly bare and had no real flat ground for tents. Perhaps, it was just a place to have a shore lunch. 

There was a trail past the site that first appeared to go past the falls, but it soon disappeared into steep bush and became essentially unpassable. We got back into the canoe and paddled over to the left of the falls, where we found the proper portage past the drop. 

It was a short trail of about 100 meters and looked to be regularly used. On the way back for our second load, we veered off the main trail to investigate the narrow canyon that the Little French River pushed through. There was a torrent of water rushing through the slot, and it looked like it might actually be runnable by experienced paddlers at higher water levels; however, in mid-August during a hot and dry summer, it was rocky with one particularly nasty curling wave coming off a rock. Running it in those conditions would have been quite foolhardy and dangerous.

The bottom part of the run did look like a ton of fun, however. 

Before putting back in, we fished for 10 minutes or so right from shore at the put-in. We saw a bit of action but nothing more than a few small bass. 

After a quick snack, we paddled downriver and into a large bay just past the rapids. The granite banks for which the French River is famous were on full display.  

In the bay, our route would take us on a sharp left turn, and we found ourselves paddling southeast into the rising sun of the morning. The heat was fierce again by this point, and Dad took off his shirt as he is wont to do...that is, until the deer flies became too much to deal with.  

Within half an hour, we were paddling under a bridge on the road that we had come in on the day prior. There were a few cottages on the shores along this stretch of the river, as well. 

Fifteen minutes past the bridge, the river took another dramatic turn, and we began heading southwest, once again. Just past the bend, a brief shadow flitted across us, and we both looked up to see a beautiful bald eagle gliding above us and perch on a tree just behind us on the south shore. We spun the canoe around and quietly paddled over to the base of the tree. The eagle let us get fairly close before eventually flying off. 

We felt that the god of canoe tripping, Lord Paddlesworth, was giving us a good omen by this experience. He was definitely talon us something. I mean, even though we had put this trip together on a moment's notice, we certainly weren't just winging it. We are both fairly experienced trippers, and Lord Paddlesworth was simply eaglenizing  our efforts. Watching this majestic bird for a few minutes definitely inspired us to take flight. 

Moving westward, the Little French widened considerably into a large bay dotted with rocky outcrops on both of its shores. The wind came up here in our face slightly in the wider expanses. There were a number of campsites along the northern shore of the bay, and a large canoe party that came in from the road at the northeastern corner of this bay were making a beeline for one of these sites. 

By 1 PM, we, too, were looking to have a short rest. About halfway through the large bay, we pulled ashore and yanked the food barrel onto some nice rocks under a tree to get some shade. There, we filtered more water and ate a couple of sandwich wraps each to boost our energy while watching the large group across the bay set up their campsite. 

The heat was formidable so we cooled off even more after lunch with a quick dip off the rocks. It was necessary. 

Back in the canoe, we made for the northwestern corner of the bay where the Little French narrowed past a series of islands. In fact, the entire southern shore was one large island called Okikendawt Island. It is Dokis land. This name means "land of the pots" referring to natural rock formations on the island. We were boiling with excitement to see some of these formations en route, but unfortunately, we must have mist them. Let it be known that we had a souper time nonetheless. Our route on the Little French would take us around the western shore of this island and south into the French River proper. 

Within a half hour, we had rounded the western shore of Okikendawt Island, and we were paddling eastward through a rocky narrows to the portage take-out that would get us past Five Finger Rapids. 

Through the narrows and past the inlet, we found the portage on the southern shore to the right of the top of the rapids. I felt my blood pressure immediately begin to spike. Some cretin with a baboon-like sense of etiquette parked his aluminum fishing boat at the portage take-out, completely blocking it. It's not like he didn't know it was a canoe portage because he left his boat under the large yellow portage sign that was literally tacked to a tree three feet away from the bow of his boat. Other fishing boats were dotting the shoreline near the portage, as well. You know, normal people who actually respected the fact that canoeists might need to access a canoe portage. So, we had no idea whose boat this was among the many people we would see milling about the rapids. 

Dad and I had quite a bit of trouble pulling the canoe up and getting our gear out, not having room or a good landing spot to access the portage. I could feel myself getting angry in the situation and thought about waiting around for the boat owner to return to have words with him, but I took a breath and moved on. Besides, in my experience, inconsiderate people like that have trouble understanding the concept of putting others out by their selfish actions when confronted by someone who points it out to them. It's why they do what they do in the first place. Rather than actually understanding what is being pointed out, they get defensive and want to argue or fight, and that's no good for anyone. I took another breath and tried not to let that person ruin an otherwise fantastic day. I took solace in the fact that someday karma will sufficiently provide a lesson in manners to that individual.  

Dad and I took our first load to the end of the 320-meter portage. It was a heavily used trail and an easy carry. A spacious campsite close to the rapids existed off the trail to the left; it was inhabited by a large group of campers. I didn't see any other canoes around, so I assumed that they, too, had come in motor boats. The put-in was down a steep series of rocky ledges where yet another group of people in fishing boats were hanging out. Sweet Jesus! There were more motor boats at this location than we had seen on the entire trip thus far.  

On the way back for our second load, we investigated Five Finger Rapids. Upon seeing it, we immediately understood why it was such a popular spot. It was a gorgeous, long set of whitewater, starting with a formidable drop, leading into a rocky midsection, and ending with ledges that went around a corner to the right.  I didn't even consider running it because it was well beyond our pay grade, but I suspect it could be run by very experienced whitewater paddlers in the right conditions. There was a lot of push and not much room for error. I couldn't find a video of anyone running it on YouTube after a quick search, so I'm guessing most people feel the same way about running the rapids as I did. 

Heading back to our canoe for our second load of the carry, we found the self-indulgent boat captain and his party that had blocked the portage. They had gotten back in their boat and were reversing away from the portage. They waved from the boat, either to add insult to injury or just to be friendly, oblivious to their misdeed. Either way, I didn't wave back. I  turned around, hoisted the canoe over my head, and started down the trail. Out of sight, out of mind.

Back at the put-in, Dad and I had a snack to replenish some energy. After that, we stripped down to our skivvies and jumped off the rocks into the river and let the current take us for a little ride. Although the portage was easy insofar as portages go, the high temperatures of the day made it a little more taxing. Jumping into the cool water was incredibly refreshing. 

Once back in the boat, we only had a narrow channel of swirling water to negotiate before completing our transition from the Little French to the French River proper. 

We emerged into the large island-studded bay where Chaudiere Channel meets Wolseley Bay to the north. There, on its westward journey, the French splinters into the North Channel around Eighteen Mile Island, and the Main Channel down Five-Mile Rapids, our route for the following day. 

We paddled due south through the islands to reach our destination for the day, site 330. This site was on an island at the south of the bay, one of the only sites that were still available at the time of booking. 

It was a nice paddle, working our way through the pretty islands. We didn't appreciate how large the French was at that location until we approached the island with our campsite, and we could get a better view of the wide expanse of the bay. 

We arrived at the site, which contained a massive sloping slab of granite leading down to the water. Normally, I love this type of site because it makes for good swimming, but it wasn't great at the time that we arrived. The front of the site sloped into thick weeds as far as the eye could see. This was probably due to low water levels. 

 Although it wasn't record-breaking conditions, the summer of 2025 was a very dry one. A subsequent online search revealed that water levels at Big Chaudiere Dam were about a foot lower than the mid-August average. 

Up at the firepit, we were pleased with what we found, however. It was a spacious site that had nice westward views from the pit overlooking an inlet and further down the French. East of the firepit area was a forested area with a couple of nice tent pads, where Dad and I both set up our shelters. 

Once set up, we hiked down the shoreline to a point southeast of our site and found a less weedy place to jump into the river and cool off. We then set up our chairs in the shade and rested for a while out of the sun, chatting over a beverage. It was far too hot to light a fire, and the heat made us feel sluggish and lethargic. 

Eventually, the sun began to dip, and we got a fire going to boil water for our pasta dinner. 

It was an enjoyable evening despite the heavy temperatures and the deer flies that go along with that. As the sun started its journey over the treeline at around 7:30 PM, I took advantage of the moment to take a couple of photos. 

We made a weak attempt to sit by a campfire just after sunset, but it was just too darn hot to enjoy, despite the slightly cooler temperatures of the evening. It wasn't long before we just decided to call it a day, just after 9 PM and hit the hay.