Lessons of the Spanish

The next morning, Little has us practice our strokes on the flat water at the head of the class 1 and 2 Upper and Lower Athlone rapids. With mist still rising from the water, we practice forward paddles, backpaddles, draws and pries –moving our canoes laterally and in circles along the mirrored surface of the water. Before long we are peeling off our long sleeves and removing zippered pant legs, and after less than five kilometres, we stop for a swim at the Pogomasing flumes (known to locals as “the Pog”). Rare hair cap moss, yellow-eyed grass and water awlwort grow in the nearby forest, but I choose to bask in the sunshine alongside the falls, resting on a warm boulder.

An hour later, having picked blueberries along the portage to the Pogomasing dam, we push off past an American toad camouflaged among the lily pads surrounding our canoes. Little tells us that moose, lynx and timber wolves are known to roam these woods. We spend the rest of the day learning ferries and to eddy out in the series of swifts and rapids scattered along the river, en route to our campsite off a sandy beach at kilometre 83.

The Spanish River has a long history of use by various stakeholders, who have put increasing pressure on its natural resources and ecosystem. For thousands of years, First Nations communities used the Spanish as a trade and travel corridor between the north shore of Lake Huron and the James Bay watershed. Early French-speaking voyageurs reported meeting Spanish-speaking Aboriginal peoples in the area, and decided to call the river “Espagnole,” which was later translated to “Spanish.” Legend has it that a raiding party had returned to the area with a Spanish-speaking woman from the south, who then became part of the tribe and eventually taught her children Spanish. Fur traders later used the area as a trade and travel corridor.

Around 1890, more than 100 logging camps were set up along the river, which formed a convenient waterway along which to drive logs downstream. This activity continued until the late 1960s, when forestry companies built access roads into the forest. Throughout the last century, dams were built along the river in order to manage water levels for log driving. Today, INCO and E.B. Eddy Forest Products own the 21 dams that interrupt the Spanish River. Both companies were required to submit a water management plan for the Spanish River in the late 1980s. The plan has since been revised as part of the signature site strategy, and focuses primarily on the management of water flow and secondarily on the protection of fisheries habitat. But, although the Background Information document for the signature site notes the potential negative impact of dams on fish-spawning habitat in headwater lakes, no formal guidelines exist for testing and monitoring the impact of these structures on the river’s local ecosystems.

Mining activity, which could have major impacts on the water quality of the river, is still permitted next to the park. Agricultural Mineral Prospectors Inc. operates a small open-pit mine at The Elbow, a bend in the river situated at kilometre 50. According to Evan Ferrari of the CPAWS-Wildlands League, there is “nothing in the Parks Act that could hammer the mining companies for releasing effluents into the river.” Even if measures were in place, says Ferrari, “it’s a matter of where you’re measuring.” Depending on where the water sample is taken, the effluents might already be diluted enough to meet whatever water-quality standards are enforced. At present, the Spanish River Background Information report notes that “there is neither water quality data nor any current restrictions on the consumption of fish from the portion of the Spanish River within the signature site.”

What the Parks Act does protect in a waterway provincial park are “thin strips of land,” according to Ferrari. The 200 metres on either side of the Spanish River, and the soil beneath the water, are protected, but strangely the water column itself is not.

Logging is not permitted in the park, but, says Paul Wilkinson, because the park boundaries are so narrow, if an area adjacent to the park were to be clear-cut, this could increase erosion into the river. Martindale adds that “there is quite a bit of logging activity going on in the area.” She maintains, however, that the forest managers have acknowledged the need to protect the river and its surrounding areas. Despite this apparent goodwill, the new Parks Act has been criticized because it does not have a specific “good neighbour” clause that would require neighbours outside a protected area to be responsible for actions that might affect it. In a park only 400 kilometres wide, this omission is an important one.

Day three begins just as warm and bright as the day before, and we set off early after breakfast to secure the best campsite on Spanish Lake at kilometre 62. As the wind picks up and the sky clouds over, we are once again struck by the variability of the landscape – sandy shores, cliff faces towering above us as they do at Cliff Rapids, and granite and gneiss boulders reflecting in the water. Later, as we sit on the sloping rock faces at the river’s edge and the river turns silver and the trees appear as black cutouts on the shore across from us, two more flotillas of canoes pass our campsite. Today, the river seems to be in as much danger of being overused as the beaver was of being over-trapped when Grey Owl advocated for its preservation in the early 20th century.

A conservative estimate is that each year, 2,000 people visit the Spanish River; half of them are canoeists, the remainder are mostly anglers. A record number of visits occurred in 2005, and 28 canoes put in at The Forks on the Canada Day long weekend, reports Bradley. Martindale and Bradley agree that recreational users may pose the largest threat to the river. “Our biggest problem is garbage, and cans and bottles are part of that, as well as unauthorized garbage dumps,” says Bradley. Despite the river’s reputation for clean campsites, we encounter one littered with “toilet paper bombs,” as Little calls them, when we stop for lunch.

Yet another problem, says Bradley, is that “people are doing what they’re used to doing.” Among this group are snowmobile and all-terrain vehicle users, who use abandoned logging roads to access the park. The use of these vehicles will be restricted under the management plan, unless a park superintendent allows their use on an authorized trail.

On our last day on the river, we pull on our rain gear as the sky opens up. While we – smiling and wet – have our photo taken, another two groups of canoeists arrive. As we leave the park on the dusty gravel access road, the canoe trailer bouncing behind the Sundog van, I wonder whether the eventual management plan will indeed prevent us from loving this river to death.

C. Dorothy Beevis is a freelance writer based in Toronto. Her writing has appeared in ON Nature, Pathways and the Toronto Colourguide. She and her father are hoping to dip their paddles in the Noire River this summer.

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