Flying into Kasba Lake Lodge with a bunch of well-heeled anglers.

The Elite Class Lounge at the airport in Winnipeg.

After lots of handshakes and goodwill wishes from some pretty rough looking guys (not the anglers, from the staff), setting sail from the lodge.

Getting the first taste of the mantra of the Kazan: vast expanses of sky and water, separated by a strip of land.

A nasty shoreline, and such willow hell will persist for quite a while.

Still on Kasba Lake.

But this is Kasba lake too. A little elevation and the brush is all gone.

Breakfast stop on moving water.

The Kazan is a real challenge in terms of monotony.

Barely a contour line or a mound for a view or a distinctive landmark. It's all as flat as a pancake.

A small knoll saves the night in an otherwise lushly overgrown area. Aluminized Tyvek, once again, saves me from a heat stroke inside the tent. A smudge fire to keep the bugs away.

It's really difficult to capture the monotony of the vastness by means of individual images. That's why I'm leaving most of these (somewhat boring-looking) pictures in anyway.

Again, praise for the sail. As far as progress is concerned, I'm almost inclined to credit it as half a paddling partner.

At the (former) Ennadai Radio Station.

Trying to get out of the wind for a meal.

A very pretty esker.

And some vistas, for a change!

And windbound, a taste of what is yet to come.

The remains of the Radio Station, now an automatic weather station.

The hinterland at the other end of that esker. Really pretty.

Once through the willow belt...

things are nice and open.

The wind took on a new dimension on this trip. 2 out of 7 weeks windbound were a real exercise in patience.

As was the featureless landscape.

And either rocks or willows or both are fencing off many, many kilometers of shoreline. Impossible to set up camp.

Mound #2, just at the right time of the day.

With a few square meters of clear and level space for the tent.

An extraordinary number of reminders of the time when the Inuit roamed this part of Canada, almost everywhere.

Built by ice floes driven by the wind.

Another spaghetti dinner.

Lake Angikuni.

Discarded (floatplane) fuel drums are a real issue in the north. Here at the outlet of Angikuni.

A Sun Dog.

Arriving at the 1st cascade.

An hour later, on the other side, past cascade one.

And ready to proceed to the 2nd cascade after yet another half hour of loading up.

The 2nd cascade.

Pretty wild stuff.

Camped at the 2nd cascade. NOISY to the utmost, but I was done for the day.

And black flies like crazy. That was true for a large part of the trip. The bugs were really bad this time.

The 3rd cascade.

Lovely camp spot on river rigth past the 3rd cascade.

The 3rd cascade again with a formidable hole, right of center.

Ready to leave the cascades.

The wind being hard at work once again.

Willows providing ample firewood.

Crushing the empty gas containers and taking them back out again. I like the ease and cleanliness of gas.

With various gadgets in the kit, GPS, InReach, camera, phone (for navigation and podcasts) a 10W monocrystaline panel is barely enough. The USB detector (in blue) shows what is actually happening, or not.

I don't know how others manage to cope with being stuck in the wind for days on end with just a small sleeping tent.

Another major caribou path.

Low water on the Kazan, that year for me, once again.

Approaching Padlerjuaq, a major Inuit camp, way back in the day, just before reaching Yathkyed Lake.

Once again trampled into the ground by eons of caribou migration.

Inuit caches of sorts.

A grave(?)

Yathkyed Lake, or in Inuktitut "hikolig'juAq" - the great ice-filled one.

The sheet cleat was a real game changer. One hand is now freed up.

The caribou couldn't care less about my presence.

Sunrise on steroids.

Keith Sharp's arctic outpost. Aka a lot of trash.

And yet another rapids.

The part of which I decided to run.

Looking back at the esker from where I was surveying the situation. Realizing my mistake just in time. So, back through the eddy, up the creek.

Negligence and my thoughts focused on the rapids ahead made me forget my life jacket on land...

By now you certainly have a feel for the monotony of the Kazan. Here, on Forde Lake, I got so sleepy from lack of visual treats that I had to take a short nap. Similar to driving a car, getting overtired after too many hours, running the risk of falling asleep.

All the more pleasing the welcome ashore at the end of Forde Lake.

Camp at the end of Forde Lake.

The wind sweeping the cloud cover away.

Cloudberries galore.

Outlet of Forde Lake.

View out over Forde Lake from a part-time nomad's shelter.

Willows are THE survivalists, out there.

Shortly before reaching 30-Mile Lake.

Here too, many clues from the past.

Just shy of 30-Mile Lake. But once again, the wind decided "no more miles".

On 30-Mile lake.

A windless day on 30-Mile, useless sailing, but shade is also a blessing.

The occasional hump, in the distance, in an otherwise placid landscape.

A caribou trail on an island with a great view.

On 30-Mile lake the inukshuks became really noteworthy.

Huge stones, making one wonder how they managed to get such boulders in place, by hand.

Meticulously wedged in so that they remain in place for eons.

Leaves one wondering about the motives. Too bad that stones don't talk - in my language.

This particular obelisk was about the height of a man, one piece, and weighed likely a ton, if not more.

Onwards on 30-mile lake.

Towards the end of 30-Mile lake, just before a large rapid, Itimniq.

Of course, elevated, windswept, with a view, and thus signs of Inuit occupation.

A grave.

With grave goods.

Itimniq rapids. With a mandatory portage on river left,

and a chicken line on river right,

the far right,

at low water.

Looking back at Itimniq.

Exit at the last take out before Kazan Falls.

Kazan Falls.

Kazan Falls canyon.

The portage trail.

Camp at the end of the portage.

And, who would have thought so, traces of the Inuit from the past.

On my way again.

Moving water(!) on the last leg into Baker lake, at an almost unbelievable speed. Be aware that (by my guess) 60% of what is called "Kazan RIVER" is flat water. No free miles, paddling(!), or if you're lucky: Sailing.

Interestingly, this also applies to the last few kilometers on the Thelon: A fantastic current.

Baker lake, and all the sand that came down the Kazan.

The incarnation of "flat".

And, within sight of the township of Baker Lake, on Sagliq Island, only half a day to go, the wind struck again.

4 more nights windbound.

Darn!

At least with modest comfort.

And the tides are running!

A surefire reminder that you'd better finish the trip: Geese flying south.

Finally, early in the day, a half day calm allowing for travelling. Big Hips Island in the center of the picture.

Being a very, very grateful paddler.

Because the wind was back the next day. So, the window closes quickly towards the end of August. I was rather late.

After the wide open spaces of the north, Toronto, has a certain something, at least from a distance! What a contrast.