We left Happy Valley – Goose Bay and the marvelous North West River to travel onward to the town of Churchill Falls (population 705), the site of the Churchill Falls Generating Station, an underground hydroelectric power station, now the tenth largest in the world, and the second-largest in Canada.

The way westward meanders through more inbroken, uninhabited boreal, black spruce forest to Churchill Falls, with the inaccessible Lobstick and Michikamau Lakes to the north.

There is a 245 foot high waterfall on the Churchill River, one of the most spectacular in all of Canada, but construction of the power plant necessitated rerouting the river around the falls so now a mere trickle makes its way down the granite precipice. The 532 mile long Churchill drains a 30,800 square mile watershed and flows east to Happy Valley – Goose Bay, into Lake Melville then into the Labrador Sea. It is the longest river in Atlantic Canada.

The indigenous Innu people called the river Mishtashipu (Big River). In the early 1800s, Europeans named it the Hamilton after the then-current commodore-governor of Newfoundland, Charles Hamilton. In 1965 provincial premier, Joey Smallwood, renamed it the “Churchill River” after the former British prime minister, Winston Churchill.

The Churchill River, Or What is left of it.

Just like a bunch of Europeans. Steal a river, change its course, and name it after one of their heroes, a gentleman who visited Canada nine times, but never set foot in Labrador that I can document.

Throughout our travels in North America, I have noticed that native names for places describe some aspect of the place; noting a particular geologic or other natural aspect. Native names describe the core of a place, its nature, its position in the spirit world. The names, epithets really, describe the significance of a place, or a quality of it, to the indigenous people who named it. Native names are about the place.

Indigenous people rarely change the name of a place. It is what it is. Native names are poetic because native languages are poetic. Native names stand the test of time.

European names are the names of people, governors and senators, presidents, conquerors, military heroes, and builders. They generally have nothing to do with the place itself.  Designations, they are, that change in the moment when an influential person comes along and decides another European is more deserving than the last one.

Take Mount McKinley in Alaska for example, named by the Koyukon indigenous people Denali, or Deenaalee, “the high one”. Along came the federal white man’s government in 1912 and named the mountain McKinley, after President William McKinley.  Fortunately, in 1975, at the urging of native Alaskans the government, to its credit, changed the name back to Denali.

Or how about where we are now. The Churchill River, named after the aforementioned Winston Churchill; originally by Innu people the Mishtashipu (Big River), a name it had for thousands of years. I like it better.

One more example, this one from Virginia. Think the mighty James River, named after King James, I of England, who never set foot in America.

Contrast that to the Great Wicomico River to the north of the James. Named by Algonquian-speaking Native American tribes, “Wicomico”. That name is derived from the American Indian words “wicko” and “mekee” meaning “a place where houses are built.” That name stood.

I could go on, but you get the picture.

Construction on this facility started in July 1967. At that time it was the largest civil engineering project ever undertaken in North America and the largest underground power station in the world.

This station uses 88 dykes to create a catchment basin in the Churchill River watershed, an area larger than the Republic of Ireland. From the catchment basin water drops 305 meters to the site of the plant’s eleven underground turbines.

The subterranean cavity where the power plant is housed was hewn out of solid granite 300 meters (about a thousand feet) under the surface. Workers excavated 1.8 million cubic meters (2, 354,000 million cubic yards) of crushed granite to create a cavity big enough in which to fit the 15 story plant. The excavated material was used to build roads, the town site, and as dike material.

Lord have mercy! ALL UNDERGROUND.

If you live in Churchill Falls you work for the Churchill Falls Generating Station, in a planned and well maintained company town. Free electricity takes the chill off those minus 15°F January and February nights. That would be 47 degrees below zero. Enough to freeze anybody’s tisariscal off! More on tisariscals later.

The company sells a substantial amount of the power to American companies in New England, raising the ire of some Canadians who think the power should stay at home.

We camped for the night at Bowdoin Nature Trail Trailhead parking lot,  an arduous trail that leads to a commanding view of Churchill Falls.

A word about camping in Labrador. One would think you could camp just about anywhere. Not so. There are no camp grounds per say, and very few spur roads leading anywhere. The main road beds are built up two to five feet above the surrounding landscape. Steep road sides fall to extensive muskeg swamp, underlain by permafrost and flat, impervious granitic bedrock. Water is everywhere.

Hardy workers, build the roads with material hauled in from other locations many miles away. No leaving the road except for entries into gravel depot sites, which were few and far between, but pretty much out only option for camping on much of this trip.

But its all good. This land is grand. The people are cheerful. The water is clean. The air is pure. That’s worth something.

Here we are, safely and happily ensconced in our Little Guy, at the Bowdoin Nature Trail parking lot, anticipating tomorrow’s adventure ever westward, toward Labrador City.

Unnuaqhatkut (Inuktitut for goodnight my friends)