It's a Long Way to Manitoba's Kwasitchewan Falls

Written by Andy Goodson

We never officially committed to the hike until we discussed it at Wekusko Falls Provincial Park the night before, sitting comfortably around the campfire pit and patting each other’s backs for being such breezy adventurers. With one bar of cell service we read up on the trail: it was going to be an 11-km hike to Kwasitchewan Falls – Manitoba’s highest waterfall – classified as “a challenging hike for experienced hikers only.” Teisha and I agreed to an early start the next morning, giving us enough time to drive to the trailhead at Pisew Falls with maybe a little extra time to fish the Grass River before we left.

Pisew Falls, one of the ‘7 Wonders of Manitoba’, is located in a provincial park roughly 150 km northeast of Wekusko Falls. The hike to Kwasitchewan Falls starts at Pisew and runs a total distance of 22 km there and back. There are backcountry campsites and a pit toilet available at Kwasitchewan, but they afford little luxury. It is still very much a remote location.

These waterfalls are all located along the Grass River. It is an important and historic waterway used for thousands of years by the Woodland Cree, with evidence of human occupation in the form of pictographs on bare rock faces dating back at least 5,000 years. The river was also known as the “Upper Track” to early European fur traders and was a heavily travelled canoe route to reach York Factory on the shores of Hudson Bay.

We were looking for a challenge, having spent most of our trips in the last year at campgrounds and provincial parks, and the hike to Kwasitchewan Falls gave us an experience we would not soon forget.

The mist and topography of Pisew Falls create a microclimate around it that influences the tree and plant growth around it.

Water levels were very high on the Grass River in 2020

“Pisew” comes from the Cree word for lynx, while “Kwasitchewan” means “glittering water” according to Travel Manitoba

We reached Pisew Falls around noon, August 12, 2020, after losing a fair amount of time that morning hiking around Wekusko Falls. I had attempted to fish a spot just below the falls, but the river was much higher, faster and louder than usual, and Teish and I lost contact with each other. In a torrent of noise, we looked around for several minutes until finally reconvening at camp wondering where the hell the other had went.

At the trailhead from Pisew to Kwasitchewan Falls, Teisha chatted with a few other hikers while I filled the remaining space in our backpacks with iced teas and beer. We still had cell service, so I quickly sent a text to let some friends know where we were headed and checked the weather forecast. It was going to be a beautiful day, but we could expect rain and thunderstorms throughout the night and the following morning.

I was feeling slightly apprehensive, which was normal for me. The pamphlets at the trailhead recommended six hours one-way to Kwasitchewan Falls and it was already 1:30 pm. I knew 11 km was not something to scoff at with fully loaded backpacks, so I began mentally portioning the times and distances into segments with scheduled breaks every 1.25 hours. I was certain we could beat the clock and do the hike in four or five hours as long as we didn’t stop to admire anything.

‘Why don’t we just hike.’ she said sardonically, uninterested in my calculations. I liked her confidence, considering she was still recovering from a massive sunburn she got hiking in the Rocky Mountains.

We started our hike crossing the suspension bridge with the Grass River’s churning rapids beneath us. Knowing Kwasitchewan Falls was supposed to be an even more aggressive waterfall than Pisew got me excited for what we might see.

The start of the Pisew-Kwasitchewan trail

Rapids on the Grass River

Teish crossing the suspension bridge over Grass River

While the area around Pisew Falls was buzzing with families and canoeists, the trail was dead quiet once crossing the bridge.

We passed only a few returning hikers. One pair who seemed rather professionally decked out with trekking poles, tilly hats and visible sunscreen residue, warned us that the trail was flooded and they had to take the slightly longer loop that runs next to Phillips Lake instead. I was offended by this new information throwing a wrench in my calculations.

“It’s probably a good sign they had gone there already and were on their way back in one day,” we reasoned. “…And I mean, who really needs trekking poles?”

We agreed they probably overprepared as we slouched under the weight of our over-encumbered backpacks.

We were out of earshot of the Grass River and that secluded-kind-of-feeling began creeping up on me. It was a long time since I had felt that and it was an exciting thought that we were only beginning the hike.

The trail led through thick forest and when we finally reconvened with the Grass River, it was almost unrecognizably calm and quiet.

We hiked for roughly an hour and a half at a respectable speed, so I pressed Teisha for a union-sanctioned break. It was a mossy, coniferous section of woods on the high point of a hill. I noticed a few cut stumps—nothing out of the ordinary, but I did in fact notice them.

Early on in the hike was relatively flat and easy walking

Tall spruce stands were common

Teish leading the hike

I was enjoying Teisha leading the hike as she was setting a manageable pace for the both of us. This also seemed appropriate since the distance we were going to be hiking was further than we had ever gone together and I did not want to interrupt things too much with my occasional overcautiousness and worrywart-ism. The trail conditions were very good so far, so I crossed my fingers that that would stay the same.

One thing I should not understate about this trail is the topography. There were some flat areas, but most of our time was spent going up and down steep slopes of bare rock with only roots and loose soil with fairly dicey footholds. It is also borderline dishonest to say the hike to Kwasitchewan is 11 km. It might be the distance as the crow flies, but I hold firmly that it is much further than that when you account for the elevation changes, twists and turns, and it is not an accurate estimate of the actual number of steps it takes.

We managed to hike relatively unimpeded for the first two hours, but as we continued on, minor obstacles such as fallen trees, flooded trails and ravine crossings were becoming more common. At one point, we lost the trail entirely in a long stretch of soft, red sphagnum — an area I dubbed “The Bog of Sorrows.” We were able to navigate and find the trail again, but considering our timeframe and the unknowns before us, we crossed our fingers there wouldn’t be many more speedbumps.

We continued at a steady clip up and down the rugged trail feeling confident about the time we were making.

This is a fairly typical section of the Kwasitchewan trail with tricky roots that can be both good footing or slippery

Around 3:30 p.m., we took our second break and agreed it needed to be a good one. We got off our feet for a while and sat on a bed of moss and lichens while we refueled on beef jerky, candy and other conveniences from the 1L dry bag. Surprisingly, we had cell service as we were high up on a peak, so I took the opportunity to check an online map and eyeball how far we had gone.

“We’re about... almost halfway.” I was being generous.

Teish finished a last gulp from her water bottle. “…Well alright then.”

There was supposed to be a half-kilometre portage trail coming up that connected the Grass River on the west side to the south tip of Phillips Lake on the east side. This, I thought, was roughly the halfway point, but it was in fact much less than halfway. The portage was also the junction where the trail loops, with one side continuing along the Grass River (apparently flooded) and the other going along Phillips Lake (apparently farther).

It took us almost an hour to reach the portage from our last break point, and when we got there, we saw a trail marker that left us slightly mortified: we had another 7 km to go. My brain blew a fuse.

We were already feeling clumsy on our feet and wanting to relax around camp. I began wondering intently just how much effort Manitoba Parks puts into its backcountry campsites and pit toilets. Maybe there would be picnic tables? Maybe the pit toilet would be attached to a fully serviced Finnish sauna? I realized later this type of thinking was maybe unhelpful as I yelled and cursed while ducking under fallen trees, getting multiple face-fulls of twigs.

I reached the peak of my unproductive frustration when we got to Phillips Lake and the trail we followed ended inexplicably. We had to trace our way back and see if we had missed the trail we were supposed to take.

I was beginning to lose my cool. Teisha on the other hand, was handling herself with much more poise despite being less experienced backpacking. I knew I was failing the mental game and my frustration was written all over my face. But seeing how she dealt with the setbacks with calm determination reminded me how it was supposed to be done. With a clear head, she found where the trail was and we continued the long final stretch to Kwasitchewan.

From this point on, we increased our pace and talked sparingly, checking in now and then to make sure we were still feeling alright and hydrated. We no longer focused on any aches and pains, but only getting to the destination, which seemed perpetually out of reach. I regretted every time I checked my GPS only to find how little we had travelled since the last time I checked. The trail along Phillips Lake seemed even more wildly steep and arguably more treacherous than the trail by the Grass River.

I kept waiting to hear the sound of roaring water in the distance. When it finally came, I involuntarily sped up, excited to see the site we had spent all day trying to reach. Kwasitchewan Falls was there, obscured by spruce trees and a cloud of thick mist, but undeniably a powerful presence.

Running on fumes

First view of Kwasitchewan Falls

I rushed toward the waterfall to get a photo, but found it too misty to make out clearly. After a couple minutes, I proceeded to area where the backcountry campsite was supposed to be. But in my urgency to see the falls, I lost track of Teisha. I assumed she knew where I was and had simply made her way to the campsite. Unfortunately, I quickly realized the campsite was in no way obvious and I couldn’t find her anywhere.

I dropped my backpack and began frantically looking through the maze of snags and brush that make up what I assumed was the backcountry campsite. I yelled her name but it came out only as a feeble pitch lost in the background of the roaring monster Kwasitchewan Falls.

Right around the time my blood pressure spiked, she found me. I tried explaining what happened and why I was on the verge of panic, but with the lack of hydration and brain fog the words spilled out in a jumbled mess. I was just relieved we could finally set up camp. It was 7:30 p.m., an hour before sunset, and we had hiked with heavy backpacks on for the full six hours.

The backcountry campsite itself was very non-descript and a bit of a disappointment. It was picked over heavily for firewood and lacked tall, strong trees for tarping. The pit toilet was conspicuously exposed, only a few feet from where the river disappeared over the falls.

Knowing it was going to rain and possibly storm that night, we had to get creative with our tarp setup and even then I had my doubts on how well it would hold. There was, however, a decent spot for a campfire and a scenic view of a calm part of the river.

Where the Grass River disappears over the falls. This was also the most convenient/unsettling place to collect water at the campsite

You could still hear the waterfalls at full volume, although this part of the river appears calm

After setting up the tent and rain tarp, I had some time to self-assess and realized I was putting out some serious BTUs. I took off clothing, splashed water all over myself and tried to rehydrate, but could not shake the heat. I don’t know if it was the nerves, but even a light t-shirt felt like the thickest Christmas sweater. I remained shirtless for the rest of the night. Thankfully, Teisha handled the fire-building, water filtering and cooking while I convalesced in my folding chair.

In the middle of the night, I woke up to the crackle of rain drops on the tarp above our tent. I still had no handle over my body heat, so I hoped the rain would cool things down and allow me to get better sleep. The overbearing noise from the falls was also not helping. I worried about bears who might have become habituated to finding food scraps around the campsite. At dawn, the thunder and lightning started. Sleep was impossible. To make matters worse, I had short samples of two songs playing repeatedly in my head: the part of Pearl Jam’s song No Way with the lyric “shoots down my sciatic nerve”, and part of a Pissed Jeans song where they just scream unintelligibly into the microphone.

Eventually there was a break in the rain, so we got out and packed up the camp. We were graced with a bit of sun to dry things off, and we were both feeling surprisingly good about getting out of there in one piece. After a huge breakfast scramble, we took a last look at Kwasitchewan Falls in daylight before embarking on the long hike back.

Morning at Kwasitchewan Falls

Intense running water right by our camp

It was a beautiful morning, but we were excited to leave

Manitoba’s most majestic pit toilet, overlooking Kwasitchewan Falls

We had backpacks on and were ready to go. I was also looking forward to getting away from the waterfall as the constant white noise had become a bit of a drain.

“I’m just gonna take a few quick photos of the falls,” I said. Teisha appeared to be taking some photos too, so I made my way to a spot where I thought I could get a decent viewpoint. Whether it was the high water levels or simply the way it is, Kwasitchewan Falls was difficult to capture in comparison to the picturesque Pisew Falls. I shot for only five minutes before returning to the trail.

Teisha wasn’t where I last saw her, so I went back to the campsite to see if she had gone back to retrieve something. But she wasn’t there. I figured she might be taking photos further down from the falls. I walked down the trail until it seemed unreasonably far—still no signs of Teisha. I shouted her name, completely muffled by the enormous sound of the falls. I went back to the camping area to check once again, but it was obviously still deserted. I sensed I was completely alone.

I began to pace more and more wildly, shouting her name at the top of my lungs, feeling totally powerless in the wall of noise. I ran down the trail as far as I could until the sound of the falls had almost faded away, but there were still no signs she had been there. My mind began conjuring the most horrific scenarios to explain her apparent disappearance as my shouts became increasingly pained and coarse. Time was dragging on and I was running out of ideas that seemed remotely sane.

Nearly thirty minutes passed. If she was out there, she was no doubt looking frantically for me as well.

The waterfall’s noise was overbearing, even when far away from the immediate area

Compared to Pisew Falls, Kwasitchewan is much more turbulent

I blew into my emergency whistle attached to the strap of my backpack—three bursts and a break. The ring persisted in my ears but was still devoured by the roaring falls. I began hiking down the trail, blowing the whistle, desperate, dreading to decide whether I should stay at the falls until she comes back, or hike out immediately and get help. Tears were welling up at either thought. Then, I heard her voice coming from down the trail.

It happened like this: she never noticed me leaving to take photos of the falls. Upon realizing I wasn’t around, she assumed I started the hike in a hurry to get started, so she left to catch up with me. She had hiked a considerable distance before suspecting I was not ahead of her, at which point she left her pack on the trail and backtracked to find me. I had assumed she heard me say where I was going, but I did not check to make sure she wasn’t distracted or couldn’t hear me with all the noise. It was as easy (or as stupid) as that.

I cannot understate how stressful this situation was, or how quickly it developed from seemingly nothing. It was an easy issue to overlook—that we had not discussed what to do should we ever become separated. It was not something we expected despite plenty of advance warnings it could be a potential problem.

We agreed from now on to carry emergency whistles, ensure we always communicate where we are going if we leave, and should we ever become separated again, we would meet in the last place we saw each other. Something we did correctly this time was leave markers in the vicinity—a backpack or item that we would come back for to indicate we had not gone further and were in the area. It was of extreme importance not to make assumptions, and most of all, not to panic, catastrophize or otherwise make the situation more difficult.

Our cortisol levels soon returned to normal and we felt only an incredible sense of relief. Now more determined than before, we left Kwasitchewan Falls together.

Part of the trail along Phillips Lake. This was on the way back, when most things were still dry and conditions were great.

Mushrooms on decaying spruce wood

With new energy and ideal weather conditions, we were moving considerably faster along the Phillips Lake trail than when we had arrived. We found it easy to recognize even the most inconsequential landmarks: a particular set of tree roots we needed to climb, a tree that had fallen a certain way or even a small patch of blueberries we may have snacked on.

The sky clouded over quickly and intermittent rain meant putting raincoats on, then taking them off to keep from overheating only to put them back on moments again. Eventually we kept them on, but the rain was by then pretty much constant.

We reached the portage between Phillips Lake and the Grass River much faster than we expected. The trail was now waterlogged, soft and mucky, but it felt good to trudge through knowing we were making good progress. Retracing our steps, we knew we could expect to see the spot where we took the break on top of a mossy peak. We took no breaks this time, other than a short pause to drink water or apply bug repellent (the mosquitoes did not let up at all.)

Rain and thunderstorms accompanied us over half the trip back

By the time we had passed the mossy peak, but well before the Bog of Sorrows, the rain was getting heavier and the skies much darker. Pools of water accumulated inside the pockets of my rain jacket, while my hands turned wrinkled and purple from the dye in my gloves. Lightning and thunder crashes reverberated through the forest. We had to laugh at how dramatic it was all turning out to be.

The tree roots we had climbed on the way in were now far too slippery to be trusted. We found some sticks to use as trekking poles and admitted that maybe those savvy hikers we saw on the way in knew something we didn’t.

For the rest of the hike, we felt a bit like soulless automatons in the rain. Completely detached from the physical process, our feet simply doing the work of carrying our brains to the car. It was surprisingly easy to completely ignore any feeling of exhaustion or soreness. Knowing we were going to get out eventually made it a neat phenomenon we could appreciate.

Eventually we passed through the Bog of Sorrows and familiar hill crests, along with the completely unremarkable cut stumps I had noticed when we took our first break the day before. We felt invincible as we approached the final few turns before the suspension bridge, slick with water.

With thunder rumbling angrily in the distance, Teisha hurled her walking stick into the mighty Grass River and presumably made peace with the Gods.

Camera lens was pretty much soaked and fogged up

AAAAAAGGGGHHHHH!!

Grinning and shouting, I didn’t notice the two men standing on the other side of the bridge watching us. I wondered if they thought I was yelling at them.

“How was the hike?”, one of them seemed excited to ask.

“It was awful!” I said, embarrassing myself immediately. I hoped my laugh gave away that I was simply too stupefied for the afterglow to hit yet.

The return hike took us only four hours, which we owed to sheer will and focusing on getting to the next landmark rather than the end destination. What mattered most was that we made it safely, with a most rewarding experience behind us.

Since our hike to Kwasitchewan Falls, Teisha and I revisit the story and discuss it quite often. We have gone over what we did well, and where we could have done better. We were able to accomplish a feat we had never done together and briefly experienced the brink of our physical and mental limits. Kwasitchewan Falls remains my proud reminder of what we can endure, and how much we can accomplish when we care deeply for each other.

To that end I am proud to have a partner by my side, experiencing the good and the bad that comes with all things in nature. She’s a terrific editor, always reading my stories, letting me know when my word choices get too pompous. She’s tough as nails, a phenomenally hard-working baker, and she’s always there keeping me level-headed when I need it most.