June 16, 2026
Traceless Camping on the
Noire River
By Joshua Menard
My dad and I share a passion for white-water canoeing and a deep respect for rivers, so when we set out on our first four-day expedition, three years ago, we adopted the practice of traceless camping; that is, leaving as little of a footprint on nature as possible.
To share our experience, but also to give tips on how to minimize your environmental impact in the great outdoors, we present to you this story.
The Noire
The Noire River has a unique atmosphere. Dyed black by tannins, it winds on and on, almost endlessly, like a garter snake, carving a path through rock and dense forest. Giant pines and spruces cast their moody reflection onto the water; but under a bright blue sky, its beaches were some of the quaintest we’d ever seen.
When we sat in our lake canoes, the gunwales stood uncomfortably close to river’s surface. We had packed far more than we needed. I didn’t have to say, “I told you so”.
Scooping out half of the river from the bow, we realized two things: first, unlike lake canoes, whitewater canoes are made for splashes; second, we didn’t know what we were doing, and if that was an easy rapid according to the map, it was going to be a long way home.
We travelled onwards. Our paddles sliced through the black, sheet-like water when it was calm, and hacked through rushes of whitecaps and boulders when it got rough. We finally set up camp on a sandbar that had lots of driftwood.
Camp: Food and Garbage
We did everything we could to make sure we left the beach like we saw it. We brought a saw to cut driftwood into kindle size and never touched a living tree. We dug a small hole in the sand, lit the fire, and started cooking.
We brought garbage bags and did routine camp sweeps to make sure we left no litter or food waste behind: wrappers, cans, bottles, and even bones disrupt the ecosystem.
We packed our trail mix, fruit, and soap in re-usable containers and bags. It’s cheaper and eco-friendlier in the long run, and hard to forget on the way out. We packed heavy but didn’t bring any glass and kept tin cans to a minimum. Dead weight also means dead space.
Back on the Water
In the mornings, thick fog hung low on the river and shrouded the woods; the water was silver. In the heart of the forest, we felt like we were peacefully alone. But musing time was over; we had eight hours of paddling ahead of us. So, we threw the coffee grounds into the garbage bag and left.
We weren’t alone. Snapping turtles, garter snakes, hares, woodpeckers, wrens, deer and even a curious black bear made appearances. The only other people we saw, three days in, watched us swim after our capsized canoes when we thought we’d become good enough to tackle an R3.
Personal Care and Camp Etiquette
On days two and three, there weren’t any beaches, so we looked for signs of designated camping sites. When we did, we minimized our impact by avoiding treading on untouched bushes and made sure not to sprawl out too much.
We did our best to keep personal care products out of the water and picked a spot on land as a designated sink. We brushed our teeth with our biodegradable and non-toxic toothpastes, so it made minimal impact.
We filled one travel bottle with all-in-one Castile soap. It’s a concentrate, so we just added water when we wanted to wash our dishes or ourselves. For dishes, we brought water inland and dug a little hole to put in the crumbs and grease.
We were mindful of what we put into the water. More soap doesn’t mean cleaner. In fact, it can sometimes have the opposite effect. Many chemical soaps and personal care products contain ingredients that take a long time to break down and are toxic to aquatic life.
Thankfully, our Castile soap is biodegradable and certified natural, so we were confident that it limited our environmental impact.
The Last Stretch
On the last day, we portaged around the Rapides de l’Ours (Bear Rapids), which looked like a waterfall that would happily chew up our canoes. There, we encountered a firepit littered with plastic wrappers and aluminium cans, and other trash flapped like a flag in a nearby bush. We picked them up and moved along.
When we got to the end of our adventure, we were happy to put our canoes on the hood of the car. Looking back on it, however, it’s not the hardship that remains, but one tell-all scene: black water, majestic trees, a big temperamental sky, and a deep-rooted sense of well-being.
What does the river remember?
Perhaps it doesn’t remember anything. Our footprints on the beaches have washed away, the charcoal and ash from our fires have nourished the soil, and the water we smacked out of our ears has long reached the Atlantic Ocean via the Ottawa and St-Lawrence Rivers.
Maybe the only thing it remembers about people is the trash we leave behind. Plastic and aluminum don’t wash away. They stay there until someone picks them up. And these things are not the kind of legacy anyone who visits the Noire or any stream wants to leave behind.
