The Canoe

Image courtesy D. Burton

The Canoe

No other vessel, craft, or man-made form of transportation has stayed as close to its original roots, endured in its purest of forms or proved as true a course as the canoe. The canoe is a craft of the people, yet it is the embodiment of true individuality. Its lines are manufactured virtue and artistry combined; practical, aesthetically pleasing, rugged to a fault. Its composition can be of a natural substance or a scientific breakthrough. Its design has been promoted and advanced by commerce, sport, warfare and even romance. The canoe embodies freedom, hearkens back to a simpler way of life yet represents a progression in time. One’s compulsion to build, posses or paddle a canoe runs deep within our DNA. 

My first boat was a canoe. I’m quite sure that most of us who have had boats had a canoe first. Many of us have owned bigger boats, but it seems we always return to a canoe. It’s a boat that can attract all who wish to be on the water, and be within their reach. No matter what one’s financial or societal situation is, there’s a canoe that works.

Walk almost any neighborhood in this great country of ours and chances are you’ll see a canoe. It might be astride work horses in a backyard, leaning against the side of a house or amid an overgrowth of weeds tucked behind a shed or garage, but believe me there’s one close by.       

Unlike other forms of transport, little of the canoe has changed. My ’93 Jeep is a far cry from the Jeep that won the Second World War, and differs even more from the Jeep being driven off the assembly line today. And bicycles, they’re another story; how many of us still ride a Penny Farthing? Yet my forty-year old canoe is little different (other than its construction materials) than those paddled by the early pioneers to this country. It’s propulsion system is the same; its shape and capabilities equal. For a few hundred dollars and a trip to Canadian Tire I could replace it this afternoon. But why should I?

Construction methods and materials have changed little. Progression beyond the dugout was inevitable and warranted. But beyond the birch-bark or cedar-strip, technology has encouraged and bred irresponsibility. Aluminum and fiberglass have only brought one advantage; accessibility. Even so, a cedar-strip or simple plywood canoe can be constructed with a few modern tools and a modest amount of funding.

History, adventure, romance and legend; all characteristic of the canoe. 

Niagara Falls’ namesake, the First Nations’ princess, was immortalized by paddling over the falls in her canoe. The Voyageurs and the fur traders, paddling their canoes to discovery, built commerce and established the original economic base our nation would be founded upon. Thousands of years ago the first migrants to this land plied its rivers and lakes in canoes seeking fish and game, and shelter from the elements. A few hundred years ago explorers and map makers charted this vast wilderness in canoes.  

The art that exemplifies Canada is heavily reliant on the canoe. Canoes are depicted in the work, or worked to deliver the product. Emily Carr portrayed the indigenous peoples' culture of the Pacific northwest and their great war and whaling canoes. Krieghoff depicted nineteenth century rural Canadian life with birch bark canoes even present in his winter scenes. Many of the Group of Seven were inspired while paddling. The last anyone saw of Tom Thomson was of him paddling away on a fishing trip, coincidentally to be found dead days later, floating on Canoe Lake. 

Archibald Belaney, better known as Grey Owl, set out on his adventures in a canoe. His quest to save the beaver propelled by a paddle, brought a knowledge of Canada and its wilderness to the world. Castor Canadensis would not be our nation’s symbol and quite possibly extinct were it not for the canoe.
Frances Anne Hopkins, while travelling with her husband Edward Martin and Sir George Simpson of the Hudson's Bay Company, was not only inspired to paint scenes depicting the great Voyageur canoes, but is thought to include herself seated amongst the fur traders' cargo on many of her canvases.      

The canoe, if not a main character, has often played a supporting role in Canadian literature. Whether advancing the story-line or transporting the author, the canoe will always be a devise for the written word in this great wilderness. From “Paddle to the Sea” to “Lost in the Barrens,” or the many works by such people as Bill Mason or Robert Service, canoes have always been an inspiration.     

Image courtesy D. Burton

Many great discoveries have been made in a canoe. Even greater though may be the personal discoveries we make while paddling our own canoe. Views of where the water meets the sky, or the land meets the water. Reflections of our world on a glassy lake or the multitude of colors churned up in the fury of a rock-strewn river, these images give us time, resource and a reason to ponder our own journey through life. 

Image courtesy D. Wade

The canoe is of great significance to Canada. Its profile is recognizable by all. All Canadians can easily have access to one, all of us have read about them. With all its practical and symbolic meaning why is it not immortalized as other Canadian iconic images are? 

Image courtesy C. Smith

We have the maple leaf on our flag and penny. Some will even dispute the maple leaf as symbolic of all of Canada. On the nickel a beaver; representative of Canadian resourcefulness and a true success story. On the dime the Bluenose, a vessel far beyond the means of anyone I know. The quarter shows a woodland caribou, most mistaking it for a moose. The “Loony” depicts a loon, the “Toonie” a polar bear. And where’s the canoe, far more representative of Canada than most of these? On some silver dollars. But most of us never even see these in circulation, most silver dollars are relegated to dresser drawers and coin collections.

Now that the controversy of the penny has been put to rest, why not replace the image on the dime with a canoe. My nomination would be that icon of provincial parks, portage route signifier, great Canadian super hero, Mr. Canoe Head!         

Water sustains our world. The canoe sustains my need to be on the water. It protects me from its depths while allowing me to quietly visit its solitudes. In a canoe I can harvest the water’s bounty and ponder my own contribution to this life.   

The canoe courses a passage through time. It’s wake our past, its heading our future. Between the gunnels and chines, our hope for prosperity.

A few notes, observations, recommendations and most importantly, a few words of thanks...


As you can see I've had help with some of the images that accompany this post. Dave Burton, a great friend, always comes through with requests petitioned through emails and Facebook, sent me some great shots, including my right hand! Dave also "lifted" the "Mr. Canoe Head" image from the Internet for me. That image came from The Portage Store. So if any of you are in need of equipment or interested in a paddle through Algonquin Park, check them out.


Colleen Smith and Ryan Madill, fellow paddlers, sent me a few images also. The one I used is fantastic, with a real-life Mr. Canoe Head! Keep paddling, guys!


The best canoes are "Free Canoes!" Doug Wade salvaged the sunken canoe and it now sits on his and Julie's shoreline. I guess old canoes never do die!


Beth Stanley, Artisan Program Coordinator of the Canadian Canoe Museum was also a great help! Please pay a visit to the museum next time you're in Peterborough. If you can't make the trip you can make a donation on-line. We need to preserve the wonderful craft on display there.


Both Paintings depicted here are by the above mentioned artist Frances Anne Hopkins. I believe the originals are held by Library and Archives Canada. If they have a problem with me using these two images they can give me a call. I'll remove the images and the link to their website!


I photographed the birch-bark canoe just this morning. It was built recently right here in Durham by Elder Marcel Lebelle in conjunction with the Oshawa and Durham Region Metis Council. There are some great images on their website showing its construction using a combination of modern tools and traditional methods. Well worth a visit!


Finally I would like to thank Brenda Ghent. My canoe, the green one pictured along side the red and the yellow canoes, lives at Brenda's and Paul's cottage on Skeleton Lake where it's well taken care of! If you would like to paddle my canoe, you can rent the cute little cottage in the background; Brenda can be found on my Facebook Friends list.    



      

Image courtesy D. Burton

From Beaches to Backwoods, From Crete to Cree

From Beaches to Backwoods, From Crete to Cree

This last year has been interesting to say the least! Thousands of miles by air and rail, countless airports and a few places we'd choose never to over-night in again. Sub-tropic to sub-polar environments, walking in ruins of ancient civilizations to residing in ruined societies.

First hand we've seen the social progressions of man but also the degradation of a culture once proud of its roots. We've watched the same moon rise over prosperity and joy, but only months later to set upon a bleak and inhospitable forest of self decay. And the people we've met, those that will share all of the little they have, those that have much but are willing to share so little. Openness, care and respect. Disdain, apathy and arrogance.

Freedom 45

In January, only a few days after my 45th birthday I was packaged-out at work. The thirteen years of service amounted to enough to pay the bills for a while and dental coverage for a few months. It was a shock, a bit of a blow, but it was also a chance to try a few different things. Aimee was let go exactly a month later. But the Saturday before that, we found Lyndy, the best Valentine's ever!

As neither of us had really taken any time for ourselves in many years we both decided that we would enjoy this new found freedom, see a few things, maybe go a few places. We would not take jobs unless they offered a chance to explore, the world and ourselves. So we started exploring, and that lead to adventure!

We fished, we visited with friends. We cooked, ate and drank. And we laughed.

Early on we spent a week of our time at our friends’ Jeff and Lisa’s. We swam in their pool and lazed in their sauna as the snow fell and the freezing rain coated the outside world. Each night we dined and drank wine. Then, take-outs with Pam and Eric, returnees from the Southwest, were a weekly occurrence, whether from Johnny’s or Tim Horton’s.

Ice fishing wasn't a simple day outing. We slept on the ice. We fished through the night, watching the stars and the dark water. The silence only broken by the booms of cracking ice.

A day or two at the cottage would inevitably turn to a week.

We bird watched, we people watched. We watched the lake.

We collected stones. Shiny round ones that looked like beads. Faceted ones, beautiful ones. Any stone that caught our eye. Stones of every colour you can imagine. And I skipped a lot of stones.

Training a new dog, throwing stones and doing crosswords doesn’t really make for full-time employment. And none of these activities would pay the bills. So in March we attended a job fair in downtown Toronto. This lead to attending a seminar a month later. The North West Company seemed to be what we were looking for. Enough money to pay the bills, experiencing different cultures and the chance to see parts of the world otherwise out of reach. So on the first Tuesday of August we left for northern Ontario. But before going north, we went east.

Our Travels

On a Saturday morning in February we met two friends for coffee, it was in-fact the same day we picked up Lyndy. Faye and Spiro were to be married on the 25th of July. They had asked that I take their wedding photos. Over the next few months emails were exchanged and a number of conversations were held over the phone, but the next time we met face to face with them was in late July on the island of Crete.

Traditional Greek music and dancing, food and drink. The ceremony was beautiful, couldn't understand a word, but beautiful. And we were pleased beyond doubt with the photos we took!

Photos at the chapel, the receptions, after the ceremony and a gathering the night before. But the shots in the back alleys and later on the beach thrilled us all.

Our personal time was exciting and relaxing; swimming at the beach, walking the ancient town;

sampling the hospitality, the culture, architecture and of course the food.

Leaving was bittersweet. Leaving a place filled with history and myth, a foreign yet welcoming culture. Leaving warm sun and warmer beaches, fantastic scenery; a blend of an ancient people's impact on the land and the rough landscape still enduring.

But we were returning to see our families. Returning to our little dog. Returning to embark on our adventure north.

So on August 3rd we boarded a Via train north. With Lyndy safely secured in her crate aboard the baggage car, we settled into our berth. As we left the station we made our way to the observation car to be served Champagne and nibblies. The meals and service over the next day were superb. A train traveling north through the dark green forests of Ontario, commencing in the busiest hub in the country, seemed the ideal setting for the adventure we were embarking upon!

Twenty-two hours later we arrived in Nakina. We settled into our new apartment with the possessions we took with us on the train; clothing, photos, the kitchen gadgets we couldn’t live without, some affects that make a house a home. And of course, fishing gear! Our best friend Dave would travel north to see us the following week. He had kindly offered to take with him some other much needed goods. Specifically Aimee’s beads and my guns.

Nakina

Now let me tell you a bit about Nakina. It’s a town of about three-hundred and fifty people. A few years ago its population was over seven-hundred. When the lumber mill shut down the town went south. For half the population it literally went south! It has a Post Office, an LCBO and a bank that’s open two days a week. It also has an airport which caters mainly to the First Nations reserves in the area and those investing in the hopeful prosperity of the Ring of Fire project. Those of you that know of Nakina probably do through outdoor publications and TV shows; Because Nakina has the best moose hunting and walleye fishing available in Ontario, maybe all of Canada.

There are no traffic lights in Nakina, only four-way stops. There are no sidewalks, no crosswalks. Rarely will you see someone speed. Everyone stops at the stop signs, well almost everyone, but that’s a story for another day... But Nakina is the friendliest town in all Ontario! Everyone waves to each other; friend or stranger. Within a few days we were invited to dinner. Within a week customers and neighbours alike knew our names. Within a couple of weeks we had been invited blueberry picking and speckled trout fishing. To quote Daryl Cronzy, “It’s Paradise!” If Aimee and I were ever to buy a place in Ontario, it will be in Nakina.

Further Afield

Our traveling though has not stopped. We even traveled while living in Nakina. On September the 23rd I flew from Nakina to Thunder Bay. Took a flight from there to Montreal, staying overnight. The following day I flew to Waskaganish on the Quebec side of James Bay.

Waskaganish is the Cree name for the community originally called Fort Rupert. In 1668 The Hudson Bay Company established its first outpost at the mouth of the Rupert River. The Northern

store there sits on the same parcel of land. So for a week I worked at the oldest retail establishment in the New World. Unfortunately that meant Aimee and I would not be able to spend her birthday together. I was scheduled to fly out the day after her birthday. We were to meet that evening in Thunder Bay and spend the night there.

I arrived at the Waskaganish airport just after two. At about the same time, Aimee started the 400km drive to Thunder Bay. My 3:45 flight was delayed by half an hour. The transfer in Val-d’Or was further delayed. By the time I had reached Montreal I had missed my connection to Toronto and subsequently the connecting flight to Thunder Bay.

Needless to say, Aimee spent the night alone in the Thunder Bay hotel room. I slept in the lounge at YYZ.

Over the next week we received more news of our further travels. A week in Kashechewan, together this time, and then a transfer to Sandy Lake.

The trip to Kashechewan was in some sense a blessing. It allowed us to travel on the train to Toronto to visit with family before flying to the Ontario side of James Bay. We had Thanksgiving dinner on the train; again excellent food and wonderful service. My Mum and Dad met us at Union station. We had coffee with them, a great morning. They later dropped us off at Aimee’s house in Whitby. We had a super time with friends and family, and the next morning flew north.

Kashechewan is almost a polar opposite to Nakina and in so many ways. And although the same culture as Waskaganish, and only just across the bay, so very different from there too. We were there a week. Five days too long. Travel home couldn’t come soon enough.

The trip out of Kashechewan was as interesting as the rest. From Kashechewan to Fort Albany. The shortest commercial flight in the world; the landing gear goes up and stays there for less time than it’s down. From there to Moosanee, and from there a connecting flight from Timmins to Toronto. Tom and Sharon picked us up at the airport, we were very grateful. Another day with family then back on the train.

Four days after our return to Nakina we left there again. But this time for good. We packed, said our goodbyes and were flying once more. From Nakina to Fort Hope, then a connection in Thunder Bay. From there to Sioux Lookout. The connection from there to Sandy Lake was delayed due to weather. After finding a dog-friendly hotel we spent the night.

The flight the next morning was another mini adventure. Lyndy was stuck in the baggage compartment for almost an hour before take-off. And the flight was another thing. Just enough visibility to fly. But as we rose above the clouds it was spectacular, as bright as one could imagine!

Descending through the clouds was like passing through nothing. But what we saw and experienced as we left them now seems a foreboding omen. What struck me first was brown and grey. The grey of the landscape overshadowed the green. The brown water of the vast lake blotched out the blue of the smaller surrounding lakes. Sandy Lake is aptly named. The lake truly is sandy! The water is the colour of bad chocolate milk! And the landing! We were all over the ice coated gravel runway. And as we exited the plane the cold hit us!

Getting out of the airport was worse than going through customs. Everything was searched. And what they queried was just mind boggling. Our guns were fine, but the collection of goat cheese and olives certainly seemed to raise some eyebrows. But they never found the bottle of bourbon! Looking back it’s almost too bad though, might have got us that BCR to get us out of here!

Life on the Reserve

Sandy Lake is a whole other world! Depressed, repressed and miserable, everything about it. I’ll not go into it. Those that would like to hear more should contact us and ask. But be prepared for some horror, some sadness and some maddening stories. It’s not a pleasant place!

We have our little house though. It’s affectionately been labeled the “Doll House”. A small two-bedroom; smaller in-fact than the apartment in Nakina. The view is pleasant; trees sloping down to the lake. It’s bright when the sun shines. We’ve hung photos, and personal items are throughout, making it seem like our own. But for how long, who knows?

I walk Lyndy a few times a day. On-leash all of the time though; for her it’s not really safe. We’ve blazed a trail through the woods to the west of the “compound”. Beautiful path, and now especially with the spruce and fir trees laden with snow.

This time of year, the days are short and the nights are long. The sun rises around eight and sets by four. But our workdays are long. Out at seven-thirty in the morning, not home until eight or nine in the evening; sometimes later.

We’re hoping to do some ice-fishing soon. Once the Christmas selling season is over there just might be some time to relax. But for now, our days off are spent regrouping and recovering our physical and emotional strength.

Lessons Learned

We asked for an adventure, and that’s what we got! So far, this year has been a great learning

experience for us. We have been taught much, as much about the world around us as we have of ourselves. We’ve seen how other people live and react to those around them. We’ve rediscovered how well we’ve been blessed; with reliable friends, good family and able bodies and minds!

Lament For Confederation

I made a promise to myself and the sensitive in my community that I would do my best to be as apolitical as I could be when posting my blogs. I'm opinionated, I'm dogmatic and some might say a slight bit arrogant. But this posting is not about me. I've been asked to post a link to the Chief's soliloquy "Lament for Confederation". Instead of a link, here it is, word for word. Read it, savour the words, and take a part of it with you wherever you travel in Canada, and anywhere indigenous people strive to preserve their culture.

Lament for Confederation

How long have I known you, Oh Canada? A hundred years? Yes, a hundred years. And many, many seelanum more. And today, when you celebrate your hundred years, Oh Canada, I am sad for all the Indian people throughout the land.

For I have known you when your forests were mine; when they gave me my meat and my clothing. I have known you in your streams and rivers where your fish flashed and danced in the sun, where the waters said 'come, come and eat of my abundance.' I have known you in the freedom of the winds. And my spirit, like the winds, once roamed your good lands.

But in the long hundred years since the white man came, I have seen my freedom disappear like the salmon going mysteriously out to sea. The white man's strange customs, which I could not understand, pressed down upon me until I could no longer breathe.

When I fought to protect my land and my home, I was called a savage. When I neither understood nor welcomed his way of life, I was called lazy. When I tried to rule my people, I was stripped of my authority.

My nation was ignored in your history textbooks - they were little more important in the history of Canada than the buffalo that ranged the plains. I was ridiculed in your plays and motion pictures, and when I drank your fire-water, I got drunk - very, very drunk. And I forgot.

Oh Canada, how can I celebrate with you this Centenary, this hundred years? Shall I thank you for the reserves that are left to me of my beautiful forests? For the canned fish of my rivers? For the loss of my pride and authority, even among my own people? For the lack of my will to fight back? No! I must forget what's past and gone.

Oh God in heaven! Give me back the courage of the olden chiefs. Let me wrestle with my surroundings. Let me again, as in the days of old, dominate my environment. Let me humbly accept this new culture and through it rise up and go on.

Oh God! Like the thunderbird of old I shall rise again out of the sea; I shall grab the instruments of the white man's success-his education, his skills- and with these new tools I shall build my race into the proudest segment of your society.

Before I follow the great chiefs who have gone before us, Oh Canada, I shall see these things come to pass. I shall see our young braves and our chiefs sitting in the houses of law and government, ruling and being ruled by the knowledge and freedoms of our great land.

So shall we shatter the barriers of our isolation. So shall the next hundred years be the greatest in the proud history of our tribes and nations.

Chief Dan George, July 1st, 1967.

How many Canadians can boast of an Oscar and Golden Globe nomination, a Golden Laurel Award, a National Society of Film Critics Award and a New York Film Critics Circle Award? All in the same year and all for portraying the same historical figure on film. And at the wise age of 72!

He was born Tes-Wah-No, and as a young boy was known as Dan Slaholt. Upon entering boarding school he took his father’s first name as his last, because speaking his tribal tongue was forbidden as were native Canadian names. After leaving school he worked as a longshoreman, a logger and a construction worker. His first acting role was not until he was in his mid sixties. But his most important job, and the name we all know him by came about in 1951.

In 1951 Tes-Wah-No became Chief Dan George. By the mid sixties he was a household name in North America. And in 1967 he gave the speech that would bring him to the fore front of the native rights movement.

The speech was entitled Lament For Confederation. He delivered it before 35,000 people on July first, Canada Day, 1967: Canada’s 100th anniversary. He delivered this speech in the hopes it would boost the self-esteem of his fellow natives, showing and imploring them that anyone could succeed as he had, anyone from a disadvantaged background: anyone, even if their government had suppressed them and denied them their true identity.

All true Canadians, new and old, should read Chief Dan George’s soliloquy Lament for Confederation. There’s a lesson in it for all of us. Chief Dan George would be happy to know his words had not fallen on deaf ears and were being heard 42 years later.

Hail to and respect the Chief.