Muskeg Daily Creek. Dateline: After the last one......
Chapter 2 - “Snow shoes for beginners”
In June, the result of the April census count was released, revealing the number of inhabitants in Muskeg Creek as 12,742 people, 214 dogs, 143 cats, 5 horses, 4 goats, 2 sheep, and a llama. Animals were not listed on the form, but people here are open and honest. The form asked. “How many occupants in your home?” and this was the answer. Interesting to note, while some are happy to have Horses, goats and sheep in their homes, none seem to have the normal domestic pets such as guinea pigs, hamsters, or budgies!
Muskegers are very familiar with the North's two seasons - winter and summer, there is no in between. All year round Muskegers enjoy the great out doors. Thousands of acres of bush, in which to explore, hunt, trap, and overnight bivouac camp. Many lakes on which to boat, canoe, and fish. A true Muskeger is capable of lighting a fire in the coldest or dampest conditions using birch bark, and being content and satisfied with a meal consisting of only Bannock and gravy. Defusing the myth that the four major food sources are, beef, pork, coke, and Jell-O salad. Muskegers also know which leaves make the best toilet paper.
Trapper Johnny Two Crow is a culturally adapted bi-lingual and experienced native of the north. To be politically correct Johnny is a first nation person. When I once asked him how he prefers to be classed, he replied, “Just treat me as human”. Equally at home in town, or in the bush, his place of preference is the bush. At one with nature, Johnny thrives in the wilderness, and loves to commune with nature.
At times a solitary person and deep thinker, Johnny is happy to share his culture with anyone who expresses an interest. That is how I came to go on a long snowshoe hike, which only confirmed how unfit I was. Here are a few tips for anyone contemplating a similar trip. Get fit and don't go with a person who has been doing this all his life, and to whom snowshoes are a natural extension of his body. I found that with large and cumbersome tennis rackets strapped to my feet, it was SO easy to step on them, fall and make a complete fool of ones self.
Without any opportunity to practice, the learning began as we set off into the bush. Soon I developed a John Wayne walk and wriggle my hips from side to side. In doing so mumbling “The heck with this, I'm gonna master this if it kills me”. Toward the end of the trek it nearly did. My ankles were swollen, groin sprained, and I ached where did not know that I could ache - all said it was an experience. I now have a greater admiration for the arctic explorers who pulled sleds behind them, where I only had a knapsack on my back.
Johnny walked on ahead, a half stride faster than me. I was still coming to grips with my attachments. Going straight became easier, but I soon needed to learn to turn and manoeuvre through trees, while at the same time trying to master ascending and descending slopes. To climb, it is best to dig the insides of the shoe into the snow. To descend, there are two ways, on your bum, or to quickly learn to downhill ski!
Out in the open we crossed a small pond containing a Beaver dam, onward through thicker snow, knee deep past a trap line set by an Otter Holt. Onto a larger lake all the time looking for animals and their tracks. Johnny occasionally would stop throw snow in the air to ascertain the direction of the light breeze then look upwind through binoculars for wildlife. It appeared we were all alone.
We followed a track to our right, meandering upward in the pine forest. Johnny paced on ahead and out of sight. I followed his tracks, which looked as if a large prehistoric waterfowl, with big rear talons had landed and paced the way. I paused many times to admire the view, and soak up the solitude while listening to the silence broken only by the trees cracking and straining under the weight of snow.
The day was bright but there was no sun to cast shadows. As I exhaled, my breath froze to my beard and moustache, forming large droplets of ice, which I would suck upon to relieve my dry mouth. Some folks are afraid of silence, afraid to be alone with their thought. I revelled in this situation, my mind alive with a Robert Service poem. “The Shooting of Dan McGrew”.
“A bunch of the boys were whooping it up in the Malamute saloon
The kid that handles the music-box was hitting a jag-time tune;
Back of the bar, in a solo game, sat Dangerous Dan McGrew,
And watching his luck was his light-o'-love,
the lady that's known as Lou.”
At the summit Johnny's prints turned right along a single-track road. When I caught up with my guide he had dug a hole with his snowshoe, collected wood and was about to light a fire. Relieved to remove my snowshoes I sat on a fallen tree to regain my breath. A coffeepot was produced and filled with snow, melted boiled and tea brewed. Amber flames danced over the cracking wood, emitting a smoky pine smell. We cupped the brew and sat in silence, broken at times with talk.
Striking camp Johnny set of at his fast pace. I am sure the up slopes were much longer than the down. Alone again on the track, the pain in my groin was increasing. I thought I was beginning to hallucinate upon seeing a red London single decker bus off to the side. On touching it I found it real, it had been converted into a bunkhouse for lumberjacks.
The path was now firmer underfoot and I removed my snowshoes using one as a crutch. Johnny's track made a right turn up another hill. Then I saw the Two Crow Cavalry, driving toward me in his battered red truck. Relieved to be spared the last half a mile I climbed into the warm cab. Homeward bound filled with satisfaction, a day to be remembered and treasured.
Live for the moment, live on the edge, Snowshoe in the wilderness. Or do your crossword puzzle with a pen.
