Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Painting Ireland Green
No, this is not dubai. This is Waterville Co.Kerry.
Now you know why Ireland is so green.
Every morning the 'little people' get up and spray all the grass to make it more green. But last night they forgot to do this bit, so humanoids are having to do it for them. This golf course caters for the American market so perhaps its not green enough for them.
And if you want to know why some of our beaches are yellow then click here
Monday, December 17, 2007
Fort Smith Aboriginal Games
- Moose calling
- Goose calling
- Muskrat calling
- Moccasin races
- Log sawing
- Spear throwing
- Axe Throwing
- Archery
Fort Smith Aboriginal Games
Fort Smith NWT 21st June 2007
A two hour flight from Edmonton (not forgetting the flight from London, the flight from Cork...) in a thirty two seat Jet-Stream aircraft gets us here. Like much of northern Canada we are flying over forest and lakes. Another feature of Northern Canada, a forest fire burns in the west and a huge plume of smoke crosses the sky in front of us.
We book in at the Pelican Rapids Hotel. The outside of which is the ugliest building I’ve ever seen. Flat roof, but they’ve managed to stick a row of cedar shingles along the top. Totally surrounded by concrete and a derelict building opposite. The rooms are an improvement even though we are reminded to keep the windows shut when we leave the room. Not to keep out the mosquitos but some of the thieving locals (mostly native indians) who make up 50% of the population of this frontier town. The place we are told, is full of crime.
The morning of 21st June 2007 dawns clear. And so begins a unique and uplifting experience we’re not likely to repeat. Whilst we were in Edmonton I'd read that today was 'Aboriginal Day' in Canada and that there would be aboriginal games taking place in many places including Fort Smith. A life long interest in 'Indians' and ethnology meant this was going to be an unique experience prior to our paddle down the Thelon. We stroll down to the games. A rather grand title for what is a rather casually laid on event spread over a wide area of open ground on the edge of the huge Slave River. (By huge I mean it makes the River Thames look like a stream.)
The games are going to be :-
- Moose calling
- Goose calling
- Muskrat calling
- Moccasin races
- Log sawing
- Spear throwing
- Axe Throwing
- Archery
Already going when we arrived mid morning was the atmospheric ‘hand guessing game’. This pan American game is a skilled affair. A participant a stick or bone and hides it in one of their hands whilst their hand is hidden under a blanket. It is the turn of the opposition to then guess which hand. Points are awarded for individual or team. Gambling on the winner is a prime objective. The atmospheric touch comes from the drummers. The fast paced drumming matches the speed of the game as each team rhythmically points to the hand they think has the object. This game keeps on all day. Trish and Myself are virtually the only non Indians present. I watch as Cree, Chipewayn & Metis watch or stroll around as we do.
I feel way out of depth to take part in any of the games. I know nothing of the goose calling except that several of the men do a fine imitation of the noise Canada geese make whilst flying. We stroll into a tent where an elderly Indian women is making bannock and rolling it on a stick for people to cook over an open fire. I ask here if she has ever done this in the wilderness. A silly question as she tells me she has spent all her life in ‘the bush’ during the hunting season preparing such food. This is a town of hunters.
I get invited to take part in the spear throwing. I feel embarrassed, as I feel I am an intruder.
I have a go at the archery. One of the local Indian women has a go. She has the word ‘Indian’ tattooed on her calf. She can’t hold or fire the bow properly. I step up and show her. (something to add to my cv). I win this competition. Another indian stands at my side, long black shiny hair down to his waist and discusses the finer points of archery.
Axe throwing is the next. Everyone throws and either hits the target, a log upright in the ground, or misses completely. An elderly Indian picks up the axes and all three end up sticking in the log. Impressive. I manage to get two stuck in the log. Trish is embarrassed. Am I going to win? He later tells me that when he was a kid he used to make and fire bows made from birch, a material I’ve not heard of being used before. He tells me about his younger days hunting in the forest and trapping game in the depths of winter. Him and his wife used to spend all winter in the bush hunting and travelling. He can speak three local languages. Then he goes on to tell me about his own father who used to speak several languages and travel across Canada in the winter times hunting. I ask him how you say thank you in his language. He uses the French. Then tells me that in his Chipwayan language there is no word for thankyou. You were always expected to help others so there was no need for such a word.
The playoff - I feel like a fish out of water
Its announced later that I am joint winner along with two other local Indians. We’re invited up for the play off. Then they announce that to win the first prize of a free return flight to Yellowknife we must make the call of a male and female moose. I tell the chief Jim Beaver that I cannot take the prize and nor can I imitate a moose. I’ve not even seen one!. But there’s no mercy – he thrusts the megaphone into my hand and I’m on. “look I’m afraid I’ve never seen a moose, I’m not sure there is even one in Dublin Zoo or the whole of Ireland”. The crowd looks on expectantly. I imitate a tortured chicken with a sore throat and everyone laughs. Then the other two make sounds that can only have been learned by practice and long periods of listening to them deep in the forest. To my untrained ears they all sound alike but a winner is chosen and I make runner up.
We rejoin the dancing and are invited to dance with others in a circle. There is only one other ‘white’ person present. I feel privileged that we entered and took part in a unique event. The day ends with a feast of traditional white fish and game. I ask another Indian if they can imitate any other game and I listen to calls mimicking Beaver, Musk Rat and others. These are truly hunters of the north.
The next day in ‘Smith, Indians great me with cheery smiles and “Hi Dave from England”. The next day we fly north to the Thelon.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Canoeing the Thelon in Canada - June 2007
In the far north of Canada sits The Barren Lands, an area of half a million square miles of tundra (about the same size as Europe) with a population of just a few thousand. It is the most sparsely populated area of land north of Antarctica. It became a protected area in the 1920's
The Barrens form the largest single wilderness remaining in North America and one of only a few fully intact wild ecosystems on the planet. There are no roads and many of the rivers here have never seen a canoeist. Many of the major rivers are over 500 miles in length and most don't even have a name.
The Thelon is remote even by Canadian standards. There are no roads or railways. There are a couple of small airfields but these are hundreds of miles outside the sanctuary. We flew from Fort Smith, some four hundred miles to the southwest. The only planes that can make the trip are of course floatplanes and due to the distance this sometimes means another float plane has to travel with you to take extra fuel for return flight. If you come here it'll be the most expensive plane trip you'll ever make!!
There were ten of us in total. Two South Africans living in Canada (one, luckily, was a surgeon whose skills were desperately required on this trip), five Canadians, an American, myself, Trish my partner (both English) and our guide Alex Hall.
We flew for a couple of hours over gradually thinning forest before this gave way to a landscape of lakes. Thousands of lakes sometimes stretched from horizon to horizon. Sometimes huge un-named rivers that wound themselves across the landscape dissected these lakes. Groves of spruce took shelter on the slopes of small hills, big banks of snow showed that winter had only just gone. Alarmingly many lakes were still iced over - and this was the middle of June. And during all this not one sign of any human habitation or man made objects. Just wilderness.
We landed and refueled on a small lake, the pilot did an initial sweep over it first to ensure there were no obstacles such as ice or rocks to hole the plane before a smooth landing. We helped manoeuvre the aircraft into position for fuelling and also removed a couple of oil drums of fuel for the smaller beaver plane to use on his return. It was cold and snow lay in big drifts along the lee shore. We hoped we had brought the right gear. We wanted no epics this far from home. 20 minutes later we were off again and we gazed out of the window to this vast wilderness which stretched unbroken for hundreds and hundreds of miles. Surprisingly, amongst the lakes and small hills were huge stretches of sand dunes, incongruous amongst the drifts of snow. A little later we looked for our landing spot on the river. To my alarm and initial dismay it was still frozen. Perhaps we'd have to turn back! However another few miles downstream the ice had melted and we landed. In a few minutes the planes would leave us alone, the only human beings in this vast landscape. I made a thorough check of the plane to ensure that nothing was left behind. There was no going back and no help.
Musk ox watch over us (left)
"I don't think my wife will be letting me go on another trip" Tom added after telling us that this was his tenth trip to the area without incident.
Here our river joined the Thelon River proper. The river was supposed to be only grade I/II!! However careful inspection revealed a 'chicken' run down the near bank. There was no room for error. A couple of feet on one side and you would be swept into the cliffs, a couple of feet the other side and you'd be into roller coasters you'd soon dump. There was nowhere to portage, and to take a dip would have meant an horrendous swim of hundreds of yards before any chance of rescue. No one had to be told to put life jackets on. I thought my best plan of action would be to go last and watch the others and learn from what they did. Unfortunately within seconds each canoe quickly disappeared behind a large fallen rock. We were on our own. Trish & I set off hugging the cliff. It turned out to be an anticlimax, easier than expected but pretty scary none the less.
Although we initially had temperatures of below freezing at night and cool days the weather soon warmed up and we had temperatures of 70 or 80 degrees. A reminder of just how far north we were the sun only just dipped below the horizon at midnight. Bugs, mainly mosquitoes, soon became a constant companion during camp following the warmer temperatures. Accordingly we looked for campsites which were exposed and swept by wind. It was not long before we discovered that this is what the original occupants of this country had done. At one camp we discovered the quartzite remains of stone tool manufacturing some hundreds of years before. Thousands of discarded chips lay about, many broken tools and superb examples of discarded axes, spear and arrow heads. In a few minutes I had a collection any museum would be proud of. (They were left on-site).
"Hey Dave in these rivers 25lb Lake Trout are common". Ah well, it was big enough for me and I caught a few more.
Where the river passed under cliffs we were treated to an almost constant stream of Peregrine, & Gyr falcons flying off their nests along with Rough legged Buzzards. Cliff Swallows often nested close to their predators. Peregrines sometimes didn't have to travel far for food!.
Alex is 67 and has lived up here for over 25 years. He is an author and wildlife biologist. He's also travelled more rivers up here than any other man alive. He’s spent months at a time paddling these remote waters, sometimes alone, including one trip of 11 weeks and 1,200 miles of paddling. He probably knows these lands better than anyone else alive.
I once asked Alex what he took for food in those days when he did long trips. "Flour, sugar, a rifle and plenty of bullets", he replied.
This, like our last trip to the Missainabi river in Northern Ontario was meant to be the achievement of a life-time ambition. I think it has just wet our appetite for more. We will go back.
NoteIn spite of its protected status the big mining companies have been exploring this wild land. Rare minerals including diamonds have been discovered in the Barren lands. Now the likes of De Beirs and the other big players want to open, open-cast mines in the area anxious that their shareholders get their return on investment and we get the opportunity to buy more jewelled trinklets. If you want to do something to preserve some of our last wilderness go to www.cpaws.ca
I recently came across this delightful video made on the same stretch of the river. To view click this link https://youtu.be/Z3G18sBKsDo