Day 2
27 July 2015
filled with drams of the single malt she’s brought with her from England, Jura Superstition. I put a little bit of glacial ice in each jar. We toast kisiskaciwani-sipiy, each other, kiss for good luck and we begin the journey. Suzanne has brought sage she and I picked in the Nicola Valley last spring and she smudges our journey. I take the axe to the glacial ice again and fill a jar with it so that we can take it along with us and pour it into Lake Winnipeg when we arrive. She picks up a rock. When she asks me what kind of rock it is I say to her, It’s a leave-it-right. What’s that? she asks. I reply, a leave it right there! She doesn’t. Pockets the rock. We will take the rock with us the entire journey. We head up onto the glacier and walk across it, wary of sinkholes, soft cracks and crevices. I’ve been on plenty of glaciers in all the years I’ve spent hiking, skiing and living in the wilderness. Suzanne is tentative but incredulous at the size of the glacier. But I can read from the rocks, the walls of the valley, the size of the glacier, that it has receded a lot in only few years. Not all is well. Steele: Indian paintbrush. Wolf willow. Yarrow. Michaelmas daisy. A single grouse. The scent of duff, the high Alpine. It smells of home. After four years in England, crowded, wet, grubby. Wall-to-wall mildew. England, where unhappiness spills onto sidewalks after too much alcohol. I can breathe here. At last. But I am wary of this glacier. The pocked surface means I could, maybe, fall through, into the birthing place of river- ice and cold grey-brown water. I am not ready to be reborn like this. I mean to travel this river. To remember time and my country. I am tired. Tired of the Afghan war still running through me. Tired of being so far from home. But I’m afraid of the next few days in the river raft. I am afraid of the river, but I know J will keep me safe as possible. Still, the water is so cold and so blue. I’m afraid. Dinner: Black beans, chicken, rice and cheese. Day 5 1 August 2015 N 52° 22’ 36” W 116° 42’ 72” Hilberry: Pack up Miss Moose for the trip, left Preacher’s Point in 10 knot Easterly. Have problems rowing out into channel, the line on the swing rudder is fouled and won’t go down. We get blown back on
shore. Finally, out in the channel it’s very choppy, with the current going against the wind. We row out to where the lake opens up and start sailing. Miss Moose handles well, tacks through less than 90° and with one reef. The main has good shape. Using the Genoa reduced by the Roller Furling results in the deck block being way too far aft, making it poor shape and luffing terribly. The Genoa must have spun on the cable, because when I try to roll it up after having it half out, it won’t roll in all the way. The wind keeps building throughout the day and is possibly gusting to 25 knots when we head in to the safe shore close to us. We’re supposed to meet Jen and Murray on the other side of the lake tonight but we can’t. No cell coverage. Hope they don’t call the police and report us missing. W e find a nice little bight on the south side of the lake and are able to tie between two points of land instead of anchoring. I’m a bit worried about how well Miss Moose is going to handle with oars in the river. I guess we’ll find out. E arlier, Suzanne had her first nap in the cabin while sailing and woke up, really startled, to a major gust which came out of nowhere and set the boat on her side. She also ran the tiller today for the first time and did very well. We had lentils and sausage for dinner, and the lentils were under-cooked — she was not aware that things take much longer to cook at altitude. Meanwhile I installed an auxiliary power point for charging electronics. We came up with a code. Should Suzanne ever be a princess on the trip, I’ll sing ‘swing low sweet chariot’. And when I leave stuff lying around for her to trip on ... or something important unattended, she’ll sing or whistle ‘how do you solve a problem like Maria?’ Steele: Late last night as we slept, the boat began banging hard against small log jams in the water and we began to rock after a change in the wind direction. J got up, put on his headlamp, went to shore and moved our strongpoints on land further out so the boat could be move 20’ from land. Originally he wanted to turn the bow into the waves but it was difficult so he defaulted to getting us away from the log jam in the bight. We are fearful for Miss Moose ’s hull, she is a lake boat meant for an afternoon’s leisure, not a major navigation like this. Her hull is not sturdy. I was so startled by the winds on the lake today. Fearful. The boat seems so small and she shuddered and her keel
N 52° 9’ 27” W 117° 9’ 36” Hilberry: 7.7 km hike into the Saskatchewan Glacier, a tough hike for Suzanne, steep, bushwhacking, a day like any other day for me on the slopes with my tree planting crews. Easy. She’s out of shape from too much time sitting at a desk writing that doctorate. We hike through and then above a canyon cut by the river, then up more steep incline, across the ledge of a hill, then down to the river and the long valley at the head of which is the Saskatchewan glacier — three hours in. At times I have to help her up or down an incline. She’s fearful sometimes. Into the valley towards the glacier it’s tough going because of the size and roundness of the rocks, glacial moraine, left by the receding glacier, hard on the ankles and knees. Suzanne slips and falls down a bank. I try and get her to walk ahead of me. All my years of training in the bush have taught me that the slowest should go first. She doesn’t understand that I don’t mind meandering behind her. I prefer it. Instead she insists I go first and she will keep up. I hear her panting behind me and then not and it messes with my feng shui sense of direction, of moving forward. She doesn’t realize I’ll have to continually turn to see that she’s okay. I don’t mind, but it’s nicer if I can just meander behind her knowing she’s safe and then I can just look at the scenery and think about the river. I reccied the whole journey on Google Maps, researched the river’s history, the communities along the river, I learned as much as I could about the river, but what surprises me today is that the river begins with such tremendous power from under the glacier. I thought it would be a trickle. Instead, it comes from a huge cavern at the heart of the glacier, tons of grey water flowing out of it fast and icy. I start to think about rafting the river, beginning tomorrow. I reckon on three days in the raft, then transferring to the boat at Lake Abraham. I start to worry if Suzanne will be okay on the raft. She doesn’t know water. She’s not strong and she’s clumsy—a dyspraxic poet is what she is, she tells me. She’s had her head in the doctorate, and this is a dangerous river. We eat bread, cheese, hard salami, grapes and chocolate at the base of the glacier, and I take an axe out of my pack and chop glacial ice. It’s so clean, so clear, unlike the glacier that looks so dirty with summer dust, rocks and dirt covering its surface. Suzanne brings out little canning jars
49 on site review 49 :: shorelines
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