Saturday 26th January
I was walking along the snowy street during a wander round the southern point of Moose Factory Island when a big four wheel drive pulled up next to me. Philip motioned me into the passenger seat, told me that we'd get me and my bags checked out of the ecolodge and go to his camp, returning on Monday in time for him to take me to my train. Ungrateful girl that I am, my immediate reaction was "but I wanted to learn more about the ecolodge and that schedule doesn't give me any time there at all!" So I postponed my departure for yet another day, to give me a little bit more time to learn about the particular brand of tourism represented by the Cree Village Eco Lodge. Phil drove me back to his house where I met his wife Frances and the rest of his family. Then I was driven back to the ecolodge, my laundry rescued from the depths of the building (mmm, clean clothes!) and me and my bags piled back into the car and back to Phil's. They were busy loading up a sled. Without giving me any opportunity to question the rapidity of the events I was given a thick parka (my own down jacket had obviously been deemed unsuitable) a thick pair of gloves (again, my own were apparently not substantial enough) and then, walking outside, "there's your snowmachine". I was shocked! Me, drive my own snowmachine? Frances was already putting on her helmet and without time to do anything other than comply I was aboard that snowmachine, revving the engine and carefully - but with a certain lack of control - manoevreing round the back of the house and out onto the road. After a brief stop at the gas station we were off again, down the road and then, scarily for me, down a (not very) steep embankment onto the Moose River. We followed the same route as I'd skied earlier in the week. The same expanse of flat white ice, fringed with a dark trim of trees. But this time I was going at speed! I tried to remember the brief snowmachine instructions I'd been given the week before by Jeff during my first ever attempt at driving one of these beasts. Let it run in the tracks, don't try to fight it... The surface was lumpy and at various points I started to feel sea sick. But I couldn't afford to let Frances get too far ahead. The camp was not nearly as far by skidoo as by ski! Frances drove confidently up the steep embankment and through the narrow gap between the trees to get into the camp. I was much less confident - especially as there were two little girls standing right at the top on either side of the gap. If I got it wrong - the consequences just didn't bear thinking about. I squeezed the throttle, the engine roared and up I went. Naturally, it wasn't just a case of holding the thing straight. It was essential to make a sharp turn to the right just as one came over the sharp brow of the hill in order to avoid some looming trees. Feeling slightly shaky I switched off the engine. And everything was quiet...no more roaring machines. Just the crackling of the campfire and the excited voices of the children as they unpacked their bags from the sled and ran to grab the best bunk beds.
Wehad all gone to bed when outside we heard a raw voice screaming "Frances!" I was sleeping in the cabin with Phil's daughter, her boyfriend and their two daughters. The children didn't wake but the three of us adults roused and looked at each other. Richard got up, went outside and came back, pulling on his thick trousers and parka. The man from the next cabin had gone out for a snowmachine ride and was now overdue. He'd left about 4 and it was now nearly 10pm, long after dark. His wife had walked, run, stumbled and fallen to reach us on a narrow twisty trail through the dark woods from her cabin half an hour's walk away. She hadn't known what to do. Should she wait. Or go to fetch help. What had happened to him. Her imagination was conjuring up all sorts of disasters. Phil, his daughter and her boyfriend each took a snowmachine and roared off in search. I sat by the fire with Frances, not knowing what I could possibly say to Shirley that wouldn't sound trivial and trite. Luckily we didn't have to wait long before engines were heard and the snowmachines roared back into camp. There he was - the cause of all this upset. Turned out he'd got his machine stuck on a snowcovered tree. Singlehandedly he'd been unable to move the heavy vehicle, so, tired out, he had simply fallen asleep. Phil said it gave him quite a fright to glimpse the reflective flashes on the man's parka in the glow of his headlights, and then, on coming closer, to see him slumped on the seat of the machine. Thankfully he was perfectly alright and all ended happily!
Sunday 27th January
Being out at the camp with Phil and his family was quite different to being there with Ski with the Cree. Before, a couple of curious whicky jacks (which look similar to British jays) visited, but didn't linger. This time, they were an almost constant presence, softly chattering in the trees and darting down when crumbs were thrown for them. They were fearless- one landed on my knee- but very quick...I tried and tried to get a decent photo but to no avail. Tiny red squirrels scurried around the woodpile and picked up the crumbs we scattered around our feet. The family had given them all names. The one we saw most of was called Roger - he was content to sit and pose, nibbling a crumb, while I fussed with my camera and finally got a good picture. I spent my time there sitting by the fire, just being able to sit happily outside was such a wonderful and relaxing feeling. Or I would try to help Phil and Richard gather wood, rolling cut sections of tree trunk down a snowy slope, trying to lift the logs into the sled. I was just amazed at the size and weight of the logs that they were able to shift. My helpfulness was pretty much limited to being a snowmachine driver. They would load up my sled and I would drive it back to camp. Even then I managed to lose a couple on the way due to going too fast over a bumpy section!
Monday 28th January
Staying out at Phil's camp was wonderful. But I did start feeling a little bit guilty - after all, the purpose of my time in Canada is to learn as much as I can about different sorts of tourism - not to wander around in the bush, sit by fires and cut down trees, pleasant as that might be. So on Monday I took myself in to Clarence Trapper's office and asked the poor, patient guy questions for most of the morning. There are two First nation communities in the Moose Factory Area. Moose River First Nation, to which Clarence, Philip and the other guides belong, and MoCreebec, which is the community that has built the Ecolodge. Cree Village Eco Lodge was built because the MoCreebec council realised that they either needed to fully embrace tourism or reject it altogether. Having decided to embrace it they identified a need for accommodation in the area. They wanted this accommodation to be in tune with their traditional values and hence the idea of the idea of the ecolodge was born. Greg told me that there was a long process of distilling down and expressing previously inarticulated feelings, values and traditional concepts. The simple phrase they eventually found which captures the essentials of what their culture and the ecolodge hopes to represent is "living lightly on the earth". Call it what you will, a motto, a mission statement, a creed... it expresses the Cree way of life. They speak of harvesting rather than hunting, gathering rather than picking. I was surprised by how few animals the people I met had killed during their lives rather than by how many. Cree Village Eco Lodge has been built beautifully, with great attention to detail. Organic linens, environmentally friendly paint, beautiful hickory furniture from a sustainable forest in the US. I liked the raw cedar panelling in the rooms - apparently all they do is spray it with water every so often and it releases fresh cedar scent into the room. Much the same as I will do with my tamarack goose when it loses its scent. Clarence said simply to soak it in water, and as it dries out the scent will be invigorated. I can't wait.
Tuesday 29th January
I finally left Moose Factory. What a wonderful place, what wonderful people. I feel humbled by their generosity and the magnitude of their welcome to this foolish visitor from Scotland. It's hard to pinpoint exactly why my stay affected me so deeply, but it's an experience I'm going to remember with happiness for a long time to come. Maybe I'll go back, one never knows, but somehow I doubt it. Maybe someday I'll be able to show some of my new Cree friends my home country and repay their hospitality. Maybe that will never happen and I'll repay their hospitality by giving hospitality to others...what goes around comes around.
I spent Tuesday night in Cochrane at the Station Hotel. In the morning I chatted with the manager, James Pereira, who is absolutely lovely and I thoroughly recommend staying there just because he's such a friendly, chatty guy. Then I caught another train to Temagami. Travelling on these Canadian trains is how I imagine travel in Britain would have been long before I was born. The carriages are incredibly spacious and not crowded at all. The conductor was really attentive. He marked our destination with a card above our seats and about ten minutes before arrival came along the coach to personally inform each of us that our stop was coming up. I helped a man with his disabled wife. Not only was I profusely thanked by the lady in question and by her husband, but later the conductor came along the carriage to proffer his thanks as well! All a bit unecessary for a small bit of aid that no-one could have refused to give! But that experience just about sums up the extraordinary niceness (there's no other word for it) of northern Canadians.
I was walking along the snowy street during a wander round the southern point of Moose Factory Island when a big four wheel drive pulled up next to me. Philip motioned me into the passenger seat, told me that we'd get me and my bags checked out of the ecolodge and go to his camp, returning on Monday in time for him to take me to my train. Ungrateful girl that I am, my immediate reaction was "but I wanted to learn more about the ecolodge and that schedule doesn't give me any time there at all!" So I postponed my departure for yet another day, to give me a little bit more time to learn about the particular brand of tourism represented by the Cree Village Eco Lodge. Phil drove me back to his house where I met his wife Frances and the rest of his family. Then I was driven back to the ecolodge, my laundry rescued from the depths of the building (mmm, clean clothes!) and me and my bags piled back into the car and back to Phil's. They were busy loading up a sled. Without giving me any opportunity to question the rapidity of the events I was given a thick parka (my own down jacket had obviously been deemed unsuitable) a thick pair of gloves (again, my own were apparently not substantial enough) and then, walking outside, "there's your snowmachine". I was shocked! Me, drive my own snowmachine? Frances was already putting on her helmet and without time to do anything other than comply I was aboard that snowmachine, revving the engine and carefully - but with a certain lack of control - manoevreing round the back of the house and out onto the road. After a brief stop at the gas station we were off again, down the road and then, scarily for me, down a (not very) steep embankment onto the Moose River. We followed the same route as I'd skied earlier in the week. The same expanse of flat white ice, fringed with a dark trim of trees. But this time I was going at speed! I tried to remember the brief snowmachine instructions I'd been given the week before by Jeff during my first ever attempt at driving one of these beasts. Let it run in the tracks, don't try to fight it... The surface was lumpy and at various points I started to feel sea sick. But I couldn't afford to let Frances get too far ahead. The camp was not nearly as far by skidoo as by ski! Frances drove confidently up the steep embankment and through the narrow gap between the trees to get into the camp. I was much less confident - especially as there were two little girls standing right at the top on either side of the gap. If I got it wrong - the consequences just didn't bear thinking about. I squeezed the throttle, the engine roared and up I went. Naturally, it wasn't just a case of holding the thing straight. It was essential to make a sharp turn to the right just as one came over the sharp brow of the hill in order to avoid some looming trees. Feeling slightly shaky I switched off the engine. And everything was quiet...no more roaring machines. Just the crackling of the campfire and the excited voices of the children as they unpacked their bags from the sled and ran to grab the best bunk beds.
Wehad all gone to bed when outside we heard a raw voice screaming "Frances!" I was sleeping in the cabin with Phil's daughter, her boyfriend and their two daughters. The children didn't wake but the three of us adults roused and looked at each other. Richard got up, went outside and came back, pulling on his thick trousers and parka. The man from the next cabin had gone out for a snowmachine ride and was now overdue. He'd left about 4 and it was now nearly 10pm, long after dark. His wife had walked, run, stumbled and fallen to reach us on a narrow twisty trail through the dark woods from her cabin half an hour's walk away. She hadn't known what to do. Should she wait. Or go to fetch help. What had happened to him. Her imagination was conjuring up all sorts of disasters. Phil, his daughter and her boyfriend each took a snowmachine and roared off in search. I sat by the fire with Frances, not knowing what I could possibly say to Shirley that wouldn't sound trivial and trite. Luckily we didn't have to wait long before engines were heard and the snowmachines roared back into camp. There he was - the cause of all this upset. Turned out he'd got his machine stuck on a snowcovered tree. Singlehandedly he'd been unable to move the heavy vehicle, so, tired out, he had simply fallen asleep. Phil said it gave him quite a fright to glimpse the reflective flashes on the man's parka in the glow of his headlights, and then, on coming closer, to see him slumped on the seat of the machine. Thankfully he was perfectly alright and all ended happily!
Sunday 27th January
Being out at the camp with Phil and his family was quite different to being there with Ski with the Cree. Before, a couple of curious whicky jacks (which look similar to British jays) visited, but didn't linger. This time, they were an almost constant presence, softly chattering in the trees and darting down when crumbs were thrown for them. They were fearless- one landed on my knee- but very quick...I tried and tried to get a decent photo but to no avail. Tiny red squirrels scurried around the woodpile and picked up the crumbs we scattered around our feet. The family had given them all names. The one we saw most of was called Roger - he was content to sit and pose, nibbling a crumb, while I fussed with my camera and finally got a good picture. I spent my time there sitting by the fire, just being able to sit happily outside was such a wonderful and relaxing feeling. Or I would try to help Phil and Richard gather wood, rolling cut sections of tree trunk down a snowy slope, trying to lift the logs into the sled. I was just amazed at the size and weight of the logs that they were able to shift. My helpfulness was pretty much limited to being a snowmachine driver. They would load up my sled and I would drive it back to camp. Even then I managed to lose a couple on the way due to going too fast over a bumpy section!
Monday 28th January
Staying out at Phil's camp was wonderful. But I did start feeling a little bit guilty - after all, the purpose of my time in Canada is to learn as much as I can about different sorts of tourism - not to wander around in the bush, sit by fires and cut down trees, pleasant as that might be. So on Monday I took myself in to Clarence Trapper's office and asked the poor, patient guy questions for most of the morning. There are two First nation communities in the Moose Factory Area. Moose River First Nation, to which Clarence, Philip and the other guides belong, and MoCreebec, which is the community that has built the Ecolodge. Cree Village Eco Lodge was built because the MoCreebec council realised that they either needed to fully embrace tourism or reject it altogether. Having decided to embrace it they identified a need for accommodation in the area. They wanted this accommodation to be in tune with their traditional values and hence the idea of the idea of the ecolodge was born. Greg told me that there was a long process of distilling down and expressing previously inarticulated feelings, values and traditional concepts. The simple phrase they eventually found which captures the essentials of what their culture and the ecolodge hopes to represent is "living lightly on the earth". Call it what you will, a motto, a mission statement, a creed... it expresses the Cree way of life. They speak of harvesting rather than hunting, gathering rather than picking. I was surprised by how few animals the people I met had killed during their lives rather than by how many. Cree Village Eco Lodge has been built beautifully, with great attention to detail. Organic linens, environmentally friendly paint, beautiful hickory furniture from a sustainable forest in the US. I liked the raw cedar panelling in the rooms - apparently all they do is spray it with water every so often and it releases fresh cedar scent into the room. Much the same as I will do with my tamarack goose when it loses its scent. Clarence said simply to soak it in water, and as it dries out the scent will be invigorated. I can't wait.
Tuesday 29th January
I finally left Moose Factory. What a wonderful place, what wonderful people. I feel humbled by their generosity and the magnitude of their welcome to this foolish visitor from Scotland. It's hard to pinpoint exactly why my stay affected me so deeply, but it's an experience I'm going to remember with happiness for a long time to come. Maybe I'll go back, one never knows, but somehow I doubt it. Maybe someday I'll be able to show some of my new Cree friends my home country and repay their hospitality. Maybe that will never happen and I'll repay their hospitality by giving hospitality to others...what goes around comes around.
I spent Tuesday night in Cochrane at the Station Hotel. In the morning I chatted with the manager, James Pereira, who is absolutely lovely and I thoroughly recommend staying there just because he's such a friendly, chatty guy. Then I caught another train to Temagami. Travelling on these Canadian trains is how I imagine travel in Britain would have been long before I was born. The carriages are incredibly spacious and not crowded at all. The conductor was really attentive. He marked our destination with a card above our seats and about ten minutes before arrival came along the coach to personally inform each of us that our stop was coming up. I helped a man with his disabled wife. Not only was I profusely thanked by the lady in question and by her husband, but later the conductor came along the carriage to proffer his thanks as well! All a bit unecessary for a small bit of aid that no-one could have refused to give! But that experience just about sums up the extraordinary niceness (there's no other word for it) of northern Canadians.
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