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A Voyage Through Time
| One of Wolf Ridge’s most popular classes is “Voyageur Life,” where the cultural history of the fur trade era comes alive. Students become characters in an imaginary voyageur brigade of the North West Company and reenact a day 200 years ago, portaging and paddling along Wolf Lake to the encampment. I’ve often wondered what an observer from the year 1795 would think of our attempts at authenticity . What follows are excerpts from the fictitious journal of the gentleman explorer, J.Kohlstedt, Esq. |
| The North West Company Brigade assembled on the dock to begin the day’s routine. Furs and trade goods were loaded carefully into the large birch bark canoe and the stately gentlemen took their positions in the middle whilst the rowdy voyageurs tumbled in after them. Paddles flashed, a red flag snapped in the breeze, shouts and laughter echoed off the nearby cliffs. The guide, a bossy fellow by the name of Jacques La Roche, ordered “En avant!” and the heavily laden vessel turned up the lake, destined for an early encampment beyond the narrows. |
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| The paddling technique of this brigade of voyageurs was quite remarkable as no two paddles were handled in quite the same manner, direction, speed or efficacy. Indeed, the whole scene was reminiscent of an aquatic sword fight with much water splashed onto the astonished (not to mention irate) gentlemen’s laps. The guide gradually restored order, but not before the big canoe had drifted both sideways and backwards across a large expanse of the lake. |
| I feel compelled to report upon a singular incident that befell two canoeists who happened past the big canoe as the voyageurs were rounding the point. The guide, a fellow named LaRoche whom I have already mentioned, spied the unfortunate canoe and in an angry and belligerent tone accused the innocent paddlers of being employees of the rival Hudson’s Bay Company. “Away from us, you stinking pig-dogs! “He shouted. The body of his crew soon took up the cry and began vigorously paddling ( or was it sword fighting?) toward the smaller canoe and were so bellicose in nature that the startled couple turned away and made for the far shore. Eventually the Nor’Westers made close to shore and, as the canoe was being docked and the cargo unloaded, I witnessed a rather pompous young lad of about 12 years of age, decked out as a gentleman, sporting top hat, black vest with red plaid bow tie, and carrying a cane, step out onto the bank. He was variously addressed as “Sir”, “Mr. Mackenzie,” or “the Bourgeois.” A few steps up the path to the encampment the company came upon a large expanse of mud. The voyageurs marched forward as a main body stomping and kicking as was their wont. Mr. Mackenzie viewed the procedure with distaste and imperiously ordered two of the voyageurs to carry him over the offending mire. I admit supreme consternation when I say that no less than five of the young paddlers wrestled and scraped with each other for the privilege of staggering through the mud with the offensive gentleman upon their backs. MAKING CAMP |
Imagine spending a three-hour class as a voyageur portaging fur bales,
paddling a canoe across a lake and making a fire with flint and steel.
| I was given to understand that a celebration was being held that day in honor of Mr. Mackenzie who, it so happened, was one of the owners of the company. This fact helped explain to some extent the zeal with which the voyageurs volunteered for any and all duties. The most immediate assignment was that of Louis Escargot, the voyageur cook. He wore spectacles, had braces on his teeth, and beneath his disgustingly greased and grubby apron he wore a Mickey Mouse T-shirt. His duty was to make “galette” (flour and water biscuits) fried over the smoking campfire in a rather bent up skillet. His technique may not have passed in civilized company, for I witnessed various leaves, ashes, soot and twigs become incorporated in the gooey dough balls as they were being formed. The greased skillet catching on fire provided a brief flurry of activity by Louis and guide but in no way discouraged the ravenous frenzy in which the voyageurs devoured the golden biscuits. In contrast to the proud and exalted countenance of the cook upon being praised for the quality of his galette was the pathetic look upon the face of Rene Decartes (sometimes inappropriately referred to as Melissa by the other voyageurs). This look of sorrow was assumed by Rene on being informed of her status as “rookie” and the attendant requirement of the doing of the dishes. I strongly suspect, by the way in which she hesitated to begin the task, that this was the first time the young voyageur was called upon to place her hands into warm water. |
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| My attention not being held particularly and strictly to the business of camp duties, I beheld a singular scene by the tent which I will here recount. Several voyageurs were flirting with a young lady who, being the object of jealous glances from the guide, and by her name being Marie LaRoche, I regarded as being the gruff leader’s wife. She was dressed in the fashion of the country (Indian style) and I was to learn later she was an Chippewyan woman. She met the voyageurs’ amorous attentions with a glare and a clout to the head, which in no way diminished the joviality of their pursuits. Persons not involved in flint and steel fire making, kitchen duties, or camp craft with the drawknife, were engaged in boisterous games of strength and swiftness; leg wrestling, arm wrestling, even thumb wrestling. Losers of the matches were sent scurrying down to the landing to guard the canoe against theft or vandalism from any stray Hudson’s Bay employees. |
| HUMAN CULTURE CLASSES • Conservation Lifestyles | THE FUTURE AS A GIFT After the gallette was eaten, the raspberry tea drunk, the games played, the tent stakes carved, the fires made and extinguished, the gentlemen pampered, the lady flirted with, the canoe guarded and the voyageurs bossed, there occurred what I consider to be a magical event. Jacques, the guide, was able, by reading a yellowed parchment, to reveal the fates of all his brigade members. To see into the future is a gift to the one who sees, and a mixed blessing to those who receive the information. There was the burst of embarrassed laughter from the clerk at the revelation of his future marriage to a 14 year old Metis (mixed-blood) woman and raising of a family including 14 sons and daughters. A look of disbelief from the cook when he finds he will be killed by falling timber at the fort in 3 years. The smugness of the surgeon upon knowing he will have a gigantic painting of his likeness hanging in a capital city one day. The encampment was tidied, and a voyage made back down the lake. The big canoe found itself back once again at her moorings alongside the heavy dock. The brigade was soon disbanded, each person, voyageur and gentleman alike, laying their wraps and gear upon the ground (which added greatly to the general disorder of the scene). As I too, make my way onto other journeys, I am pleased to attest that the recent experiences of these modern day voyageurs have forged for them a cultural link to the incidents and personages involved in a day’s activities along these same fur trade routes in the far gone past of 200 years ago. |
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