Far North Friday #85: Some Things Live Forever

I don’t remember his name, but I recall he had the book entitled “you and the law” in his tent. That was the 800 page, blue coloured hard cover book. He was a line cutter.

It is courtesy to keep an eye on people working in the bush. Bush pilots will fly over bush camps when in transit watching for an emergency signal. People working in the bush check on other bush workers, especially when you know a person is working alone.

Along the Woman River, east of Red Lake, Ontario, we saw a tent camp (Photo) in the area we were working. Every day for a week, we diverted our boat trip on the way to our work area and again, on the return trip, to pass by the tent to make sure all was well. After several days of not seeing anyone, Lynn and I stopped one morning to meet the mysterious tent person. We were lucky. He was still in camp. We all introduced ourselves. He was a First Nation man from Timmins, northeastern Ontario. He was contracted by a mineral exploration company to cut lines through the bush, along which different types of surveys would be conducted. He was a line cutter. Hard work! He offered us coffee.

One day, thunder storms set in. We tried to race the storm, but as we came to the line cutter’s camp, we aborted the race and took shelter, alone, in his tent. The black clouds turned the sky into night. The rain pounded down. The lightning tore across the sky. The thunder shook the ground. Suddenly, we heard crashing outside the tent. A bear? No, must be a woodland caribou. No, too big for a caribou. Must be a moose. A moose was coming to join us in the tent! Exciting. The tent flap flung open and there he was. The line cutter. He was dripping wet. He smiled from ear to ear. He asked “wet enough for you?”  We all laughed.

He did not question our presence in his tent. That was the way it was. You shared what you had.

We spent the next hour chatting. We learned more about him. He worked for Grand Council Treaty #9, in Timmins, the political body NIshnawbe Aski Nation (https://www.nan.ca/about/history/). He took contract line cutting jobs to earn extra funds for his family. For some reason, we started to talk about legacies and what that meant. He quietly commented that geologists leave something behind called a map. The map carries the name of the geologist. That map, and its connection to the map creator, lives forever. He was less certain about his legacy. He said when he died, his family would remember him, but with the passage of time, people would forget. Not so with a map. It would live forever. I don’t recall how Lynn and I responded. It must not have been significant.

There is some truth to the legacy of a book, a map, a painting, or a carving. They can live for a long time. But, they are things. Other experiences also live for a long time. Meaningful experiences. Like mutual respect, kindness, a smile - even a wet smile. Like taking time to share ideas. Like sharing your tent and precious coffee.

I don’t remember his name, but if I were to meet him again, I would thank him for the time and conversation he shared with us in his tent. And the coffee. Those impressions are important. They rumbled around in my head for 37 years. And now, they will last for a very long time. Maybe even forever.

May 6/22