Coming down from the mountain
By contributor Isaac Voyageur
“Shouk George, we’re almost there.” These words pierced the cold morning air on a bitter cold February morning. We barely took 10 steps and George refused to move because of the weight of our gear on the sled. How were we going to do this?
Starting out, we still had 400 kms to go and things weren’t going well already. We needed George and he wasn’t moving. I looked forward in the distance where everyone headed, some well on their way. I looked behind me, and there was no one there.
Something had to be done. I secured some rope onto the front of the sled and began pulling as well. George, a stray town dog, sensed this and made a feeble attempt to pull the sled with me. George was right, the sled did seem heavy.
This was the start of an incredible journey.
We were a group of 14 people trekking from Nichicuon to Mistissini on snowshoes in support of the Annual Journey of Wellness aided by dog-team. The trip was to take 30 days, through soft snow, mountains, frozen lakes and rivers, all of this with barely eight hours of daylight in a day.
I had heard of the majestic Otish Mountains through conversations with the other members prior to departure. Their stories of the mountains were in my thoughts for the next few days. We would have to cross these mountains.
A week into the trek, I saw a thin blue line in the horizon, the Otish Mountains were now in view. George and I stood for a moment on the frozen lake and looked at the mountains. From what I could now see, it did look like an impenetrable wall; the mountains’ secrets and experiences would have to be earned. I knew George and I needed each other at this point, he needed me to guide him, he would pull our gear. George knew I held the spoon for his feedings; he was now pulling his weight.
Setting up camp was a unique challenge every evening. Canvas tents, a small wood stove, with sites chosen by the availability of firewood. Wood for heat, to melt snow for water and cooking, boughs for the floor and shelter for our dogs were all vital to our daily progress.
We were now at the base of the mountain, it was to be a gradual climb. The other side was to be the best, as it would seem we were on top of the world.
There was a something strange in the air as we trudged along with our climb on that first day. My late father had spoken to me about this sense I was feeling, there was a storm coming and as we approached the peak on the second day it hit with a vengeance. The storm’s winds blew so intensely our group could barely hear each other when we spoke. The blizzard lasted two days and I was glad for the company of others. We needed the shared strength, the comfort in knowing that we were all on this trip together. No one, not even George, was going to be left on this mountain.
After many hours, the skies grew quiet and the storm finally subsided leaving our tents buried in three feet of new snow. With the snow I couldn’t remember where I had secured George. After calling his name, I heard a soft whimper beside the tree that seemed to resemble the one I had tied George to a couple days ago. I had only fed him twice since the storm hit. George was just as happy as I was to see him. We had survived the storm.
The sky gave way to a nice blue colour and for the first time I realized we were on top of the mountain looking down the other side. Our group was excited and the dogs seemed to sense this: we were coming down from the mountain. The trek would be easier now.
Three days later, I looked back and realized how far we had come; the mountains were long behind us.
Little did I know that the struggle of this journey and the days spent sheltering from that storm would shadow me throughout my life.
Today is June 12. It would have been Reyna’s 18th birthday. It has been three and half years since she left. I have since come to realize the amazing faith one possesses in times of trial.
We all have some degree of faith that works for us, provided it is put in the right place.
During my policing career, I remember standing in front of a sick man who refused to be seen by a doctor or nurse. With a Bible in one hand, he said it, and Jesus would heal him. I wasn’t prepared to counter that, instead agreeing with him, replying that our Creator placed specialists into our everyday lives. We go to doctors and nurses for our health, we ask for guidance from church ministers when confronted with incomprehensible situations, and we ask for help from our police service whenever we have a situation we can’t deal with ourselves.
I told him I agreed that his faith was all well and good, but it would do more for him if he placed it in the doctors, who were here to help him. He looked at me for a moment, then he said, “You’re absolutely right, I will place my faith in the doctors and nurses.” He went to see a specialist and he hasn’t been sick since.
We recently lost five hunters in a tragic accident. When I heard this sad news, the term “hunters” was repeated again and again, and I knew why as I had hunted with some of these boys in early January 2015. I remember when we drew fish from our nets, the pride in our faces at the very thought of providing food for our families. The thought of sharing our good fortune with friends and family, seeing my grandchildren eating at my table after a hunt certainly appealed to me. This is the Cree way of sharing and it extends from the simple offering of food to the light offered by others in dark times. It’s what makes our communities strong.
On this day…Reyna’s day, I realize that I am still coming down from the mountain. Tragedy and loss are the tallest peaks. However, reflecting back to where I have placed my faith and taken refuge it was in the people the Creator has strategically placed, not only on that mountain, but also in my life over the years. It is the people who pulled me up when I fell, and encourage me to continue when all seems hopeless. A handshake and a smile should not be underestimated, as it is often all we need to take those next few steps on our journey.
I hope this story helps to ease the pain in some small way for anyone who has lost someone. There are angels amongst us.