Into the Woods

Tomas, Coyote and I landed our canoes after paddling the two streams and across the lake, through wind and drizzle. Denise and Chris were going to show up by nightfall of the next day, as they had other things to take care of. We carried our gear and began to set up camp. First we scouted for a flat, open spot on the maple-covered hillside, and then we built the lean-to. Tomas and I didn’t eat until we were done, as if we had an unspoken agreement about it. We used Ironwood in the construction of the lean-to and the fish-smoking teepee, which we built the following day. It ain’t called Ironwood for nothing! I acquired a blood blister, which burst later.

The first few days were rather chilly, and the suckerfish were few. Tomas and I experimented with various catching techniques. I caught the first three fish “accidentally” as we walked in line up the river. When it warmed up and Chris got involved (he has lots of experience), our catch multiplied. At the end of the day we were able to send a couple of buckets of fish back to be frozen. The strategy that worked the best was for a few people to walk downstream to a narrow point in the creek, making lots of noise, splashing, etc. At the narrow point, the fish received a deadly surprise – two people with dip nets blocking it off. At the end of each chase we’d pull the dip nets out and kill the fish by hitting them on the head with a stick.

Right now we’re attempting to dry and smoke the fish we caught last evening. They have been gutted, scaled, beheaded and cut in half – the halves still attached by the tail. We’re keeping the fire low to prevent cokking them, as that will ruin the meat for storage purposes.

It’s quite exciting for me to be here at suckerfish camp. We’re gifted such an abundance of food! Eat as much fish as you can handle – just go down to the creek and put in your dip net! The buds on the towering Maple trees have turned into little light-green leaflets since we came here five or six suns ago. Spring beauties have come out – a nice snack! We burn mostly hardwood in our fires, such a pleasant thing: hot coals to roast things on, lots of ashes to ash-cook things under, and no sparks to fly in my face. Fish heads, cooked wrapped in cabbage leaves under ashes are quite delicious! We’ve been doing the bulk of the fishing in the evenings, so there is down-time during the day. I used this time to explore the area and do some craftwork. Finished putting together a buckskin shirt. I love it and wear it all the time. Started to burn a cedar bowl (will be my first burn-bowl). Also split out a few ash bow-blanks.

It appears that the fish run, overall, is quite slim compared to years past. We will probably head back to Mashkodens soon. Shortly after that, take off again, for Leek Camp this time. I will miss this place! A hillside covered with spring-fresh growth, singing of many birds up in the canopy. A gurgling stream full of mating fish. All of us camping together, sleeping in the same lean-to. Many guiding dreams and awarenesses that show me the things I need to pay attention to in myself – and change.

Alex

The wind was slight. It came from the south. In the south-east, I saw the clouds building. Then I heard the rumble. “OK, I guess I’ll take the tarp,” I said in answer to Denise’s question, and my own. Then Denise, Coyote and I got in the canoes and paddled upstream. We took our time going up the creek, commenting on what we were seeing. Then it was into the head-winds of the lake. Then up the other creek.

It was a scouting expedition, and my two companions went along to learn the way. Our eyes peered into the reflection of the slow-moving dark waters. Aside from a couple of splashes, we saw nothing – no sucker fish. Perhaps sucker-netting camp is a long way off yet. We went as far as we could by canoe, disembarked, and continued on foot. The open Maple-Hemlock-Cedar forest on the shores filled us with awe. The increasing rumbling in the distance filled me with unease. If I was on my own, I’d be moving faster…

Denise called out in a loud whisper: “Fish!” I went to her, and sure enough, a small group of them were hanging out at a narrow spot in the stream, swimming against the current. We watched them for a while, and turned back.

As we got in our canoes, it began to sprinkle. And then rain. And then the sky got really dark. Lightning and thunder sent bolts of panic into our paddling arms. Previously, on the way up, I watched Coyote – a huge man who towers over his large canoe – inch his way over a broken beaver dam. This time I was right there, pulling on his canoe to speed us up.

Just before we reached the lake, Denise called out, pointing to a piece of dry land protruding like a helping hand through the bay clear to the creek. “Should we stop?” The crack of thunder and lightning-flash answered for me. We pulled in, helping one another get out. I rolled out the tarp.

We sat under it, hunkered down, squished together. The rain was pounding with a fury, the lightning and thunder unwilling to let up. “Would anyone like to split my apple with me?” Denise cut her apple in three and handed slices to grateful Coyote and me. Nothing like an apple in a thunderstorm!

When it finally began to die down, we continued on, keeping near the shore to stay out of hungry Lightning’s way, and to be ready to bail to dry land if need be. Between each rumble-flash I counted. Once, when the count was low, we did go ashore again for a bit. Since no new close ones came, we got out on the water once more.

We paddled hard, through now-heavy rain and the evening-that-became-night, hoping that the flashes wouldn’t get closer. It felt safer to be once more on our creek, away from the big water. We joked to cheer each other on. Before we knew it, we were back at camp, sharing a meal that our camp-mates who had stayed behind began to prepare. Coyote went to bed right away, and Denise and I ate and talked for a while by the fire, passing back and forth the pieces that we roasted, cut and warmed up over the fire.

Sitting there, I though about what it means to live in a circle. When we sat under that tarp, damp, chilly and uncertain for the thunder’s intentions, we were just humans, each committed to the physical and emotional well-being of each other, because we were in it together. I though about how we were able to, a few days ago, peacefully agree on the things we don’t want in camp – matches, plastic bags, etc. I was interested in letting go of a few more things, and expressed that. But I do accept the direction others want to take for now, and that is what matters – harmony.

And I thought about my dream from the night before our trip – its message only becoming apparent under that tarp. It was showing me how I have a way of becoming competitive and losing empathy with others when I feel threatened – and in my mind belittle them. I see that when I am able to let go of my insecurities, judgments, comparisons, the world opens up. People, plants and animals become my friends. I become interested in them. I become a Tracker. Ah…this journey of Rewilding!

The sucker fish are running. Tomorrow morning we will pack our canoes with sleeping gear, clothes, food and head out. We will set up camp, and begin to reap the gift of their flesh.

Alex

I woke up from an unquiet dream–fear of getting in trouble, and feeling powerless to make myself understood. Immediately, I recognized these feelings to be stemming from a conversation from the night before about money, community, and the economic system. This kind of stuff easily triggers my pattern of feeling powerless and rejected, as often I’ve experienced these things as a child, an immigrant, and a money-less man.

I got to drink from the Creek. It’s a relatively warm morning. There is a slight breeze, yet the water is still. Hoping for clarity, I get into my little canoe and slowly paddle upstream. Right away, from a long way off, I scare up a couple of Ducks. The male calls out the warning, and then he and the female take off. “One day,” I dream, “I’ll figure out a way to sneak up on these vigilant ones!” There is no sign of that fat Muscrat I watched eating the rhizomes of young marsh grasses a few evenings ago.

Above, Bluejay is sitting on the tip of a tall stand-alone spruce in the bog. He calls out loudly, warning everyone of my no-longer-stealthy approach. Oh well! Little birds fly all around me and make territory calls, chase each other. Suddenly in front of my canoe a bubble of bottom mud rises. I watch and see nothing, and wonder if it could be that giant Pike someone saw the other day. It’s been proposed that she is waiting for the suckers to begin their run==who in turn are waiting at the mouth of the rivers for the waters to warm. We too are waiting–soon we wil set up a temporary camp elsewhere and hopefuylly net a supply of these noble whitefish, laden with eggs and sperm. It’s almost time to start sending out scouts to not miss that narrow window of abundance.

I turn the boat and head back. A Turtle slides down into the water as I approach. I pause and look for his head to come up again–to no avail. “If this was a survival situation and I needed his body for sustenance,” I think, “I would be really disappointed.”

It’s not far to the canoe landing now, and I paddle harder. There in the water just beside me, I catch a glimpse of another turtle as I fly past. “I’ll try my luck again.” I turn around and sure enough, she’s still there, her cold-blooded limbs stiff with the cool waters of the creek. I reach out. I touch her.

Walking back to camp, I reflect. The Ducks, the Muscrat, the Bluejay, the Little birds, the Pike, the Suckerfish, the Turtles….Each one of them is living as they are meant to. They see danger–they adjust: watch, warn, run, fight. They compete. They eat. They get eaten. They love. They die.

This is the way of Life. Nothing is “perfect”–safe, secure. And yet in that lies the perfection of the Whole. My life is not perfect either–and that is the beauty of it–this I must remember. To live is to have my eyes open to learn, to adjust, to be in pain, to be at peace, to love, to die.

Back at camp, I chop of the poles of the broken hide-tanning frame into pieces of firewood for our circle’s cooking and warming needs. One of the poles is particularly rotten. As I drive my tomahawk in, ants begin to fall out. They are stiff and barely moving in the morning cold. I doubt they’ve been up and about from their White season hybernation at all since the snows receded a quarter moon ago. “Gees,” I think with empathy, “what a way to awaken!”

Then I pick them up, one by one, and munch down.