Nukon of the Yukon

He was standing in the aisle his left hand rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He was holding an aluminum pot and turning it over in his right hand like he was looking at a pot for the first time. “Dick!” I said “You look puzzled. Can I help you with something?” Dick was a Gwitch’in elder. Over seventy but it was hard to say by how much, they are healthy people in Old Crow, an isolated community in the northern Yukon. Dick cocked his head and looked at me for a long moment before he spoke. Time is not in scarce supply in this part of the world and Dick was old and wise enough to know there was no real rush. “I need a special pot but I’m not sure you will be able to find one.” He said. I totally missed the twinkle in his eye. “I don’t know Dick, I’ve been doing this a while. Maybe I can help?” I was new to Old Crow, though. New enough to be grist for Dick’s mill. “I need a pot about one foot wide.” He said smiling. “About one foot wide and thirty feet long, I’m making Giraffe neck soup!” The sparkle in his eye was impossible to miss. “I set snares for them.” He added without even a trace of change in his voice. All right, I thought, I’ll bite. “Where do you set the snares?” I asked. “In the tops of trees of course!” He replied with a laugh. I had just met Dick, but I liked him already. “If I get a really long bowl can I have some?” I returned, showing that I could take a joke. Dick was bent double and was holding his sides now. He slapped my back.
I knew now that I was going to like my time in Old Crow. As people go, I have never met better. If laughter was the best medicine then Dick should live to a thousand. He had a sense of humor that fit him like his skin. He took life with a grain of salt. He was a sort of philosopher. Every time he walked into the store he made my day. I think when your life moves more slowly you have time to notice the humor of it. Sometimes, in the rush and distraction of modern life we lose sight of the little things. We not only forget to smell the roses we forget to have a darn good laugh too. While the pace in the lives of the locals was sedate: running the town’s only store, only Post Office and only Bank was not. There were order deadlines for produce and groceries, meat and hardware. There was payroll and cash to order. Mail and freight arriving at all hours. Mail that needed to be sorted and perishables that had to be put away even at eleven at night. Dick would shake his head and cluck at me. “You gotta slow down.” He said one day when I bumped into him at the airport. “I’m picking yup the mail.” I said. “Your pension check is in here.” His eyes widened and he rubbed his chin. “Yep, first thing tomorrow you should slow down.” We both laughed.
One day I was driving the company truck past Dick’s Cabin. Our company truck wasn’t much to look at and rather less than that under the hood. Prior to my arrival someone had taken it for a joyride and left it in the Porcupine River. The engine only ran when the steering wheel was tilted at a certain angle. The engine could not be cut by turning the key; you actually had to unhook the battery. Not much to look at, not much to drive. But in a town where the only way in is to fly vehicles were at a premium. Here this was a Cadillac. The speed limit in Old Crow is 30KPH except of course in the school zone. You could not have people screaming through the school zone at thirty Kilometers per hour. No sir, you must slow to fifteen Kilometers per hour in the school zone. You also have to watch out for kids passing you on their bikes. Life does; quite literally move at a slower pace in Old Crow.
Dick flagged me down. “Have you got time to take my boat to the slough?” He asked. “Sure!” I said swinging out of the cab. Dick was standing next to a beautiful Scott canoe. “Nice boat!” I said as I slid onto the seat beside him, having put the canoe in the bed of the truck. Dick was grinning ear to ear which was his usual state. He gently elbowed me “Have I told you how I got the canoe?” He asked with an infectious giggle. “No. Please tell me.” It was only a short drive so I slowed down intentionally, which was a very natural thing to do when in Dick’s company. You always want to slow down to his speed but seldom get there.
“One day I was standing on the bank of the river when these guys paddled up in that canoe. They were two guys from Europe. You know, over there.” Dick waved his hand vaguely in what he supposed was the direction of Europe. I had no reason to doubt his sense of direction. “We talked a while. They were very tired and asked me how the river was from here to Fort Yukon. I told them that once they got past the falls it was clear paddling. They said their maps didn’t show any waterfalls. I told them that the old maps don’t. They asked how far the portage was. I said only twenty miles.” His face was beaming and his eyes shone as he told the tale. “Dick.” I said. “You are a very bad man! You know there are no waterfalls on this river.” His smile split his face in two. He slapped his knee as he said. “I got the canoe for a hundred bucks and they were on the plane the next day!” He was in hysterics and it was impossible not to catch the bug. I was still laughing as I lowered the bright red canoe into the water.
Dick was a consummate prankster and only once have I seen him bested. He is the first to acknowledge his defeat. I first heard the tale on a beautiful spring day. Lina and I were on our way out of town for holidays. I had handed the keys of the store to my locum and was feeling very light indeed as the weight of those keys lifted a ton of responsibility of my shoulders. Dick was sitting on the boardwalk of the tiny airport terminal. He sat in the sun. The plane was late as usual. I had no connecting flights that night just a hotel room waiting in my beloved Dawson City and a dinner at Klondike Kate’s with my name on it; not to mention a nice cold bottle of Alexander Keith’s India Pale Ale. Dick patted the plank next to him. I slowed down to his speed as I sat down next to him. Lina smiled as she saw me relax.
“Dick, my friend. How are you?” I asked as I sat down. He was dressed as he always was in a pair of work pants, a faded plaid wool shirt and a ball cap; tilted back in spite of the sun. His weathered face looked wistful; even peaceful; almost beatific. He reclined back on his elbows. “See; I told you to slow down. You’ll live longer.” The spring sun was sublime. I was shedding layers of care by the second. The plane could take its sweet time my holiday was starting right here. “Longer than you?” I asked. Dick laughed. “I’m not perfect you know. I played a joke on that young teacher at Christmas time.” He paused in his conversation and cast me a long glance that spoke volumes. “Oh yeah? The curly headed kid?” I asked. Dick laughed again. “That’s the one. He sure is a funny guy.” Dick was hitting his stride. “He is so uptight. He was standing in there.” Dick pointed to the terminal with his hat brim. “He told me he had weighed all his baggage and was just under the weight limit.” The local lady who ran the terminal for the airline was a fanatic. She charged you if you were even one pound over limit. “He went into the washroom. I took a big rock and put it in his pack sack.” Dick was howling as he recalled his treachery. “I put the bags on the scale. You should have seen his face when she told him he owed sixty bucks in overweight charges.” Dick’s sides convulsed as he relived the moment.” I thought I had the last laugh.” Dick was shaking his head now. “When a C.O.D. showed up a few days later, I had no suspicions at all. It was Christmas. I thought one of the girls had ordered something for a present. I took the box home and unwrapped it on the table. There sat my rock! I had just paid sixty bucks for it!” He leaned on one elbow as he spoke. He looked into my eyes. I was smiling like a fool. “You know, it was worth every penny!” He laughed again.
Now I don’t get to travel the road of life at Dick’s speed very often; but when I do I enjoy the ride. Dick Nukon is one of those true Characters that seem to populate the north. Some; like Dick are born there. Others migrate there. Whether the north calls them or whether they are floating along in the ebb and flow of the world and are simply collected there in the backwater like some flotsam; I don’t know. But the north is full of them. So long as the north is full of these characters I will be there for I prefer there company to all others. They are true human beings. The way nature intended man to be. Maybe we can’t slow down to Dick’s speed all the time, but there should be stretches of life’s highway that are clearly posted with speed limit signs with Dick’s smiling face on them.