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Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Riparian entertainments


Riparian (r -pâr - n) adj. Of, on, or relating to the banks of a natural course of water. There that’s your educational tidbit for the day, kind of a vitamin for the brain. That is of course if you did not know what riparian meant. If you already knew I apologize for being so pedantic. What’s that; pedantic? Oh for Pete’s sake pe•dan•tic adj.: overly concerned with minute details or formalisms, esp. in teaching. Right enough of the Merriam Webster stuff. Where was I? Oh yeah, riparian. I must confess that I have only known the word these ten years past. I came across the word from that sage source of learning and culture Hyacinth Bucket; ah sorry, Bouquet. From the TV series Keeping Up Appearances. In typical Hyacinth fashion she had arranged a “Candlelight Supper” to take place on the river bank. Also in typical Hyacinth fashion it turns into a debacle. But the word has stuck with me. Where you live shapes your life in many ways; both subtle and obvious. You cannot live beside the ocean without it changing your day; your weather and your outlook; likewise the river. The Deh Cho or big river as the various native nations that dot its’ shores call it. Three weeks ago a retired Firefighter from Germany came paddling down the river. He showed up at our store a bit haggard. I engaged him in conversation and he informed me that he had been on the river for two and a half months. During that time he had been attacked by bears no less than six times. His tent was shredded as was some of his gear. He needed to call home and wanted to know if there was a pay phone in town that worked. Our phone was out of order so I offered him the use of my office phone. But first I had a treat in store for him. “Where are you from in Germany?” I asked. He replied that he was from a small refinery town twenty kilometers from Cologne. “I have someone I want you to meet.” I said as I walked him into our staff room for coffee. I introduced him to Gerry our Grocery guy who is a jack of all trades and was born in Cologne. It was like magic. The haggard look was gone. So too was his English which was very good; but not being his mother tongue I could see he was struggling. You don’t get a lot of practice on the river talking to bears. His face lit up as the two men talked. I excused myself and returned to work. I was smiling too. Every now and then I eyed the phone lines to see if he was using the phone. An hour later he still was not. I walked past and knew that the conversation was flowing from him like water. Having no one at all to speak to he was happy to tell someone of his experiences. Even better, it was in his first language.
Eventually he used the phone and talked to his wife. A very different man greeted me when he was done. He was at once elated and energized by talking with Gerry but also chastened by his wife’s concern. He was to have been done by now but the setbacks and bear attacks had cost him time. “How far to Inuvik, please?” he asked. “Well; I think it’s just over 700 kilometers. If you need to do laundry or anything you could use my place.” I offered. “You Canadians are so kind. Since I started in Jasper I could not get over how kind you all are.” He was very grateful. I told him to bring his water jugs and that Gerry would take him and his food back to the river. Gerry went one better he gave the man some warm dry clothes and his own compass as the man had lost his in a bear attack. He would leave by night as the days were still twenty four hours long. That evening I took the dog that I am looking after for a walk on the beach. I spotted his canoe and gear and made for it. Not surprisingly Gerry was there. “You all seem to congregate on the river”, he noted. It was true people in town use the river nearly as often as they use the roads. It is; in the most literal sense, a highway. It brings in the food and fuel that sustains the community. It is also the cheapest way to travel to adjacent towns. The town owes its’ existence to the river; or more accurately to the two rivers; the Bear and the MacKenzie. The community was built as a fur trading post and in those days the Hudson Bay Company chose the confluence of two rivers for purely mercenary reasons. It doubled the traffic and was an easy place to find.
In the evenings and on our days off my wife and I love to walk the banks of the river. Our riparian entertainments change as the seasons change. In the spring there is the breakup. When the river sheds its’ mantle of ice and snow and burst forth with crusting awesome fury. Huge sheets of ice weighing as much as a freighter crash into each other and the shore. The sound of boulders rolling along the river bottom sounds like thunder. The open water brings the ducks and geese and swans by the hundreds of thousands. Life is returning to the north. As we walk the banks we watch overhead as honking flocks of geese sing to us. The banks of the river are at that time piled high with ice. Huge plates blacked with mud soak the strengthening sun and melt into melodious “candle” ice which is ice melted into tapered icicles by the dripping melt water. The elongated pieces are tapered like candles. They break away and fall to the ground with a soothing tinkle. Then before you know it they are gone. About this time the trees begin to bud and the color is breathtaking. More neon yellow than green. Every year I take a hundred photos and none do it justice. One day perhaps I will pick up a paintbrush and try to do it justice. Summer brings wildflowers to the banks and children and pets. The laughter of playing children is music too, The river is shallow here and they play and gambol in the water when summer climes are here.
This season too brings a change of sound and color. The trees will go from the dark green of the arctic summer to the vibrant yellow of fall. The sun begins to set again for the first time in months and the near horizontal light comes through the yellow willows and poplar and gives the banks of old man river a glow that is so enticing that it is hard to resist. Lina and I took a long walk one Sunday and decided then and there to return the next week to spend the entire day on the river. We watched ducks playing amidst the drift wood. We listened as a flock of over one hundred and fifty geese flew not thirty feet overhead. We built a driftwood fire and roasted hot dogs. We lie on a blanket on the sand and let the river; the driftwood and all of our cares go by. We saw boats and barges. We looked up at a contrail in the sky. A rare thing in these parts and we wondered where it was going and dreamt that we were going somewhere exotic. We napped on the cool sand and let the last warm rays of sun warm our faces. Soon the giant that runs beside us will sleep too.
Today our old warehouse which once housed the store rises above the town on the highest ground. This is typical. It offers a great view to trappers paddling the river and was dry in times of flood. Smart guys those early Bay Boys. Even now the communities along the Deh Cho are few and very far between. The old buildings are still there still serving the purpose that there white walls and red roofs were meant for; to mark the existence of civilization. Our German friend was right the river still is the center of activity. I for one shall continue to take advantage of its’ riparian entertainments.

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