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We didn’t even check the map. We couldn’t
answer how far, what kind of road or anything.
We turned north on this dirt road, across the
bridge and began singing about going to NWT.
The road turned out to be the Laird Trail. Not
even given a highway name. We drove along
dodging the pot holes.
It became a real challenge. The width of the trail
was about one and half cars. Wide enough for us
to drive on every side of it. I found by keeping
my eyes about 100 yards ahead I could by
switching from one side to the other peripherally
dodge the holes. I kept between 45 and 50 miles
per hour. Anything less caused the road to be to
bumpy. Above that we’d start skiing and lose
control because the road was that good ‘ol mud,
muck, and ooze.
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We had also learned not to worry about gas.
Although we didn’t carry any extra tanks we did
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stop at every gas station we passed. Five cars
later and over 100 miles we came to Ft. Laird. A
gas station and town with 3 buildings.
We were quickly back on the road. For the first
time since Bird Creek and the fishermen I was
concerned about our safety. We were in the
middle of nowhere and headed deeper. It was
another 100 miles before we reached a crossroad,
and MacKenzie Highway. Even then it was
remote and desolate.
To add to my edginess there was very little room
along the road. The trees, many popular and
aspen reduced one’s sight. We were no longer
climbing mountains, but seemed to be on the
edge of the Canadian Shield. It was flat, with the
trees reflecting the bright sun light.
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It was so bright that we both wore our sun
glasses. Without them it was blindingly difficult
to see the road. .
Driving this kind of road, despite it’s pits and
potholes, becomes monotonous. So we would
talk. Talk about all kinds of things, passing the
time. Arlene brought up two subjects that were
way out there.
She had decided to wear her jewelry. Yes, as
soon as she got home she would take it out of
the safety vault. I was amazed at this as she, has
no inclination to wear these things. I’m the
driving force, the one that thinks they are so
beautiful. The black and white pearls, the coral,
the emerald and diamonds. She was quite happy
with her wedding ring and a few pins.
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That was a surprise. But we continued talking and
she said it was time to surrender the Port-a-pot,
and gas lantern. Both of which had never been
used. In fact I had finally figured out how to
store them in the overhead carrier. We didn’t
have any room for them inside the van.
As we drove we passed a sign for Trout Lake.
We were past it before we realized that the road
was closed.
We stopped, because this was one of the
strangest things we had crossed in our trip. In
fact one of the strangest things ever. We backed
up and there before us was the sign that warned
of the closed road.
TROUT LAKE
ROAD CLOSED
IN THE SUMMER
What do you think of that. We’d seen roads
closed in the winter, but never ever in the
summer. If that would ever happen wouldn’t it
be in the swamps of Florida Everglades. .
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Well that was a good wake up call. We should
expect such strange things in a strange land.
It wasn’t possible for us to drive all the way to
the MacKenzie Highway so we set our sights on
the Blackstone Territorial Park. It was just ahead.
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Our campsite was number 6, overlooking the
Laird River. We were the only campers in the
entire park. Too bad because the facilities were
beautiful. The pit toilets were new, clean and
right across from our van. Arlene was the
first to use them. She jumped out as I began
started moving everything from the back to the
front. Our Bear List, food, utensils, pots and
pans, clothes. This was a daily process and both
of us were pretty good at it.
What we didn’t expect were the swarms of
mosquitoes. When Arlene opened the door, even
for a second, they flew in by the thousands. I
didn’t move anything, just began swatting. We
didn’t move anything until an hour later.
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It was then my turn, with the same results. By
the time we rid ourselves of the insects it had
grown dark.
But, this was to be the worst night of all. We
continued to hear them buzzing around so tried
sleeping with our clothes on. They continued to
attack us. We wore gloves and were able to find
our mosquito head nets. They still came after us.
Blackstone Territorial Park, rating was 0, Zero.
We left at the break of dawn, without breakfast,
and worn out.
Before we reached the Checkpoint gas station at
the crossroads of the McKenzie Highway we
passed a couple of other significant places.
First was the Continental Divide. This is more
geological information than anyone needs. But
continental divides in the United States are split
into two huge basins of water flowing into either
the Pacific Ocean, or into the Atlantic. Of
course the Mississippi flows into the Gulf of
Mexico before the Atlantic.
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Here we came upon this oddity. In this part of
the country there is a third, the MacKenzie River
basin. It drains, not East or West but North.
Into the Arctic Ocean.
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We were surprised, by the sign. Then this
waterfall came up and we could clearly see it
flowed north. It’s waters were also reddish
brown. That was a strange color. We were used
to blueish green, clear in the mountains the many
muddy brown rivers in the south.
We finally reached the Checkpoint. This had
been about 250 miles up the Laird Trail. All dirt,
all slippery. We had passed a total of 8 cars and
trucks in the past two days. It was great to reach
civilization again.
The Checkpoint was a couple of buildings with a
single proprietor. He handled everything, the gas
station and the grille. He probably made garage
repairs also. We had a burger and fries, while
watching TV. Yes, our first TV since we sent our
little battery driven one back to Florida.
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It was plenty hot, we were dressed in shorts,
changing since the mosquito incident in
Blackstone. It seemed like the entire continent
was burning up. There was a heat wave in
Chicago, several had died from it. I mentioned it
to Arlene, but the proprietor said not to worry.
We were 1,000 miles from Edmonton, Canada.
He didn’t think we’d be going there today.
He was right. We wanted to move on to Hay
River. It was another 200 miles and partially on a
hard surface. If we kept pushing we might make
it by evening.
We were on a plateau and whenever we stopped
we could look over the edge into a vast plain and
the MacKenzie River. Once we reached the hard
surface road there was an intersection. If we
chose we could go around the northern side of
the Great Slave Lake to the capital of the
Northwest Territories, Yellow Knife, or we could
continue to the second largest city in the
Territory, Hay River.
I think we were too tired to decide. We went on
to Hay River, and the Hay River Territorial Park.
Oh! Boy! could it be that we had were now at the
nicest campground since Wright Lake in
Apalachicola National Forest, our first
campground in Florida? The facilities were
clean, flush toilets, hot and cold water, potable
water, showers, wood, fire rings picnic tables,
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trees between sites, and waves lapping on the
shore. This place was fantastic. It rated a 4
We had several things to do. The first was to
build a fire and try to keep the mosquitoes at bay.
That worked pretty well. We also discovered that
our no-see-um screening had worked okay. The
problem was the mosquitoes were coming
through the vents in the front of the van.
I hadn’t covered them, and the heat of the engine
drew them into the vent. Within a couple of
hours they had made their way through to our
dashboard and inside the van. We’d fix that
soon.
We liked the lady that ran the campground and
decided to offer her our port-a-pot, and lantern.
She was ecstatic. ‘This is great she said. We can
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use it in our cabin. It’s rather primitive, and it’s
in the Boondocks.’
Would you believe that. It’s obviously a matter
of perspective. Hay River’s population is huge.
It’s the second largest city in the Territory. Only
Yellow Knife is larger, twice as large at 28,000
people. The whole Territory has 58,000, and it’s
larger than Alaska. I’ve heard some people refer
to the boondocks, but under these circumstances
they were using the term liberally.
Our first day here was pretty busy. Here Arlene
is at the mouth of the Hay River. It flows into
the Lake, while the Mackenzie flows out of it.
The water is red, supposedly from organic
material. We were amazed.
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By the end of the day we had cleared up most of
our chores and taken a hike. This was the first
time we had actually gotten out and around since
Skagway.
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Today we were going into town. On the way we
saw a water truck filling up beside a water tank.
We stopped to talk. Could this guy really be
filling the truck with red water? Not at all. The
fellow was very friendly. The water came from
pipes that collected it from 2 miles out into the
Lake.
He told us about traveling to Yellow Knife,
across the Lake. During the summer everyone
flew across. During the winter they drove across
the ice. The lake was frozen solid every year.
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We drove past this welcome sign going into
town.
It was too early for the drug store open so we
started our laundry. There was this RCMP man.
Arlene started talking to him telling stories about
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Matt, and the Vermont State Police. He liked
that, responding that he never wore his hat if he
could get around it. In the back of his car was
his red jacket. He was a big man, 6’5” , First
Nation Man from Inuvik, way up the Dempster
Highway above the Arctic Circle. We told him we
hadn’t been there.
Inside the drugstore I saw a baseball hat with a
blue polar bear on it. I bought it, but didn’t buy
an old NWT license plate. To bad about the
license plate. It was cool with numbers, and a big
white bear. I however am now a collector of
hats.
When Arlene came out she was crying. She had
seen a French Canadian lady inside whose name
was ‘Rose’; her mother’s, and looked and
sounded like her. It was touching. Here is a
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picture of Rose and baby Arlene. Arlene had has
so many of her characteristics, and if you knew
her you’d know where Arlene got her dreadful
sense of humor. It was a sweet moment and
special memory.
This was the first time we had talked with a
Canadian with the exclamation following every
sentence. It’s a terrible habit, but often sentences
are ended with an ‘eh’ , pronounced ‘a’. The way
it works is like this ‘eh’. We are going to the car
dealer to find a free license ‘eh’. Here we are at
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the Ford and Mercury dealer ‘eh’. Let’s go inside
and talk to them ‘eh’. Maybe they will have a
license we can have ‘eh’.
For a while this colloquialism was attractive. It
caused us to pay attention. After a while it
became annoying. Inside the Mercury dealer was
so friendly. He saw our Florida license and
quickly responded. He wanted to know how our
Mercury van was doing, and if he could do
anything for us. He could, and he did. We have
had his gift on the front of our van ever since.
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Attaching our new plate was easy. We then left
with our laundry in hand, our new hat and license
and headed back to camp.
We haven’t mentioned much about the homes in
the Northwest. They are small, usually with few
windows, and buttoned up against the cold.
They are generally painted wood, of three colors.
White, White and Gray. There are never any soft
pastels like Florida; green, red, blue, or like ours
Pink. Here, on the outskirts of town was the Hay
River High School.
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WOW!! PURPLE!!
Even the hardtop track was red.
That should cause anyone to want to go to
school in the middle of the winter.
It was time for us to pack up and head south.
Packing was slow. This had been a swell stop,
giving us a chance to relax, and clean up the van.
From here on we would be pushing across
Canada, staying as far north as we could. We’d
start by taking the Mackenzie Highway south
toward Alberta.
th
It wasn’t long before we were at the 60 parallel.
The border between Alberta and NWT.
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This was the end of our Northwest adventure.
We had traveled along the icefields of British
Columbia, through the gold fields of the Yukon
Territory, to the rugged last frontier of Alaska,
and Sergeant Preston’s legendary Northwest
Territories.
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CHAPTER 10
THE CANADIAN SHIELD
Alberta, Saskatchewan, Manitoba, Ontario
This will be the biggest environmental change
since we left Huston, Texas and crossed the
plains to Colorado. We left the mountains, and
are driving south along the great divide where the
plains push against the mountains.
These plains are called the Canadian Shield.
They begin in the Arctic and run the length of
North America through Alberta, Saskatchewan,
and Manitoba, through the Dakotas, and
Nebraska into Texas and into Mexico. It’s North
America’s wheat belt, our bread basket. Once
there was a shallow sea between the two great
mountains ranges along the eastern and western
coasts. Where in 1950 politicians claimed we
could feed the entire world from.
The difference will take some adjustment. It’s so
flat you can see a long distance. We’re on the
Mackenzie Highway driving south along the Hay
River. The river has shrunk to 100 feet, but still
runs red and North into the Great Slave Lake
Another river called Meander tells the story about
how flat everything is.
The highway is hard cement surface. Bumpy,
bump, as we cross each divide. In the last couple
months we’ve gotten used to gravel roads. They
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can be terrible, particularly when they washboard,
but when graded they aren’t that bad. The worst
road, during our entire trip was the Richardson
Highway out of Valdez. The permafrost made it
wave up and down until we were sea sick.
We’ve come over 400 miles today and stopped in
a small Provincial Park called Queen Elizabeth
on Lake Cardinal. It looked really nice with
grassy campsites and trees. We had become
accustom to wide open sites, because of the bears
and other wild animals. Here on the plains nice
campsites were separated by trees, giving
everyone a sense of privacy.
But, as we know everything is not like it looks.
It’s been raining here for days, not just most of
our trip down here. Rain brings out the bugs and
the bugs are mostly mosquitoes. Sleeping was
miserable, hot, humid, and buggy, even after
burning citronella candles. We took a walk down
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to the lake. It was covered with flotsam and a
youngster said she pulled a couple of leeches off
her. Leeches, Oh! My! It’s been 65 years since
I’ve heard of them or worse had one sucking my
blood. Attached to me while swimming in a
mountain creek in Pennsylvania. We retreated;
yet were still swarmed by mosquitoes.
The best thing in the park was a cool plane. We
don’t know how it got there but it reminded us
of Amelia Earheart’s.
We rated the campground a 0.
Now that we have time to think about where we
are, how flat the plains, how to cross them, and
any number of other things. We know we’ve
come a long way south, but still don’t have a
handle on how far.
We’re approaching the town of Peace River, it’s
about 400 miles further south than Hay River.
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Further south it’s 300 more miles to Edmonton,
500 to Calgary and over 650 miles to the U.S.
border and Montana. And Montana isn’t our
idea of south.
We drove into Peace River for breakfast at the
Odd Spot Restaurant. It was ok, and there
weren’t any bugs.
We’ve been over whelmed by this change in the
environment and where we are in North
America. Our conversation about this dilemma
led us to several choices. We weren’t discussing
our attitude about ‘the turnaround’, or ‘the
stampede home’. No we were already there. We
were weary and ready to make the great break.
Hey! ‘I’ve got three alternatives for going across
the plains; maybe more later, because we’ve only
been on the road for a while this morning.’
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‘Okay’ says Arlene, ‘Let’s hear them’.
Turn right and go back to the mountains
until September.
Sleep as much as possible during the day,
then drive from 8 p.m. to sunrise 8 a.m.
Drive from sunrise 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. with
the air conditioner on.
‘I’ve a few more’.
Park the van and fly to the East Coast.
Later, say October, fly back and drive
home.
Turn right and go back to the mountains
until September.
‘Oh! I’ve already suggested that one.
It’s really going to get worst. When it does
we may want to drive straight through
without stopping. I’d estimate about 1,500
miles at 60 miles per hour would take
roughly 25 hours plus pit stops.
This conversation helped if only for the morning.
We left Peace River feeling better.
The fields were blossoming with brilliant yellow
rape seed. It’s the largest exported crop in
Alberta. They make Canola oil from it.
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In addition to the rape seed many fields were
covered with flax, a beautiful lavender or
cornflower blue. We’ve been using it on our
cereal. It, like so many nuts are good for you,
high in fiber and Omega3.
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Fifty miles further south we turned off on the
Northern Woods and Water Route; Alberta
Route 2. It led to the Lesser Slave Lake and was
the furthest road north across the plains. We had
decided before reaching the plains that we’d stay
as far north as possible while crossing Canada.
As we drove the fields changed into forests, yet
there were no hills or mountains. We were still
on the plains. We drove down the length of the
Lake.
It was surprising to see the houses. They had a
‘year around’ lived in look. Many were a rambler
style with one floor and detached garages.
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Parked outside one home was a Snow Traveler.
It’s used during the winter to cross the lake ice
and travel across the snowy fields. It’s missing a
tract, but when in operation it moves right along
and keeps everyone warm and toasty.
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This is how it might look in the middle of winter.
Outside of the Lesser Slave Lake we made an
uncharacteristically wrong turn. Arlene was
driving and I was navigating. It will probably
never be forgotten. We turned south on Route
44 instead of staying on Route 2 to Athabasca.
The problem with making a wrong turn and
going off course on the Canadian Shield is all the
roads are either horizontal or vertical. They look
like parallelograms on a map. To correct any
error we’d have to take the other 3 sides of the
parallelogram. It was miles out of the way.
We took the first road that came up to take us
back on to Route 2 and Athabasca. It was a
ranch road. Like so many back roads it was in
good shape, with few pot holes. I suppose these
roads don’t get torn apart, and last longer
because they have so little traffic. They are also
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built to the same standards as the heavily
travelled ones. Route 663 was great, and we
were in yet another agricultural district. This one
grew hay and wheat. The air smelled nicely of
rain and newly cut hay.
Back on the track in Athabasca we took Route 55
East pushing across the lake region of Alberta to
the Saskatchewan border at Cold Lake.
You can see by the late afternoon shadows that
we’d had a long day. We are at Cold Lake
Provincial Park, on the border of Alberta and
Saskatchewan. We had a bite to eat, settled
down, and fell asleep.
Cold lake is named for its deep, cold water. We
don’t plan to go either boating or swimming so it
shouldn’t bother us. There were other things
that interested us. This is the home of the
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Canadian Air Force’s fighter squadron. We hope
to go over to Love Field for a visit.
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On our way to Love field we saw many First
Nation totem poles. The area is also
experiencing an Oil boom. There’s lots of
drilling going on here.
At Love Field the F-104’s were taking off 2 by 2.
They ripped off the deck and once in the air
flipped on their side at a 90 degree angle and
screamed around in a long low circle then straight
up into the wild blue yonder.
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I’ve heard that fighter pilots made poor
commercial passenger pilots. Maybe because
they hotdog.
We have a friend who flew B-24 bombers over
Germany in World War II. He was a squadron
leader and was shot down two times. At the end
of his tour he was asked if he’d stay and fly a
Mustang Fighter. He did, and explained the
difference like this.
‘Flying the Bomber is like driving a bus. You
point it in the direction you want to go. The
enemy shoots at you while you hope you get
there and unload your bombs. The fighter is
totally different, you get to go after those
bastards’.
The planes continued to buzz the field, touch and
go. Flying in and out slowing only enough to
touch their wheels.
Around the field we saw cadets marching, and
many old planes on display. My favorite was this
DC-3 or C-47. These planes were the heavy
carriers in WW II, and are still in service all over
the world.
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In the late 1960’s I’d met some fellows in
Luxemburg who had rented a DC-3 to fly to
India. They were adventurers and described the
flight like being in a bucket of bolts. They could
hardly hear themselves talk, it was cold, and
everything shook and shaked. But, it kept flying.
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Back in camp a family moved in beside us. We
couldn’t figure it out. There are 120 sites in this
campground and they chose to camp beside us.
This is bad manners, when there were so few
sites taken. Even this far North the further East
we go the less considerate our camping comrades
were.
That doesn’t mean that there weren’t plenty of
friendly people around. In fact our new
neighbors were friendly, just inconsiderate.
We liked the camp, clean, and flat with trees and
bushes separating us. We took showers, and
rated the site 3 ½.
We took our time getting back on the road and
stopped at the Cold Lake Information Center.
This stop almost changed our homeward bound
trip.
There we met Marge Wegner who had lived in
Cold Lake for 25 years. She was swell, and
explained how the discovery of oil was changing
the area. We asked if any Polar Bears ever visited
them. No she said, but Polar Bears come off the
ice and visit Churchill. Of course, we knew that
from watching TV shows. But, Churchill is on
the shores of the Hudson Bay, two provinces
away.
Marge had lived there for 9 years. The bears
were never a problem. If you were walking down
the street and one came along, you’d take a side
street, avoiding it. She said there were tours.
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The chamber would take you around town and
onto the ice in a bus. The bus had big wheels,
was high off the ground, and allowed you to see
really well, while being above the bears reach.
Well, you know what a sucker I am for these
stories. We only needed to call Churchill to find
out about the bears. Then call the Canadian
National Railroad to make reservations. Marge
even had the phone numbers for both.
OH! BOY!
The railroad was a deal. A coach round trip for
$141 each. We could board the train in The Pas,
Manitoba, cross the northern permafrost to
Churchill in a day and half. It’s scheduled runs
from 10 a.m. each morning arriving in Churchill
at 7:30 a.m. the next morning. It left Churchill
every evening at 10 p.m. and arrived back in The
Pas at 7:15 p.m. the next evening. That would
give us about 14 hours to see the bears. Time
enough for us to see anything.
The railroad gave us a little more information.
To get the good rate we would have to make
reservations a week ahead of our departure. The
train also stopped at every crossing, town and
remote place along the way. It was a ‘Milk Train’
serving the North.
Marge filled us in on a few other details. But,
they seemed only to add to my excitement.
These trains were pretty old. Their seats would
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probably be wooden benches. It would be a
rough three day ride without much sleep.
Further, the train crosses the tundra and
permafrost. During the summer it would cause
the train to rise and fall. That means it ride’s up
and down like we experienced on the Richardson
Highway in Alaska, or if you please on our sloop,
Citizen, in a following sea. Very uncomfortable,
causing us to be sick as well as tired and sore.
So what; I said, let’s keep our eye on the big
picture. We’ll see real live Polar Bears. Arlene in
the meanwhile was being quiet.
I was already pursuing the map, and planning
ahead. We could sign up today and take 7 days
to cross Saskatchewan to The Pas. It would be
easy. It’s about 500 miles so we’d take 3 or even
4 days to do it. That would mean only a day or
two left.
Let’s call the Chamber of Commerce in Churchill
and ask about the bears. Then sign up for a tour.
We called, Marge had the number. She was so
helpful.
The call started out okay. Tours were $74.00
each. Things went downhill from there. The
tour would be out into the Hudson Bay, to see
the Beluga Whales. There were no Polar Bears.
They wouldn’t be there until November. Frankly,
I could take care of a week’s delay to La Pas, but
November was out of the picture. I was deflated.
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It was time for Arlene to pick up the pieces. It
was a great idea, and we almost made a tour, a
divergence from the great plains. We’d obviously
have to keep our eyes open for other alternatives.
The next day we were back on the road headed
for Prince Albert. The bears were only a dream
and a memory away.
Most of these towns were similar to those in the
U.S. They were small, a main street and a couple
th
of side streets. They were built in the early 20
century, and then lost their luster. Youngsters
once out of high school usually left for greener
pastures.
We stopped in Meadow Lake. I was looking for
a Saskatchewan baseball hat, there was also a
sidewalk bake sale. We didn’t find a hat, but
Arlene bought a couple of homemade sweaters
for Victoria and Colee. We also bought some
good chocolate chip and oatmeal cookies.
Back out on the plains we encountered the
Plain’s Mosquito, known as a Dragonfly. They
are much bigger, 5 inch wing span, prettier,
irridiance blues, greens and oranges, 25 different
types. They don’t bite, but eat other insects. All
in all they were a welcome change. But, we had
trouble adjusting to them. You see they were like
Kamikazes. They are very fast, 60 mph, but
didn’t turn very well, thereby ramming into our
windshield at a fierce rate and sticking to
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everything. The antenna, the wipers and front
grill. The van was a mess to clean up.
This weekend was the Civic Holiday in Canada.
We expected to have plenty of neighbors
camping with us. We drove down Route 55 into
Prince Albert and out along Route 3 headed
toward the town of Hudson Bay, and Nepawin
Regional Park.
These provinces have some pretty neat names for
towns. Prince Albert of course means one thing
to Canadians, while it means good cigars to us.
Then there’s Moose Jaw. I wished we could have
driven through it, but we were too far north.
Our camp at Nepawin was okay. The sites were
small, everything was crammed into them. I’ve
mentioned as we go further east the less
consideration campers show for others. It
seemed like everyone used our site as a pass
through to the head, water or wood. It’s pissing
me off, despite being a visitor to their country.
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Arlene met up with a couple more Royal
Canadian Mounted Police. They were here for
the weekend to help all the boaters. Maybe they
have similar problems with people drinking and
celebrating on long weekends.
In the town of Hudson Bay, named after the Fur
Trading company, even though it didn’t have one
of their stores. We made our last final search for
a baseball hat.
Across the street from this grain elevator was a
gas station. Inside was a couple of teenagers,
passing the time of life, until they graduated and
could leave for a big city. They were so happy to
see me, a stranger, and particularly because I
asked about a hat. They had plenty of them,
boxes full. Not only Manitoba, but
Saskatchewan too.
Right past the grain elevator, which every self
respecting town had to have, was the next
province, Saskatchewan.
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We were slowly making our way across the
Shield.
Geologist believe that the earth has had many ice
ages. Everyone of them covered Canada, and
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weighed down the earth. But, as the ice receded
the earth bounced back. The last Ice age that
flattened Canada’s shield, between the Rockies
and the Appalachians, was the Wisconsin. It
lasted about 13,000 years. We could imagine how
the ice had flattened, and scraped Alberta, and
Saskatchewan. The land looked like a giant
pancake. But nowhere had it leveled the earth
like here in Manitoba. The earth seemed to be
flatter than the other provinces. It was so soggy
and flat that it was difficult to tell where the
thousands of lakes began or ended.
We drove north toward The Pas, around Dawson
Bay and down along an isthmus between Lake
Winnipegosis and Cedar Lake until we reached
Lake Winnipeg.
We had no more choices about staying to the far
north in Canada. Route 6 went north and south,
but going North led to the end of the map, and
stopped long before Churchill. There were no
roads around the northern end of Manitoba’s
largest lake.
We would have to follow Route 6 south to
Winnipeg, the capital city. But, for one last gasp
we turned north to a small town called Grand
Rapids.
Ever since we left Hay River we had seen signs
for country picnics. We thought they were family
get-togethers. Some may have been for friends
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and neighbors and some birthday parties. Often
they were in French.
We imagined they would be a lot of fun.
Probably, like those back in Pennsylvania where
my grandmother and cousins had them. They
were a summer specialty.
There were usually so many people at these
picnics we surmised we could just stop by. Who
would know, and if Arlene would tell them in
broken French that we were long lost cousins,
we might be invited. ‘Bonjour’ I’m Arlene from
the long lost leg of the family, we were just
passing through.’
We considered this a good plan an option for
days, all across the plains, past many signs. In
fact, we could probably stop at any farm and they
would be glad to see us. We just needed the
moxey to do it.
There was a general store at the cross roads of
Grand Rapids and Route 6. It also had a gas
station and bus stop. We arrived just as the
Winnipeg bus stopped and unloaded. I’d
mentioned inconsiderate campers. Here two
passengers threw their trash onto the ground,
while a trash barrel was nearby. Inside the store
the proprietor a friendly Taiwanese lady told us
where we could spend the night.
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Grand Rapids is at the end of the Saskatchewan
River . There was a large electric generating plant
built just before the river entered Lake Winnipeg.
Everyone in the town worked there, and they
were mostly First Nation people.
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We found the Hobbs Camp. Behind their house
was a long wide lawn leading to the river. Along
one side were 8 cabins Mr. Hobbs had built. At
the end of the lawn near the river were 2 picnic
tables. One for each camp site. And among the
pines was a model airplane, which Mr. Hobbs
had also built. It was made of beer cans and had
a 2 1/2 foot wing span.
We drove back to the camp sites and Arlene
started unloading. I walked down to the river. It
was several hundred feet wide, and so calm that
its reflection duplicated the beautiful orange and
red sunset.
There was also a strange sight on the water. It
was a bird, a large pelican.
.
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During dinner a lady came down from one of the
cabins. She was visiting her sister who lived a
couple of houses down the street. We talked for
a while and she told us there were lots of
Pelicans. They and the Sea Gulls liked the fish at
the generator plant.
She left, but returned a little later and told us that
she was here, as were all the people in the cabins
to celebrate her sister’s 25 anniversary. They
were going to party all weekend and invited us to
tomorrow afternoon’s party, and fish fry.
Wow! This was just what we had been talking
about. What we had dreamed would happen, but
could never bring ourselves to believe.
Of course we accepted. Arlene thought we
should take a gift. She quickly found our small
jug of Maple Syrup and wrapped it with a bow;
ready for the next day’s party.
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We slept well and the next morning I also got
ready for the party by shaving. I had never had a
beard, but for the last few months I hadn’t
shaved and grew a white one. It matched my
white curly locks. We were ready to party.
There was no problem finding the house. A lot
of cars were in the drive and a banner celebrating
Pam and Dennis’ Anniversary on the house.
What a party, and what a greeting.
‘Hi there… You must be Arlene and Richard.
I’m Pam and this is Dennis. My sister said you
would come.’ We’re so glad you did.’
Their home had two stories with a large kitchen
and a porch that wrapped around one side. Snow
during the winter would often be over 12 feet
and cover the porch. Around the grounds were
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several out houses, snowmobiles, work boats and
a camper.
The party was wonderful, lots of interesting
people, some First Nation relatives some French
descent and lots of children. All kinds of buffet
foods and finger licking good fish fry. There
were piles of meat balls, macaroni and potato
salads, lettuce and tomatoes, orange and lemon
jello salads with carrots and celery, cold slaw,
four different cakes, homemade strawberry ice
cream, and pirogues.
Fresh fish, caught hours before were fried over
wooden fires, in hollowed out barrels filled with
oil. It was so good! I ate Jack and Pickerel.
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