Flax field with Canola on the horizon.

Don and Betty next to the replica York Boat in Prince Albert where the ladies bought fishing licenses.  That night we stayed at Brabant, taking a walk to see the Waddy River waterfall, then had an early start the next morning to the Wathaman River.

This is the last hill on the 4-wheel track nearest to the portage trail-head.  This is where I got stuck one year when attempting to climb it in 2-wheel drive (unknown to me).  After unsuccessful attempts, Jay questioned what gear I was in and when I found it was not in 4-wheel drive, I switched and quickly crawled out of the mess I had dug myself into (much to my relief).

Betty provides directions to Don while backing up the truck to the head of the portage trail, thus reducing to a minimum the amount of carrying required.

Don and Leslie with the 10HP Johnson outboard motor hanging from the often used portage pole.  We have almost reached waters edge.  As a West Texas girl, Leslie proved to be a real good portager and all round fun gal to have along on a primitive type outing.  Good thing, we spent 5 hours getting all the gear across the portage and loaded into the boats. 

Don is in one of our boats.  The blue boat in front belongs to an Indian who we did not see until late August.  Varying depths of water make this landing area change drastically in difficulty of use.  This was about average.  Normally it gets progressively difficult as the lake water level decreases.

Leslie holds a sleeping bag in a handy dry bag.  A wet sleeping bag is pretty bad.

Our trip across the lake in a light tail wind took 3hours and 45 minutes.  We arrived at Dancing Loon Island at 6 PM.  I had left a note on the cabin door as a ruse and it was still where I left it, undisturbed. Don is opening the crypt , retrieving items that had been hidden when he and Bob left the island on June 24.  This was standard practice.

Looking north from the beach area.  The white floats mark the water line coming from the water pump on shore. The large boulder was originally thought by Don to be a good anchor for a permanent pier on the beach, but it never panned out that way, especially since the water level of the lake was found to fluctuate so much year to year.  A portable pier is much more practical for this lake.

Water tank.  Note the bottle of Clorox.  One once of Clorox per 50 gallons of water assures safe drinking and is not detectable to the taste.

Loons cruise by the beach in the late afternoon.

Betty and Leslie haul firewood from the wood pile by the saw.  Leslie had obviously spent time in her youth running a wheel barrow.

Cooler shed

John down by the beach.

Leslie got “caught” in the bear trap.

This photo shows the front sliding door of the bear trap in an open (up) position.  It is held up with two sticks balanced end to end.  A string attached to their spot of union, when pulled (being attached to the bait at the opposite end of the trap) pulls side ways on the sticks and makes them quite ready to collapse and allow the sliding door to slam down.

Don stands at the front of the trap and the front sliding door is now in the down position.  A simple weighted mechanism allows the door to slide down but prevents it from being opened from inside, just in case a bear was smart enough to figure how to lift the door.

Cabin front.  Note that the shades on the front windows have been installed to cut down on the afternoon glare of the sum, especially while eating supper.

Cabin front with the green tarp covered generator hutch.

Betty and Leslie on the front deck.

Don cleaning fish filets in the kitchen.

The jar of jelly beans to the right of Don are always a popular treat but they are getting more difficult to find for sale.

Joe Roberts, Don, Gord (rear), James McKenzie (front) and ????.  These fellows were moose hunting.  They spent the night at the cabin and of course received the obligatory “moose-blessing” from Don before leaving the island. Actually, Don forgot to offer the blessing but down on the beach Joe said he was not going to leave until he got the blessing.

     They had seen a moose tracks on the shore about halfway down the lake and were planning on returning there to spend some time looking for the critter.  On their way back down the lake they spotted a column of smoke coming from the west end of the lake where their truck was parked and decided they better forego any further hunting and return to their truck in case it was in danger from the fire. 

Joe had the fastest canoe and was in front of      the other canoe when he approached two mile island.  A moose was feeding on submerged vegetation in the slack water below two mile island and popped his head out of the water for air, right along side Joe’s canoe.  Joe said it was the easiest moose kill he ever had.  This close to the landing, the Indians could see that the fire was still far to the west (turned out to be north of Davin Lake) and so they took their time butchering the moose and enjoying a fresh steak supper over an open fire.

    That nights, while driving south to Stanley Mission, they spotted a moose crossing the road.  A kind of keystone-cops scenario followed.  They had earlier switched seats in the truck so that the first man out of the truck had left his rifle in the rear seat along with his ammo.  Normally, any delay in getting off a shot would mean the moose had long disappeared in the under brush, but not this night.

    The moose blessing was working its magic and the moose, instead of disappearing into the woods, turned around and re-crossed the road.  With the hunters still in a bit of confusion  (it was pitch dark) the moose again changed direction and crossed the road again.  Gord said it was bit like a windshield wiper, going back and forth.  Finally a shot was taken but it only wounded the moose.  Now enraged, the moose charged directly at James who had scrambled into the ditch.

Joe had managed to get a spotlight and was safely laying on the roof of the truck, shining the light on the wounded moose.  “Shoot the God damn thing”, Joe excitedly shouted.  Gord, a crack marksman, saved the day with a shot that finally downed the charging moose.  Within an hour, they were back on the way home with two fresh moose.  Damn, that moose blessing really does work!!!

Betty joined the group for this photo.

Betty loves to fish for Northerns, especially when Don does the chores of handling the flopping fish after it is in the boat.

Leslie was catching Northerns too.  On her first cast of the trip, she hooked a walleye, then had this Northern latch onto the walleye.  We netted both fish.

Leslie with a nice “eater” at the “Honey-Hole”.

Don with a nice walleye.  It probably seems strange to the non-fisherman why anyone would find repeating the process of catching a fish so much fun.  I cannot explain the reason for this phenomenon, but it is real.

Betty just can’t stop catching Northerns.

Betty and Leslie with their fishing gear at the beach.

We took a trip up the Campbell River.

Dancing Loon Island from the channel south of the island.

Leslie with several days eating.

Betty and Leslie show off the haul.

Nice eating size.

Don and Leslie work on attaching a purchased beaver skin to a sapling frame in Indian fashion described by Joe Roberts.

Don with the frame on the front deck.

Beaver stretched and displayed in the cabin.  The Indians used slightly smaller branches and the frames were more circular.  This first effort looks just like a first effort, but not too bad.

Mosquito net over Leslie’s cot in the Mud Room corner. In the adjacent room, Don assembled the tool caddy for under the work bench, arranged tools on the peg board wall over to work bench and made a cross reference display board for most of his fastener supplies on the island.  No more searching for an 8 penny nail!

A squirrel seemed interested in getting into the cabin but he didn’t get past the front door.

Leslie does some washing the standard bucket way.

Betty relaxes on the front deck for a good read.

Don and his carbine.

The water front beach at relatively low lake level.  Many years, the jetty we built from rocks (to the right) is submerged all summer long.

The rock jetty extends all the way to the “bathing rock”.  The fish box is this far out in the lake to be in deep enough water to keep the fish alive.

Betty takes a swim.  The water drops off to 50’ a little further out in the lake.

From our popular photo op spot on the “Esker Lake” nature hike.  Dancing Loon Island, Indian Island and North Island are shown left to right.

North end of Esker Lake.

This point (right side of photo) separates the two lobes of Esker Lake.  In 1994 Don and Martin portaged the sports canoe into this little lake with visions of it being full of monster fish, never molested by man.  This was not the case.  Only one small area was 10’ deep with most of the lake being quite shallow.  Only small “snakes” were found, typical of a “winter-kill” lake.  Our plan was to traverse the far lobe of the lake and portage the canoe the short distance between the Esker Lake and Northern Bay.  Unfortunately, when within sight of Northern Bay, the trees were so thick we could not get the canoe through them and we were forced to retrace our much longer route into the lake along our normal nature trail.

Betty climbs aboard the boat in preparation for the ride to the “Honey-Hole”.

Betty with another walleye.

Don caught one too.

A nice stringer of  walleye for eating.

Don cleans a few fish for supper.  He figures he must have done this chore close to 20,000 times in his life time.  He prefers to work on the wooden surface rather than a slick Formica surface to his left.  The fish slip around a lot less on the wood when compared to the plastic.

On July 28 Don and Betty wait here on the south side of the island for the arrival of the float plane that will take them back to Otter Lake.  We had moved the canoe here to mark the landing spot for the incoming plane.   Jay Niebur had driven to Osprey Wings at Otter Lake in Betty’s car, then flew to the island. The girls returned to Otter Lake on the same plane. Their gear is beside them, ready to be loaded on the float plane.  After the plane was a bit late in arriving, Don had put in a phone call to Osprey Wings.  A few minutes later the plane arrived.  Clear skies generally allow  the planned schedule to be adhered to, something that frequently doesn’t happen when flying in the Canadian north.

Don and Leslie pose as they await the arrival of Jay.  At the beginning of the trip, supposedly Leslie had a “Fear” of water and we had wondered how that was going to “play out”.  For some reason her fear of water never surfaced and we very much enjoyed her company, she was always a good “sport” and a pleasure to have as a guest.

The Cessna 185 approaches the beaching spot.  This is the same plane that had brought Jim and Jeffrey to the island a few years earlier.  The pilot was even the same so he remembered the good spot to taxi ashore.  They arrive at 8:40 AM.

Jay comes ashore.

Leslie, Betty and Jay just before the girls leave.

Leslie. Betty and Jay.

The plane taxis out in the lake for take off.

Don feels a little sad as the ladies fly off.  Besides their great company, he is going to miss all their good cooking and goodies like Betty’s corn bread.

On August 4, Ruth Niebur traveled north to spend the night at Brabant.  Along the way she found this sign about to fall off its post.

Ruth enjoyed the pot of flowers in front of cabin #5 at Brabant Lake.

At the landing on August 5 Ruth caught this picture of Don and Jay arriving at the landing to give her a ride to the island.

Since Jay was there, it would naturally be raining.  Rain is much preferred to wind however when it comes to crossing the lake, so Don is pretty happy to have it be calm, if wet,

Jay removes the lid on the water tank and prepares to add the 4 oz. of Clorox purifier to the water.  Look carefully and you can see that the tank is only half full at this point.

The john looks rough but it still serves well.

We got siding cut and installed on all the north and east sides of the Mud Room during this time.  Jay is a real “workaholic” and much credit goes to him more than any other visitor for the completion of this cabin project.  Jay just plain likes to work and is quite lost without a big project to tackle.  How fortunate for me the have such a good friend!!

Don works on a make shift clamping mechanism to compress the post at each end of a railing section they are installing.  Twisted rope provides a poor man’s clamp and worked quite well.  Ruth especially enjoyed working on the two railing, cutting, trimming and fitting all the spindles.

Don and Jay pose after a job we felt was well done.

The cabin front is starting to look quite nice.

Railings contribute disproportionately to the good looks.  Don has put them at a lower priority because they are really a luxury item with no small children around and an abundance of rope that not only works for a railing but also as a cloths line.  Note the Saskatchewan flag, a gift from Jim.

The front steps work really well but they are here missing some railings.

Old Glory flies in the cloudy sky.

Front steps on an overcast day.

Cabin front with Jay.

Don and Jay on the front deck.  Don is sitting on a makeshift throne made by Jay from an old discarded gas drum holder.  Why a throne??  Because Don is the self proclaimed Grand Wizard of the North American Society of Barbarians that Jay had invented.

Jay likes to stage these photos.

Don sits on his throne, ready to preside over an upcoming meeting.  Member ship requirements were settled by acclamation to be 1. Able to pee over a fence while standing 3 feet away.  2. A tendency to lick your plate when through with a good meal.

Don flips a pancake at breakfast time.

Wolf track with crow’s feather at a beach we visited to cut saplings.

Don wields the chainsaw in pursuit of wood for more railings.

Jay hauls saplings to the waiting boat.

Jay swings a mean hatchet.

Don prefers the chain saw for downing a tree.

Back at the island, Jay and Ruth spent a day “knifing” the  48 saplings to remove the bark.

Jay at the “Honey-Hole” with another eater.

Dancing Loon Island water front.

Jay and Don worked on the entrance arch, adding a fourth leg to the tripod, mounting a second moose head and making a small platform at the apex for storing old bones, Indian fashion.  The saw pavilion roof was strengthened with strong slats and the wind break was rebuilt and two shelves added.

Don collects various bones for the new entry arch.

More Indian visitors.

Joe Roberts, Don and ??? next to Joes canoe.

It is imperative to show new Indian visitors the bear trap.  If Don didn’t do this, then surely, Joe would.

Joe, Don and ??? at the beach.

Joe and Don.  Joe did hunt around the area that day and then spent the night.  It is unlawful for a white man to accompany and Indian when hunting, so I was not able to go with Joe as he hunted.  This law, while sounding strange at first, is quite logical in that it prevents wealthy white men from hiring token Indian guides to hunt “out of season”.  Without this law, they could claim to be along just watching the Indian hunt, which would not be a season violation since Indians (who have not sold their registration number) can hunt at any time (called subsistence hunting).

Next morning Don collected his string of sacred moose bones to perform his “moose blessing” ritual that consist of shaking the bones over the hunters head, plus over his gun and canoe, while chanting secret words to the moose spirit.  The Indians are not in the least offended by this ceremony, quite the contrary, they accept it in the friendly way it is offered and would not consider leaving the island until it is performed.  Is it any wonder they call Don “Crazy man end of lake”???

Jay loves the crows nest.

Jay is a picture of contentment while sitting in the crows nest.

Ruth enjoys the soft bed of Reindeer Moss.  The morning of August 12 we got up at 6 AM for an easy, organized departure from the island.  It was 37 degrees outside but 42 degrees inside the cabin.   Don cooked bacon, eggs and pancakes for breakfast plus we had canned grapefruit and orange juice.  The sky was clear and there was no wind but by departure time at 8:05, a west wind was pushing small waves our way.  The boat was lightly loaded, 20 gallons of mixed gasoline in four jugs, two duffle bags, two sleeping bags, two cooler chest, a cot frame, a big bag of trash plus assorted “going-to-the-landing-list” gear.  We moved across the lake at 17.7 MPH with an ETA at the landing of 9:22AM.  We got to the landing at 9:27, boy do I like this new GPS!!  

      One tank of gasoline had taken us yesterday to the Honey-Hole fishing and back, then to “bear beach” to drop off fish guts and make plaster cast of bear tracks and then all the way to the landing this morning.  Not pulling a train of boats behind your boat really improves the mileage. 

     There was a note left on my truck from John Bajerski.  This is a friend who camps and fishes near the Wathaman River Bridge each summer in a camper.  He lives in Pocatello, Idaho.  It described their effort on July 20 to boat out to the island for a visit a few days earlier.  Unfortunately, their 9.9 HP Mercury outboard had lost its water pump 17 miles out and they had spent over six hours getting back with their spare 2 HP engine.  Fortunately for them, it was nice weather and they felt lucky to survive the affair with only lost time. 

     We portaged Jay and Ruth’s gear up to their truck and Don followed them out the 4-wheel track to the main road to meet Harry Menton who was scheduled to arrive that morning.  It was 10 AM when we arrived at the main gravel road but Harry was not there.  Jay, Ruth and Don said their good byes and then Don was left alone.  Don walked up to the Wathaman River Bridge to get out of the swarming mosquitoes and enjoy a bug free breeze coming of Wathsamn Lake.  By 10:30 AM, Harry had not showed up.  Don walked back to his truck at the entrance to the 4-wheel track and left a note on his windshield to tell Harry that Don had walked back to the boat to get his satellite phone and that he would soon be back at the truck. 

     Don got back to the truck at 11 AM and still Harry was not there so he drove to the Wathaman River Bridge where the open space would assure a clean signal for the phone.  Betty was home but had not heard from Harry, so Don assumed the delay was not catastrophic but did arrange to call Betty again at 5PM should Harry still not have arrived.

Jay’s 6’3”” frame towers over Don at the landing where we find Jay’s Toyota truck waiting for his trip back to Boulder with Ruth.

Ruth and Jay stopped on the way south on the gravel road to help a stranger who had a flat tire.  That stranger turned out to be Harry Menton, Don’s next visitor. Harry is here changing his tire.  They parked his car nearby off the road then drove Harry to the Wathaman River early in the afternoon.

The barrel stove had to be disconnected and moved out of the way for the upcoming stonework.

Harry mixed the mortar the old fashion way, with hoe, mortar box and muscle power, which as a personal trainer, Harry had in abundance.  Our northern climate mortar formulation was:  1 part lime, 4 parts Portland cement and 12 parts sand with as little water as possible to still be manageable.  A common fault with “bad” masons is to use too much water, its easy to work with but it makes for weaker mortar.

This is as far as we got this year.  It would have to be finished the following year.

Another sunset, but due to the shorter days of late August, the sun crossed the tree line well west of the “notch” that marks sunset about July 1.

Harry did pull-ups, both two arm and single arm type.

Steel wheels Don had taken north to be put on the end of his moving (rolling) pier acted as bar bells.  One of those wheels later became “lost” for a couple years but recently was found at the Indian camp where Don suspects it was used as a weight for their fish net.  Normally they use large stones for weights.

On August 30 we left Dancing Loon Island on a mirror smooth lake.  The shore was ablaze with bright yellow birch trees anticipating the coming of colder weather.  Some bushes along the shore were bright red and made their usual summer green seem quite dull.  We got to Brabant a few minutes after they had shut down the restaurant.  They agreed to serve us supper perhaps because we looked so famished, not having anything to eat since our early breakfast. 

     Don left the restaurant area to arrange for cabin #4.  A single trucker was in the restaurant and in typical northern fashion struck up a conversation with Harry.  “Where have you guys been fishing?” he inquired.  “Up on Spalding Lake” Harry replied.  “Oh, then that old fellow (pointing to Don in the other room) must be ‘Crazy-man-end-of-lake’?” he questioned.  Harry had heard me say that the Indians called me “Crazy –man-end-of-lake” but I don’t think he fully believed it.  This was total independent confirmation of it and Harry was stunned.  The truck driver then explained to Harry how Don was a well known local character with the Indians.  How they often visited his cabin, stayed there with him at times and he was known for giving a “moose blessing” to Indian hunters that they believed to work for them

       Don returned to the restaurant area and introduced himself the fellow talking with Harry.  He turned out to be Morris Gabrush’s brother.  Don didn’t tell Harry that most of what the truck driver had told him had probably come to him from his brother when he and Terry Helary had visited the island in the fall of 1999.  Nothing like hearing the rumor you have spread come back to you later??

Don and Harry had been invited by Gord Hardlotte to his older brothers wedding at Stanley Mission on September 1.  The timing was great so we had planned our departure from Dancing Loon Island with this event in mind.  We arrived in Stanley Mission more than a little embarrassed at our looks.  We had come from the island and had a hard portage out.  Don didn’t have much in the way of clean cloths but Gord assured us that the local custom for weddings was that first of all, everyone in the town was automatically invited, no invitations were sent.  Only guest from out of town received written invitations.  Additionally it was customary to attend the wedding wearing what ever clothing you had on when it was time for the wedding, in other words, dressing up is not required.  Roberts arrived at the landing, also looking for a boat ride.  A young man arrived at the beach and parked his boat.  Joe eyed the boat rather hard and then walked over to it and removed the rope that secured it to the shore.  He looked hard at the young man and softly shook the rope at the boy.  The boy said nothing and jumped in his boat and departed.  Joe had just found his recently stolen rope.

I, Harry and Joe sat in the very rear pew of the beautiful old church.  I was still a little uneasy with my bush clothing and didn’t want to be too conspicuous.  As the wedding progress, the Indian preacher “lost” his audience.  When ever he would start preaching, the congregation would get up, mill around and take pictures.  When the bride and groom had something to say or do, then the church would become hushed and all eyes were up front.  After about 30 minutes, the preacher seemed to be entering into another long sermon, at which time Joe, who had been seated next to me, got up and proceeded down the isle.  When he got down front, in a voice loud enough to be heard by everyone he said “Come on Bryan, kiss the bride so we can start the party”.  Bryan, who was a close hunting buddy of Joe, grabbed his bride and gave her a big kiss.  Thus ended the ceremony and we all left the church. 

     Gord was all smiles now and seemed very anxious for what was to follow.  It soon became apparent that there was going to be a very noisy exit from the church.  Most all the men had their high power rifles and a few shotguns with them!  When the bride and groom finally emerged form the church there was a blast of firing guns that sounded like the start of World War Three.

     Gord’s wife, Isabelle told of one wedding that she did not attend but was at the local Royal Mounted Police Station on some business, talking with the new Mountie in town.  Suddenly, from across the river, all the shooting started.  She said the Mountie reached for his pistol and wondered what all the shooting was.  He was relieved to find it was just a local wedding celebration.  I think the custom also provides a lot of incentive for the men to attend these weddings.

     Back on the town side of the Churchill River we waited for the local “feast” to start.  During this time, Isabelle and Gord escorted us on a tour of their new school and hockey facility.  The school had been open only one year and was as modern as any school in the States.  Gord’s mother had been a councilor for the Stanley Mission Band for 25 years and obviously very well thought of in the community, for they had named the school after her.  Gord then took us on a tour of their new hockey rink.  Again, as fancy as any in the States and better than most.  The whole community had donated for this facility, averaging over a thousand dollars per family.  They really love their hockey in Canada, even the Indians.

     At the feast, Harry and I were seated at the guest of honor table with other out-of-town relatives.  We were treated with so much courtesy.  We met Gord’s father.  After his wife had died he had remarried a younger woman.  It was interesting to find that he was a Chippewyan (now Dene) from up around Stony Rapids.  He had come south and married a Cree woman and made Stanley Mission his new home.   A hundred years ago the Cree and Chippewyan were bitter enemies and just as likely to shoot one another if by chance meeting in the wilds.

The main course was (what else??) moose      meat and was quite good.  The orchestra played and especially the women would dance solo jigs.  Although Isabelle is a very stout lady, no one could match her jig dancing, she was incredibly agile.  A couple elderly drunk Indians wandered about the hall, a stark reminder of the significant alcohol problem among the Indians.  No fuss was made over them and they eventually disappeared and probably served a good purpose for the younger folks to see how bad alcohol is for them  The community is by law, “dry”, but obviously there is not 100% compliance.

     We departed Stanley Mission feeling we had just experience something very special!!!  We stayed the night in Prince Albert and had an uneventful trip back to Boulder.  That is, if you do not count having a deer dart out of the ditch and crash into the side of the truck.  Stopping to survey the damage, we were surprised to find not a dent anywhere, but I was missing a hub cap that we never could find.  The deer disappeared as well.