Journey Mercies

I just assumed that all the Atlantic provinces were miniscule compared to their western siblings.  One of the geographical surprises I had on this journey was how big the province of Newfoundland and Labrador is.  To drive right across it from Cape Spear to the western border with Quebec is the same distance as from Raith, Ontario to Yoho National Park in BC.  2130 kilometers.  That second drive involves five provinces and three time zones. It starts in the Eastern Time Zone, then passes all the way through Central and ends at the west end of Mountain. Not far out of Raith I made a rather abrupt impulse stop where the highway crosses into the Central Time Zone - the last of many time changes of this journey.  As we stretched our legs, we noticed a plaque honoring a certain Sir Sandford Fleming - one of the brightest knives in the shed.  That might be a mixed metaphor but then, what Fleming gave to Canada (and the world) was also quite an eclectic mix. ...

Yesterday we took a long walk from our campground to pay homage to another Terry from Transcona, Winnipeg.  Maybe we should have driven, but that didn't feel right.  We have been driving west now, from St. John's Newfoundland, for what has felt like a very long time.  This is a very big country.  But we've been d riving .    I can't even imagine running it.  On only one good leg.  The Terry Fox monument that we were walking to was located as far west as he had made it from St. John's before his cancer flared up again and ended the Marathon of Hope. The day before he had to quit, Terry would have run past the small town of Pearl.  On the other side of the Trans-Canada from Pearl is a large amethyst deposit.  Before Patty and I arrived at our campground we took a little prospecting venture to the Blue Points Amethyst Mine.  I envisioned finding one of those huge geodes with lustrous purple crystals like you see for sale at a gem shop....

On arriving in Waskaganish on James Bay, a resident asked me if I had noticed the wildfire-burned areas on the way in.  The way she asked it made me wonder if the trauma of having fires so close to destroying her community was still fresh.  I had noticed.  It would have been hard to miss.  I noticed another thing.  What would have been charred black ugliness two years ago was now vibrantly pink with fireweed.  I was amazed at how quickly destruction had changed to beauty.  It seemed an obvious parable of redemption. As we drove west from there, Patty typed 'boat launch' into Google for a possible boondocking site near Matheson, Ontario.  That led us to a pretty park by the water.  It came complete with clean, open washrooms and picnic tables.  Best thing of all? No 'Thou shalt not camp!' signs.  There were a couple of other interesting signs though.  There was a 'No Parking - Fire Route' sign at one end.  That confused me ...

Our visit to Canada's largest territory on Sunday was almost as brief as my visit to Sanirajak a few years ago.  I was on my way to Igloolik for work and had to make an airport stop in the community which used to be known as Hall Beach.  Sounds kind of tropical right?  It's not.  It's a cold, exposed strip of gravel without a single Tiki bar.   Sanirajak has two claims to fame.  The first is it's local cuisine. I noticed the proud sign on the airport wall describing the preparation of igunak .  Aged walrus meat is buried in the gravel beach in July.  By Christmas time it has attained its full pungency and flavour, at which time it is exhumed and consumed.  The Sanirajak equivalent of a turkey.  While wandering around the airport (it didn't take long), I enjoyed seeing the mothers wearing their amoutuit .  With big hoods like kangaroo pouches ready to hold a sleepy baby.  I love these celebrations of Inuit culture. Saniraja...

I had some preconceived ideas of what a group of Cree believers might look like in a small town on the Arctic Ocean at the end of a long dusty road.  A little huddle of the faithful trying to keep their flickering light from being snuffed out by the winds of darkness.  We arrived last Saturday afternoon and I asked the first locaI I ran into if he knew anything about the churches there in Waskaganish.  "Just go down the hill and you'll see the big tent they've set up for a week-long Jamboree." We arrived at the tent at 7:30 sharp like we were told, but I forgot that we had changed time zones to Cree Standard Time.  No problem.  I saw a guy with a Winnipeg Jets jacket come in so I had time to find out the name of a fellow fan.  Kelly.  But he wasn't just another fan.  He had actually played for the Jets.  I looked a little closer at the logo.  Ahh. Waskaganish Jets.  No matter.  I had a new friend. I once attended a church servi...

Alfred, a local Cree man, said he had been hitchhiking about half an hour when we picked him up.  It's a good think we did because the flies here have an exclusively carnivorous diet.  We were able to bless Alfred with a ride, some snacks, and some bug spray.  We got some valuable information in return.  I had seen a possible campsite about 10 kilometers off the highway and wondered whether the road was passible and if we'd be allowed to camp there.  He gave me an affirmative on both counts.  The road WAS drivable (just) and the campsite was beautiful.  We got to see both sunset and sunrise over the still waters of Lac Waswasipi. Forty years ago, I was the one who was hitchhiking in Quebec and heading westward.  A guy stopped for me on the outskirts of Montreal because he was hoping I'd be able to direct him out of the city.  That seemed a little funny because we were basically out of town already.  But for a bit of information of dubiou...