Searching For Dragons

Getting Away and Getting Back

2010-03-12T15:06:00.004-05:00

Hello from Guadalajara!
This was written two days ago. More to come!
f

Inspration comes at the least likely of times. It´s 2am. The sun will be streching it´s first rays above the horizon in 4 hours when I´m to wake up and head to the airport to catch a flight to Mexico City.
I´ve been feeling nervous, in much the same way that I always feel before traveling, but witht he added element of having a serious endeavoru before me. However, I now feel better after havng had a brief chat with some guys who have been staying at my downstairs-neighbours´ place. Wait, I don´t just feel better. I feel INSPIRED! You see, as chance would have it, these guys have come from the west coast to Toronto to continue a documentary project that they started almost a year ago on a whim. At that time maybe they never imagined they would still be making it, let alone the turn tehy story has taken. It is even possible that they´ve traveled all this way only hit a dead end and to see their work mothballed. But that possibility doesn´t hinder them; they are fearless and driven by the warmth you get when what you´re doing resonates within you.
I suppose this happens often enough, though it might not lead you to make a film. It might do something as simple as prompt you to tell your friend about how it made you feel. Nevertheless, I think we all recognize when something makes us feel a connection to something larger than ourselves, if only for a minute. Searching for Dragons, or whatever this project is called now, has made me feel alive and connected to film, art and the world to the extent that I moved to Toronto to start to build my livelihood around that feeling. Now, back in the fold of that environment, I feel like I´m entering a temple: awed and energized.
I intend to drink deeply from the cup of knowledge and hopefully to communicate to you readers to what I learn.
We are together in a sacred quest to find the vitality in existence, today and everyday.

What's in a Word?

2007-01-04T00:59:00.000-05:00

In Responce to Dan's Blog of Tuesday, Jan. 2nd :

I think what Dan said has merit: that ultimately, we should be moving beyond our current world where words can control perception. However, there is no doubt that at this point of space and time, words have so much power, it would be foolish to disregard their potential to help create positive change.

Think about the influence that religion has held over people. How are religions passed on? Through the words of the prophets. One quote from the Bible stands out in my mind: "In the beginning there was the Word..." John 1:1. Before a god, there were words that told us about god.

Think about the governments of the West...no, better think of all bureaucratic models, and then think how rhetoric defines what is "important".

Furthermore how do the traditions of our cultures, the stories of our parents, and the knowledge of first peoples transcend the generations? Through the spoken and written word almost completely.

Humans are unique in their ability to communicate ideas ranging from the mundane to the highly complex. And how do they do this? Words.

I don't think that the example given in the YouTube short is ideal, I simply think that the idea behind it is true: that words can have a big impact. It isn't about using words to create divisions (though they certainly are capable of doing that and have done it in the past), it's about using words to construct and breath life into a better reality.

Therefore, I say to all those who wish to create change in this century, do what has worked for humans thousands of years before you: first create the language that communicates change simply and effectively, and then watch change happen.

Bless the Bicycle

2006-11-09T23:14:00.000-05:00

Ahhh Toronto’s traffic! Don’t it just make you wanna hop in your car, fight the city’s rush hours, morning and night, to get to your workplace and then back home to Oakville, Mississauga, Markham, or Oshawa? Don’t it make you wanna spend 2 or 3 hours of your waking day driving in stop and go traffic with selfish, or worse, simply BAD drivers who are likely to cause accidents, to go a distance that if there wasn’t any traffic would take you maybe HALF that time to drive? Don’t it make you wanna shell out $15 a day for gas (when gas prices are real, i.e. high)? Don’t it make you wanna roll down your window when you’re bumper to bumper and take a big, deep-down-to-your-toes breath of the exhaust being pumped out by all the idle cars?

No?

I mean, cars are important and all, but I can’t count how many times I’ve looked at a road/highway scene like the one in the photo above, and been thankful beyond words that I don’t have to be a participant in them—at least not yet. Thanks to my bicycle, commuting can be one of the more enjoyable parts of my day, tempered by the sobering excitement of things like getting wheels caught in street car tracks, having breaks fail because of wet roads, or getting cut off by cars!

From the corps of the city to its periphery a lot of people are making the same choice. During the rush hours, bike lanes are busy with all manner of bikers and their bikes. Some people are the types who like to boot it; decked out in all their fancy bike gear they look to make it to work in the best time possible. Others, simply tuck their pant leg into their socks, strap a helmet on, and take their time to negotiate the city streets and side paths that bring them to their destination.

It’s strange to think that more people in the city are just recently coming around to what modern bike couriers have known for more than15 years: if traffic is busy, you will get to wherever you need to go in the city much faster by bike then you will by car. No need to bother with finding and then paying for parking! No need to worry about one way streets or gridlock! Narrow alleys and parks are your friends, not hindrances!

Theft is another issue. I mentioned previously that Toronto has some of the highest rates (if not THE highest) of bike theft in Canada. However, the council of Chris (the guy who built and sold me my bike) was that all you need is a good lock. Realistically, he told me, there isn’t a lock you can buy that can’t be broken or compromised. However, all you need is a lock that will take a few extra seconds to break in order to deter a thief sufficiently to keep your ride safe. I mean crackheads are desperate, but they’re not stupid! (Um…I suppose that statement is up for debate.)

Of course warm weather and bicycles go together like foot and pedal. Biking to work in the glorious warm gleam of a new morning is much different than gritting your teeth and squinting your eyes into the frosty ire of winter, which is now closing in upon the city. What will be interesting to see is how winter (if you can call Toronto’s weather during the months between November and February winter!) will affect people’s ability to and interest in biking.

Escaping The City To Connect With The Country

2006-10-24T16:06:00.000-04:00

From the corps of Toronto it takes some time to get out into the country. For me, a pedestrian/cyclist, I find that as soon as I get in a car and have to deal with the streetlights, construction crews, traffic congestion, and idiotic self-centered dangerous oblivious drivers that are simply part and parcel of city driving, I become impatient to get out of the car.

The same must be true for anyone commuting to and from work. I mean, you can make the best of a traffic jam, but who in their right mind would enjoy it? At least, who would rather spend their time sitting idle in traffic then doing something (anything) outside the confines of their commuting can?

The way in which one confronts a weekend getaway from the city creates a similar amount of stress and displeasure as the daily commute. Measures are taken to minimize the time one has to spend on the road, like plotting to leave work early; strategicly evaluating which route out of the city should be taken after consulting the latest traffic and weather reports, the advice of friends and coworkers, and the stars; and praying to whatever gods or spirits they choose. But, in Toronto this is an empty ritual, as there is almost a 100% guarantee you will hit traffic regardless. For this reason, a weekend getaway would be better termed an “escape”.

Last weekend my cousin Eric, his friend Abby, and myself borrowed our roommate’s van for day-trip to an apple orchard to pick apples. It was a mini-escape type of venture that took us through the congestion of Saturday afternoon downtown traffic and the sprawl of suburbia before coming into the rolling hills, open farm pastures and fields of the communities to the north-east of the city.

The place we went, Algoma Orchards, was pretty busy, eventhough it was late in the season. The sky was a mix of clear blue, fluffy white clouds, and dark fat-bellied thunderheads, and the nip of winter cold was distinct in the air. Relatively few apples remained on the trees and the sweet, musty smell of rotting apples that had fallen to the ground swirled in the wind that blew through the orchard. The apples which remained on the trees were mostly on the topmost branches, safe from the reach of the children and adults who infest the trees like some kind of biblical plague every weekend.

We sauntered the aisles falling upon any good cluster of fruit that we could see, because at first apples seemed to be scarce. Then, as we made our way into the rows further away from the parking lot, we found trees still full of apples! At this time we were overcome, and in an act of pure opulence and waste, began to take single bites from different kinds of apples to see if we liked them enough to pick more. Upon realizing our frivolousness, we realized that many of the apples already on the ground were victims of the same mentality. We rationalized (a useful method for guilty sinners) that the apples we threw away would become the winter fodder for deer, birds, and other animals, though I don’t think we really knew.

As we walked back to the parking lot, I thought about the simple act of picking apples and how it’s one way that denizens of the city are able to reconnect, if briefly, to the source of their food. It isn’t that the concept of “pick your own” farms is new. However, their continuing popularity says something to me: people are interested in being part of the process that brings food into their homes. A quick search on the Internet reveals a bunch of such places where you can pick everything from pumpkins to peaches. One site offered contact info for farms around the world, www.pickyourown.org. Hell! Some farmers actually CHARGE people for the privilege of coming to do their work! Granted, for many people, perhaps this is simply a novel way to spend an afternoon like going to see a movie; they don’t necessarily learn anything about how orchards work by coming to pick. Nevertheless, it wouldn’t be a big leap for them to ask about it, if they were interested. And, any time you bring children to a new environment different from what used to the city, there is likely to be lots of curiosity about how things work.

I suppose I just find it encouraging to know that people in a monster city like Toronto, are not without means to experience farm life first hand and recognize its importance.

Fear and Loathing OF Toronto

2006-10-14T11:41:00.000-04:00

Toronto. It’s a name that brings a palatable aversion, if not outright loathing into the minds of many Canadians. And, up until recently I would have counted myself among the ranks of these people. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because nearly all Canadian comedians or satirists have, at one time or another, picked on Toronto, so it is fun to have disdane for the city. For example, in 1999 the city got hit with a snow storm. The 25 cm of snow would have been considered normal for almost anywhere else in Canada, but here? The mayor called in the army—the friggin' ARMY!—'cause the city couldn’t get it together. This city will never live that down! Maybe it’s some kind of subconscious fear and bitterness that stems from the fact that so much of the country’s money lives here because it’s basically the business centre of Canada. Or, perhaps, it’s simply because, being raised a Montreal Canadiens hockey club fan, I just despised the city associated with our hated rivals. I wonder if all of any of you anti-Toronto types out there have ever examined the roots of your disdane. In any case, whatever the reason for these feelings, since moving here I’ve gained a new perspective and I want to share with you my new and more balanced opinion of the city – but not the hockey team!

First, what is Toronto? Toronto isn’t just one city. In 1996 Toronto and several of the surrounding municipalities (including Scarborogh, Etobicoke, North York, and East York) amalgamated to form the MEGA CITY of Toronto as a way of reducing overlapping services and cut costs. Which, though it caused a bit of a furor at the time, was probably a good idea. Mega Toronto is part of the GTA (Greater Toronto Area) which is made up of 25 municipalities. According to Wikipedia, the GTA is the 7th largest metropolitan area in North America; it covers 7,100 square kilometers and has a population of over 5.7 million people.

In short? Toronto is big.

Here lies Toronto’s major problem. The GTA is one of the more striking examples of what happens when urban sprawl goes wrong. In the post World War II years, as Toronto proper continued to grow in importance, obviously the number of workers needed grew too. And so began the build up of the adjacent municipalities which would become the bedroom communities housing these workers, now commuters. This sprawl created the nightmare of suburbia across North America which would go on to provide a seemingly endless source of teenage angst and frustration, a major theme in popular music from the 1970s right up to now. Sure, there were lots of nice houses on nice streets with nice strip malls close by, but there was/is very little in the way of real "community."

Why? As asserted by people like Jane Jacobs and the makers of End of Suburbia, people didn’t want to build the existing urban corps more densely so they just moved out of it; they all wanted to have the illusion of life in the country without coming to terms with the reality that they lived a city life. This still holds true today.

This attitude helped delay the renewal of many urban communities and spaces because such issues weren’t in the interests of tax payers earning income from the city and taking it out to suburbia. Evidence of this dysfunction is still evident in crusades for more low income housing and preservation of important green spaces.

Other casualties of Toronto’s sprawl are the small towns and amazingly fertile farm lands which surrounded the city. They are perpetually in the shadow of the mega city.

So, sprawl and all the things that are associated with it (destruction of farm land and green space, traffic congestion, air pollution, and material waste) is the bad thing about Toronto. There is much that needs to be addressed in the city, however I think that it’s ironic while sprawl has ruined much of the periphery, it has left intact many of the neighbourhoods that make up the corps of the city itself (the parts that aren’t yet built up, but maybe should be, and maybe soon will be). Many of these neighbourhoods seem to have a very distinct culture and sense of community. I mean, there are the typical problems of theft (my neighbourhood apparently has the highest rate of bike theft in Canada), drugs, poverty, and homelessness. And Toronto’s troubles with its trash have been widely talked about. Yet the people here seem to be attentive. People I pass on the street meet my eyes and smile of their own volition, and it's not because I’m falling over my feet. There is a rich cultural mix to the demographics of the city. Many of the old regal houses have been converted to apartments and are well maintained. The residential streets have big trees- very big, old, shady trees. There are parks. There are services close by. There is decent public transit: buses, subway trains, trains, and STREET CARS (I will reserve my complaints about the cost of transit for another time). They have wet bins to sort out organic waste material. They only collect garbage once every two weeks; yet, they collect organic waste every week. In my neighborhood (Little Italy) and the Annex people have window boxes and flower gardens, and in their back yards they have vegetable gardens growing. There are bike lanes and many people commute on them on bikes of all varieties, from the old, creaking, rusted out bike to the swankiest duded up race bike. OH! And there are girls, lots of girls, on bikes looking very dignified like empresses on Arabian horses. There is every kind of food that you could possibly want to eat at little restaurants close to you. There are little corner stores close by too, as well as shops like bakers, butchers, laundromats, dry cleaners, and tailors. And, there is easy access to a multitude of museums, cinemas, galleries, theatres, and venues for live music.

In the end, I guess it depends on what you are looking for in a place to live. And I suppose that's how my perspective on Toronto has changed: I now understand and accept that most every city, town, or place to live has its pros and cons. For my part, I’ve always been a small town boy. And coming from the life I was living while working with Dan on the road and being in more remote areas, I guess I was expecting to find the transition to life in Toronto more difficult. Rather, it’s been surprising how much I like living in Toronto. I mean, I'm certainly still in the honeymoon phase of my relationship with the city: all starry-eyed and overwhelmed by my new environment. But, I expected to be pining for the road and for the experiences that the road will be continuing to unfold to Dan. Well, I am, but not as intensely as I thought I would. Yet, I'm interested by my new surroundings and whether there is real substance to life in Toronto after all, or if it is just a beautiful window dressing for a lie. I’m interested to think about how, what is basically a city state, is going to evolve and whether it is going to provide an example not just for other Canadian cities, but Canadian communities and thereby world communities who aspire to move out of twentieth century urbanism. Or rather, if it is going to remain a place associated with waste, egocentrism, and money grubbing.

Stay tuned. I’m back online.

I know I know...

2006-09-20T15:57:00.000-04:00

Hey, I'm still here, though I'm sure I'm nearly forgotten.
I've got a blog all ready to go, but my computer has been giving me a hard time (left over problems from the beginning of the trip).
So, hold tight people.

Real World Blues

2006-08-03T12:58:00.000-04:00

Welcome back to the REAL world.
You can’t live like that, c’mon get REAL!
You’re going to have to get a REAL job now.

REALLY?

What is this real world that everybody evokes when they talk to someone who is doing something different from them? Caught between life as drifter-for-hire/ bum and a 9-5 grinder, I really wish I clearly understood because maybe then I’d be able to make a concrete decision about a new direction.

I’ve heard these sayings in the context of both friendly pep talks and serious, stare-you-right-in-the-eyes, guidance-councilor-to-the-messed-up-youth chats. The tone varies between I’m-on-the-right-path-and-you’re-not condescension, you’ll-learn-someday bemusement, or simple you’re-screwed-you-poor-bastard sympathy. Though, not everyone is like this - some actually listen and advise with sincerity.

There is no doubt that since returning I’m in a culture shock-induced limbo that I didn’t expect: a simultaneous acknowledgement of the way things are in the “real world” (not to say that I ever left it) and a refusal/inability to choose how to proceed in that model. Do I pursue interests or do I focus on making money? Do I lay a foundation of understanding in something that I have barely any interest in, just to secure future opportunities, or do I make a stab at doing something meaningful to me?

The three-plus months that I spent on the road with Dan provided me with the luxury of a constantly varying array of stimulae that I had no hand in choosing; they were just a set of circumstances to be dealt with. We need gear? Let’s round up some sponsors. We need to find an Internet connection? Let’s ask that person. The difference between that life and my life now, is that there was a purpose to that method, and now my life seems to have no clear purpose.

Let me give you a metaphor for how I feel: it’s like drowning in a sea of life preservers of all sorts (survival suits, life-saver rings, those old puffy orange vests that my dad used to have on his boat filled with some kind of foam that probably causes cancer, life jackets, etc). All around me are these things that can save me; they represent my interests, aptitudes, and skills. The fatal problem is I don’t know which one to choose.

Dumbfounded, the people on the coastguard boat (my family and friends) tear at their hair and say just pick one! ANY one!

But will just any one do? Glug! Splutter! Glug! Too late.

At the funeral, people quietly file by. They look at my absurd mannequin-like make-up job provided by the discount mortician. Someone asks, “How did he die?” “Drowned in his opportunities is what I heard,” answers someone else. Heads shake all around. What a shame.

What an idiot!

Just pick one.

So what does this have to do with SFD or what it’s like being back to point “A” of the SFD project?(Am I back to point “A”? If you return to where you started, is it the same place you left from? Are you the same as you were when you left it?) Well, the strange thing is that although the time that I spent on the SFD project was such a monumental experience and wasn't so long ago, it now seems so far from me; it’s further in time and space, than I am physically from Dan and the van.

I'm worried that I'm withdrawling into my own egotistical concerns, closing the doors of understanding that I opened on the journey, and leaving the path of catharsis and revelation behind because it's too hard. Perhaps this is an old habit, not just fo me but most humans. In our time, it takes conviction and discipline to not focus on the self.

Still, I’m trying hard to not lose the lessons I learned while working with/for Dan. I’m trying to remember what I learned about filmmaking, photography, art, instinct, and nature. I’m trying to absorb the examples of all the people I encountered in big cities and small towns, living their lives and making a positive contribution to the world. I’m trying to retain the awe I had for those people, because what they were doing seemed to come to them so naturally. I’m trying to remember all the isolated and unrelated insightful things different people said that revealed yet another part of the big picture to me. Finally, I’m trying to roll all those things up into a soft lullaby cooed to comfort an infant or into the mantra of a wise monk. But, like I said, all that’s a hard to do.

Nevertheless, if I can hold up one lesson to remember from SFD, if I can assert one clichéd goal for us all to achieve, it is this: our (humanity’s) place in nature has as much to do with being balanced and at peace within ourselves, as within our environment.

Success could be a lifelong process, but I know Dan is out there working towards it and I’m back to wherever I am and doing my best.

Blow Me Down!

2006-07-22T09:40:00.000-04:00

Searching for Dragons is a project about finding solitude and a vision or glimpse of what the present means and what the future holds fo North Americans (as a microcosm of humanity).

The transition from the laid-back Canadian North to the fast-paced megalopolis of Toronto provided the most pronounced smack of culture shock that I have ever experienced.

What were the things that blew my hair back at first?

1) Numbers: The sheer volume and diversity of people in the airports of Vancouver and Toronto. Before my eyes, the herds of our kind roaming the concourses, escalators, conveyor belts, and watering holes of the human landscape. It was a both a fantastic and a frightening spectical.

2) Smells: All the crazy artificial and man-made smells - that were not necessarily bad, but not good either - assulted my olfactory senses through my nostrils. All the colognes and perfumes, the carpets and paints, and the variety of foods provided a stark contrast to the scents that you find in a small city like Whitehorse. That's not to mention scents like the summer sun warming the foliage of a mountain side in Kluane National Park or the damp mustiness of spring the moss and muskeg on the tundra floor.

3) Air Quality: Flying into Toronto in the late evening, there was the usual haze that hangs over almost any city in the dog-days of summer. What suprised me was that as the plane entered Toronto's air space, my sinuses almost immediately clogged up and I got a clump of phlegm in my throat (which I still have as I write this outside Montreal). As you may know, the body produces mucus to trap various kinds of airborn toxins before they enter the corps of the body. Long story short: the air in Toronto is not so good.

4) Motor Vehicles: Did you know that Tornoto has a shit load of cars and trucks in it?! Crazy. Enough said.

5) Gas: Gas in the south is pretty cheap compared to up north - as much as 20 or 30 cents cheaper. And, though I might have come at a particularly volitile time, the first gas station that I pulled into at 11pm, had a pretty big line up of cars - scrambling for a low cost fill-up. Never saw a gas price war or line up at the pumps in the north.

6) Things to do about town: Open up a paper in Toronto and there is a LOT going on. It really was amazing to just look at all the plays, bands, art shows, restaurants available to residents of the city.

7) The Eyes: I don't know if it's fear or shiness, but people don't meet your eyes in the big city, or at least, very few. If you catch someones eye, they almost immediately look away, or give a bit of a menacing look to make you shift your gaze. Can't look someone in they eye? Why? Somethin' to hide?

8) Stuff: there is so much STUFF in the city. Store shelves chalked full of whatever you could ever want or need - and a lot of things that you would think people couldn't ever possibly want or need, but they still do.

As I write this list, it strikes me how UNimpressive the items are; but, each was something that at some point gave me pause or made me gawk. Though, I've saved the most shocking thing for last: it only took me about two days to adjust to the differences. I hope that's a good thing.

Where is Forbes?

2006-07-16T20:03:00.000-04:00

Dear Readers:
My time on the road is done, but my thinking on the multitude of issues and ideas that swirl within the "Searching for Dragons" project is not - not by a long shot.
I've been back in the DEEP south of Canada (Toronto-Ottawa-Montreal triangle)for just over a week now and have totally absorbed in the planning for a family celebration (my parents' 40th wedding anniversary), so I ask your indulgence. I will have a new entry posted soon.
f

Feeling Leaving

2006-06-29T21:19:00.000-04:00

Once again, we find ourselves cast out of a comfortable existence as residents of a community and solidly back in the roll of wayfarers on the dusty paved ribbon that connects there to here.

Leaving Inuvik was pretty strange. Saying goodbye was surreal, I guess because it seemed that we had settled into a niche in the town. We had a place and a purpose. As we did the rounds to thank and say "so long" to the people who were so generous with their hearts and homes, many people didn't believe that we were going as our stay had extended far beyond what had been planned. Another common reaction from them was the saying "Ah! You guys'll be back!" And, that is certainly a good possibility. Then again, what isn't a good possibility on an open road with no fixed points on the map between the start and the beginning?

The constant change of road life, and moving from place to place, meeting new friends, learning about new issues, and falling in love with new landscapes is going to be for the our hearts and spirits what weight lifting is to the muscles: a process of strengthening!

It isn't easy, but it's the nature of our project.

I think Dan actualized this for the first time since we began this journey over three months ago yesterday as we bombed out of Dawson last night, chasing the darkness south to Whitehorse for a CBC interview. He actualized what it'll mean to leave behind people and things that we fall in love with.

I feel it's an important milestone.

f

Thriving on Change

2006-06-21T21:45:00.000-04:00

I was listening to Sheligh Rogers interview Canadian singer-songwriter Sam Roberts on CBC several days ago. Roberts was talking about his new album Chemical City which comments on the environment of cities where pollution is present in the air, water, sounds, and the sights. And I suppose that the problems of having a livelihood tied to such “chemical cities” necessitated that Roberts and his band escape to an out-of-the-way town in Australia to decompress and allow the creative process of recording an album to flow.

When I heard this, I couldn’t help but think how ironic it is that humans, creatures of nature, have created so many places that are so unnatural and devoid of nature. Large parts of modern cities and their periphery are composed of needless, soulless filler that is just plain ugly. The paradox is that even the worst of these places foster a high degree of positive things like artistic, cultural, and intellectual diversity (the things that expand the mind and liberate the soul).

People like Sam Roberts, Dan, and myself come from backgrounds that have given us access to the afore mentioned things that have given us perspectives that result in questioning the world around us. However, in some ways we are just conforming to a fashion.

Through the idea of the Searching for Dragons project and the massive undertaking it entails, Dan is really just another voice in the choir. Modern urbanites of the West seem to be constantly coming to grips with our place in nature and where technology and media are steering us. Such questions have transcended centuries.

Roberts song “The Gate” says that the city has no heart but lots of light. This echoes the band America’s statement in “Horse With No Name” that “under the city lies a heart made of ground but the humans will give no love.” Why, in the forty odd years of human “progress” between the release of these two songs, has nothing changed? So many artists talking about the same thing: how there is something lacking – intangible but distinct – in the modern urban environment. Are they simply broken records, or rather records playing for deaf ears?

Questioning the status quo of anything (society, economy, or environment) shouldn’t be a privilege of people who live near, have access to, or are educated in the city; nor should it be something reserved for a certain economic or cultural elite. Yet this seems to be how our world works most of the time. Moreover, there’s a minute set of people whose questions are even given a passing consideration on such issues. Why is that?

I believe that part of the answer lies in humanity’s quest for stability: the more questions about our world that are given heed or considered, the more instable our world becomes. Hence, almost everyone is reluctant to accept the implications of even the possibility of inconvenient ideas like peak oil, global warming, or the foundations of the North American economy being based on unsustainable consumption. For many of us modern-day humans, our ideal of comfort incorporates a mindset that sees most change, adversity, and difference as bad if it means a large shift from what is “normal”. But consider this: when have change, adversity, and difference not been a part of life on Earth? Never.

Why can’t we move beyond the desire for life to be a set of static conditions, to the quest for the capability to thrive in an ever changing world? Imagine if, when the first person to perceive the possible negative repercussions of an industrial practice didn’t have to fight against fear and scorn to have their idea heard. Rather, imagine that their idea was met with a general open curiosity and eagerness to explore such implications and meet the challenges they present. Imagine!

To do this, though, would require a complete change in our understanding of the world. Uncertainty, instability, and chaos though endemic and common, are not only scary but also present us with hurdles to our hedonistic enjoyment of the moment; yet hurdles like the security of our great-great-grand children’s future are things that we should be forced to consider.

We need to change the way we think and, more importantly, the way we teach our children to think about the nature of a world in constant flux and confront its challenges. When we can do this, then we will start to see the end of the chemical cities Roberts laments.

An Ode to Medium Format: Aesthetics Ruined and Reborn

2006-06-21T21:16:00.000-04:00

During our time at the cabin on Mashuyak Dan introduced me to our Mimiya medium format camera, “Elke” (named after Dan’s mom, whose camera it was at one time). I’d say that this was the next (fourth) milestone on my journey of photographic aesthetics. The past two years I’ve been so caught up in the digital medium, that I had forgotten the beauty of film. Now, granted, we haven’t developed any of the rolls yet, and for all I know they could all be crap; but, I’ve got a feeling they won’t be.

This camera is a little older - from the 70s. I've seen the new Mimiyas, and they're awesome, but there is something totally charming about the boxy design of vintage we have, like the Volvos of the same era. There is something undeniably pleasing about looking down the large viewfinder and using the pop-up magnifying glass to examine every detail of what’s in the frame and to ensure it’s in focus. There is something absolutely satisfying about the precision of the movement of the focus, shutter speed and aperture dials, not to mention the subtle but concise “click” of the shutter. (Below: Dan films with the Bolex that is yet to be named, while Elke waits.)

Medium format demands your attention and time in order for you to choose a subject and to compose your shot. You must have an accurate reading from your light metre and adjust the speed and aperture accordingly. Because there are only twelve shots in a roll of film and developing is very expensive there is no reward for distraction or haste.

What makes medium format so great, you ask? Simple: its size (6cm square) is much larger than 35mm. When you are dealing with large subjects, like the stunning cliffs, rocks, ice, snow, and water that comprise the landscapes we saw around Mashuyak, this will translate into vividness of colour and sharpness of the image when it is printed. And, when you print it, you could blow it up to be a HUGE wall sized poster and not loose one iota of clarity. And thinking about single shots of these vast expanses and massive ancient rocks printed and placed alone on a wall made me increasingly giddy with each photograph I composed and shot.

After this, going back to shooting with my little Canon digital camera and seeing what I wanted to be wicked images become pixilated on Photoshop before my eyes makes me feel sick. I don't deny that the digital medium has its place; but compared to medium format, it seems like a bit of a joke. (Dan, Elke and I: good friends after Mashuyak)

Drum Dancing: A Tradition Continues

2006-06-10T22:36:00.000-04:00

After the return journey from Mashuyak, Dan and I stopped in at the Arctic Char Inn in Ulukhaktok for a cup of coffee and a bite to eat. Some of the people in the restaurant were telling us that we had missed a big celebration for Jimmy and Laura Memogana’s 60^th wedding anniversary that past weekend.

We were a little disappointed, because there had been a drum dance, and this coupled with the scheduling of several big BINGO games during the week meant that there wouldn’t likely be another drum dance while we were in town. However, we met a woman who said she was sure another drum dance could be arranged so that we could see it.

“Mashuyak!” we exclaimed - our new expression meaning “awesome!” in recognition of the awesome string of days we spent in the cabin on the land.

On Wednesday after dinner, in the golden warmth of a windless Arctic spring evening, Dan and I made our way to the address we were told the drum dance would be at. Coincidently, it was also the house of Jimmy and Laura Memogana.

We were among the first to arrive. We took off our boots and walked into the living room where Jimmy, who was nursing a cold, was lounging on a sofa and Laura was on a loveseat next to him. Their daughter, Wilma, and some of their grandkids were also there. Soon, more people, mostly kids, drifted into the house and sat or stood around waiting.

Wilma Memogana, brought out a big wooden case, which when opened revealed four large drums (parachute cloth or animal skin stretched over a wooden frame) and a box of drum sticks.

Jimmy and his teenage grandsons, Chad and Justin, each picked up a drum and spritzed a little water on the drum skin to moisten it. Then, exchanging only a word or two, they began to drum and sing and the dance began. (Below: Jimmy and Laura's livingroom is full and alive.)

Drums of the Central Arctic are different from those to the east and west. They are a bit wider and you do not strike the skin directly, but rather the underside of the frame. I assume that the songs and dances are all similar in content; they are about things of importance to the daily life of the Inu like chores, hunting, seasons, and animals. Traditional drum dancing is something that brings those who know how to do it all over the world to various events and gatherings from embassy openings to conferences of indigenous peoples. (Below: Jimmy, Chad, and Justin Memogana beat out a song.)

I think I was expecting a more “traditional” drum dance with costumes and, I don’t know, more ceremony; but what we were presented with was even better in many ways. When it comes to aboriginal traditions, many of us so-called “educated” people from outside of the community are still extremely ignorant, because we still have those historical photos of aboriginal ancestors from our history textbooks etched in our mind as not just the way things were, but the way they still are. The truth is that these communities are about as far from those photos as we are from photos from when our grandparents were kids. The massive machine of American pop-culture leaves no community with access to television or the Internet untouched. Even the kids of a remote hamlet like Ulukhaktok are looking to NBA players and pop stars for their fashion and ambitions. The disconnect between tradition in some places is greater than others, but in the places we’ve been to, the movement to reconnect the youth with the old ways is growing strong. (Below: Some drum, some dance, some sing, some watch, and some just suck their thumbs. There were four generations in that living room.)

This is not to say that people are trying to return to a fully traditional life. As many aboriginal leaders and elders have observed during the Mackenzie Gas Pipeline hearings, there is little chance that their people will ever return to the land and live as their ancestors; that time is gone. However, the need for the younger generation to be connected to and knowledgeable of their roots and traditions is essential. Sadly, this has only become clear after the damage of such well intentioned initiatives like residential schools and the settling of people on reservations has already been done. Canadian aboriginal people are playing catch-up in the game to retain their cultural heritage. (Below: Chad Memogana, in his late teens, was not only the strongest drummer and singer, but also an emotive and powerful dancer. Also, the only male to dance.)

The dance at Jimmy and Laura’s may have been informal, but what makes it special is that we weren’t just seeing a dance put on for tourists or dignitaries; we were witnessing the passing on of tradition. Jimmy, was saving his voice because of his cold, but would pipe in if ever his grandsons forgot the words to a song. Most of the women knew the dances, but sometimes they had to watch others before they remembered the moves. Some of the younger children were not experienced at all. They would watch and try to mimic the moves of their friends. Traditions like drum dancing and singing cannot be learned about or passed on through books, only through practice. It was a privilege to be present for it. (Below: On the couch with Jimmy, Chad and Justin is artist Roberta Memogana. Justin is smiling because he let one rip in the middle of the song!)

Holman Art

2006-06-10T22:11:00.000-04:00

Ulukhaktok, known until recently as Holman, is world famous for it's art. The artist's co-op there was once an integral part of the relationship between local artistans (carvers, painters, and printmakers) and buyers from down south and around the world. However, several years ago the co-op had to close because of financial problems, compounded by an executive director who ran off with over half a million dollars worth of art. Today the co-op seems to be not much more than a glorified gift shop that sells some very beautiful prints and carvings alongside of the sort of hoaky things you would expect to find in any tourist trap. It caters to the few visitors who fly into Ulukhaktok and the rare cruise ship that makes the town of 450 people an exotic port of call.

That said, the artistic community in town appears to be going just as strong as ever. These days, most of these artists connect directly to buyers over the Internet or through galleries and agents in the cities.

We popped into the co-op just to have a look at what was there, and also because we had heard from Joe, the current executive director, that he had uncovered some of the engraved stone tablets that were used in some of prints made when the co-op was first starting out.

The place was empty aside from one person, who told us that she was the only employee. Have to say it was a little depressing to walk around the facilities which seemed like they would provide a great workshop for artists and yet they are now hardly ever used.

The bright spot was seeing the engraved tablets. Below are some photos of them, though I appologize for their quality.

This one was my favorite, it shows a scene typical to life in an igloo. There is one person ducking to come in the door; there are clothes drying; people are sitting around, playing games, and cutting meat; and you can see an ulu and an oil lamp.
I guess I should mention that most of these are made of soapstone. The process of using stone to make the prints is still used a bit, however they are no longer made on seal skin as they were originally. Much of the work is now done using silk screen and stencils made of Mylar.

This woman doesn't look to happy, perhaps she is combing her hair after not washing it for a week? I empathize, my hair is the longest it has ever been, and when it is dirty it is just a tangled mess. Regardless, she doesn't appear to be enjoying the process.
If you are interested in learning more about Holman art, I suggest checking out the Winnipeg Art Gallery's contribution to the Virtual Museum of Canada which is all about Holman art.

Shots around Ulukhaktok

2006-06-08T23:23:00.000-04:00

Upon arriving in Ulukhaktok, Dan and I were given a ride from the airport to town by the local Royal Canadian Mounted Police detachment. I was excited because it was my first time in the back of a cruiser, but as you can see it isn’t an ideal spot to take photos from.

West of the bay where the town is lie the so-called “three hills”: old and worn out piles of rock from which you can get the best view of town and out to the open ocean.

This is the old Anglican Church that lies in the centre of town. It's pretty derelict now, but sometimes nothing looks nicer then an old weather-beaten building whose paint is cracked and stripping and whose shingles are falling off.
Not too long ago, Ulukhaktok's residents used dog teams as their main mode of transport during the long winter months. Now, only three dog teams remain in town. Everyone else uses the snowmobiles. This particular team, located in the centre of town, belongs to a well known polar bear hunter Pat Ekpakohak. With spring in the air, and not enough snow on the land, or thick ice on the water, all they can do is sit on the shore where they are chained, and wait to be fed. When we loaded up the sledge to go out to Mashuyuk, they thought they were going to get to run, and they were yelping with urgent anticipation - poor things! However, they are not cuddly dogs, most sled dogs only respect the person or people who trained them, or feed them, if you're anyone else you'd best steer clear.

A polar bear skin hung out to dry at another house in town. There are many people in town who hunt polar bears, and several of them, like Pat, are hired out by hunters who come up, usually from the United States, to bag one for themselves. A pretty expensive endeavor.

Did you hear about the American who came up here to shoot a bear, and ended up shooting a half polar, half grizzly bear? They were calling it a "grizzlor" in the news. Anyway, there was some confusion because as the bear was a hybrid the Canadian authorities wouldn't allow the it over the border because the American had a tag for a polar bear, not a grizzly. The hunter was pretty miffed because he had spent something like $50,000 to do the deed. Eventually, he did get it back. It's good to know that there are some bears that are taking their dwindling numbers to heart, and doing something about it - i.e. procreating. However, there is some concern by people who think this is indicative of global warming as the grizzly bears' rage is coming further north, while the thick sea ice that the polar bear call's home is also disappearing.

Scenes From a Grey Day

2006-06-01T17:04:00.000-04:00

These are some shots from our last day out at Mashuyuk. The wind was howling and though the air was neither damp nor cold, exposed skin was quickly made numb by it as it snatched whatever warmth there was. The sun was behind heavy clouds that we could see were releasing snow or sleet around where we were, but not on us. Even on such a day as this, it was hard not to enjoy the surroundings.

The day before, the owners of a cabin behind us on the point had been out fishing. In the morning when we woke up, they were gone, but they had left their fish (lake trout) out to dry. The plastic bags at the ends of the rack were, I guess, to act as scarecrows.

Not in the frame was a bucket that seemed to be filled with perfectly good fish, yet just left aside. Though everyone always hails aboriginal North Americans as being stewards of the land who waste nothing, I think nowadays, with the influence of the disposable consumer cultures of the south, it's not uncommon to find people within that circle who no longer follow the old ways and are more likely to waste.

Below is an example of a modern, homemade snow-sledge which the people tow their gear behind their snowmobiles in. The runners and struts are made of lumber, while the box is usually built out of plywood and lined with a caribou or some other kind of hide. On the bottom of the runners strips of steel are fixed to help it glide more easily.

This is looking north-east from the top of the plateau on Holman Island. The cabin is on the very thin point in the middle of the channel about a thrid into the frame from the left.

Looking south towards the mainland and across the Arctic Ocean you can see a rain/snow shower happening out over the fragments of the sea ice that float in the calm waters.

If I was an old arm chair, I think it would be nice to come out here to disintegrate too.

Ice, Snow, and Wildlife

2006-05-30T21:25:00.000-04:00

The sun setting across the ice that lies between Ulukhaktok and our cabin in Mashuyuk our first night out. The ice was ever so thin and the crystals were of ineffable beauty, but my little digital camera can't do them justice.Did I mention Dan got crushed in the ice? Yeah...project's over I guess.A ptarmigan still with it's winter plumage. Hard to see, even though I did get pretty close. Guess the camouflage works, eh?

Me getting in, what would be, the last quality butt-sliding of the season.
An Arctic fox checking out what we were up to. He didn't stick around long though, and I only could snap a few quick shots before he eluded my lense.

Rocks From the Ages

2006-05-30T18:58:00.000-04:00

Like the time in my life where I was able to look at avant-garde forms of art and see content and beauty, where before I couldn’t see anything of worth, so too I no longer define the beauty of a landscape simply by its lush vegetation.

As I’ve already mentioned, the land around Ulukhaktok and the cabin in Mashuyuk is pretty much a barren, desolate, and bleak wasteland. Now, I realize these words have pretty negative connotations, they bring to mind the dust blown farms of the depression; they bring to mind places without hope and without life. So it’s ironic that I can’t think of better words to describe a place that has an aesthetic that is so pristine and beautiful and where life flourishes in subtle nooks of the land.

There aren’t colorful flowers in bloom or magnificently tall trees, but there are LOTS of rocks. These rocks have a fascinating loveliness all their own. Some, like the one below, were totally out of place when compared to the rocks around them. It looks like it’s made of fossilized or compressed sand, while the rock it sits is something harder, maybe granite.

Below is another example of a misfit rock. Are these glacial deposits, or have the muskoxen just been doing this to screw with our minds?

Here you see an example of the shale that is all over the place. This stuff is what makes me think that at one time the plateaus we walked over were once at the bottom of the ocean.

You can also see some of the colorful moss (or whatever it is) that grows on all the rocks. Whatever the plant is, it reminds me more of coral, then it does moss. It is hard and dry, but it clings to the rocks.

This stuff gives some really brilliant splashes of colour to the landscape, even before the short summer season. There were lots of greens, oranges, reds, and even splotches of mustard yellow. The colours must be different species of the same plant. Each species grows in a specific area. For example, I always saw the yellow on the underside of rocks but only on one particular hill. The side of the plateau behind our cabin was covered with orange stuff, but no other colour.

Through one of the lenses of my sunglasses, the top of this plateau kind of looks like the surface of some far-off alien planet. Appropriate, ‘cause to a southern boy like myself Mashuyak is completely out of this world! (I know, this closing line is pure cheese, but it’s true!)

Learning From the Land: Look, Listen, and Feel

2006-05-29T18:38:00.000-04:00

Ulukhaktok is north. Not as far north as the North Pole, but pretty far north. Far enough north that there is no vegetation beyond the small varieties of mosses, grasses, and shrubs that cover the landscape, crouching low and hugging the rocks to escape the wind. Up here there are no trees to break the wind that whirls around the worn hills and plateaus and whips the across the valleys, plains, snow and ice, and the waters of the Arctic Ocean.
On the land around Mashuyak there is nothing that gets in one’s way of understanding the age of the land. There are no paved roads with motor vehicles zooming (except the few snowmobiles and quads); no masses of pedestrians milling; no large buildings competing with the horizon, their glass windows reflecting the gold of the setting sun; and on the land it’s possible to stop what you are doing at almost any moment and hear nothing. Silence. In this atmosphere, you can climb up the ancient hills that are forgotten by all except the wildlife, the hunters, and the abstract concept of time, and feel awe. Feel like you are on holy ground.

By coming up here, we have come face to face with the staggering age of the hills and plateaus that were once not simply mighty mountains, but mighty mountains a mile under a prehistoric ocean. As millennia passed the water levels dropped and the mountains felt the sunlight and air for the first time. The Earth shifted on its axis as glaciers cut, carved, and ground the craggy mountains to give them jagged cliffs and carrying massive boulders from them miles away. As this process continued, humans and animals at various stages of evolution walked, ran, hunted, killed, died, ate, and were eaten in the arms of the land. Storms raged; wind howled; sun blazed; and seasons passed.

Here lies one of the most precious natural resources: experience.

But how do you mine that?

How do you tap in?

How do you interview a mountain? The most patient and dedicated seeker would be lucky to get a breath, let alone a word. Nevertheless, Dan and I are here to listen.

Insulated by my down parka and wrapped in the serenity and peace of the ancient land, I was in one of those rare spaces where I could consider my mortality. The mountains gain accolades because they have existed millions of years. I have the equivalent of a blink, and what will I do with it? A sobering thought and a grounding question.

Sitting atop some of those mountains for hours yesterday reminded me of visiting my grandparents in that you rarely go as often, stay as long, or listen as much as you should; and yet, you learn.

The Importance of Community

2006-05-22T14:27:00.000-04:00

The word “community” is one that might bring several different meanings and/or examples of societal construction to your mind. To me it means a group of people who have common interests. However, it isn’t just the existence of these common interests that binds people into a community; it’s their REALIZATION that they share these interests and their ATTEMPT to communicate and cooperate with one another. And when I think about this, I wonder if the feeling of real community in contemporary North American society isn’t in danger of becoming a thing of the past. I mean, these days it seems that we communicate better with one another over email or the Internet around the world about various common interests, yet can’t talk with people in our neighbourhoods about things that concern us. Do you find?

Regardless, I think it’s safe to say that a place with a sense of community is not only desirable to all of us, but something that we can all intuit when we are new to a town. For this reason, I think that hamlets, cities, towns, etc. that give a feeling of community are sacred. And therefore there is something here worth examining in the context of the Searching for Dragons project.

In the project, if we’re looking at the way the humans relate to nature and place, then we must not only look at the places where humans connect spiritually with the land, but also why our spirits come to be so connected with any place, whether it be a mountain range or a city block.

But what is the magic formula by which we can create a good community? Part of it has to be infrastructure, planning, and design – especially for larger communities; yet, the existence of these things does not guarantee instant community. I would go so far as to say that those things are just the window dressings of healthy communities, and that without the existence of certain intangible and qualitative variables the community is doomed. What are the variables? People who care about the wellbeing of the people they live with. Sometimes they are in positions of influence, and other times they are simply those who command respect because of their experience or wisdom.

Again, perhaps what I’m saying here is intuitive to us, but I honestly never gave the issue of community much thought until our second visit to Aklavik. It was then that we had the chance to have extended and meaningful chats with two people who make Aklavik a strong community: school principle Velma Illasiak and elder Mary Kendi.

We can all understand that education of the next generation is so important, yet often many of the educational systems in place have a way of perpetuating certain problems among students as well as sucking the spirits of its teachers and administrators. As the principle of Moose Kerr School, Velma strives not only to make the environment for learning at school the best it can be (even as that ideal continually evolves), but also is not afraid to challenge the system to achieve that. By doing this she creates dynamic conditions that benefit the 151 K to12 students, the staff, and herself as well.

(photo: Here Velma is seen seated in her office. Behind her is a photo of former school principle "Moose" Kerr and his wife. Moose was a visionary for his time, and Velma is his heir. In a telephone conversation Moose, now retired and living in Ottawa, asked Velma "Where were you 30 years ago?")

What makes me say this? Many native communities have social problems, and many of those problems stem from the loss of their traditional culture – this doesn’t necessarily mean their traditional way of life (though that is a factor) but just knowledge of their culture before satellite TV, before snowmobiles, before residential schools, etc… Velma is trying to help her students bridge the gap between the realities of contemporary native culture and its history. Velma also wants to make every student buy into the kind of responsibilities and duties that transcend the school walls into the community. To do this she establishes goals and explains to the older students (grades 7-12) how those goals impact them. Making education more like a partnership between staff, students, parents, and the community. It also gives students the respect that they deserve, but which few of us ever learn to do.

Another initiative undertaken by Velma several years ago to strengthen the bond between the students and the community around them was to ask a council of elders from the town’s three native cultures (Inuvialuit, Gwich’in, and Métis) to established values to be instilled in the students. The council agreed upon seven principle values that help to create a positive social environment at the school: caring and humility, friendliness and kindness, respect, honesty and integrity, love and regard for your fellow man, sharing, and self-responsibility. These values and their purpose were then engraved in plaques and mounted at the main entrance where they are impossible not to glance at. And, would you believe? The students listened!

Velma is what all community leaders should be and what all members of any community should try to emulate: not just a manager of the present, but a steward of the future.

Another key element of a strong community is the visibility of its elders. You don’t have to be a genius to see that a connection to and an understanding of the past is essential to the success of the future. For the younger generation, that connection comes through our grandparents.

Many native communities face an upward battle when trying to preserve oral traditions mostly because of the impact of TV. Their battle is one that we all need to be fighting. In much of Western culture we often shunt the old into homes, bringing them out at opportune times like war memorial days, Christmas or similar big holidays. Furthermore our culture is now rife with a fear of aging; we are not allowed to grow old, but must fight against its physical and mental effects to make sure that we are taken seriously and not like doddering old fools. In some ways I think part of the problem is also that many of our elders, after so much experience, can become jaded or unmotivated to stand up and command the attention they deserve. Mary Kendi does NOT fall into this category.

(photo: Mary Kendi told Dan and I to call her je-joo (not so sure about spelling) which means grandmother in Gwich'in. Here we are with our je-joo.)

Despite her lack of mobility, at 91 years old Mary is still fully involved in her local community, as well as the larger community of the Gwich’in people. I cannot fully convey how it blows me away that outsiders like Dan and me could simply go and talk with her on camera for three hours, as we did, and have her not so much answer specific questions, but just tell us about her experiences. (And believe me! Three hours could have just as easily turned into 4 or 5 days!).

What did she talk about? For example, the first time she set a rabbit snare. She was about 12 and didn’t really have a clue, but her mother told her too. So she went obeyed, but ended up just playing. She lied to her mother, that she had set one trap. Giggles erupt from Mary at the memory.

Another topic was her arranged marriage to her husband. She didn’t really even know anything about the man, except that he was a hard worker - a very important trait when living in the bush. How did she know this? Why, because he had creased and wrinkled pants! A bushman with pressed pants was obviously not a hard worker! Ladies please take note: Dan and I both have wrinkled pants.

Mary talked about her husband’s death and raising her 7 children alone. She talked about how she would take her youngest children into the bush with her hunting and fishing and teach them by example. She talked about residential schools. She talked about close calls on thin ice. She talked about youth losing their connection to the land.

The most amusing anecdote she gave was about the first time she saw and heard a radio. She was in the bush, and a trapper brought a radio and a battery by dog sled. He set it up in their tent and placed the aerial in a tree, and then turned it on. When she heard the voices coming through she said that she thought it was people coming from Fairbanks (Alaska), and she tried to get the trapper to turn it off so that they wouldn't find them. However, when she understood how it worked she split her sides laughing. And again, the memory of this made her laugh again.

Finally, Mary told us a story about a time she went hunting caribou with no bullets. Most of the story we couldn’t understand because she told it to us in Gwich’in, but just to hear her speak those foreign words to us purposefully and without interruption, seemed like a tremendous privilege. When we are able to learn this way from our elders our lives are enriched beyond measurement.

These two amazing women are part of the reason that Aklavik just feels like a solid community. Not a place that is free of problems, but rather a place where the wisdom and leadership exist to deal with and solve problems. We all need to hold people like Velma and Mary in our minds as we go about our day wherever we live. We need to pay attention to, support, and emulate them if we want to have a healthy community.

Back In Aklavik

2006-05-10T12:19:00.000-04:00

At the beginning of last week we took advantage of the ice road still being in good condition and went back to Aklavik (which I've been told means "place of black bear") to meet with a few people. The first night we parked the van at the airport and when to do some shooting in the night sun.

Below you see the shore line of Aklavik which at that time was, and probably is still now, covered in deep drifts of blown snow. We were standing where the river ice road rises to enter the town. Here you see the boats of townspeople nestled in their winter blankets that bury them to the gunnels. However, you know spring must be near as many people were out digging the snow out of the boats and preparing for break-up. Far beyond this boat that looks as it's just in the trough of some frozen and snowy wave, you can see the hazy silhouette of the northern end of the Richardson Mountain range, which we passed through on our journey up the Dempster Highway.What is this? Why, it's the rare giant northern iron moth.
Actually, it's an old snow plough that overlooks the river road it probably helped to clear at one time in the past.
Dan and I drove out from Aklavik the next day to get a better look at the Richardson Range. The ice road went on, but in the last 20-odd kilometres we got a little worried because, as you can see below, the road narrowed to bearly the width of the van and provided no places where we could turn around. This is one of the dangers of having a heavy load and no four wheel drive up here. As the ice road wound on through the arms of the Mackenzie Delta, we considered our options: to attempt to turn around, get stuck, and dig ourselves out with the "Oscar" shovel or shift into reverse and back up the whole way to where the road was wide. After a few stops where we half-heartedly tried to turn around, we decided to just keep driving. Eventually our "courage" was rewarded when the road ended and there was a turn around.

The Muktuk Experience

2006-05-06T12:15:00.000-04:00

So, I've eaten some interesting things in my time; muktuk ranks among the top of that list. Muktuk, or whale skin and blubber, is considered a delicacy among the Inuvialuit people. Last Friday, our host, Martin, secured some muktuk from someone at work.

Muktuk is the thick leathery skin of the whale (several layers of it, similar to our however many layers of skin) and part of the layer of blubber that lies beneath it. It's served in several forms, of which I know two: stink muktuk and fresh.

Fresh muktuk is pretty straight forward: it hasn’t been cured at all and is best served when the whale has just been killed – though it will stay good for a long time in a freezer. Whales are hunted in the short summer months, when the sea ice has melted and there is open water.

Stink muktuk stinks, because it has been put away to rot for a certain amount of time. This gives it a "strong" taste. If made well, it's "delicious" and if made badly it can cause botulism - yikes! click HERE to learn about that fun disease. Apparently, some communities make stink muktuk better than others. Other communities think they make it well but don't, and the ones that do make it well send it to them so they don't start an outbreak of botulism. Neighbourly of them, no?

On this night we had fresh beluga muktuk. Beluga is more common in the central and high Arctic, but bowhead is apparently a better catch. Below you see several chunks of muktuk with the, er..."traditional" condiment of HP sauce.
No time to be squeamish (well actually, there is always time to be squeamish)! Ok...here I go!Hmm…texture is strange. The skin is like a meaty cheese and actually tastes like a mild blue cheese. The blubber however is a little on nasty side. The fishy taste I didn’t mind, but the texture was not pleasing to me. It was at this point that I gagged a little and went for a little more HP sauce to help it go down. Verdict: not half bad! Especially when compared to all the horror stories we heard, not to mention the threat of botulism! I actually went back for two more pieces, though I did cut off the blubber. Below you can see a little better how the skin actually looks like cheese, almost like a really thick rind of brie.

Trip To Aklavik (Part 4): Visit With Annie B. and Danny A. Gordon

2006-05-05T12:59:00.000-04:00

The final stop while we were in Aklavik that day was a visit with Annie B. and Danny A. Gordon. A cabin that Andrea and the kids from Moose Kerr School used during the Fish Hole Monitoring Project was in need of some renovations. Danny A. was going to bring building supplies out by snow machine while the rivers were still frozen and do the work, and Andrea just needed to let him know what the situation was. So, as a bonus, we were invited in for dinner.

Annie and Danny are elders in their seventies, though it’s hard to say for sure as they are both so spry. Annie, a Gwich’in, and Danny, an Inuvialuit, are one example of cross-cultural marriages that likely served to strengthen the community of Aklavik back in the day when there was still a visible divide between the two groups. Both Annie and Danny are active members in the community, Annie serves on a number of committees and Danny is one of the more respected hunters in town.

If you are in Aklavik looking for Annie and Danny an important thing you need to know about them is that they’re one of several elder couples of Annie-and-Danny-Gordons. So, naturally if you are going to talk about Annie and Danny, you need to know WHICH Annie and Danny they are. Confused? Well, it’s all about the initials. From what Andrea said, it seems that they have been given middle initials to avoid such confusion. So Annie B. and Danny A. and I guess Danny C. and Annie—or something like that. Clear?

When we walked into the house, Andrea sat down with Danny to discuss the renovations, while Annie was just finishing preparing a caribou stir-fry. The air was filled with a savory aroma of fresh caribou, and Dan bent down close to the pan to inhale the delicious smell. To both of our surprise, Annie told him off for doing so. Dan apologized and proceeded to do the only thing he could to make amends: eat a big portion.

Dan’s actions reminded Annie of a time when some unnamed white man, who she invited into her kitchen, turned his nose up at the food which she offered. And yet, the next time he came (uninvited) and helped himself to not one but several bowls of soup. “I have no use for a man like that,” said Annie.

Beyond Annie’s personal story, lies a small lesson on the evolution of cultural norms in northern aboriginal homes. During the early part of the last century when white visitors were even rarer then they are today, it was normal for people to offer food, whatever they had, even if they had very little. However, when many such visitors saw that the food was not the “standard” they were used to, they reacted in the fashion typical a spoiled child, “EWWW!” Likely, quite an embarrassment to such gracious hosts. So it went, that people stopped offering food, even to each other, and it became understood that if you were invited into someone’s home, then you are just expected to take what you want.

Such a beautiful, open, and generous custom was a pretty foreign idea to guys like us who are used to waiting until being offered, but we learned our lesson.

As we ate our food, Danny talked about the hunting this past winter, and how the rats (muskrats) were scarce. Danny said that this might have been caused by a quick freeze where the ice got thick quickly, before the muskrats could maintain their “push-ups” (air holes in the ice). Apparently, this is part of a natural 10 year cycle. Last year they were scarce, this year worse, and maybe one more bad year, and then their numbers will bounce back. The same with is true with the rabbit population. However, I heard on the radio today (May 5^th) people talking about how, since all the natural resource exploration the numbers of such animals appear in definite decline. Perhaps, Aklavik hunters have the same thing to look forward to should full development go ahead on the proposed Mackenzie oil and gas project.

As you see, Danny and Annie sat side by side. And even if one was talking the other would not hesitate to add an anecdote or just start talking about something different. So, sometimes it was hard to know who to listen to.

As it turns out, Danny is also one of the people in Aklavik, along with Donald Aviugana, who know how to make traditional drums. Danny brought out one of his drums and explained how it was made, you can see it below. This skin of the drum he’s holding here is made of parachute cloth, not the traditional caribou hide, but Danny said its sound is good and isn’t affected by moisture or cold. Caribou hide will swell with moisture, and if cold, needs to be warmed up otherwise the sound won’t be of the same quality.

The whole time while we talked there was a constant ebb and flow of people, mostly youngsters, through the house. So many I lost count. I wondered if they were all grandchildren, or what? Andrea said that sometimes, especially if alcohol is a problem in other homes, children in the community will just go to homes that they know are safe. No doubt, this house is a place of safety and love.

Before we left, Danny brought us out to his workshop, where he kept his what remained of his winter catch. But he also had something else: a young owl (I think a great horned owl) that he had found dead on the trail while checking his trap lines. I guess it’s not common to find birds of prey just dropping dead, so he brought it home with him. He told Andrea about it, and she volunteered to have it brought to a lab so it could be tested for disease or what have you. This is one way in which hunters help to keep tabs on the land and wildlife.

This little guy that you see below is was one of two super cute pups sitting outside Danny’s workshop. He was very friendly, and Dan wanted him. Annie said he could have the other, but that this guy was her granddaughter’s. Dan was sad, but not for long.

On the way home and over the next couple days we both buzzed about what a great opportunity it had been for us to be introduced to this community and all these great people. And we resolved to return, if conditions on the ice roads permitted.

Trip To Aklavik (Part 3) - Visit With Mary Kendi

2006-05-01T00:37:00.000-04:00

Later in the afternoon, we had some time before Andrea’s next appointment, so she brought us to the Aklavik old folks home (I can’t remember the building’s actual name). Andrea told us that this was a place she often visits while in town because the staff and residents are very warm and friendly. She said that the residents are great to chat with or have a good game of cribbage with. On this occasion though, she thought we would enjoy meeting one resident in particular: Mary Kendi, a 91 year old Teetl’it Gwich’in elder, known and respected for her beautiful sewing and knowledge of traditional stories.

When we arrived, Mary was sitting on her couch, working away at sewing something, and listening to the CBC radio program As it Happens. We knocked, entered, and were greeted by Mary’s big warm smile. She put down her sewing as she welcomed us, we introduced ourselves, and she told us to have a seat.

Below you see Mary chatting in a very relaxed manner, on the couch beside her is her sewing that lies against a photo of her and her granddaughter from some years ago. Mary says her granddaughter is planning to return to the north after being in Toronto (I think) for many years.

We asked Mary if she was working on anything special, and she said no, just keeping busy. Because she isn’t very mobile, she can’t be as active, and so she just makes a bunch of things with whatever materials are handy and these eventually get sold at craft fairs, though sometimes she gets special orders.

We asked if we could see some of her work, so she pointed to a box under her kitchen table and told us to pull it out. Below you see the contents of the box: several pairs of moccasins made of home-tanned moose hide, a pair of moose hide mitts, and a pair of beaver mitts.

Mary told us that over the years she has sold her work to people around the world. This didn’t come as much of a surprise because, as you can see, the bead work and designs are so beautifully intricate. This, even though her fingers appeared to be afflicted with rheumatoid arthritis!

In a bowl on the coffee table in front of her, we saw these (below) cute tiny pairs of mukluks. “Who wears these?” Andrea joked as she held them up. Mary laughed and said they were for broaches.

We sat and chatted with Mary for about half an hour and the whole while she was jovial and always cracking jokes, but some of what she told us about her life was no laughing matter. For example, her husband died—drowned—while fishing alone in the early 1960s and left her with three young children. To provide for her family she went out on the land to hunt and fish, just like the men. No doubt, she’s a woman of immense strength of mind and spirit.

Look at the smile lines around her eyes and mouth, and all the marks of time and experience. There in, like in the rings of a tree, lies knowledge that can never be recorded in any book or interview, but to be in its presence just made me feel good and miss my dead grandparents.

Trip To Aklavik (Part 2): Visit With Donald and Elizabeth Aviugana

2006-04-28T15:12:00.000-04:00

Up here, winter is still in effect, while down south, even in Dawson, the warmth of spring is being felt. Below you see some of the newer houses of Aklavik nestled in the snow which is still easily 3' deep. They are typical of many of the homes in these relatively new northern settlements.

One detail that I want to draw your attention to is the ubiquitous direct-TV satelite dish. Don't think that just because these places are 200 km north of the Arctic Circle that they are free of the trappings of modern technology and southern culture. Just like Dan and I have never had to go long without wireless Internet (let alone regular Internet) or the sweet strains of top-40 pop music on the radio, so too we have never been far from cable TV.

People up here watch just as much TV as they do anywhere else - long winter nights are perfect for relaxing in front of the tube. Considering all the images that they, especially the youth, are bombarded with on a daily basis is it any wonder that they're interested in getting all the same junk that the rest of Canada is obsessed with? Is it an wonder why they must struggle to keep their traditions alive when a "better life" exists just a click of the remote control away?
The next place Andrea brought us was to visit Aklavik Inuvialuit elders Donald and Elizabeth Aviugana. I would say they are both in their 70s. Donald is a respected member of the community. He is a hunter and trapper and also serves on the board of several committees in the community. Donald was among the many people who left Aklavik in the 1950s for Inuvik, but he returned in the 1970s and doesn't seem to regret the decision.

They were both very kind and welcoming as was their living room which was filled with photos of familyl and friends. They had us sit down gave us tea and served us eskimo ice cream and crackers. Eskimo ice cream is bits of dried meat in oil and fat, of the same texture as a pate, and quite tasty. Many of the traditional foods up here are high in calories, because they are needed to give the body energy and to keep warm when out on the land.

Donald told us a little about how the ice on the river breaks up and about his work out on the traplines this past winter. Elizabeth allowed us to look through several albums where she had collected the programs from community funerals over the past 20 years, which were really intesting to look over and some quite sad.

Dan got to talking with Donald about trapping and snaring, and Donald offered to show us his work hut where he stores his catches and butchers and skins them. Below you can see the corner of the work hut where he has hung some of his traps.

In his hut Donald had tools for fixing and cleaning his traps and rifles. There was also fishing gear which included hooks carved from caribou antlers.Donald snared 49 lynx this winter which will get him about $250/pelt on the market, though perhaps as much as $300. A good price, he told us. However, he said he had discovered several of lynx he snared had been partially eaten by birds or other animals. This damage makes the pelt worthless to buyers. The young lynx Donald has in his hands here (below) is an example: it's half eaten.

Anecdote: Andrea informed me that the singular of lynx in these parts is "link" - one lynk, two lynx.

Also in Donald's work hut were some big fish and parts of caribou and moose, but these were given to Donald by other hunters. It's custom in these communities for younger hunters to give a share of what they catch to the elders as a sign of respect. I don't know if these beaver testicles were a gift or not, but they sure are BIG! Though, I'm not sure what one does with them...maybe they just hang there?

I was pretty amazed when Donald told us that some beavers can be over 3' tall when standing on their hind legs. I always thought they were smaller.