Signing Off

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.
~ Henry David Thoreau

This will be the final entry in this journal. I am in Hay River, the little town on the shore of Great Slave Lake where this journey began in the summer of 2009. Tomorrow I head South, back to a world of noise and rush and crowds. I feel like I have been living in a world outside time, and I know the adjustment will be very difficult.

I started writing this as a means of keeping my friends and family up to date with my adventures, but the wonders of Google tracking shows how it has grown far beyond that. Well over 18,000 unique hits from 57 (!) countries, with regular readers in locations as diverse as Kenya, Saudi Arabia and Argentina. I have enjoyed showcaseing this remarkable corner of the world, and offer my heartfelt thanks for all the messages of support and encouragement I have recieved.

I hope that this journal has inspired some of you to experience the Nahanni for yourself. For Canadians in particular the North should be celebrated and explored, not pushed to the margins. It is one of the last true frontiers, a precious glimpse of how the world used to be.

And as for Nahanni Butte itself...

Things change. I know this. Others will come to the village, and go, and make their own set of memories. Their stories will play out in the shadow of Tthenaago, just as mine has. But for these two years, the defining experience of my life, I made my mark.

Thanks for joining me.

9AM Flight

Leaving the village proved even more difficult than I expected. I tried to absorb it all: the smells, the sounds, the feel of the wind on my face. As the plane approached I was deeply touched to see some of the older folk driving out to the airstrip to see me off. They thanked me for my work and wished me all the best - and told me that I always had a home waiting for me in Nahanni Butte.

All too soon my bags were loaded and there was nothing left to say. I climbed aboard and we took off, the world dropping away and revealing features as familiar as the face of an old friend. The details flared and merged together as the forest steamed in the morning heat -- there, the snye where George and Raymond shot the moose on that distant autumn evening -- there, the cutline where I laboured on my snowshoes at 45 below, hauling my sled through the darkness -- there, the hunting camp that was filled with so much laughter and learning and joy -- there, the creek that nearly cost me everything.

The plane rattled on, and I looked out at the horizon. Endless rows of trees and valleys and nameless mountains, stretching on forever. I felt the tears prick my eyes. I would never - could never - know them all, not in a thousand seasons. We cruised over Bluefish Lake, over the little trapping cabin huddled on its shore, and the light sparkled and shimmered on its waters. Things were receding with each passing moment, and I couldn't bear to look -- but I looked anyway: back along the ridge, past the waterfalls and the cliffs, past the stone towers and the forest, back and back and back until finally there it was: Tthenaago, the last mountain, shining in the sun.

But only for a moment. We dipped our wing, the plane curved away, and it was gone.

Departure

It's time to go. The bags are packed, the plane is on its way.

I spent the morning of my last day wandering around town, taking a final look at the streets that have become so familiar. A few buffalo were ambling about, and the wind kept the bugs down. I stopped often along the way, saying my goodbyes. Lena and Celine, my regular students when I ran adult education classes for Aurora College, gave me some lovely Dene beadwork stitched to freshly smoked moose hide.

The hardest was the kids. It has been so wonderful working with them and watching them grow up over these two years. There has been a lot of laughter, and even on the hardest days I always looked forward to going to work because I knew they would do something to make me smile.

I opened the recreation centre, and a bunch of us spent hours just hanging out and playing Xbox. I told them how proud I was of them, and how much I had enjoyed my time in the school - they don't know how special they are to be such good kids in a place with as many challenges as Nahanni Butte. Maybe I'll see some of them again in future, when I visit, and I hope with all my heart that they will be happy and healthy and doing good things with their lives. I don't think I could bear it if they fell off the rails.

Two years is a long time. I have seen and done so many incredible things, things most people can scarcely imagine. I came here when I was 24, which seems awfully young when I think about it, but I leave feeling that I have become the man I want to be. Living in this village has inspired me, toughened me, and fulfilled me in ways I never thought possible. For the first time in my life I have felt truly content, and I hope that I can carry that with me into the future, no matter where I go.

Mahsi cho, Nahanni Butte.

Tthenaago

My inspiration. Eight times I tried to climb you, in all seasons, and eight times you turned me back. Fog. Mudslides. Thunderstorms. Windchill of -50C. A grizzly.

But I thank you. Your beauty and stillness filled my heart and will stay with me always. I will see you again, one day.

Clean Up, Close Down

Today I made one last attempt to climb Tthenaago, but once again the river denied me. I paddled part way across, but the current was so strong I began getting sucked down the far channel before I had even made it halfway. I was able to turn back and get to shore, but did so with a heavy heart. It's wasn't even about the mountain, really -- I knew that this attempt, whether I made it or not, would be my final bush trip in Nahanni Butte. I will be spending my last three days cleaning, packing, and saying goodbye to the village that has changed my life so profoundly, and that leaves no more time for hiking.

Frustration

Over these past two years I have tried to climb Tthenaago seven times, and seven times I have failed. Now, with less than a week left in the village, I am running out of time.

The weather was bright and sunny this morning, so I set out to make another attempt. I wasn't feeling especially optimistic, though: the South Nahanni is currently in flood and water levels are running very high. I suspected that most of the landing areas would be submerged, and combined with the powerful current I was doubtful that I'd be able to find a place to safely beach my raft. Sure enough, once I got down to the put-in I could see that the entire far shore was washed out, leaving only sheer rock faces five or six feet high dropping straight into the river. It may have been possible to find a landing spot on the other side of the point, but to do so would have meant paddling through the whirlpool at its base -- and I was in no hurry to do that.

So that was that. I packed up my raft and headed home.

But to be honest... even if the water levels were lower, I don't think I would have gone out today. From the moment I woke up this morning I've been filled with a deep unease. I can't put my finger on why, but my gut is telling me that this is not a good day to go climbing. One thing I have learned in my time here is to always trust your instincts when you're in the bush, and that caution must trump audacity in virtually every case. One of the elders has told me I must have strong medicine power to have survived that trip to Bluefish Lake alone, and perhaps that's true -- but in that case, all the more reason not to go. When the land speaks, I listen.

Canada Day

Happy Birthday, Canada!

To celebrate we held a series of games and activities for the kids at the gym, and later there was a cookout and Bingo. We bobbed for apples, had a tug-of-war, and of course...ran a three-legged race!