Charlie Whistler's Omnium Gatherum by Philip Delves Broughton

Author:Philip Delves Broughton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2016-04-13T04:00:00+00:00

But there is another way of living and it’s worth experiencing at least once. It’s never a bad idea to take the way you live and think and give it a good shake from time to time. The way we live is always changing, as it is for the Mohawk.

I was 12, like you, when I first went out with the Mohawk. It was unusual for a girl to go out, but your grandfather thought it important. It was late fall, the start of the hunting season. The deer were charging through the woods, which meant we were in for a deep winter.

We humans rely on weather forecasts, but the animals sense the coming weather in a quite different way. The squirrels and bears hoard, the birds migrate, and the deer get ready by fattening up and gathering in groups to prepare their beds, sheltered from the wind. They were working unusually early that year.

My father woke me on a Friday morning. The woodstove was lit, the pancakes were made. As I swung out of bed and put my feet on the floor, I pulled them up again quickly. Summer had long gone. The floorboards were freezing. In the kitchen, Father was standing at the window drinking coffee. The sun was rising slowly. Reluctantly. Like you on a Sunday morning. I ate the pancakes, covered in what was left of the spring’s maple syrup. As I slurped up the last of them, I saw a man leading a boy and a girl up to the house. Father opened the door before they could knock.

They wore deerskin leggings and embroidered shirts. Their ink black hair was cut short. Father waved me over.

“Ellie. Let me introduce you to my friends. Falling Rain,” the girl nodded. “Blazing Arrow,” the boy nodded. “And their father. Peter.”

“My tribe calls me Running Water,” said Peter. “But I have been working so long as a hunting guide to others that it has been easier to have a name like yours.”

“I like Running Water just fine,” I said. Father put his hand on my shoulder.

“Call him whatever he lets you. And do whatever he says. There is no finer guide in the Adirondacks. I will see you tomorrow afternoon.” He handed me my knife in its leather sheath. “Everything else you need, Peter will help.”

I remember setting off that day feeling nervous, venturing out into those woods without my own family for once. In the company of strangers, albeit friendly ones. We spent the first hour walking in silence. No pleasantries or idle chitchat. No asking me how I liked school or what my favorite subject was. Just crunching deeper and deeper into the woods.

“Look,” said Running Water, stopping for the first time. He bent down and pointed to hoof nicks on a log. “The deer come through here.” It wasn’t obvious, but when I looked I could see the faint outline of a path, where the scrubby plants had been kicked down. There were traces of scat. The two Mohawk children were cupping their ears forward using their thumb and index fingers.

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