From the Barren Lands by Leonard Flett

Author:Leonard Flett [Flett, Leonard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Biography & Autobiography, Historical, History, Canada, General
ISBN: 9781927855379
Google: qFMqjwEACAAJ
Publisher: Great Plains Publications
Published: 2015-01-15T02:37:59+00:00

We caught nothing. I didn’t care. I was desperately in search of another boat.

“This is very odd. Not one nibble. Let’s try the mouth of Yellow Dog Creek which is just beyond that point of land called Old Woman’s Point,” I stated quite convincingly to my guests. I imagined my guests were in awe of my detailed knowledge of this huge northern lake.

I was pretty safe in looking for a creek as there were creeks everywhere draining into Reindeer Lake. We rounded the point and much to my relief there were Herman and Obert. With a big grin Herman waved as if there had been no problem at all.

“Forget Yellow Dog Creek. We’ll fish here with these guys.” I announced confidently to my fishermen.

That night back in camp, I read by candlelight and waited until Herman was soundly snoring in his sleep. I picked up my pillow and silently tiptoed over to his cot. I pushed my pillow roughly into his face and he screamed in terror as he awoke, but my pillow muffled his screams. Once wide awake, his eyes round like saucers, he realized it was just me and he started fighting back. I wrestled him to the ground and got him into a choke hold.

“Uncle!” he cried out.

“Say you are sorry,” I growled.

“I’m sorry,” pleaded Herman.

“For what?” I grilled him.

“For snoring?” Herman asked.

“No. What happened today?” I asked to jostle his memory.

“You got lost,” offered Herman.

“Yes. You left without me,” I reminded him.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized.

“And…?”

“And I won’t do it again,” he promised.

Only then did I release Herman and let him get up. Obert was laughing in great amusement from his cot. Obert was older and I never roughhoused with him. Herman, on the other hand, was my age and one of my best friends.

Someone not very pleased with all the tomfoolery yelled from the next tent. “Gagatoh! Neepaw! Mamaskats!” (Shut up. Go to sleep. For heaven’s sake!)

The following weeks were quite enjoyable. Herman paid closer attention and I became somewhat more proficient in my job. The boys were right. The Americans did tip well, especially if they “caught the big one.”

Billy Boy, the most experienced guide in our group, received a brand new 30-30 Winchester rifle (purchased for protection from bears but never used) from one his American guests along with a total of one hundred and twenty dollars in tips. His regular salary for that week—seventy dollars. I collected one hundred dollars in tips for that week.

Billy Boy was one of the sons of Sidley Clarke, a rough and tough boisterous offspring of Lawrence Clarke, a Hudson’s Bay Company fur trader from Orkney, Scotland. Sidley was also known as “Chummy,” a cute name for someone who enjoyed brawling after he had downed a few drinks. Sidley raised a brood of brawling boys, all rough and tough men like himself.

Sidley’s brother, William Clarke, a quiet, honourable man quite unlike his brother, and his wife Mary are the grandparents of my first- born daughter, Sandra.

Co-op Point is the common name for Kinoosao, Saskatchewan.

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