| Author |
Message |
ghost_brigade
Member
Post Number: 1
Registered: 04-2004
| | Posted on Sunday, April 25, 2004 - 11:36 am: | 
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"...And as he sits so silently and still, he may even feel upon his shoulder a light and evanescent touch, as of some unseen presence that would speak with him; and suddenly the steady, ceaseless rumor of the little stream, rising and falling, now approaching, now receding, can no longer be heard, and in its place there comes, as from a distance, the sound of low voices in a tongue he does not understand. Or perhaps he may catch a fleeting glimpse, a momentary movement in the darkness of the grove behind him, and turning find gathered there a company of pensive, gazing shadows. And these gentle shades will hold no terrors for the lonely traveller; and in a sighing that is soft as the rustling sedge-grass, light as the shifting of the birch leaves, will seem to try and hold communion with him, and plead wistfully for understanding, with one whose sympathy has so awakened them from out of the dim and misty, storied past.
"And I know this to be true. For I myself have been there many times and listened so, in that hushed hour of twilight, and have heard them, like small voices from another world, subdued, like voices from afar. And at such times the air about me would seem to be strangely stirred and filled with a faint rustling and a crepitation as of tiny footsteps, my faced fanned by soundless, unseen wings, as though a great invisible assemblage had gathered there, to keep me company in this enchanted grove, and to hear with me the stories that the birch tree recounted to the solemn, listening pines.
"Perhaps you will say that this spectral band of my familiars is but, a figment of my dreams, conjured up by loneliness and long hours spent in visualizing old familiar landmarks, of reaching out for hands that are vanished, or of listening vainly in the darkness for voices that are stilled. If you think this, then do not judge to harshly, for these are Memories, and sacred to the days and beasts and men you'll never see. Some tales I cannot tell you, lest in the telling I forever lose the power to make my happy shades, my ghostly congregation, those well- beloved wraiths of yesterday come back to me.
"Yet much there is that may be told, and so, my friend, come sit with me amongst the spirits of the Past and listen, and so pass an hour away."
WA-SHA-QUON-ASIN ( Grey Owl) |
paul_hammersten
Member
Post Number: 40
Registered: 03-2004
| | Posted on Monday, April 26, 2004 - 10:33 am: |
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Thanks ghost-brigade for the quote from WA-SHA-QUON-ASIN { Grey Owl }.
You may post more anytime! Grey Owl's writings are some of my favorites.
" If you think this, then do not judge too harshly, for these are Memories, and sacred to the days and beasts and men you'll never see. Some tales I cannot tell you, lest in the telling I forever lose the power to make my happy shades, my ghostly congregation, those well- beloved wraiths of yesterday come back to me. " - Grey Owl
We used to sing a song years ago...don't know if it is still sung..." I'll not grow to old to dream, for I'll remember Keewaydin. When my hair is white as snow, Her songs will ring in my heart" .
Easter Sunday we spent with old friends in Vermont.
More of Dunmore Keewaydin great Charlie Horner's priceless slides and photo albums where given too me.
Boxes and boxes now of " Sacred memories " - my first Rangeley Lake trip in '61, Verendrey in ' 62, an awesome slide of the late great courageous Beauveau Borie, framed by a northern lake, who showed the way for 9 weeks throughout Northern Quebec in '63............
"Yet much there is that may be told, and so, my friend, come sit with me amongst the spirits of the Past and listen, and so pass an hour away."
I really enjoy the stories contributed by the others on this forum. Thanks!
Best
Paul |
ghost_brigade
Member
Post Number: 2
Registered: 04-2004
| | Posted on Sunday, May 2, 2004 - 9:17 pm: |
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Life in the wilderness can be a continual contemplation and communion with God and Spirit of those values echoing within us all, values born of timelessness, mystery, the great silences, and a ancient way of life.
Sigurd Olson |
hillbilly
Member
Post Number: 35
Registered: 03-2004
| | Posted on Sunday, May 2, 2004 - 11:58 pm: |
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Is Canoebear back.
Possibly.
Bill |
paul_hammersten
Member
Post Number: 45
Registered: 03-2004
| | Posted on Friday, May 7, 2004 - 4:46 pm: |
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For ghost brigade -
"O! dat's lonesome t'ing hear de grey owl sing up on de beeg pine tree. "
Title PHIL-O-RUM'S CANOE
Timeline 19th Century
Genre CANADIAN POETRY
Text "O MA ole canoe! w'at's matter wit' you, an' w'y was you be so slow?
Don't I work hard enough on de paddle, an' still you don't
seem to go --
No win' at all on de fronte side, an' current she don't be strong,
Den w'y are you lak lazy feller, too sleepy for move along?
"I 'member de tam w'en you jomp de sam' as deer wit' de wolf behin'
An' brochet on de top de water, you scare heem mos' off hees min';
But fish don't care for you now at all, only jus' mebbe wink de eye,
For he know it's easy git out de way w'en you was a passin' by."
I'm spikin' dis way jus' de oder day w'en I'm out wit' de ole canoe,
Crossin' de point w'ere I see las' fall wan very beeg caribou,
W'en somebody say, "Phil-o-rum, mon vieux, wat's matter
wit' you youse'f?"
An' who do you s'pose was talkin'? w'y de poor ole canoe shese'f.
O yass, I'm scare w'en I'm sittin' dere, an' she's callin'
ma nam' dat way:
"Phil-o-rum Juneau, w'y you spik so moche, you're off on de
head to-day
Can't be you forget ole feller, you an' me we're not too young,
An' if I'm lookin' so ole lak you, I t'ink I will close ma tongue.
"You should feel ashame; for you're alway blame, w'en it
isn't ma fault at all
For I'm tryin' to do bes' I can for you on summer-tam,
spring, an' fall.
How offen you drown on de reever if I'm not lookin' out for you
W'en you're takin' too moche on de w'isky some night comin'
down de Soo.
"De firse tam we go on de Wessoneau no feller can beat us den,
For you're purty strong man wit' de paddle, but dat's long
ago ma frien',
An' win' she can blow off de mountain, an' tonder an' rain may come,
But camp see us bote on de evening -- you know dat was true
Phil-o-rum.
"An' who's your horse too, but your ole canoe, an' w'en you
feel cole an' wet
Who was your house w'en I'm upside down an' onder de roof you get,
Wit' rain ronnin' down ma back, Bapteme! till I'm gettin'
de rheumateez,
An' I never say not'ing at all, moi-meme, but let you do
jus' you please.
"You t'ink it was right, kip me out all night on reever
side down below,
An' even 'Bon Soir' you was never say, but off on de camp you go
Leffin' your poor ole canoe behin' lyin' dere on de groun'
Watchin' de moon on de water, an' de bat flyin' all aroun'.
"O! dat's lonesome t'ing hear de grey owl sing up on de
beeg pine tree
An' many long night she kip me awake till sun on de eas' I see,
An' den you come down on de morning for start on some more voyage.
An' only t'ing decen' you do all day is carry me on portage.
"Dat's way Phil-o-rum, rheumateez she come, wit' pain
ronnin' troo ma side
Wan leetle hole here, noder beeg wan dere, dat not'ing can never hide;
Don't do any good fix me up agen, no matter how moche you try,
For w'en we come ole an' our work she's done, bote man an'
canoe mus' die."
Wall! she talk dat way mebbe mos' de day, till we're
passin' some beaver dam
An' wan de young beaver he's mak' hees tail come down on de
water flam!
I never see de canoe so scare, she jomp nearly two, t'ree feet
I t'ink she was goin' for ronne away, an' she shut up de
mout' toute suite.
It mak' me feel queer, de strange t'ing I hear, an' I'm
glad she don't spik no more,
But soon as we fin' ourse'f arrive over dere on de noder shore
I tak' dat canoe lak de lady, an' carry her off wit' me,
For I'm sorry de way I treat her, an' she know more dan me, sapree!
Yass! dat's smart canoe, an' I know it's true, w'at she's
spikin' wit' me dat day,
I'm not de young feller I use to be w'en work she was only play;
An' I know I was comin' closer on place w'ere I mus' tak' care
W'ere de mos' worse current's de las' wan too, de current
of Dead Riviere.
You can only steer, an' if rock be near, wit' wave dashin' all aroun',
Better mak' leetle prayer, for on Dead Riviere some very
smart man get drown;
But if you be locky an' watch youse'f, mebbe reever won't
seem so wide,
An' firse t'ing you know you'll ronne ashore, safe on de noder side.
Reference POETICAL WORKS OF WILLIAM HENRY DRUMMOND. INTROD. BY LOUIS FRECHETTE. - PAGE 242 - DRUMMOND, WILLIAM HENRY
¿Copyright 2004 Roth Publishing, Inc.
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ghost_brigade
Member
Post Number: 3
Registered: 04-2004
| | Posted on Monday, May 10, 2004 - 8:39 pm: |
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The Voyageur -Henry Drummond}
"So dat's the reason I drink tonight
To de men of de Grand Nor'west
For hees heart was young, an hees heart was light
So long as he's leevin dare-
I'm proud of the sam blood in my vein,
I'm a son of de Nort'Win' wance again-
So we'll fill her up til de bottle's drain
An' drink to de Voyageur." } |
ghost_brigade
Member
Post Number: 4
Registered: 04-2004
| | Posted on Monday, May 10, 2004 - 8:55 pm: |
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Solitude
Wilderness can be appreciated only by contrast, and solitude
understood only when we have been
without.
Timelessness
When one finally arrives at
the point where schedules are
forgotten, and becomes immersed
in ancient rythms, one begins to live.
The Great Silences
The great silences are beyond ordinary sounds of nature, a hush embedded in the deep pool of racial conciousness.
Uniquely Sigurd Olson |
paul_hammersten
Member
Post Number: 46
Registered: 03-2004
| | Posted on Tuesday, May 11, 2004 - 5:40 pm: |
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Thanks ghost_brigade! Your Drummond selection about says it all.
The Voyageur -Henry Drummond}
"So dat's the reason I drink tonight
To de men of de Grand Nor'west
For hees heart was young, an hees heart was light
So long as he's leevin dare-
I'm proud of the sam blood in my vein,
I'm a son of de Nort'Win' wance again-
So we'll fill her up til de bottle's drain
An' drink to de Voyageur." }
Anyone interested in reading more of William Henry Drummond's fine poems may find them at:
http://www.litfinder.com
Best
Paul |
ghislaine
Member
Post Number: 1
Registered: 05-2004
| | Posted on Sunday, May 16, 2004 - 4:24 pm: |
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hi, you all seem to know a lot about canoe tripping with the great quotes posted here. This past summer i did a 42 day canoe trip, it was an experince of a life time. anyways, im lookign for a map with McConell Bay, Wolf Lake, Karl Falss and Maskinage lake. if you could help me i would greatly appreciate it. |
brian
Moderator
Post Number: 189
Registered: 02-2004
| | Posted on Sunday, May 16, 2004 - 5:13 pm: |
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ghislaine, your message is off-topic. Out of courtesy to this thread you should start a new one. I have taken the liberty and answered your question at:
http://www.ottertooth.com/discus/show.cgi?tpc=3&po st=1028#POST1028 |
canoebear
Member
Post Number: 10
Registered: 05-2004
| | Posted on Tuesday, May 18, 2004 - 3:32 pm: |
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"NE Wilderness Bound"
Allure of adventure into tha un-thought-of
uninhabited untame wild land region, teaches
tha canoe portager self reliance & personal responsibility. Wilderness trippen causes 1 to
challenge himself physically & mentally,
so to get sum personal satisfaction of it all.
Make 1 "wild-eyed", heya! |
paul_hammersten
Member
Post Number: 49
Registered: 03-2004
| | Posted on Tuesday, May 18, 2004 - 5:54 pm: |
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" I ain't the most bestess at book-reading " the canoebear once reported. [ or some such statement ]
But for those who enjoy a good read, check out Emerson's essay.
From the time of Ralph Waldo Emerson's "Philosopher's Camp" at Follensby Pond in 1858, "virtually every popular American conception of wilderness was either invented here or had its own Adirondack variety."
Quite the quote!
I suppose I canoe tripped to Follensby Pond with the little kids more than any other place.
Can't say it is a place of ' wildness ', but it sure still is special...as it was in Emerson's day.
Still? Well it has been a few years...sure would like to spend a night once again on the point!
Wonder if that big birch tree still hangs out over the water?
Best
Paul
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wilderneswalker
Member
Post Number: 1
Registered: 06-2004
| | Posted on Wednesday, June 2, 2004 - 8:22 am: |
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A small gift to start your day.... enjoy.
Wilderness Walker Woman
The Lesson
One day Grandmother awoke in her cabin to the strange sound of silence. The trickle of creek water below her window no longer danced and sang over the stones on its way to the valley below. The towering pines watched as Grandmother lumbered up the dry creek bed to discover Beaver was building a dam with mud and sticks. She now gazed upon a beautiful pond weaving its waters through the maze of ancient trunks where once there had only been forest.
“Beaver,” she spoke respectfully. Beaver stopped to look at the old woman.
“I live below the pond you have made and the water no longer fills the creek.”
Beaver listened.
“Where does the water run from the pond now?”
Beaver led Grandmother to the far shore and showed her the overflow was trickling away into another valley. Grandmother thanked Beaver, filled her apron with water for the night to come and drizzled her way back down to her cabin.
The next morning Grandmother climbed the dry creek bed again to where Beaver was hard at work with mud and sticks. Taking one stone to the new outlet of the pond, she dropped it into the stream. She was ever so careful not to disturb the work that Beaver was doing. The stone diverted the running water ever so slightly toward the old creek bed. Grandmother waved a greeting to Beaver, filled her apron again and sloshed down the canyon. Each day for many days Grandmother returned to place stones into the stream in hopes of directing the water to run into the old creek and past her cabin. Each day for many days she filled her apron and returned down the mountain.
A day came when Grandmother awoke to the sound of water bubbling over the stones under her window once again. She was puzzled for she had only dropped stones half way around the pond and knew this was not enough to fill the creek with water again. Arising, she thanked the creek for its freshness and climbed to the pond to discover how the water had returned.
Beaver greeted the old woman with a toothy grin. Grandmother saw great trees felled and laying end to end from the far shore. The trees were diverting the overflow water to the old creek bed once again.
“Grandmother,” Beaver now spoke respectfully. “Many of your kind would have destroyed me and my work for their needs. You began to build upon what I had built. So, I have built upon what you have done. In gratitude, I and my family and their families will always make the waters flow past your cabin.”
Grandmother thanked Beaver and returned with gifts of tender aspen twigs to show her gratitude.
Lesson: Find a way to build upon the success of others. Your efforts will harvest great rewards for yourSelf and others. |
tess
Member
Post Number: 26
Registered: 03-2004
| | Posted on Wednesday, June 2, 2004 - 8:27 am: |
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Hello Wilderness Walker,
You must be a kindred spirit. Thank you for posting such a wonderful story.
Tess |
paul_hammersten
Member
Post Number: 62
Registered: 03-2004
| | Posted on Wednesday, June 2, 2004 - 10:04 am: |
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Thank you Wilderness Walker.
Have a nice day.
Best
Paul |
canoebear
Member
Post Number: 37
Registered: 05-2004
| | Posted on Tuesday, June 8, 2004 - 4:52 pm: |
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"True Wilderness Solitude"
Means finden no people/nor signs of people.
Tha quality/or state of be-en alone/or be-en remote from society. It can't be explaned,
but, it wood only be experienced. 1 can't own
it/nor should 1 control it. Alone, savage wilds,
that has its own life, its own purpose, & its
own destiny. But much vulnerable! Capable of
be-en wounded, open to attack/or damaged till
its life ends.
I put my canoe down on 'tis here portage path trail & then bushwacked thru dense forest woods.
Came cross River Otters marked trail that lead me to an un-mapped quiet water river type narrowed lake. I found no people/nor signs of people.
I felt quiet! I felt FREE! See-en tha pristine
blue water gives me much Bear strength.
Thens saw River Otter emergen from his river banked den. Out & bout swimmen 'tis crisp color
fall autumn mid-day. Otter seemed to be filled with much laughter, curiosity, be-en mischievous,
hav power, grace, filled with empathy, show joy in play & dispayen signs of helpfulness.
Could 'tis natural passage of waters surrounded in remoteness by old growth woods be "Temagami"?
A true blue wilderness experience in 'tis here
progressive modern world be much hard tooo find, Heya.
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paul_hammersten
Member
Post Number: 70
Registered: 03-2004
| | Posted on Tuesday, June 8, 2004 - 5:04 pm: |
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" un-mapped " is the correct word indeed canoebear!
What a surprise to us back in the late '70's to find a stretch of the Mistissibi not on the map!
It must be the Indian in me to want to voyage where the white man has not set foot.
Best
Paul |
ghost_brigade
Member
Post Number: 5
Registered: 04-2004
| | Posted on Wednesday, June 9, 2004 - 5:25 pm: |
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Wilderness is a 'state of mind'. Small things such as plastic latrine barrels, messages of who has maintained the campsite(posted on trees) or plywood tables found at campsites leave this wanderer disheartened. The intention is right, but the wildness is lost. Latrines placed properly and used properly made of natural materials seem to be advisable. As Temagami (back country) heads towards a more regulated user area, we should keep in mind the success of back country travel that can be found in Quetico. Devoid of singage. Manmade comforts(tables etc.)will continue to be found at the remotest of campsites made by people with good intentions to make there stay a little more comfortable. But is that why you travel by canoe to find such obstructions to wildness? We are all responsible to protect the wilderness areas we cherish, I hope we all find are state of mind. |
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Temagami canoe routes & backcountry travel