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tess
Member
Post Number: 70
Registered: 03-2004
| | Posted on Saturday, June 9, 2007 - 9:27 am: | 
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Hi Ed,
I was quite young when I camped on the peninsula. We did hours and hours of hiking but I have no memory of climbing to the top for that wondrous view of Superior.
But Nanabijou is very much a part of my story.
One day soon, I am almost ready as I am writing about it here, I will go back, stay awhile, and hopefully meet up with a spirit or two.
Do you have a story to share? |
ed
Moderator
Post Number: 462
Registered: 03-2004
| | Posted on Saturday, June 9, 2007 - 10:54 am: |
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I managed to climb up there twice.Once with my 2 oldest daughters. We went up through the chimney and when we got up to the base of the chimney, one of them looked back and started to cry asking how she was ever going to get down from that place.Of course we did get down.I roped the 2 of them together. I think they may have been about 8 and 9 at the time.
Then another year we biked out to the end of the Peninsular and then hiked up a fairly steep but not overly difficult trail to the top. I will always remember because our youngest daughter was with us as well and I carried her in a back pack to the top. She was about 1 1/2 at the time and I remember that it was a very hot day.
But the view was worth it both times.
Maybe I will get to climb there again someday. |
tess
Member
Post Number: 72
Registered: 03-2004
| | Posted on Saturday, June 9, 2007 - 8:49 pm: |
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Wow...thanks for sharing that Ed! For many reasons your experience really intrigues me. I wonder how your daughters would tell the same story today.
I was also within the shadows of Sleeping Giant at around the age of 9, and with my father. It was the one and only camping trip he took me on. Anything outdoors was not his thing before or since... But for some strange reason this was the place he decided to take me to tell me that my mother, who had been sick for about a year, had succumbed to Leukemia.
I do not remember a great climb or a chimney, but I do remember endless walking and crying a lot...and I remember being really confused about what the heck this strange faraway place had to do with my mother.
Landscapes really impact ones whole being...but of course all us paddlers already know this.
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sundown
Member
Post Number: 137
Registered: 04-2007
| | Posted on Saturday, June 9, 2007 - 10:49 pm: |
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Tess
What might be said, except thanks for sharing.
In 1973, stuffed into the back of an airconditionless Ford, my parents drove us across this land to the Rockies. My folks never had much opportunity to travel... we grew up with the best that they could grant to us, and that meant that my folks often went without... but we never did.
My Dad was always a "Wordsmith"... if we asked him a question he might not have the answer to, he wouldn't hesitate with an intriguing answer, which may or may not have had the benefit of any fact... but, would keep us wide-eyed and silently enthralled. Many of the answers we were
granted, I still dont know if they were based on
fact or Dad's legend.
But, I remember every one.
When we saw the Sleeping Giant, I asked Dad why it was called that. And he provided me with an answer. Whether, his legend is THE legend, I dont need to know... and I havent rushed to find out. Nor will I tomorrow.
He told me the giant lost his only love... and heartbroken, lay down to sleep... hoping never to wake up to her no longer being by his side.
At 18... 1979... I came home from New Zealand... and was missing my New Zealand girlfriend
something fierce... knowing I wouldnt see her for how many years... I found comfort by
writing this poem... as though I were the sleeping giant... torn from her side, by life,
and circumstance.
I hope it brings you comfort, as it still does me.
Yesterday...
Though hearts were young and hopes unbound,
Through outstreched arms, the skies were sought,
On scattered shores two hearts were found,
Along shattered dreams that tears had wrought,
Though none may view our cloistered love...
The Angels wept and caged our Dove...
Unitl today...
when against the trials that years have cast,
we search our souls through wizened eyes,
It dawns this morn, save time has past,
and though hearts withhold the silent sighs,
Though none may view our cloistered love,
Our hands entwined have touched the Dove...
Until Tomorrow...
When in the morning light the sun shall rise,
And you and I neath the shadows soft,
Shall toss asunder the silk disguise,
Our cradled hearts to hold aloft,
For all to view, Uncloistered love,
Then I, and You, release the Dove...
Forever.
Sundown |
ed
Moderator
Post Number: 463
Registered: 03-2004
| | Posted on Sunday, June 10, 2007 - 8:33 am: |
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I don't think I can add anything to those 2 stories from Tess and Sundown.
But..Tess,you should go back there and stand on top of Nanabijou, spend some time up there and try to recall that day with your father now that your grief has subsided.I lost my mother to cancer when I was 12 and it was a very sad time for me when that happened.
And Sundown.... now we know where you got your love of words from. Nice poem. |
sundown
Member
Post Number: 138
Registered: 04-2007
| | Posted on Sunday, June 10, 2007 - 11:58 am: |
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Thanks Ed,
That poem still brings me much comfort.
"Yesterday,Today,Tomorrow" is my perhaps slimly disguised symbolism of "what was", "what is", and "what shall be".
I have applied it consistently, yet variedly to a multitude of personal life-altering moments...
be it loss of ones precious to us...
be it loss of an everchanging environment...
be it loss of simple traditions of humanity...
You will recall I asked you a few weeks ago what was the most pleasant surprise, and the saddest moment, of your recent spring trip. That is why I asked. I wanted to know what remained of Yesterday, and what I might focus upon Today to do my part, with you and others, to shape that better Tomorrow.
I am very much a realist... Ive had way too many experiences that became way too real... but, the last verse represents to me, that no matter "what was", and no matter what any Today dictates "What is"... Tomorrow is determined by "we"... by what we choose to do, to shape it.
I firmly believe that the Ones we've lost, we shall meet again.
The Anishnabai, I am told, call the Northern Lights "the dead men dancing".
There is a continuity to all things, and I like the concept that those we have lost are found, and perhaps dance in celebration.
Unto both you, and Tess, I grant my poem.
As to words, yes, I respect words immensely, and come by that from an ancestry I had good fortune to be "born, bred, educated, and conditioned" to retain in my personal packsack.
"A word once spoken, can never be made unsaid".
That is why, I feel, each of our words ought be measured carefully. A wise man isnt always silent, but knows when to be. There are times I havent always been wise... none of us are infallible. Least of all me.
Regretably, 20 years of my poetry succumbed to flame. A few... too few perhaps... remain... saved only by the frequency my mind was subjected to reading them. The things most precious to us, I think, become the granite shorelines of our own personal existence.
Kind Regards Ed
Sundown
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lady_di
Member
Post Number: 4
Registered: 06-2007
| | Posted on Sunday, June 10, 2007 - 4:06 pm: |
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I posted a version similar to this on CCR ..I've enjoyed reading this thread very much. It seems we were all jammed in 69 chevy riding out to see what lay beyond. Anyway, here's my storey.
My father was always fascinated by the north and landmarks were of particular importance to him.
We stopped and examined our change as we stood before "the Big Nickel" in Sudbury. Course back then, nickels really were made of nickel.
We trekked through the Scenic Caves in Collingwood, checking our girth on the last cave that meant you were fat if you couldn't fit through.
We went deep into a mine in Nova Scotia and came back with requisite bag of coal.
We said "hallelujah!" as we stood on top of the rocks at Peggy's Cove.
And finally,
We marvelled at the mystery of "The Sleeping Giant" - what magic would conjure this beast to life. I was very young and at the time there was a television show called (I think) "Land of the Giants". People had been transported to another planet where humans were the size of mice and giants ruled. I always imagined myself as one of those little people standing before the giant - hoping my fate would be secure.
Even now all these years later, as I walk through a conservation area with my dogs where the thistle grows over 6 feet high in places, I call out loud "This is the L- A - N - D of the Giants" (sung with a deep tenor voice just like the TV show announcer had) and command my troops (my dogs) to move forward bravely between the deadly thistle.
It's funny how something as simple as a pile of rocks can evoke such memories. I'm starting to feel my life is a rerun of the Movie Michael - me and John T looking at the World's largest frying pan.
For everyone else, Here's the wiki version.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sleeping_Giant_(Ontar io)}
(Message edited by lady_di on June 10, 2007) |
tess
Member
Post Number: 73
Registered: 03-2004
| | Posted on Tuesday, June 12, 2007 - 5:59 am: |
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Beautiful poem Sundown. You have many-voices in your poetry; Yesterday, Today, Tommorrow soars with emotion. Many thanks!
Ed, I am now planning some time away in September so I can re-visit the Sleeping Giant. Funny how long it takes for one to look inward at such things...and a CBC competition and this thread became the tipping point...
Lady Di ...so wonderful to see you here on Ottertooth! I love your story and can relate totally to your amazing "Land of the Giants." Dogs bring many benefits into my life too ...daily walking and getting to intimately know the homestead forest and field is just one of them.
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sundown
Member
Post Number: 141
Registered: 04-2007
| | Posted on Tuesday, June 12, 2007 - 7:51 am: |
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Tess, Glad you liked it.
It was, of course, written while drifting in my canoe.
My thoughts will be with you in September.
It seems like such a right thing for you to do.
And, while driving, watch out for "Falling Rock, and the Chipmoose"
A little legend-story for your Tuesday morning.
On Hwy 560 between Elk Lake and Gowganda, 2kms or
so before Longpoint Lake and the Beauty Lake Road, there is a Southwest-facing Canadian Shield
escarpment alongside the road. Millenia of winter
Freezes and Thaws have scaled off massive jagged
boulders which have piled up in a boulderfield at roads edge.
If you drive by, you will note that the MTO has
this boulderfield well posted, before and after the dangerzone with signs reading:
"Watch for Falling Rock"
You may also notice a multitude of Chipmunks scurrying across the roadbed in that exact location... no doubt attracted by the millions of
nooks and crannies and nesting/hiding spaces that
the boulders afford.
As kids, my folks would take us swimming regularly at Longpoint Lake, and as we entered that particular road section, Dad would always slow down and enlist us all to "Watchout for the Chipmoose".
His Legend was that an ancient Ojibway named Falling Rock kept watch over that road section. Falling Rock was a powerful, powerful Medicine Man, with a profound love and respect of Moose...
but he was tremendously shy. If we watched carefully, we "might just catch a glimpse of Falling Rock, hiding behind one of those boulders". We might not see him, but rest assured
he is always there... because all of the moose
in the area need to cross the highway, and they
come to this exact spot, because Falling Rock
will keep them safe as they cross the road.
Dad's legend was that the Moose would come to
the edge of the bush, and Falling Rock would cast a spell, changing the Moose into a Chipmunk,
so the Chipmoose could scurry across to the other
side in safety... and then become a Moose again.
When I was young I believed this story.
When I was young I also believed in Santa Claus.
I was SO disappointed when I grew up, and learned
that one of these stories was nothing more than
a fantasy.
Happy day, Tess
Sundown |
ed
Moderator
Post Number: 464
Registered: 03-2004
| | Posted on Tuesday, June 12, 2007 - 8:48 am: |
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"Watchout for the Chipmoose".
interesting name.... my oldest daughter called them "chipmouse" and still does to this day when she sees one while out canoeing with me. |
sundown
Member
Post Number: 142
Registered: 04-2007
| | Posted on Tuesday, June 12, 2007 - 9:07 am: |
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Ed,
perhaps it was en francais... chipmousse?
Happy trip, Ed... where are you off to?
Sundown |
ed
Moderator
Post Number: 465
Registered: 03-2004
| | Posted on Tuesday, June 12, 2007 - 12:16 pm: |
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Well, maybe... she did go through school in french immersion..... |
sundown
Member
Post Number: 144
Registered: 04-2007
| | Posted on Tuesday, June 12, 2007 - 1:20 pm: |
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Hey Ed.....
Daughters of 26 and 27, eh? I suspect round about
10 years ago you were pulling your hairout.
My hair is just coming due.
I usually try to restrict my story-punishment of you guys to one story every 2 weeks, but todays
occurences, and you mentioning your two daughters, compels me to share a little piece
about that little-known tradition known as "The Elk Lake Canoe Trip". Perhaps it'll come in handy for other Daughter-Dads out there.
The Elk Lake Canoe Trip:
When my Sister turned 16, seemingly out of Nowhere, appeared a tremendous influx of boys.
And, for some strange reason, Dad only chuckled.
He rapidly halted a fine Mum-Chicken-Dinner one night, with a china-rattling-drop-of-fork-meets-plate... followed by 7 seconds of awesome silence... when my Sister inquired if her "New Friend" could take her to the Drive-In Movie.
Dad paused... (You Daughter-Dads getting this???)... and, then opined "No... I havent been fishing with that Boy Yet... but, tell you what... have him over for Dinner next Saturday and I'll teach him all I know about Fishing... and, if he's a quick study... polite and all, and has a head on his shoulders... maybe a movie date wont be completely out of the question. Is that fair?" "yes, Dad".
Now, over the course of 2 or 3 years Dad kept to his word, and my Sister, to her credit, thereafter told every Boy she wanted to bring home that the first date was always an "Elk Lake Canoe Trip" with Dad. And, to my knowledge, that was pretty much how it always worked.
Being 3 years older than my Sister, and Guardian of the Canoe, Dad usually arranged for me to make sure the Canoe wss "properly" outfitted, as due to any 16-19 year old First Guest to our Home, and potential Suitor to my only Sister.
The rigging was simple. Two Paddles, Two Life Jackets, Two Rods, One Net, One Tacklebox, and
"Dad's Anchor".
Dad's anchor consisted of a 150 pound rim off a
Massey-Harris Farm Tractor, placed adjacent to the Bowseat with a tenfoot length of Marine Rope
with a loose slip-knot.
Invariably, Dad and Young Suitor would head down
to the Dock, and Invariably, Young Suitor would ask "Why such a huge anchor and such a short rope?"
Dad would reply offhand "Oh, we're going Pickerel Fishing".
If the lad was bright, he'd say "Ok... but, I dont get it... why do you need such a big anchor?".
Dad would give away his trade secrets at this point.
"Well, Son... my Father-in-Law taught me this trick, and I reckon it works. He took me fishin the first time I was invited for dinner, and he taught me how to guarantee a lifetime of catching
pickerel. And, Son, now I'm sharing it with you... cause you seem like a nice boy"
"You see, Pickerel feed best at 16 feet of water.
That there rope is 10 feet long. How tall are you, Son?"
"Well Sir, I'm 5'-10""
"There you go, Son... now you got it!!!!"
My Father-in-Law taught me:
"Ten feet of Rope
16 Feet of Water
Is the Best you can Hope
If you touch my Daughter... Let's go fishin, Son... Mum's gonna have Chicken on the table in an hour, and we dont want to miss that".
Sundown
PS In 2 weeks Roula and I and her Daughters are going on a Fishing Trip, and the oldest's Boyfriend is coming along. Today I looked on Ebay
for the appropriate rigging. I'll let you know how it works out)
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