James Bay Story (standard:adventure, 11172 words)
Author: Adventure Boy	Added: Nov 14 2004	Views/Reads: 3845/2480	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Family trip to James Bay.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story


Ben's eyes were scanning the streets, shops, bridges as his young mind
filled with memories of a trip that took him beyond any other he had 
taken in the past.  Eric was now awake and Bob was knocking on the 
window that we needed to stop and relieve ourselves.  I continued to 
the next off ramp and stopped at a gas station to use the restrooms.  
The operators spoke only French and gladly accepted American money as a 
tip for the use of their facilities.  We entered the back of the truck 
for drinks and snacks.  It was 6 am and I commented about Montreal and 
its bilingualism, its old town district and cosmopolitan air makes 
Montreal one of North America's world-class cities.  As Canada's second 
largest city, Montreal has easily blended modern business and 
industrial concerns with its Old World tradition.  This multicultural 
city contains the largest French population outside of Europe, with 
two-thirds of its citizens speaking French.  The city is home to 
several prestigious universities, numerous buildings of historical and 
cultural significance and a vast underground network called La Ville 
Souterraine. 

We were now on our way to Laval, north of Montreal on PH15.  The city
was clean, modern and neat as a pin.  In a short time the countryside 
changed from city to forest and the mountains of Mont. Tremblant, the 
highest point in the Laurentian Highlands.  The peak, which rises to a 
height of 3,150 feet, is one of Canada's most popular skiing 
destinations.  We are now traveling highway 117.  Small towns are along 
the road with no gas stations, and we will stop at the next gas station 
as fuel is running low. 

Grand-Remous was like an oasis in the forested hills as a gas station
and restaurant were in this town that laid on the edge of Lake 
Baskatong know for world record Walleyed Pike.  After stopping the boys 
came out of the cargo area and we refueled, to Bob's surprise the fuel 
cost $55.00 dollars, he then offered a hot breakfast to all in the 
restaurant.  The waitress could not speak English, but took our order 
with a smile.  We all enjoyed eggs with bacon, ham, sausage, toast, 
coffee and cretons for our first breakfast on the trip. 

Now it was Eric's turn to drive and Ben sat in the front to navigate. 
It was 10 am. and we were steering for the town of Val-D'or, we needed 
to exchange American money for Canadian money.  Eric drove like the 
young man he has become, always being cautious of the other driver.  
There were not too many other drivers on the road.  The forest was 
becoming stumped.  We saw a bear cub and a young moose on the side of 
the road.  Then the mineshafts started to show-up above the tree line.  
Mines of gold, zinc, copper and iron dotted the tree line as we drove 
toward Val-D'or.  The signs of pollutants were present in the waters as 
foam and black tainted water flowed under the road.  Val-D'or a mining 
town of about 15,000 people was bustling on this Friday, May 23, 1997, 
about noon.  Eric parked the truck on Main St. and we began to look 
about for a bank.  John went into the bank across the street.  Bob, 
Eric and Ben checked out the small town.  Small stores and shop lined 
the streets.    Bob went off to a restaurant for coffee, where he had 
quite the experience with the French language ordering coffee.  John 
entered the bank and found the employees friendly and willing to 
struggle with the language problems.  John got $137.00 dollars Canadian 
Money for $100.00 American that's a 37% exchange rate.  We meet in 
front of the bank and watched the locals come and go, like any little 
town.  Bob thought that this was the type of town he would like to live 
in. 

Well, were back on the road again, our destination still unchanged, we
are now leaving highway 117 for highway 111.  No, not the highway 111 
that runs through Lebanon, Sanford, Alfred, and ET. in Maine.  This 
highway 111 was headed for Amos 43 miles ahead.  The weather now had 
turn to partly sunny with no rain.  The countryside was still forested 
with nothing between the towns. 

At Amos, a paper-mill town, we stopped for gas and coffee before
changing on to highway 109.  No, not the 109 that runs through Wells, 
Sanford, and Acton into New Hampshire.  This 109 would take us 113 
miles past hundreds of small lakes to Matagami. 

Matagami is a very small mining town on the edge of the Indian land
known as the James-Bay Territories. While we refueled for the 
adventure, in the James-Bay region we spoke to a Matagami miner.  He 
spoke English very well, he worked in the mines, that were closing down 
for several years.  He told us how some mine shafts go down into the 
earth 10,000 feet and they use jeeps to get around.  I myself could not 
fathom that possibility. 

After crossing the bridge over Bell River we came to the gatehouse that
was operated by French speaking people, who helped us with some of the 
unknown parts of the adventure.  They informed us that it was 410 mile 
to Radisson.  That the campgrounds were still not open, but we could 
stay anywhere along the roadside; that the fishing we had dreamed of 
doing would not open until June 7th, and that halfway, there was a gas 
station that closes a 9 PM.  They wanted to know, when would we return? 
 So, that if we did not return they would come looking for us.  With 
all the French written information in hand we left the gatehouse and 
started down the last leg of the adventure. 

Eric, Ben and Bob wanted to know what I had learned from the French
speaking gate-men.  I told them that we were too early for this trip 
and explained how the campgrounds were closed and tried to quietly tell 
them that the fishing was closed.  Eric was wild at the thought that we 
had traveled this far to catch Salmon that we dreamed would jump into 
the truck, like you see on the Learning Channel about the Alaskan 
Wilderness.  I calmed him down by saying we would fish anyway.  Down 
the road we go, trying to figure out what we were going to do from 
here.  It was around 3 PM. on Friday May 23rd and we were getting 
hungry for a meal. We pushed on trying to stay on schedule with the 
trip plan.  After several discussion's about what, when and where's, we 
decided to stop at Rodayer Lake and have supper and do some fishing.  
There were no vehicles on the road, so what was the problem with 
dropping a line in the water while we cooked supper?  Well Bob found a 
spot on our French map that had a picnic area and was on Rodayer Lake.  
Keep in mind that there are no cars, because after 120 miles there have 
been no other roads, towns or houses.  Nothing, but cooler temperatures 
and shorter trees.  Anyway back to having a great meal for supper at 
the lake.  Bob said, "Take your next left".  So I did, saying, "I'll 
cook while you guys fish off the shore".  We were all excited at the 
thought of giant salmon, bass, and trout.  Down the road we go, all of 
a sudden the lake looks funny, Bob says "What the heck"?  Eric says, 
"It looks like snow".  I started laughing, because I know that my 
shipmates are going to kill me, Why? The dam lake is frozen solid with 
2 feet of ice.  My mates start crying about the ice-covered lake and 
how I (John) messed up on the trip plan.  I said "cheer up, there's 
more than fishing!  Were having a great time traveling and seeing 
things we have never seen before, I still plan on going up to James Bay 
and putting my foot in the water.  We all started having sandwiches and 
a good laugh was had on me for the unexpected ice-fishing trip. 

We continued on down the road, hoping on finding open water.  Around
6:30 PM. we came upon Rupert's Cascade, flowing like a wild raging 
animal, roaring so loudly that the ground shook under our feet.  We 
talked about setting up camp on this spot, but Ben feared the ragging 
Rupert's River.  We decided to take some tote roads along the side of 
it, in hopes of a good campsite.  The first road took us in about 2 
miles, past an Indian camp and teepee.  The place looked empty.  We 
drove past and came to the fast moving river above the falls and 
rapids.  There was some hesitation about staying there because of the 
Indian camp.  Eric spots a site on the other bank of the river about a 
half-mile across.  We wondered if there was a road on that side, we 
decided to drive around and check it out.  We crossed the bridge over 
the raging Rupert's River on a Bridge that I cannot explain it's 
design, it was very awkward.  Finding the road on the other side we 
drove up about 2 miles and came upon a campsite that jetted out into 
the river so that we had water on three sides and the gentle roar of 
the beast with all it mist just down stream.  Perfect, "let's set up 
camp," everyone proclaimed. 

We casually started to set up camp, weary from the 18 hour drive to this
land that time seemingly had forgotten, we started fishing off the 
banks of Rupert's River.  So named after a prince of England and back 
in the 1700's this, and most of Canada was know as Rupert's Land.  We 
had setup our tent and started getting supper ready, when a Indian in a 
canoe was rowing toward us.  He was checking us out from the river and 
came to the shore of our campsite.  I greeted him and the others came 
to the shore to say hello.  This Indian was wearing long johns that had 
holes in them and a tee shirt with a pair of boots.  Not bad 
considering we had our winter coats and hiking boots on in this 45 
degree cloudy evening, around 8 PM on Friday, May 23rd 1997.  In his 
canoe we could see a fishing pole, ax, shotgun, Red neck duck, 
Whitefish and especially a black 5-foot Stergoues.  I ask where he got 
the fish and he said in broken English "I netted it up the river".  I 
told him we were in hopes of fishing but the gate attendants told us 
that the fishing season opened on July 7th.  He laughed and said, "fish 
anyway".  He walked up the bank and over to our site and was checking 
out our gear, he asked if we had any bbrrr.  I asked, "bear".  He said 
"bbbrrr"!  I told him I did not understand and he again said "berrr".  
Bob said, "Do you mean beer"?  He replied "Yes beer!"  We said, "No we 
did not bring any beer".  He grumped.  He then said we had a nice tent 
and asked if we would be cold during the night.  I replied "No, we have 
good sleeping bags".  He wanted to know where we were from and why we 
were camping where we were and where we were going.  I replied that we 
were from Maine, in the United States and this looked like a nice place 
to eat and rest, I asked if it was OK to stay here?  He said "yes".  
And that we were going to James Bay and that I wanted to put my foot in 
it.  He laughed.  I offered him a cigarette and he excepted.  I asked 
his name.  He said his name was George Blacknet and he had a camp 
across from our site.  His home was Waskaganish, a village on the coast 
at the mouth of Rupert's River.  I asked if he was an Inuit Indian and 
he proudly stated that he was Cree.  Bob who is hard of hearing said 
"your what?"  And George gestured with covering his mouth with his hand 
and "wo, wo, wo, wo" Bob.  Bob's eyes rolled in his head as his head 
snapped back in surprise to George's gesture.  George informed us that 
there was a wolf and a bear in the area, but should not be a problem. 
George wished us a good trip and returned to his canoe, paddling back 
onto the river and fading away too the other side of the river. 

Well, Bob was not impressed with our visitor.  So much so, that he
proclaimed "I'm telling you John that this guy (George) is going to 
come back tonight, probably with his buddy's and rip-us-off".  The boys 
were all eyes and ears at this thought.  I tried to calm Bob down by 
saying "He's just asking questions and admiring our gear, like we would 
a $100,000 motor home".  Bob was sure they would attack in the night 
and the boys agreed with Bob.  So I put the truck on the side of the 
tent so that any attempt to break-in would be heard.  Bob and the boys 
took fishing knifes to bed with them and I took an ax into the tent, In 
case an animal became a problem.  We got into our sleeping bags and 
zipped them up tight for the near freezing temperature of the evening.  
Listening to the gently roar of the beastly Rupert's River Cascades in 
the distance, down the river lulled me to sleep after 1200 mile in a 
day. 

(Saturday, May 24th 1997.  7 am.) The next morning came without an
attack, all was fine, there was a steady shower and the temp was in the 
low 30's.  Bob got up too.  We both wanted hot coffee on this cold damp 
morning.  We needed shelter from the rain for cooking and we moved the 
truck and took out a tarp for cover. Placing one end over the truck cap 
and the other over a picnic table we got the gas-stove going and Bob 
warmed his hands by the stove while the water started to boil.  It was 
raining harder and Bob wondered how far it was to the halfway gas 
station and restaurant.  It was a couple of hours down the road.  Eric 
and Ben figured they could survive a few hours for breakfast seeing 
they survived throughout the night, without being attacked by Indians.  
We broke camp and packed up the truck and left George and his tribe 
along the beautiful Rupert's River with it's roaring beast as a memory. 


As we started back down the road for the halfway station.  I wondered
why the Salmon had not jumped into the truck back at the river, or at 
least onto the shore or even in the rapids, Oh' well, it was a nice 
dream.  Anyway, as we drove past frozen brooks and streams the 
countryside took on a different look.  The territory is dotted with 
lakes.  The deficient forest consists mostly of sparse black spruce and 
a shrub-like flora of the Arctic tundra, which huddles close to the 
ground to seek protection from the wind.  The moss that grows in this 
area is almost florescent in its greenish color (a Cree named Stanley 
Hill told me the Caribou love this moss) and is nestled in the black 
spruce.  The Caribou have moved further north, they follow the snow 
line (George Blacknett told me that).  The largest caribou herd in the 
world (approximately one million heads) may be found chiefly in the 
area of the far north.  Among the animals common to the Far North are 
the polar bear and black bear, musk ox (one of the last survivors of 
the Ice Age.) Arctic and red foxes, wolf, otter, ermine, beaver and 
Arctic hare.  As we pressed north on this unnamed road toward the 
halfway station the gas gage was reading low and we all looked forward 
to a good breakfast.  After a couple of hours the halfway station came 
into view.  We steered to the gas pumps, a French girl named Chentel 
waited on us, and she understood and spoke English as she was 
originally from Montreal and moved to the Far North to work and to 
hunt.  We started to fill the Raam with 88.9 cents per liter gas.  This 
would be the highest gas for the trip.  Nineteen American gallons gas 
cost $65.00.  Bob was floored at the cost.  We spoke about the area 
with Chentel and left her a good tip.  She said "see you on the way 
back", and we said good bye. 

Still at the halfway station, we drove over to the cantina for
breakfast.  Inside, it was a small cafeteria style lunchroom, that was 
clean and allowed smoking.  At the counter the overhead menu was 
totally in French.  Even John could not read French so he said to the 
attendant in French "mo fracici sa po tra bai, pli too engli".  The 
attendant replied in half French and half English what the daily 
special was and we decided to order four of the same big breakfast at 
$13.00 each, that included two eggs, toast (that you make yourself), 
bacon and sausage, coffee.  Not the best meal on earth, but it tasted 
good after waiting till 10 am. to eat.  Bob wanted coffee to go and 
asked the attendant "how much to fill this thermos"?  The attendant 
replied "twelve dollars" Bob said "twelve dollars for this small 
thermos? I'll give you three dollars"!  The attendant said "six 
dollars" Bob said "4 dollars American"!  The attendant said, "OK".  Bob 
told the French speaking attendant that he was a crook and keep your 
coffee we would make our own on the road and we left. 

After calming Bob down over the price of the coffee, we continued down
the road with 120 miles to go to Radisson (so named after one of the 
founders of the Hudson Bay Company) a small French village to support 
the hydro dam project in the area.  We past a road that led to the town 
of Eastmain that is on the coast of James Bay.  We the past over the 
Eastmain River Bridge, this bridge was astonishing due to its height 
and length between two ridges and the river below.  We could see 
cascades off to the right, upstream from the bridge and we slowed to 
look for wildlife.  We did not see any wildlife on the shore below.  
There was no wildlife along this road so far.  We traveled past The 
Chain Of Lakes, Lake Miron and Lake Yasinski.  Passing another side 
road on the left that led too the village of Wemindji another Cree 
Indian village on the coast of James Bay.  We were now at the 53rd 
parallel.  We live on the 43rd parallel and the Arctic begins at the 
66th parallel.  The light rain had turned to light snow and the brooks 
were ice and snow covered.  We were getting anxious for our goal.  We 
now came to a road on the right side off the road with small signs.  We 
stopped and studied the signs and checked the map for the correct way 
to James Bay.  Straight-ahead was the right way, turning right would 
take us east four hundred mile along the dams that Quebec hydro built 
along the Grand River. 

As we travel north along this unnamed road we thought we saw an animal
at a distance in the road.  As we approached, everyone was wondering 
what it was, finally it sprang across the road ahead of us and we then 
could see it was an Indian child that was lying in the road.  We 
thought that this was very strange to have a child in the middle of the 
wilderness lying in the road.  We then crossed the Castor River and 
came upon The Pines Camping area.  We stopped in, even though it was 
closed, just to check it out.  The Pines was a very small and open 
camping area, with a small store and showers.  We were glad that we had 
chosen Rupert's River Cascade for our site instead of The Pines Camping 
area. 

The next stop would be Radisson.  As we traveled from The Pines, we past
an airport that handles air traffic into the region.  We came to a road 
on the left that said Chisasibi, this was where we wanted to go to see 
James Bay, but we needed to refuel in Radisson first, which was 20 
miles ahead.  As we traveled, we could see the electrical sub-stations 
that transferred power into the grid from the generators at the dam.  
The sub-stations were huge and we could see some personnel outdoors, in 
their red suits.  Bob said, "you could not get me to live here for a 
million dollars" I asked "why not".  Bob said, "it's too desolate 
here".  We then came to Radisson, driving through to check the town 
out, showed that there was one small gas station that served as a 
sporting goods store at the same time, a hotel, a diner and a 
restaurant.  The homes on the hillside looked like temporary military 
style trailers like a military base.  We stopped at the gas station for 
fuel and everyone went inside.  The storekeeper was French from 
Montreal and her husband worked for the Power Company.  She spoke 
English and was looking forward to going back home to Montreal in a few 
months.  She had lived in Radisson for several years and seemed home 
sick.  The station did not have coffee, so she directed us to a diner 
across the street.  Bob and I entered the diner and noticed that their 
meal prices were outrageous $9.00 for a hamburger boat, $12.00 for a 
chicken sandwich, $17.00 for a steak sandwich.  We decided against 
eating there, but Bob wanted coffee to go and asked the storekeeper for 
coffee.  The store keeper did not understand English, Bob was at a 
lost, so I stepped in and told the man that, my French was not very 
good, he smiled at the thought that I could speak a little French, he 
just did not realized how little French I could speak.  I asked in 
French for coffee.  He said something in French I did not understand.  
I asked for an explanation and he showed me an empty coffeepot, he 
explained that he would make some, but it would take time.  I said, 
"OK".  As I stood there with Bob waiting for coffee to brew.  I thought 
of how when strangers in our country speaking little to no English they 
always nod their head in agreement, like Orientals nodding when there 
unsure.  I thought back at how often I found myself agreeing with 
people and not fully understanding what was said, I trusted these 
people to treat me fairly.  There is a lesson to be learned here about 
people that are different than others.  We got our coffee from the 
storekeeper and I asked about the weather.  He said, "it should clear 
in a few hours". 

We drove out of Radisson and went up to the dam.  It was still snowing
lightly and the air was raw.  We stopped at the top of one of the dams 
and the water was still covered with ice.  There was a slight hum of 
electricity in the air as we tried to read the information on the 
display, it was in French, so we read the pictures and tried to ad-lib 
to the information for Eric and Ben to understand.  We did not stay 
there long, because our goal was James Bay.  We started back toward the 
turn in the road for Chisasibi.  It now was snowing hard enough to 
hinder visibility as a sense of excitement now ran through me that I 
was almost to James-Bay.  We drove past another hydro-project and drove 
up a steep hill that allowed us to see snow covered lakes in the 
distance and then a sign to stop and be inspected.  These signs were 
strangely in English, French and what looked at first, like chicken 
scratching to me.  Anyway we came to a run down little shack with smoke 
coming out of the smoke pipe in the roof.  There was a dark skinned 
person in a sliding glass door that asked "where were we coming from 
and where were we going"?  I replied "the United States and we are 
going to James-Bay".  He asked "why"?  I told him "so I can put my foot 
in the water" He asked, "do you have any alcohol"?  I said "no".  He 
waved us through and we were again on our way.  Bob wondered what that 
road check was all about.  We then could see the small town of 2800 
Cree Indians.  We drove past and planned to stop into Chisasibi on our 
way back from James-Bay.  I was now on the last few miles of dirt road 
away from James Bay.  I was pumping everyone up about the grandness of 
the Bay.  Suddenly the road came to an end. 

Could this small boat launch be the extent of our view of James-Bay? A
empty grassy lot at the edge of the Grand River was all I was going to 
see!  Unacceptable, I told the others there has to be a shore front 
view of James-Bay even if we have to walk through the forest to see it! 
 I started too drive the truck down a narrow dirt road along the river 
that soon ended.  I turned the truck around on the verge of insanity, 
thinking how we had traveled 1410 miles to see next to nothing of 
James-Bay!  I dove back to the small grassy lot and spotted a female 
walking up from the riverbank.  She had reddish curly hair and blue 
eyes, she stood about 5 feet tall and weighed about 100 pounds, she was 
petite.  I stopped the truck and leaped out, walking over to her, I 
asked in French if she understood English because my French was rather 
poor.  She replied in French "that she spoke French, English or Cree".  
I was so glad that she spoke English and asked "if this was the only 
view of the Bay"?  She replied "No, there is a road a little ways back 
that will take you to the beach".  I asked the directions again, 
because I wanted to make sure of the way.  I then asked her name and 
she said her name was Helen Oar.  Through conversation I learned that 
she was from southern Quebec and she is librarian at the Cree school 
for several years.  I asked about Fort George being destroyed and she 
said, "that's a lie.  Fort George is still on the island that the 
government moved all the Indians off of, because the government feared 
destruction in the wake of a dam breaking open and flooding the area". 
I asked if the island was deserted and she replied "no it is not 
deserted and it is a beautiful place to visit and that people are now 
building new cottages on the island".  She told me that as we traveled 
up the dirt road to stay to the right and we would come to an area 
where in the summer they run a barge across to the island.  I wanted to 
ask so many other questions, but it was around 4 PM on Saturday, May 
24th 1997 and I did not want the sun to set before I had the 
opportunity to feast my eye's and dip my foot in James-Bay.  So, I said 
thank you very much in French then English and left the young lady to 
finish her walk. 

Back in the truck the guys were giving me a hard time about the time I
spent interrogating this young lady and wanted to know what I had 
learned.  I told them as we drove back toward Chisasibi that the road 
was just up ahead on the right and as I drove I explained the 
conversation that seemed to take such a long time at the banks of the 
river.  We found a muddy little road on the right side of the road and 
turned onto it.  It wound along and then the fork in the road came up 
like Helen Oar said it would.  We turned right to check out Fort George 
Island, as we crested a hill it laid in the river.  Bob said "hey, that 
barge is an old troop carrier from Vietnam War era and I use to drive 
troops between shore leave and their ships with one of those.  It was 
rather rusty and looked as if it needed repair.  There were cars and 
trucks parked all about, but no people.  We looked over to the island 
and on it we could see old cars and trucks on the island.  I wished 
that we could go over to the island and do some exploring.  But, 
James-Bay was still down the road.  We backed back up the hill away 
from the river and turned around.  Back on the dirt road that was 
leading us to James-Bay we could see a frozen lake of to the left as we 
drove along.  Suddenly to all of our surprise we were at the beach.  
Cars and trucks were parked in the lot that led down the stony beach.  
The beach was covered with snowmobiles and boats turned over for 
winter.  So remember the frozen lake, why are there snowmobiles at the 
beach?  Because, James-bay was frozen and still had two feet of ice on 
it.  That's right, ice two feet thick.  The guys were laughing at me, 
because it was frozen.  None of us had ever seen a frozen ocean.  It 
was white with ice as far as the eye could see.  I walked down to the 
edge and walked out onto the ice, everyone followed.  There were rocks 
that had frozen into the ice and now were melting holes in the ice.  I 
walked along laughing that James-Bay was a sheet of ice.  I came to an 
opening in the ice that was a couple of feet wide and the water was 
sloughing about in it.  Well, originally I had planed to place my bare 
foot into the water and today I found myself standing in below freezing 
temperatures and snow blowing about and wearing my winter jacket with 
my hood pulled over and my hiking boots on.  Well, I told Bob as I put 
my boot into the ice covered ocean, that he was my witness to this 
event at about 5 PM on Saturday, May 24th 1997.  I proclaimed that this 
was one small step for mankind, but one cold foot for this man.  We 
walked around and took pictures and some video of this historic moment. 
 I asked a heavy set Indian girl where are all the people that owned 
the cars where?  And she said "in the bush".  That did not mean 
anything to me at that time.  So, I looked for someone else to ask my 
questions too.  But there was no one else.  The Indian women seemed shy 
and did not make eye contact when speaking.  They also seemed fearful 
of strangers.  I latter learned that Cree Indian women are not social 
as the men are.  That the women, still primarily stay at home and do 
not talk with strangers. 

So I went up to see the guys, that were now back in the truck because
they were cold.  As I stood outside the truck a vehicle pulled in and I 
looked at the plate to see where they were from.  Golly, a Maine plate 
on a Ford Bronco.  As soon as this guy got out of his truck I was 
asking him where about in Maine was he from.  South Portland was his 
reply.  He was planning a more extensive trip by air up into the true 
wilds of Hudson-Bay and the Arctic.  I left him chatting with Bob and 
the boys after an Indian walked over and asked to use my binoculars. I 
walked down to the beach were he had his blue Chevy van and he was 
concerned about some young men that were having snowmobile problems on 
the edge of the ice.  He pointed out were they were and in the snowfall 
I still had a hard time to spot them.  I asked him his name and he 
replied that he was Jim Otterice and that he had move here from a 
southern Indian village.  As he keep an eye on the men on the ice I 
noticed that he was a tall slender man of around 30 and had short black 
hair with dark brown eyes, he spoke English very well and spoke Cree 
with the others in the van.  I asked where are all the people that 
owned the vehicle were and he explained that they were in the bush, on 
the islands hunting Canadian Geese.  So up here if you're in the woods 
it's called the bush.  OK, now I understand.  I asked if they use their 
snowmobiles to go out to the islands in James-Bay and he said, "no, the 
ice is not safe"!  As he said that I could here the whoop, whoop of a 
helicopter in the air, a few minutes and we watched the helicopter land 
and drop of four Indian men with their shotguns and hands full of 
geese.  I asked Jim Otterice when would the ice be gone and he replied 
"the middle of June".  I said after the ice is gone what do you folks 
catch fishing out of the dory styled boats?  He said "that the boats 
are not used for fishing but for geese hunting in the fall.  That the 
geese is one of the most sought after game in the region and that they 
close down school for three weeks so that everyone can go geese 
hunting.  He returned my binoculars after he saw that the young men 
were safely off the ice and back on shore.  He thanked me for the use 
of the binoculars and I said "no problem".  I returned to the truck 
were the guys were cold and told me to start the truck.  I did and 
stayed outside of the truck with the binoculars looking at small tents 
on some of the islands near the shore.  Occasionally I could here the 
sound of shotgun blast, off in the distance.  Well, my goal now 
satisfied I return to the truck and the boys were hungry.  We discussed 
what we were going to do from here and we agreed to start back toward 
home and make camp on the unknown highway.  Just so we could get a 
little jump on the return trip of 1410 miles. 

As we drove away from James-Bay frozen white with ice.  I pondered, if
any of the other great explorers had made the same mistake as I did.  
And found themselves bewildered at the ocean being frozen over with ice 
or was it just the fact that I was a graduate of KHU (Knuckle Head 
University) and had missed that course on Geography 101.  Well, now for 
the return trip, back down the little dirt road and to Chisasibi, we 
needed fuel for the return trip to the half-way gas station, we 
traveled through Chisasibi I again noticed some strange writing on the 
stop signs.  It had Stop, Arrert and >0)(<.  I figured out that these 
symbols were the Cree written language, some type of Slavic.  It did 
not take long to notice that most of the homes were in disrepair and 
litter blew about the streets.  It was clear that this area was 
depressed.  Most homes had a dory style boat in the yard, some had dogs 
that looked like wolfs to us.  Very few people were outdoors and the 
center of town was boarded and barred windows and doors with graffiti 
on most walls.  We drove into a gas station and went inside to get soda 
and coffee.  There was not much inside this store besides soda and 
coffee.  Bob asked "how much for a thermos of coffee"?  The attendant 
said "$2.00" Bob said "cheap enough" and started making his coffee.  
The attendant was Ronnie Snowboy and was born on the island of Fort 
George and remembered when they had to move to Chisasibi.  I asked how 
he liked living in Chisasibi?  He said "that there is cable TV and that 
it is safer than living on the island".  Ronnie Snowboy was interested 
about where we were from and said that he had traveled to Montreal to 
study tourism.  I paid the $55.00 gas bill with my credit card and 
started back down the road. 

The snow had now turned back to a light rain as we traveled back to the
Indian gatehouse.  Again the attendant asked "where are you coming from 
and where are you going?  Bob said "this is a one lane road from 
Chisasibi and I'm going home"!  The attendant again just waved us 
through. 

We drove back to the Castor River, where we drove to the back of a rest
area and started to set up camp for the evening.  The water of Castor 
River was too much of a temptation for Ben, Eric and Bob so I told them 
I'd make supper while they went fishing.  After the site was set-up 
they hit the water with their fishing poles.  I started cooking steak, 
potatoes and mushrooms in a cast iron Dutch oven.  This would take 
around an hour or so to cook.  Dutch ovens slow cook and tenderize the 
food.  I decided that while supper was cooking I'd try my luck at 
fishing.  So I got my fly rod and went down to the river.  Ben was 
casting off the shore so I went up stream to the bridge.  The bridge 
was two 20 foot corrugated steel tubes that lay in an earth bridge.  
The water was very cold and fast moving.  It had a caramel color (most 
likely tannic acid from the tundra type landscaping).  As I spooled out 
the green colored fly-line and snapped it into the river, the current 
would sweep it down stream.  After about 15 minutes, a six-wheeler come 
into the rest area and headed down to the river.  Fearing a game warden 
I reeled my line in and laid my pole in the brush.  As the six-wheeler 
stooped at the riverbank, I noticed some one dressed in camouflage 
gear.  So, I walk over and said "howdy".  The young man returned my 
hello and we began talking too each other.  He was not a game warden.  
His name was Stanley Kitty, he was a Cree Indian and had been in the 
bush for three weeks hunting and fishing.  He was fetching water to do 
the dishes back at his camp.  I asked him, without running water and 
electricity how do they keep their food cold?  He looked at me as if I 
was stupid and replied in a stern voice "In the snow"!  I felt like, 
how could I have forgotten that most basic means of refrigeration 
(Snow).  I asked, "what do you do for work"?  He had a look as if he 
did not understand the word work.  So, I said "that I go to work in a 
factory that makes jet engine parts that go on planes that you see fly 
over head.  Do you work in the woods?"  He shook his head and said 
"hunt and fish".  He inquired about what we where doing and where we 
from.  I answered all his questions and he said that he'd be back later 
to visit.  We shook hands and I said I'd look forward to his company.  
He drove off on his six wheeler disappearing over the hill. 

I went back and got my-fly rod and return to the camp.  Bob had rescued
supper from a burning fate and Eric was starting a wood fire in the 
fireplace.  I noticed that Eric was making a fire in what use to be a 
teepee, you could still see the dirt ring around where the walls of the 
teepee use to be.  Everyone was hungry, so we severed out the hot meal 
and everyone wanted seconds.  It had stopped raining after we setup 
camp and the sky was starting to clear.  As we all pitched in to clean 
up the supper dishes.  I was scrubbing the Dutch oven clean, when a 
couple of ATV's came over to our campsite.  It was Stanley Kitty and a 
friend named Ernie Hill.  Stanley was now dressed in a colorful fleece 
pullover and a pair of blue jeans.  Ernie wore a blue shirt and new 
pair blue jeans. 

We introduced each other and welcomed them to stay, offering ice tea,
soda and cigarettes.  They accepted the ice tea and cigarettes.  Ernie 
noticed the length of my Marlboro 100's and said "long cigarette".  I 
said "peace pipe".  We all laughed.  Another ATV came over and three 
children (two boys and a girl) entered the campsite.  We offered the 
three Indian children soda and they flocked to the back of the pick-up 
truck to receive their cola's.  I offered them animal crackers and 
cheese it.  They looked to Stanley and he nodded yes, so they accepted 
the snacks and they all enjoyed it.  Stanley asked if we would like 
some banak.  We did not understand.  He spoke to Ernie in Cree and then 
said "It is bread that is made with flour and animal fat, rolled up and 
curled around a stick and cooked over a open fire for twenty minutes.  
I looked at the others and we said, "yes we would like to try some 
banak bread".  With that reply Ernie took off on his ATV. 

I talked with Stanley about our adventure and how we had spent the first
night at Rupert's Falls and that we had meet George Blacknet fishing on 
the river.  That we had problems finding James-Bay and that Helen Oar 
had helped us find the way.  He knew Helen Oar and the children knew 
she was the school Liberian. 

Ernie Hill was now returning on his ATV.  He handed the zip lock bag to
Stanley.  Stanley handed out the banak bread to all of us to try some.  
We all ate it, I thought that it was rather dry and taste-less.  
Stanley and Ernie watched as we ate the Banak. Stanley said it was 
better with jelly.  Considering that this banak bread was cooked over 
an open fire and not in an oven, I think it was great.  So I said, 
"this is great bread".  They were glad that we enjoyed their bread. 

I told Stanley about meeting Jim Otterice at the beach and Ernie said
Jim was an outsider.  He had moved from one of the southern villages, 
like the one that George Blacknett came from.  I said he told me that 
the boats on the beach were for Canadian geese hunting in the fall of 
the year and that the schools are closed for three weeks in the spring 
for geese hunting.  Ernie and Stanley both agreed.  Stanley said he had 
shot twenty-five geese so far this season and there was another week of 
hunting left.  I asked, "how do you cook a goose".  Stanley looks at me 
and points to the fire and says "On a stick, over the fire".  I asked 
"do you cook everything over a open fire"?  He explained that the 
teepee was used for smoking any game meat that is killed.  I told him I 
thought the teepee was used for sleeping in.  He explained that a 
teepee is their kitchen and the huts are their cabins.  I asked if 
there was a trick to building a teepee and he said "not for me".  I had 
noticed that this land had no farms or gardens.  So, I asked, "do you 
eat eggs"?  He said "in the morning, for breakfast".  I asked "well let 
me see you cook eggs on a stick over an open fire"!  He responded "Oh' 
no, cook eggs on gas stove".  Bob, Eric and Ben laughed at me for what 
seemed to them as a bunch of foolish question about cooking. 

The Indian children where playing with Eric and Ben.  Eric thought they
were making fun of them.  Worse of all they did it in their Cree 
language.  I passed out another round of ice-tea and soda and now 
Stanley's brother had arrived on foot.  I offered more American 
cigarette and they again accepted.  Stanley asked if I knew Paul 
Barrassa.  I told him I did not know Paul Barrassa, but I knew a Rick 
Barrassa where I worked.  He explained that Paul Barrassa was the 
person that started the hydro-dam projects and seemed happy to add that 
Paul Barrassa was dead.  I asked if they liked the dams and he said 
"no"! He explained that they had petitioned to stop any more dam 
building and had won a injunction against the project.  I explained 
that hydropower was so much cleaner that a nuclear power plant and Bob 
said "you guys, never want to have a nuclear plant up here.  That 
nuclear power has many dangers and that there is a lot of problems with 
the nuclear waste they produce".  Stanley explained that the dams are 
gathering mercury in the waters.  I said "mercury, how do you get 
mercury in the water up here".  He said "that the uncut trees put 
mercury in the water, so before the last dam was built, they cut the 
earth clean, before the water flooded the land".  He also explained how 
they were upset with the fact that the dam's flooded land of their fore 
fathers and that water covered their burial grounds.   I thought how 
these people still wanted to keep their tradition and still had close 
family unity.  How they still-hunted the land that their ancestors had 

in the past.  I would of enjoyed staying with these people to further
understand their way of life.  It seemed like a simple love of earth, 
land and water. I asked Stanley what type of religion he practiced.  He 
practiced some type of religion that believed in God.  That I did not 
peruse due to the fact that it was some type of Cree religion that I 
would not be able to understand and feared insulting Stanley the first 
time we meet, so we moved on to other subjects. . We continued to talk 
and laugh by the fire until around midnight.  Then when Stanley yawned 
and raised his arm's to stretch his body, he proclaimed "I'm tired, 
time for bed.  Maybe I see you in the mourning".  We all said good 
night and nice meeting you and they all followed Stanley's lead and as 
quickly as they arrived they where gone into the night. 

Bob and I walk out from the campfire and into the open area, hopping we
would see the night sky.  It was still partly cloudy.  And to our 
amazement we could still see remnants of the sun set.  As Bob and I 
stood there gazing into the night sky, we heard the growl of what 
sounded like cats.  Then we heard it again, this time it sounded like 
wild cats.  Bob said, "I don't like this John".  I said "Oh' its just 
some cats fighting".  Then Bob saw some light in the sky, again we 
heard this terrifying growl.  We where standing there trying to figure 
out what was going on.  When, a car traveling down the road came over 
the hill and past the campsite that we where in.  Bob and I laughed at 
the fact that we thought that growling noises were wild animals in the 
woods, when it was just a car traveling down the road.  We walked back 
to the tent talked with Eric and Ben about the evening with our Cree 
Indian visitors.  They had learned something new about being in a land 
where your language is strange to the local people.  We then retired to 
the tent and climbed into our sleeping bags (without and knifes) and 
listened to the water trickling by, as we fell to sleep. 

Sunday mourning, May 25th, 1997.  Was a partly sunny day.  I started
breakfast while the others still slept.  We were going to have 
easy-breakfast in the Dutch oven.  Easy-breakfast consist of frying one 
pound of bacon with one diced onion and sauté'.  Dice one potato per 
person into 1/4 cubes and fry in oven until tender and brown.  Crack 
two eggs per person over the top of the mixture and bake 5 to 7 minutes 
or until eggs are cooked to your liking.  Season and serve with Tabasco 
sauce on eggs.  This cooking period will take about an hour.  The smell 
of the food cooking must have awakened Bob, as he rolled out of the 
tent growling for a hot cup of coffee.  Bob and I talked about the past 
night activity with our Cree Indian visitors while we sipped our 
coffee.  We woke Eric and Ben up when breakfast was ready.  We all had 
a hearty breakfast cooked in a Dutch oven and not on a stick over the 
fire as our Indian friends would have done.  I thought that while Bob, 
Eric and Ben cleaned up the breakfast dishes that I'd do a little 
fishing in the back of the campsite.  Keep in mind that the fishing 
season was still not open.  So with all our fishing poles leaning 
against the trees about the site I grabbed my fly-rod and headed down 
to Castor River for a few cast into it's dark waters.  Hoping to land a 
killer fish to show-up the others that still had not caught a fish 
amongst them.  After working my way to a spot that I could work my fly 
rod.  I would cast the fly up-stream and let it float past into the 
downward current and slowly drag the line back.  After a while it was 
getting apparent that there was no killer fish to be had.  When all of 
a sudden Bob was hollering down to me that there were game wardens 
pulling into our site.  Well, I leaped back to the path and decided to 
leave the fly rod in the bush before returning up the hill to the 
campsite.  I ran up the hill and slowed as I crest the top of it.  The 
game wardens where walking up to the truck and tent.  So, even though I 
was out of breath and wondered if I could talk without gasping.  I 
introduced myself to the two wardens and ask if I could be of any help. 
 They asked if we had been fishing.  I said that we were disappointed 
that we had traveled all the way from Maine only to learn that their 
fishing season would not open until June 7th.  That the boys wanted to 
fish, but we had not.  They introduced themselves as one was a tall 
slender Frenchmen and the other was Thomas Southerland a Cree Indian 
game warden.  Thomas asked if it was OK to inspect our site and I said 
sure.  He was looking in the back of the truck and I offered to get the 
cooler for him.  He excepted the offer and I climbed into the back of 
the truck and pulled the cooler out for his inspection.  He sniffed the 
cooler and rubbed his hand on the carpet by the tailgate and sniffed 
his hand.  They then seemed satisfied that we had not caught any fish 
and Thomas handed me his businesses card and said "If you people ever 
come back, call me for fishing rules".  I said we would do that if we 
ever returned.  They got back into the truck and backed out to the 
trashcans and Thomas walked over to the cans and checked them for any 
fish remains.  To our luck or bad luck we had not caught any fish.  We 
then all stood there as their truck drove back in the direction of 
Radisson.  Bob said he was afraid that I was going to get caught for 
fishing without a license.  After that we finished packing up together 
and loaded up the truck for our return trip to Dover-Foxcroft where we 
would be bringing Ben home. 

Well with a feeling of sadness I drove out onto the road.  I guess the
sadness was because I felt that so many things that I 'd hope to see 
and do were incomplete, no fish, no Caribou, no bear, no beaver, no 
moose, nothing, nothing, nothing as far as wild animals went.  We all 
thought we would see so much wild life, like an Alaskan trip, there 
wasn't any road kills. (Bob thought that the Indian's picked them up.  
Who knows.)  Anyway it was around noon when we started back to the 
halfway station.  As we traveled back past Lake Yasinski Bob noticed 
several Indians fishing from the roadside.  He wondered why they could 
fish but we could not.  He complained that it was not fair that they 
could fish and hunt their land while we could not. 

Several hours later we arrived at the halfway station.  Again, Chentel
was there, this time she was lying in a lawn chair getting some sun.  
She remembered us from before and said she had a present for us.  I 
filled the truck with gas and went inside the cabin to pay the bill.  
Chentel said that her gift wasn't much, but if we thought about coming 
back, her gift would be a big help.  She handed over a detailed map and 
guide of James Bay that was in English.  As I talked with her the 
others drove off in the truck to take a much-needed hot shower.  I 
stayed and talked with Chentel awhile and learned that she enjoyed 
hunting and fishing.  I asked her if she liked eating deer and she 
said, "no, they taste too much like the trees they eat".  Spruce trees 
are what the deer in James Bay tend to eat.  Her favorite venison is 
beaver, but she also likes bear.  I told her I had to get going and 
that it had been nice talking to her and said good bye.  Meanwhile Bob, 
Eric and Ben were taking showers and sprucing up after a few days in 
the wilderness.  We had a little lunch (sandwiches) from the back of 
the truck.  All showered up and smelling pretty again we hit the road.  
The boys got in the back to rest up on the way back to Matagami.  Bob 
and I talked as we traveled the road back.  There were no radio 
stations, so we just talked away.  We slowed to enjoy Rupert's Falls 
and later we stopped on the bridge and stretched our legs over Eastmain 
River.  Bob and I took pictures and Eric and Ben tossed stones over the 
bridge and waited for the splash several hundred feet below.  As we 
were getting toward the end of the unknown road we noticed dark, gray 
clouds on the horizon.  As we entered this large cloud it started to 
hail and hail it did.  I slowed thinking the window was going to break 
and the boys were now awake and wondering what was happening.  We 
pulled over to the side of the road and just as quickly as it started 
it ended.  Eric and Ben wanted to get into the cab of the truck and 
were asking what had transpired.  I explained as we started back down 
the road how a thunderhead sucks up the warm air into its center and 
that the moist air being forced up into the atmosphere cools off.  And 
at times it cools so quickly that it comes back to earth as ice or 
hail.  A short time after that we spooked a giant Eagle from it perch 
on the side of the road and it hovered over us for a few minutes.  
Hurry, hurry wildlife, it was about time we spotted some type of 
wildlife.  We thought that it was a treat after all this time.  At 
least it was before we got to Matagami.  After checking out at the 
gatehouse we noted that in 410 miles we had counted twelve vehicles 
traveling on the road. 

We again stopped in Matagami to re-fuel and grab some lunch.  Everyone
mulled about the store looking for something special to bring back home 
as a souvenir.  We got back into the Raam and headed south down the 
road.  It was around 5pm on Sunday May 25th, 1997.  Our plan was to 
drive through the night, we were all getting tired of living in the 
truck.  After four hours of driving.  We stopped in Amos.  Topping off 
the tank in fear of not finding gas during the night.  The gas station 
was of newly built and of 50's design.  It was a gas station and a 
coffee shop that had a lavender color and sitting tables with muffins 
and doughnuts to enjoy.  We refilled the thermos and headed south down 
the road. 

The coffee from the 50's style shop was the best yet on this trip.  The
sun was setting as we drove through Val-D-0r and it's mines.  We were 
hoping to get close to Montreal before buying more gas.  We traveled 
past the many lakes along the way, where the fishing season was open.  
But we still did not have a Quebec fishing license amongst us.  Eric 
and Ben had been in the back of the truck sleeping since we had left 
Almos.  It was now 11:45 PM and we need gas.  We round a down hill 
curve and spotted a restaurant with a gas bar.  We pulled the truck up 
to the gas pumps and thought that they were closed, because no one was 
around.  Then a dog started barking and a young man came out of the 
restaurant and walked over to us.  He started fill-up the truck and we 
all went inside the restaurant.  On the wall was one of those trophy 
size Walleyed Pike in a glass case.  It had to be at least six feet 
long.  What a fight that thing must have given when it was caught.  We 
picked up some drinks and paid for the gas and away we went. 

We were about one hour from Montreal and Eric and Ben wanted to see the
city.  Well before we got there Ben fell asleep and Eric tried several 
times to wake him but his lights were out.  We traveled through 
Montreal and over the Champlain Bridge, as we looked at the city lights 
on the East Side of the bridge. 

It was about 2 AM on Monday, May 26th 1997 when we stopped at a
McDonald's in Granby, Quebec.  We went inside, except for Ben, he was 
still sleeping and we used the rest room and noticed that their Big Mac 
was alot more than 55 cents, more like a $2.25.  Bob said, "I can't 
wait to get out of this country"!  So we ordered cheeseburgers and a 
thermos of coffee.  I got Ben a hamburger for when he'd wake up.  I was 
tired after driving fourteen hours so Bob that hadn't slept either 
started driving us home.  We had to stop and wake Eric up form the back 
of the truck before entering the United States in Canaan Vermont.  The 
border guard was pleasant and we told him we were returning from 
James-Bay and that it was frozen.  It was about 4 AM and he told us to 
look out for Moose.  We said we would and drove on.  I told Bob, it 
would be nice to see something on this trip.  We were traveling on 
country roads as we past through Colebrook, New Hampshire and Bob must 
of been wanting to get home.  Because he was driving these back roads 
like a bat out of HELL.  Bob had spent a couple of years working for 
Schwains Ice Cream and was used to driving a five-ton truck at night on 
this type of roads.  The rest of us only hoped that he wasn't just 
tired and pushing the limits. 

Dawn was on the rise as we entered Dixville Notch in New Hampshire. 
There still was snow in the mountains as we wound through the notch.  
After cresting the notch we were descending when in the pre-dawn light, 
we spotted two Moose in the road, we stopped to take pictures as one 
walked slowly into the woods as the younger one walked down the road.  
Bob said "We travel thousands of miles and the best part of the trip is 
right here in our own back yard"!  We past through Errol NH. on our way 
to Upton Maine.  We were now using our Map and Go map to guide us down 
the narrow country roads that had small street signs and were very easy 
to miss.  Finally, Andover, Maine a small town north of Bethel.  I now 
knew were I was.  We saw another Moose just before we entered Mexico 
Maine.  We stopped for gas.  Good old American gas prices, $1.25 a 
gallon, filled up for $20 dollars instead of $55 to $65 in Canada.  If 
was great to be back to the States.  People understood our language and 
prices were acceptable. 

Well it's 23 miles down route 2 to Skowhegan, Maine.  We picked up route
150 and traveled 68 miles to Dover-Foxcroft.  Blair (Ben's mom) was 
glad to see her little adventurer return home, safe and rested, he had 
slept most of the way home.  We spent some time reflecting on our trip 
to Blair and excused ourselves as being over tired and wanting to get 
home.  We said goodbye to Ben and Eric started driving us home.  Bob 
and I still had not slept after 23 hours of driving.  But the time had 
past pleasantly as we seem to never stop talking about things.  
Somewhere around Augusta, Maine I fell asleep as Eric cruised us home.  
After dropping Bob off at home.  Eric and I drove to Lebanon, Maine 
where we ended our adventure. 

By The Adventure Boy: 

John G. Lambert (1997) 


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