By Xavier Kataquapit
Windspeaker.com
There is this new duck on the lake here at my far north wilderness camp. I am sure that Shee-sheep, the Cree word for ‘duck’ is a mallard and so I decided to call her Daisy. She seems to be frantically searching the lake for something. I am guessing that she is looking for her partner and ducklings. She likes to sit on my freshly renovated dock. I sent her away the other day and now I regret it.
The other day she woke me at six in the morning with alarming quacking that went on for a half hour. I gazed out the window of my camp and could see her perched in her spot on the dock obviously complaining about my behaviour in chasing her away and declaring her right to the lake. I got the message loud and clear.
Later in the day as she was on her search of the lake she stopped by and began to quack in my direction. For fun I quacked back and I must admit like most Cree from up the James Bay coast, I can mimic many birds and animal sounds. This is something we learn as children as part of the culture and tradition of hunting and gathering.
To my surprise Daisy was in a talkative mood and we quacked back and forth for 10 minutes or so. My partner Mike thought this was hilarious and suggested I record it. I have no idea what Daisy was communicating but I know for sure that it was something important to her, so in fun and also consideration I provided her some quacking company.
Since my partner has been suffering from Pulmonary fibrosis we have had to change our lives and live in semi-isolation most of the time as he cannot chance picking up any kind of COVID, flu or other viruses. I don’t do many live gatherings these days as Mike continues to struggle with this devastating condition. This has resulted in our spending much time alone, writing and living quietly at the lake when it is possible.
I grew up on the land following the Cree culture and traditions and I speak my language. When I think about it I have always been more or less a loner and felt like I was always sitting on the edge of life watching things from a distance. Peace and quiet was always something I was seeking. This drew me easily into writing and work as a journalist and columnist as I think many writers feel like voyeurs watching life pass by and being happy to record and document it. For more than 25 years my partner Mike, a seasoned journalist, public relations and advertising specialist and musician has mentored me so that I have managed to navigate the media landscape.
These days I am pausing often to look back on so many stories, interviews and photos I have been producing as much of the time we are busy listening to the deafening silence of the wilderness surrounding the lake. I think of all of the creature conversations I have had over the years when on the land.
I recall the arguments I had with a Sheekak, the Cree word for skunk, whom I named Boris. He had moved into the crawl space under my camp. This ended with a crisis one night when a Mee-Kay-Shoo, a fox attacked Boris under the camp and he of course responded with a terrible odour that forced us outside. I did my best to force him out by using bear spray under the camp to get rid of him and fight smell with more smell.
The problem was of course that the combination of skunk odour and bear spray only succeeded in making it impossible to stay in the cottage for a few days so we ended up sleeping in the old truck. Boris won that day and we ended up posting a sign with his name on it at his entranceway. He had gained his residency that summer and we surrendered some space to him. Of course, I had many conversations with him that were not always pleasant.
Magwa, the Cree word for loons, are often on the lake and they are always a joy to chat with. And I am proud of my loon call although I am not as proficient as many of my family members back home in Attawapiskat. Of course, I am always excited to have a chance conversation with Niska, the Canada Goose whenever I see them. I have also had many chats over the years with Meekeesheesh, the hawks that sound like car alarms and Mikisew, the eagles that sport a haunting cry. Every day on the land I am yakking away with Aneekoochashuk, the squirrels that always seem to be complaining about my activities at the camp.
I see Daisy is calling me for a quacking session so I will leave you here from my view of the pine, the lake and the dock where my chatty friend is perched.