A Ridiculously Long Post

Last May, when my folks were away on holiday, and Nicole was in St. John’s, I went to a jewelry store in Halifax and bought a ring for Nicole. I knew that I wanted to propose to her, and I was reasonably sure she would accept. What I didn’t know was how long it would be before I would have another opportunity to buy a ring. So in a single frenzied afternoon when I was supposed to be running other errands, I ran from store to store looking for the right ring.

The woman who sold me the ring found out that we were moving north, and warned me not to trust the postal system or even the airlines with the ring. Do not mail it to yourself. Do not put it in your checked baggage. Carry it with you at all times.

My first plan was to just carry the ring in my coat pocket. But in the days leading up to our departure, I started to become paranoid that customs officials would see the ring in their x-ray machine, and they would want to inspect it, thus spoiling the surprise and forcing me to propose in an airport customs line (which would have made for a good story, but not one I wanted to tell if I could help it). Then I thought that I could hide the ring in my sock or tape it to my leg. But then I worried it might set off the metal detectors. In the end, I decided to take the ring out of the box and hide it in a pair of (clean) socks in my carry-on bag.

Going through customs in Halifax was a breeze. They didn’t question anything in my overloaded book bag. It’s a wonder because the tangle of electronics, wires, and my battery charger must have looked like a small bomb waiting to go off.

Edmonton, however, was a different story. You are advised to arrive at the Edmonton airport two hours early in order to get through the long inspection lines in time for your flight. There were so many officials, I was hoping that Nicole and I would be directed to two separate lines. But of course we ended up in the same line, with her going first.

I could tell long before it was our turn that the short-haired woman doing the inspections took her job seriously. She stared long and hard at the x-ray of every bag that was going through her machine, and she consulted with her partner on several items, asking more than one person to open their bag.

Of course, Nicole got through without any problems. I hinted that she should run ahead to find our gate, and that I would catch up.

“No, I’ll just wait here for you.”

“Why don’t you go wait over there. I think you’re blocking traffic.”

“No I’m not. I’ll just be right here.”

Meanwhile, short-haired lady was staring at her computer screen with a frown.

“Sir, what sorts of electronics do you have in this bag?”

Our last minute packing was so frenzied, I couldn’t quite remember all that I had put in there. Already I was getting nervous because Nicole wouldn’t leave.

“Ummm, I’ve got an mp3 player and a digital camera. Oh, and a battery charger. Hey Nicole, seriously, why don’t you go wait over there.”

“Any radios, sir?”

“Oh yeah! I forgot. My radio too.”

She stared at her screen a moment longer, and consulted with her partner.

“I cant figure out what this is here? What does it look like to you?”

“C’mon Nicole, you don’t need to hang around here. Just run ahead and find our gate.

“No, Brodie, I want to wait here with you.”

“Sir, would you mind opening your bag?”

I was breaking out in a sweat now, I could tell my face was turning red.

“Sure, no problem.”

Then I turned to Nicole and spoke to her though my teeth.

“Nicole. Go. Wait. Over. There.”

She furrowed her brow and stormed off out of earshot, but watching from a distance. As soon as I was sure Nicole couldn’t hear, I spoke with the woman.

“Is it small and round? Is what you want to see small and round?”

I could feel my heart racing at this point. I knew I looked visibly distressed, and I knew that the short-haired woman was very aware of my distress.

“No. I see that, but I want to know that this bundle of wires is.”

The bundle of wires was a set of headphones. I started to calm down as she rummaged through my bag. I told her why I was so nervous, and the tension was instantly lifted. She smiled for the first time, and once she located the bundle of wires at the bottom of my book bag, I walked on to meet up with a somewhat pissed-off Nicole.

Proposing is a difficult proposition. I wanted it to be special and memorable. At first I thought about proposing at midnight, with the summer sun still out. At that time we were still living in the log hovel down by the water. It wasn’t the most romantic place. As the summer dragged on, I began to think about proposing under the northern lights.

When the lights finally started coming out, I learned that they are unpredictable. I’d have to wait for the right showing, preferably on a night when I didn’t have to work the next day, and then I’d have to get the ring from the bottom of my sock drawer and drag Nicole outside. The logistics were too messy, especially after she sprained her ankle.

So our trip to Yellowknife seemed to be the best option. We were going to get Mackey spayed. We could have just sent her out on the plane, but Nicole wanted to get out of town for a few days. She timed the trip to coincide with our fifth anniversary. What better opportunity?

We almost didn’t make it out. It is slightly cheaper to charter a flight with the local charter company than to fly with the local airline. I suspect it is cheaper because the charter planes are older, smaller, and have uglier paint jobs than the airline. But on the morning we were supposed to leave, it was snowing, and visibility was poor. Our pilot said he didn’t feel comfortable flying. Luckily, the local airline was flying because they have better navigational equipment. We made it to Norman Wells, and then boarded a 737 for Yellowknife.

On Friday morning, we dropped Mackey off at the vet. We planned to spend the rest of the day Christmas shopping. All day, Nicole dragged me into every jewelry store she could find, dropping hints about engagement rings. Little did she know, I already had her ring in my coat pocket (and it was MUCH more expensive than the ones she was pointing out).

That night we went to a restaurant in Old Town Yellowknife. Old Town is what Yellowknife was before urban sprawl set in. It is down on the edge of Great Slave Lake, and it reminds me of any small Newfoundland town. The roads wind between giant granite boulders, and houses are perched on rocky hills. The restaurant we chose was called Oldtown Landing. Somewhat swanky, but not too stuffy either. The sort of place where you can order a bottle of wine with supper, which we did.

We started with the crab dip. Then I had a buffalo steak (yes, real buffalo) and Nicole had the stuffed whitefish. We were making short work of the bottle of wine. I didn’t know you were supposed to wait for the waitress to come top off your glass.

I wasn’t sure when it would be appropriate to pop the question. Perhaps proposing in a restaurant is just a movie cliché. I chose to propose during dessert, for no other reason than to delay the inevitable for as long as possible. Finally, after Nicole was three bites into her cheese cake, I got up from my side of the table, got down on one knee and took out the ring. I don’t remember exactly what she said, but it included “oh, Brodie, not here” and “did I pressure you into buying a ring today?” To which I replied “No I bought the ring in May. I bought it before we came up here. Now will you marry me?” And she relented and said yes and then we went back to our dessert, except neither one of us could eat at that point.

Oh, I forgot the best part. On our flight from Tulita to Norman Wells, Mackey threw up in her kennel. I took the dog and the kennel outside the Norman Wells airport to clean up the mess, but by the time I got some paper towel from the bathroom, the puke was already starting to freeze solid. You know it’s cold when…

“Talk of your cold! Through the parka’s fold it stabbed like a driven nail”

It is hellish cold. Winter is here. It started around thanksgiving with the first dusting of snow. At first it would go above freezing in the day. But then it stayed below zero. Pans of ice began flowing down the river. They moved past much more slowly than the logs in the spring. The water level in the Mackenzie dropped significantly as well. The edge of the river retreated twenty feet or more. Now there is more ice than water in the river, although it is weeks away from being solid. Remember that in two month’s time, eighteen wheelers will be driving across the Mackenzie.

It doesn’t really snow here. I miss the big fat flakes of the east coast. Instead it just gets so wickedly cold that any moisture in the air freezes and clings to the trees or falls to the ground in small particles. You don’t need a shovel to clean off the steps. A broom is much more efficient at brushing away the dust. And the powder that forms has yet to pack down. You can’t make a snowman with the snow that is in my yard.

I broke down and bought gloves the other day. God knows we brought fifty pairs with us, but I’ll be damned if I can find any of them now. I bought them after a quick trip to the warehouse to grab a few boxes of Christmas decorations. My fingers got painfully cold very quickly. It was -20 after all. The gloves I bought have a rawhide outside and a fur pile inside. My boss warned me that the fur would get crushed and inefficient before long. He recommended wearing gloves inside mittens. Mittens are a must, because individually wrapped fingers can’t keep themselves warm. But when you do need those fingers, you can take off the mittens and still have the protection of the gloves.

Everyone talks about the “dry cold” of the north. Living by a river that has yet to freeze, I can’t say I know what a “dry cold” feels like. Apparently, once the river freezes, it won’t feel as cold, although it will technically be colder. I don’t care what the humidity is: minus twenty is cold.
The days are getting noticeably shorter now. Even with daylight savings, the sun doesn’t rise until twenty to ten. It seems to come out of the south-west, instead of the east. It then does a slow, shallow arc through the western sky, hanging over the river. It never rises above 45 degrees from the ground. Go outside at twelve noon and it feels like late afternoon. The frost in the air causes sun dogs to form on either side. It then sets in the north-west before five.

At night there is usually a white ring around the moon. The stars don’t simply twinkle; they seem to change color, with flashes of red and blue so noticeable that Nicole and I spent five minutes one morning trying to decide if it was a star or a plane we were watching in the western sky.

While these atmospheric displays are amazing, they are forgotten when the northern lights come out to play. Tonight the lights are a still, green glow stretching towards the north. Two long trails of light merged into one directly over my head. On other nights they look like a shimmering curtain. There’s a line from a song that rings true whenever I see the lights.

“the northern lights give a ghostly glow
It’s hard to tell if they’re really there”

The only adjective for this light is ghostly. Any other light you see at night either comes from the moon, or from man made lights. The northern lights are not tied to either of these. They are visible without illuminating anything else. They don’t rely on the moon or stars for their light. The stars are still visible behind them. You can’t say for certain where they begin or end because they are always moving. All you can say for sure is that they are there. They are indescribable, so I’ll stop trying to describe them. But I will say this: no picture will do them justice.

Twenty-Four Hours on the Bear

This is the first fish I caught on my September trip to Great Bear Lake. We hadn’t been on the water for an hour when Ron Oe (pronounced exactly as it’s spelled: ohh-eee) stopped his boat. We were about halfway to our destination for that night. The sun was getting low but Ron just had to try for a few grayling. This, he assured me, was the best spot on the river. Ron got a bite on his second cast. My line got tangled on my second cast. Within minutes, Ron had two small grayling in the boat (each about two pounds). He took my crappy fishing rod from me and gave me one of his spares. Within a few more minutes, we each had a fish on our lines. But while Ron was having little trouble reeling his in, my rod was doubled over.

“I must have a snag!” I said. And then I felt the fish pull away. The brake on the reel allows line to come off rather than snapping. The fish was pulling the line off almost as fast as I could wind it on. Ron got his grayling in the boat and then came to assist me. We had no dip net, so I maneuvered the fish to the side of the boat, and Ron hooked his fingers under the gills and pulled it into the boat. I was swearing like a sailor and Ron, through his laughter, mumbled “language.” I later found out Ron is a Christian. So I felt a bit guilty after that. But it was still an amazing experience. I was later told that it is very, very unusual to catch a bull trout on the river. It weighed in at 13 pounds, in case you were wondering.

Later that night we went to stay at Ron's friend's cabin. During World War Two, the Americans mined uranium for one of the atomic bombs from the far eastern side of Great Bear Lake. They used a barge to carry the ore across the lake, down Great Bear River, and down the Mackenzie. But one section of Great Bear River is too shallow for a barge. So the Americans built a road around that section. Bennie’s cabin is on the western end of that road. You can still see a couple of run-down buildings from the camp. Bennie has written “Jesus Loves You” on the roof of one of them. Bennie’s cabin is where the mess-hall used to be. Ron and I stayed in his guest cabin: a small building I assume was left by the Americans which Bennie has fixed up.


Bennie was our guide through the rapids the next day. It wasn’t really rapids per say. Just water that is about three and four feet deep on average, with the occasional rock jutting above the surface. The water is crystal clear, and sometimes the bottom seemed dangerously close.
When we came to the lake, it was like glass. The wake from our boat was no match for the stillness. I thought we would stir up the whole area, but the wake just petered out to be replaced by stillness that stretched to the horizon.
Bennie and Ron warned me it would be cold on the lake. I had been expecting huge swells. Eventually I had to take off my coat. The sky was completely clear, as was the water. I could easily see bottom ten feet eblow us. We would see schools of five and six trout swimming past us as we were trolling. A minute later, all three of our rods would double over with ten pound trout. I caught four all together that day, but lost many, many more.

Peace on Earth

There was a light dusting of snow on the ground when I got up this morning. More than frost. The knid of snow that completely covers dirt roads and roofs, but still looks patchy on grass. It made the whole world seem peaceful, dispite the fact that:

a. North Korea now has the bomb.

b. All the pepsi, water, and milk in our last two barge containers may already be frozen solid.

c. I have to be at work in 15 minutes to finish counting all the general merchandise (anything that isn't food) in the store.

d. The boss and his wife are coming over for Thanksgiving dinner and our carpet is polka-dotted with pee-stains from the dog (who I swear is now housebroken).

Happy Thanksgiving!

Nicole's Sprained Ankle

It has been far too long since I have posted. I think I've had writer's block since my fishing trip to Great Bear Lake. Recording the story is too monumental a task, but expect an abridged version soon.

Last Sunday, Nicole, Macky and I set out for our weekly walk. When I brought Macky home, I invisioned taking her for a walk every night. At that time, I was getting off work around seven, and the puppy could barely walk across the room without falling asleep. Now Nicole takes her for a walk every night. I'm the one who can't walk across the room without falling asleep. Sunday is about the only day I get to take her out for a walk

The Northern Store's property, once the property of the Hudson's Bay Company since God knows when, is at the top of a hill looking out over the river. There is a steep bank with a well worn path that runs down to the road. We usually run down this path to get to the beach. Only last Sunday, as Nicole was going down the hill, she rolled her ankle at the bottom.

It was clear within a few mninutes that she had sprained her anke. I got her shoe off and we sood there by the side of the road debating what to do. I was going to get the truck when someone passed by and offered us a lift.

We didn't get to the health center until the next morning. We could have gone and got the nurses to look at it, but there wasn't much they could do anyway. Monday morning they took a few x-rays (which didn't turn out), gave Nicole some crutches and something to wrap her ankle with, and sent her home. Now, a week later, she can still barely get around. A nasty green coloured bruise is forming on her still-swolen ankle. There is no word from Yellowknife on the second set of x-rays taken on Wednesday.

The nurses have been good. They said if there was a problem, someone from Yellowknife would have contacted them immediately. Unfortunately, a sprained ankle is worse than a break or a fracture. It takes longer to heal, and because there is no cast, it is easier to bump or reinjure the ankle.

So the house is a state right now. I've been doing my best to get meals and keep things clean, but it isn't easy. Mackey finally chewed into the stuffing of her favorite toy: a stuffed bone with a smiley face I have dubbed "boner." So right now there's a sink full of dirty dishes, and the living room floor is covered with balls of fluff.

Work isn't much better. The new guy the company sent to work with us quit after a month, and the part-time produce guy is off work for a month because of surgery to his wrist. But life goes on. We're plodding along, and still meeting all our budgeted sales figures. I have to go over for a few minutes today to get the freezers ready for Thanksgiving turkeys. MMMMMM. Turkeys.

But it's all worth it becuase tomorrow I'm ready to pay off my line of credit in one fell swoop, and possibly a large chunk of my student loan as well. Once we're out of debt, we can tell the whole world to kiss our aaa....ankles.

Hand Games

Labour Day Weekend is the biggest weekend of the year in Tulita. Every year the town hosts the National Hand Games Championship. It’s a three-day tournament with teams from all over the Northwest Territories and Northern Alberta competing for a 25,000 prize. It’s also a weekend of gambling and drunkenness for those who attend.

Hand Games is a misleading name. It’s a single game played by two teams of eight. It’s sort of a variation of Three-Card Monte. The basic premise is for one player to hide a stick in one of his hands, and for the other team to guess which hand it is in. It sounds like a two-player game. But at first, all eight pretend to have the stick, and the other team narrows it down one by one.

I first saw this played when we were living in our old house. I heard traditional drumming and singing coming from the community hall one Sunday night, so I went over to take a look. The players were seated in two semi circles, facing each other. Two young boys, about ten years old, were kneeling at the center, facing each other, bouncing up and down to the rhythm of the drumming. One would hide his hands behind his back, under his shirt, and under his arm-pits. Finally, after much writhing and twisting, he would present his two fists to the other team. The other ten-year-old would point to one fist or the other. When he was right, he would win the stick. Games go to a predetermined score, generally about fifteen points.

I’m sure you can see the potential for gambling here. Spectators can bet on individual hands in the game, on the outcome of each game, or the championship of the tournament. And with the tournament comes other events. Endless cookouts, house parties, and a big bingo for the ladies, which took place yesterday.

Of course, like any other time something is happening in town, I’m stuck in the store. I went in Saturday morning at 8:30, as usual. We open at ten. Before long we were hit with a rush of women trying to withdraw cash from the ATM. They also bought coffee, gum, Hawkins Cheesies and bingo dabbers. Those still in line near the top of the hour urged me to hurry, told me to keep the change, and then sprinted for the arena.

Men and women from out of town made all sorts of requests for odd and obscure brands of cigarettes. I had no idea there were so many name brands of smokes, each in 20 or 25 packs, king size, and various degrees of mildness and flavours.

“DO you have lucky 7’s extra mild king size?”

“Ahhhh, no. What’s the closest thing to that in DuMaurier or Players?”

“Just give me DuMaurier king size.”

At one slow point in the afternoon, I went to get a coffee. Some out-of-towner was filling up several cups of coffee.

“Will ten bucks pay for all of this?”

I did the math in my head (no small task for me).

“Yeah, you’ll be fine. Are you in the tournament?”

“Not really. I’m here with our team. Trying to sober them up a bit before they play. We got three thousand bucks on the line and all they care about is dumping more booze down their throats.”

Each community that sends a team sponsors them. There is an entrance fee of a thousand dollars or more. I’m not sure why some communities paid more than others.

At seven on Saturday night I had to make a delivery of pop to the arena. There were trucks all over the parking lot. Several women were cooking moose and fish over three smoking barrels. Folding tables protected by blue tarps were covered with freshly butchered moose. The head of a cow moose lay next to unrecognizable cuts of flesh, waiting to be cooked.

I could hear the drumming and chanting as soon as I got out of the truck. People were streaming in and out of the arena. As I walked inside, the vibrations of the drums started to reverberate in my chest. You have seen and heard drumming and chanting on TV, but until you are in the same room you will never understand the energy that comes with this. The only thing I can compare it to is a rock concert. Everyone’s attention is focused on the game. It is hypnotizing. I wanted to stay and watch, but instead I was carting loads of pop to the canteen. I briefly saw the two teams staring each other down. The fellow hiding the stick looked as if he were in a state of either pain or ecstasy. His eyes were rolling back in his head and his neck was twisting at odd angles. His arms were flailing about in rhythm to the drumming as he tried to hide the stick.

On Saturday night they had a talent show. This wasn’t your usual talent show. First they had a love song contest, where men and women got up and sang traditional love songs in native languages. Some of the songs were jokes, although the punch line was beyond me. Then they had an animal calling contest. Each participant stood up, announced the animal they would be calling, and then did their performance. Again, many were jokes, although I didn’t get the jokes. Nevertheless, it was great to get out into a carnival atmosphere.

The store has been unbelievably busy. We were supposed to close for the holiday Monday. There is no such thing as a long weekend when you work with this company, because it is against store policy to close two days in a row (the one exception being Christmas and Boxing Day). So we opened this afternoon for a “half-day.” Although the store was only open four hours, we came in an hour early, and stayed two hours after close. I guess when you work fourteen-hour days, only working seven hours is technically a half-day. Now the boss has decided to open the store tomorrow afternoon because so many people will be leaving town. It will again be a “half-day,” so at least I get to sleep in. Oh well. I’ll appreciate my weekends and evenings even more in a few years time when I get a nine to five job.

Sad Week

It was a bad week in Tulita. It was a bad couple of weeks. There was a plane crash last week. All six on board were killed. One of the people was a fellow from Tulita. It all started the week before that, when several people from Fort Good Hope were killed in a boating accident. Some guy who just got out of jail thought it would be a good idea to go drinking and boating on the Mackenzie. He killed himself and two others. One made it to shore alive.

When there’s a funeral in this area, a lot of people go. So planeloads of people from the surrounding communities showed up in Good Hope for the funeral. The plane that crashed was full of people leaving Good Hope after the funeral.

So on Thursday they held a funeral for the fellow from Tulita who was killed. He had a wife and three young kids. I recognized him from the store as soon as I saw pictures. He worked for the phone company. He had even been in our old house to hook up our phone.

I also had seen the pilot around. He was one of the young kids who fly for the local airline. I think he was the guy who flew us into Tulita. Chances are it was even the plane we had flown in, because they only have one six-seater, and they only use it when the other planes are full or unavailable.

I waited on the phone guy’s daughter in the days after the accident. She came into the store, like she does almost every day, to buy candy. I used to tease her. I’d ask her for ID if she were buying Popeye candy cigarettes. You get to know certain kids (the nice ones at least) and joke with them. But I wasn’t sure what to say to her this time. So I just tried to smile and ring in her hot chocolate.

One day after the store had closed, they brought his body back to town. I saw a truck go by with the casket on back. There were about eight guys sitting on back with it, as if they were helping move furniture or lumber. That truck was followed by almost every other truck in town.

On the day of the funeral, we closed the store in the afternoon out of respect for the family. Now people from all the other communities were coming to Tulita for this funeral. I served dozens of strangers. They bought a lot of junk food and magazines for the plane ride back.

Things are slowly returning to normal for most of the town now. It’s my day off. I don’t know where the day went. I tried to get up at a decent hour so I could savour my free time. But here it is, nine o’clock. All we really did was take the dog for a long walk to Great Bear River. She is getting a lot bigger, and she is starting to behave. She was bad for biting, but rolled up newspapers have broken her of that habit.

This may be my last Sunday off for a while. Next Sunday, the store is supposed to open for the afternoon. At least I’ll get to sleep in one day a week. Legally, I think I’m entitled to 24 continuous hours of rest per week. I may have to contact a lawyer. If I was getting paid hourly and making my overtime hours, I’d already be rich. But you’ll be surprised what you’ll put up with when your employer is also your landlord. Don’t get me wrong: I enjoy my job. But free time is nice too.

I’m thinking about getting dial up. I have no other expenses, and I’d like to get back in touch with the world. Maybe this week I’ll call and get an account.