Great Slave Lake

Dorothy Gow, an infamous local character, a resident at the Cascade Hotel (maybe) in Banff, appeared always to be holding court. Everyone stayed overlong to hear the end of her stories, which rarely came. Dorothy was disheveled, layered clothes for all weathers, heavy-lidded watchful little eyes, unruly stringy hair, little bird mouth that drooped and slurred; picture the Bird Lady in Home Alone II. There was always a crowd of young people as she slowly wove stories of adventures, misadventures of her youth in the Rocky Mountains. Somewhere in her meandering she mentioned her son John had a friend who was looking for summer staff for a lodge up north. I loved Dorothy, and she has significance in another adventure in my life, in another story. But, this story is about Ronnie.

Ronnie knew little about the job, but she was going, would I like to go. I needed a job, and a place to live, so why not… Go North.

Employment as a waitress or chambermaid at Arctic Star Lodge, on the North-East Arm of Great Slave Lake, should, I suppose, have been a bit disconcerting. Neither of us had any experience with either jobs; I’m an RN and Ronnie an accountant, a most unlikely pair for this out of character adventure. Neither of us had been further north than Banff - Ronnie from Toronto, me from Australia. Our travel preparation did include a quick look at a road map, marked the most direct route, and we’d learn about the road on the road. Yellowknife, funny name, a mystery really, was a dot on a map way north of Alberta.

“Pack light” was Ronnie’s instruction, and we left Banff in her yellow VW beetle.
We had four days to reach Yellowknife, which meant leave immediately, pit stops for junk food, gas, water and the other thing. We ate in the car, and had two sleeps in Ronnie’s two-man tent. We sailed through Edmonton (no Anthony Henday or even Whitemud, but it was under construction!), found the Yellowhead Highway West and then turned north on Highway 43 to Peace River, a pit stop only; see it on the way back. Next stop High Level. The map didn’t have too many towns north of HL so gas and junk up good! Indian Cabins was only another 150km; lets stop there, sounds comfy, cabins. There were no cabins so we pitched, hauled out sleeping bags, ate junk food, squeezed in and fell asleep. Banff was 1300km behind us, and the NWT border 200km ahead, and then only another 600 to go! (I’m rounding up here!)

We had talked out our life stories by now, suitably impressed with each other, and very glad that we collided in an appropriate circumstance: a pub, with an eccentric dowager, and now on this adventure to the North, with a lot of unknowns.

We arrived at the NWT border refreshed after our first sleep. The sign said, Last Paved Road. We saw it, gave it no further thought; it’s a smallish sign anyway. The Tourist Information Agent treated us to iced tea and talked until we had answered all her questions, or we just couldn’t share anymore. She must have been alone for a long time which might be a clue how few people drive this road. We signed the visitor’s book, gave it a quick look; the last entry was September last year! She gave us the Certificate of Passage Across the 60th Parallel and a pictorial road map to Yellowknife. Fantastic! She was still asking questions, or was she trying to tell us something, as we drove away? No time to find out, we needed to be gone.

The sign, Last Paved Road soon became clear – gravel! The next sign to greet us was more ominous - 20 Kilometers Dust Free Zone. Oh no, it’s all gravel! The deeply rutted, bone jarring, teeth shaking, screeching hot, oil soaked road, the fumes of which wafted through the air conditioning (open windows), and then the road became devilish - red mud, or dust. Now, was the nasty road we just drove over the 20 kilometers Dust Free Zone, or is the next 20 km dust free, or is the dust free zone 20 km from here, and then the next 20 dust kilometers? We soon discovered it didn’t matter where it started or ended, oil or gravel, a dust cloud enveloped us until we reached Yellowknife!

We knew there was traffic ahead; the clouds of suffocating dust. But, what we couldn’t see were the lurching semi-trailers, travelling at great speed toward us, and not only spewing great clouds of thick red dust, but rocks, from all eighteen or thirty two wheels. Very scary! But, the intrepid two kept going at a cautious speed, blind, and eating, breathing, dust. We did shut the windows but the dust found its way in through the vents, but it was less.

The sign said Twin Falls Territorial Park with an arrow pointing to another sign, Alexandra and Louise Falls, so a little clean-up would be nice, maybe we could have a shower under the falls. No, no time for hygiene, but the photo op would be well worth the stop. We were 75Km inside the Territories, about another 500 and two more days to Yellowknife. We promised ourselves we

would stop and hike here on the way back, in the autumn. Alexandra Falls

Enterprise - gas, junk food, loo, but to our surprise the road became a Y intersection. We didn’t know Hay River or Ft. Simpson, they weren’t on our route, but maybe they’re on the way to Yellowknife? A poor navigator me, and it took half an hour before we asked at the gas station. The service attendant looked at us like we had three heads, grunted and gestured with his thumb and head. Idiot!! We took the left leg of the Y, Highway No.1. It felt right.

Back to the dust nightmare (daymare) and arrived at Kakisa River Park just before dark, our planned stop for the night. We had only travelled about 200km but we were tired, hot, and needed to get rid of the dust in our souls. There were fire pits so we made coffee, cooked wieners on a stick, roasted marshmallows, and had a bit of a wash. Pitched the tent, hauled out sleeping bags, ate more junk, but before we crashed we took in the brilliant stars and full moon in the dark twilight sky.

What is that noise? It was almost dawn, and is someone packing to get on the road? Thought - might be a good idea, beat the dust, maybe. I unzipped a few inches, peeked out adjusting eyes to the misty early morning, and there, the noisemaker - a giant black bear rolling a garbage can around the campground! Screaming, but with no sound, whispered hysterically, “Ronnie, Ronnie, there’s a bear!!” My words invaded her slumber and she slithered around to join my head at the inches of open tent. She fell back to her sleeping position, said, “We’re safe in here.” What, a nylon, two man tent? I wanted to scream, not even trying to be brave, but enough sense to remain quiet, and still. I’d heard that was the thing to do.

That bear wasn’t at all interested in our little tent, or its contents, but getting the trash out of that garbage can was. So I just watched with fearful fascination and wonder, and thought ‘good job we put our food back in the car.’ Wait, it’s in here! Fear again, Ronnie woke, must have been a minute.

We made a plan; one would creep out, with the food, unlock the car door and jump in. I wanted it to be me but better Ronnie, she’s smaller and much more athletic. I would keep watch. She watched, I watched. The bear reared to his twenty feet (maybe seven), growled, stuck his head in the can and stumbled around until he figured how to get his head out. He looked comical clanging around, roaring, with garbage dripping all over him. The can soon went hurtling through the air, away from the route to the car. Great! I gathered up our sleeping bags and everything in the tent and ran for the car. I did it with great agility and swiftness, I thought. So now we’re both in the car, watching the bear and soon breathing normally. Safe!

No-ooo! The bear reared up on his hind legs again and roared, shaking his head from side to side. Down came those big legs and he lumbered… toward to car! Sniff, sniff, snort, and began shaking the car. Did we lock the doors? Would a bear think about opening a door? Should we take off? Leave the tent? Before we could make that decision, he growled, snorted, gave the car a push with his behind, and then sauntered away. The car lurched back onto the wheels, swayed, stabilize, and we watched the bear’s rear end until he faded out of sight into the bush. Oh, what fun! We packed up the tent and decided to eat on the road.

The Kakisa campground was clean, lots of big trees, water, picnic tables, garbage cans, bears, and we knew … we-would-never-stop-there-again!

Oh no, another fork in the road; the Mackenzie Highway No.1 and Highway No.3, to Yellowknife. Back and forth, map, sign post, and eventually decided to take the No.3.

Half an hour or so, over a hilly bend in the road… a river? A very big river, stuck out here in the middle of nowhere! Back to the map and there it was, the Mackenzie River. We had heard of it, but were surprised there was no village, just a parking lot, some buildings over the hill, picnic tables and port-a-potty! I later learned the Mackenzie River outflows from Great Slave Lake and empties into the Arctic Ocean, 1,738 km to the northwest. Rivers run north in this side of the Rockies. Who knew? Just a little bit of trivia!

The BIG sign, the ferry schedule, didn’t give departure times only that it stops from midnight to six am, and stops running in the late fall until the river freezes and an ice road is built. Huh? We watched the ferry dock on the other side. There was no one else in the parking lot so we found what we thought would be the first lane and parked there. Time to eat.

What a wonderful country, so many surprises; no pavement, dust free zones, oil slicked, rutted gravel road, bears in campsites eating garbage, and now a ferry ride!! Too good, and thrilling!



Next a short stop in Providence for the usual and respite from the dust, again. The sign said “Last gas for 300 kilometers,” so we bought and filled a gas can. The next 300km dust cloud was horrible, scary, but we survived. The dust and semi’s weren’t the only worry though; another sign alerted us to… buffalo. We didn’t see any.

Edso and Ft. Rae would have to wait to be explored, we must be in Yellowknife today to meet prospective employer tomorrow. It would be nice, wonderful in fact, to have a shower. We couldn’t wait to find The Yellowknife Inn.

Next morning we met Bud, and he was very happy to see us. He ordered the Yellowknife Inn breakfast special; all you can eat pork sausages, bacon, ham, eggs, hash-brown, tomato, pancakes, waffle, toast and jam. AWSOME, real food!! And enough grease to surround our heart for years. We also met Petri and Wim, Dutch I think, and they would be working at the Lodge.

Next, we sorted our gear and packed what we didn’t need into the trunk of the VW. The Yellowknife Inn graciously allowed us to store the car in their police and dog patrolled parking lot. Oh good! Our luggage reduced to one small back-pack each, then we were whisked to the airport (float base) and were loaded into a Twin Otter, my first time in a plane smaller than a 747!

The roaring full throttle and lift off of the water (I felt the thrust in my bones). I was terrified, and thrilled. Once airborne over Great Slave Lake I became less frightened, just nauseous. Ronnie was asleep! Take off, flying over an inland ocean, and landing in a plane with pontoons would become a fact of my life later, but this first time it was breathtaking! Looking down on that inland sea from 100 feet (just a guess!), shores obscured in distant mist, day dreaming what could possibly top this, and then hwhoosh, hwumph, the engines roared in reverse and the bumpy touchdown on the lake with a trailing wake almost as high as the windows. We taxied to the dock - your every day kind of dock, where you fish, tie your boat… tie your plane!

What a spectacular sight, Arctic Star Lodge; a beautiful, rustic, log lodge, perched on top of a rocky hill overlooking a little cove (maybe a river), the dock, and the lake. This was paradise, far from the madding crowd!

Our backpacks were thrown onto the dock (thank goodness for plastic containers). I stood gaping at this remote and exotic place, lost in the glistening shimmering lake as the sun glanced off the water… and waiting for someone to take the bags to the lodge. Did I think I was on vacation? I’m staff, so carry your own. Ronnie had already shouldered hers and followed Bud toward trailer buildings, behind the lodge. Boardwalks linked all buildings to the lodge as the land is muskeg, rock and mini pools; spawning ground for the infamous NWT mosquitoes. The first long trailer had a veranda along one side, gauzed in. The small rooms had a single cot, a nightstand-dresser, and a braided mat on linoleum floor and one small window with shabby curtains. Bathroom down the verandah and also sparsely furnished – three shower stalls with plastic paisley curtains, three sinks with hot and cold water, and three flush toilets. Home for the next two months, Wonderful!! Not clean, filthy in fact, but it would be clean, and life would be good in the bush.

After stowing our packs, we went to the lodge for the grand tour. Rustic luxury!! We went in through the kitchen, our entrance. Then into the dining room already set with white damask tablecloths, napkins, silver cutlery, and wild flowers in small vases. Bud’s girlfriend had got a start on preparing for the first guests. The gorgeous living room had floor to ceiling windows looking out over the cove, comfortable leather and plush lounges and chairs, carpet with an aboriginal motif, fancy card tables and chairs, a desk with a radio phone, and a HUGE fireplace set into one wall, completed this rustic fishing get-away. The guest rooms, on either side of the lounge/dining room, had a gauzed in verandah, like ours but nicer, with indoor/outdoor green carpet, comfy leather couches and tables. The veranda faced the cove, the dock, and the lake. Maybe one day I’ll be a guest. Maybe one day, it’s only $800 a week with a guaranteed 30lbs filleted fresh frozen fish delivered to your home, even if you didn’t catch any. Good deal (if you like fish!)

We gathered in our dining room, off the kitchen, and Bud asked which job we would prefer – waitress/chamber maid or laundry. Ronnie and Petri decided to do the waitress/chambermaid, so I became the laundry lady. Wim would be a fishing guide.

Let me tell you about the laundry, a small out-building at the end of a boardwalk from the kitchen. Four steps up to a small landing, with a wooden bench about waist high. Three round-tub washing machines with roller-ringer attached, old even in 1971. Thankfully they were electric. The ringer could swing out over one of three cement rinsing tubs lined up against one wall. One cold water tap poked out from the wall with a hose attached long enough to reach the other two tubs. Two more taps had long black hoses attached which ran along the floor and hooked onto the side of a washing machine - cold and hot water! Along another wall was a long wooden table to sort and fold the laundry. I bet you’re wondering, where’s the dryer? Outside, three long plastic covered lines stretched to a post about three hundred feet away with a roller on each end, you know the one – peg the towel, push along, peg another, push along, and so on.

The cook had prepared a lovely supper for us, but she wasn’t there, and the guides were already seated. After supper, we looked at each other and silently asked; who does the dishes? Ronnie, Petri and I cleaned up and got to know the lay of the kitchen. A growing suspicion was the waitresses might also be kitchen help. The schedule for meals was tacked to a wall in the kitchen; staff breakfast 0700, guests 0800 – 1000, no lunch; guests would have lunch on the lake and we get or own. Staff dinner was 1700 and guests 1800-2100. Still many questions but it would soon fall into place.

We had time to check the rest of the compound and discovered more staff quarters; Petri and Wim in married quarters; a nice little cabin, sparsely furnished but they had their own bathroom. Men’s quarters same as ours, but also had the common room, known as the party room. The party room had a pool table, card tables, jukebox, and junk dispenser. Free! All the out-buildings were trailers, camouflaged to look like the lodge; they had been painted dark brown with green trim.

The fish house was at one end of the dock, a long building, stunk like fish, but very clean. A long stainless steel table in the middle of the room, with a trough on each side, and a slop bucket at the end of each trough to catch the blood and guts. The far end wall was a walk-in fridge and freezer to store the fishermen’s catch. Heavy aprons hung on hooks along one wall and black rubber boots standing at attention under each apron. A heavy black hose hung on the wall to wash down the room after filleting etc had finished for the day. A large roller door allowed entrance from the dock, and one smaller door exit to the compound. No windows. I guess it’s all work in there.

Let’s check out the party room. Management supplied four beers every night for each staff, not enough to get drunk but enough to get happy. The guys were happy with two or three beers each day topped up with Coke (that’s coco cola) and candy. Any saved beers were to get really sloshed on Saturday; day off Sunday. If we didn’t want our beers we couldn’t sell or give them, but the drinkers tried. It wasn’t hard for me to drink four beers each night after the very hot hard days, and I don’t enjoy getting sloshed, I just get sick.

Arriving at the kitchen for breakfast at 0700 next morning we met the cook, Effie, she’s 73! Breakfast was all you can eat bacon, sausage, ham, and eggs, pancakes, waffles, pan fried potato and veggies, toast, porridge or cereal and percolated coffee. Help yourself. Still holding out for dishwashers to arrive, but in the meantime we were it. We watched the guides as they cleaned their plates and took them to the sink, so we did likewise. Effie explained the kitchen routine and dining room: after our breakfast waitresses set up tables in the dining room (done), greet and seat the guests, take their order and hang the order in the kitchen. Repeat! Listen for ‘order up’ or watch for orders to appear at the window and take meals to the guests. Fill water glasses, juice, coffee, and tea, same as every other restaurant in the world. Ronnie and Petri got it right away. The guests would arrive after lunch so supper would be the first meet, greet, seat and serve.

Breakfast cleared away we took a tour and discovered all the rooms needed serious work. We divvied up the chores: I starting dusting, cleaning the bathroom, closet, dresser and vacuumed all the rooms. Ronnie and Petri cleaned up our dining room and did the dishes. Then they went looking for the linen and came back with a loaded trolley (just like a hotel) then made the beds and hung towels. I had a head start so I put the linen in the rooms. Only one wing would be occupied this week so we (they) could finish the others later. The guides spent the day doing maintenance and cleaning the outboard motor boats. The guests arrived at 4pm, later than we thought. Bud and his girlfriend, met the plane, introduced the guests to their guides, who escorted them to their rooms, and carried their luggage. The most exciting person to get off the plane though was the dishwasher, Cheryl. She and I became life-long friends, and I called her Blossom.

Ronnie and Petri were all set to serve dinner, and you might ask what about me? Bud caught up with me during the day and told me I would be packing the lunch boxes. Sounded good to me, then he introduced me to the ‘lunch box room’ and the 2’ x 3’ x 2 green steel boxes. Wow, didn’t see that coming. The room was off the kitchen. I found a list pinned to the wall above the packing table with all the things to go in each box. I took one look at the boxes and gagged; I won’t describe what it looked like but it was moving! Whoever packed up last season hadn’t unpacked or cleaned the boxes. I took them outside, tipped the disgusting contents onto giant black garbage bags, sprayed each box with disinfectant heavily laced with bleach, found a hose with a powerful sprayer and sprayed ‘em. Those suckers were heavy and would be MUCH heavier when full with lunch! It was becoming clear that I would have muscles by summer’s end.

Now I got to know the kitchen pantry. With list in hand I found a trolley and went along the rows loading things; peanut butter, jam, bread, cereal, sugar, salt, pepper, lard, flour, powdered milk, Coffee Mate, ground coffee, caned peas and peaches, baking powder, yeast (really? Will they cook bread, buns out there?), cookies, chocolate bars, a variety of plastic bags, tin foil and waxed paper. Then I went to the fridge for butter, eggs, steak (YES!), potatoes, carrots, tomatoes and onions. I found camp coffee percolators, enamel plates, cups, and cutlery on a shelf, and yes, they were filthy! A small fridge in the lunchroom was for meat, eggs, butter, milk, and other perishables, and the guides would pick these up in the morning when they picked up the box. A long stainless steel sink lined one wall with two tubs with hot and cold taps.

After the dishes were done and two of everything packed into each box – thirty boxes lined up on a long wooden bench down the middle of the room, all surgically clean. I sat on a high stool and bagged thirty bags of the dry goods: flour, sugar, tea, etc. etc. I took a break for dinner with everyone and enjoyed the banter and camaraderie, then back to the boxes till 2300. Exhausted!! And, the party room was closed! Tomorrow would be better; I just had to re-fill the boxes.

That was day two!!

Day three I checked the laundry, machines, and equipment. One machine didn’t work at all, so I reported it to Bud who suggested, make do with two for the moment, and he’d try to get another one. It stunk in there so I scrubbed everything: machines, tubs, floor and walls, with a wire brush I’d found under the laundry house. Disinfectant and bleach had become my new perfume! No laundry until Friday when the first guests would be gone. Saturday would be busy, but not a rush as there was plenty of linen.

So, laundry lady and the lunch box lady, and I thought, I just have to restock the boxes each night, piece of cake. Nooo, the boxes were filthy and a terrible mess so I had to start all over again. Then I reminded myself, their men!!

First Party Night was fabulous. The guides and others who called themselves staff, drifted in as soon as they’d cleaned up. The first beers and chocolate bars gathered from the fridge (it was very hot) and the chips, nuts, crackers found their way onto the tables. The music, mostly country but some rock ‘n’ roll, blared from the no-money jukebox. Other tables were strewn with games – cards for poker, crib, dominos, scrabble, snakes and ladders (not really!). A dartboard hung on the wall, and the crowning glory, a pool table. A couple of leather couches in a corner formed a theatre for anyone who wanted to watch a movie, canned in those days. Everyone took their four beers and surprise, there was just enough for everyone. The night seemed endless as we investigated each other and solicited their stories.

Monday morning Effie didn’t show up. Petri and I made breakfast for the staff while Ronnie set up the dining room. It wasn’t Effie’s famous breakfast but everyone was happy, food’s food. I volunteered to cook breakfast for the guests and told Ronnie and Petri to try and keep it simple – eggs, bacon, hash-browns and toast, but no, many wanted pancakes and waffles as well. So, I went in and announced, with authority, and a smile, “Cook is sick today and breakfast will be bacon, scrambled eggs, hash-browns and toast,” and walked back to the kitchen. Both girls looked at me aghast. It was OK and many came to say thanks for the great breakfast, first time they had broken eggs!

I worried about the bread; it was nearly all gone! I’d need lots for lunch boxes, and then I learned bread is made onsite. Just then Bud came in and thanked me for stepping up to make breakfast. “Can you make bread?” he asked. No, never made bread in my life. Well you’re about to learn, and he proceeded to show me. Wow, what a guy, can even make bread! My job today, and as it turned out I would be making breakfast… and bread … everyday! Effie just couldn’t face eggs in the morning. I think she had a big stash of Gin; she staggered, slurred and reeked every day. But she sure could cook pies, cakes, cookies, and everything else. So, I’m the laundry lady, lunch box lady, short order breakfast cook for staff and guests, bake bread every other day, and every day when at capacity. Then the girls asked if I would collect the laundry from the lodge on laundry day. I said no to that one.

When I finished cleaning and packing the lunch boxes each night, the party room was closed, so I asked Ronnie to grab my four beers and put ‘em in my room, and she did.
I soon discovered Ronnie wasn’t in her room at night. Hmmmmmmm? She had moved in with Andy, a guide, one of the inmates from Yellowknife Correctional Institute. The guides were Dene and Inuit, out for the summer work programs out of town, or fishing guides at lodges. They were great guys and fantastic in this environment. At the end of the season, with money in their pockets, many would hit town, the bars, and end up brawling and land back into jail for the winter.

Back to the laundry! My two washing machines squeaked and clanged so I set them at a syncopated rhythm, my music. I made up songs about the lake, the lodge, the guides, the guests, Effie, Ronnie, others, and mosquitoes, whatever fit with the rhythm. Should have written them down. Hmmmmmmm, When?

The summer flashed by with so much to do each day. The lodge was full every week, but I never did see any guests, I’m the behind the scenes person. I did get to share the tips though. Fabulous weather, if you like heat, which I didn’t, and the mosquitoes and black flies were monsters. Bud spirited fans for all us. Some nights I lay naked under a wet sheet with the fan on. Occasionally I made it to the party room and learned to play pool (not my game), poker, crib, and spent many hours learning to shuffle cards like a pro. Even though the days were long and the work hard and heavy, it was wonderful fun.

The seasons end loomed and all the guests cancelled for the last week. Bud told us to take the week off. What? Oh-K! We caught up on sleep. Ronni and Petri striped the rooms, I did some laundry cleaned up the lunch boxes, and made it to the party room in the early afternoon. We had a conversation about what we should do for the week, and decided to boat across the lake, near Snowdrift (Lutsel K’e – place of small fish). We took two lunch boxes, already packed, two tents, our sleeping bags, (I took my pillow), Colman stoves, gas containers, water, and the two boats were already loaded with fishing gear and sundry necessary items (more junk food). Ten happy campers, but a couple had to stay in camp for security, or in case guests decided to come in unannounced.

Skimming across the lake at great speed, well, great speed to me; I’d been landlocked for two months. The weather was cooler, the wind in my face, invigorating and more to my liking. It felt like hours speeding over the glasslike shimmering lake and then we landed on a gorgeous sandy beach, with little waves lapping at the sandy beach, but it was too cold to swim. Some guys stripped off and went skinny-dipping anyway. Look away girls!!

Archie, a great big Métis guy who looked like a bear, asked what fish would we like for supper? “I’ll have steak. I don’t like fish, but if I must have fish let it be white.” I said. Off he went in a boat, and arrived back in less than ten minutes with two beautiful white fish. Huh? Someone broke the news; the Indians of Snowdrift had nets just around the point. We gathered wood, made a ring of rocks found along the beach, and soon there was a rip-roaring fire. When the flames died down a bit a grill was balanced on the ring of stones. I wrapped the par-boiled potatoes (from the boxes) in tin foil along with carrots, onions, and butter and thrown in the fire. A can of peas sat beside the fire on a rock. Ah, a feast in the making. Archie was voted the best cook and even I liked the white fish. To finish we had canned peaches, chocolate bars and Smoores. What a great day!

Hey, what’s that dark cloud waaaaay over there? Very quickly the guides pitched the tents, lunch boxes thrown into the boats, covered with a tarp, and the boats dragged onto the beach. We weren’t quick enough to stake down our tent, and soon a ferocious wind whipped at the tent. From first sight of the storm to its arrival, was almost instantaneous. Archie secured the tent as best he could, and then crashed in on top of us, gasping for breath. Those underneath him wriggled out from under and rolled him over and up against the flapping side of the tent. He became a massive indoor tent peg.

We all took a turn peaking out at the storm, but only long enough to see the menace upon us, awesome beauty in its ferocity. So there we were, huddled together so I suggested we should sing. Well, funny suggestion, no one knew more than the first line of any song. I used to play the ukulele and sing old Negro spirituals and Caribbean songs and everyone knew those. We did remember to bring in the beer, but no one wanted to drink too much because the big outdoor biffy could be a life threatening activity.

The night became day, and the storm raged until noon. We were all hungry, wet, tired, cold and scared. Archie ventured out to see how the boats had fared and they were OK. The wind died down somewhat so we planned to leave as quickly as possible. Bathroom break permitted then we loaded into the two boats. Archie would drive the boat with the girls, Wim and Andy. Petri decided she would trade places with Archie’s buddy. A plan and a route were decided. How do you plan a route on a lake? They knew. I didn’t.

The return trip wasn’t anything like the trip across; there were whitecaps on those waves. We went bumping across the waves, sometimes airborne and landing with a terrible hwump. I feared for the boat, my butt … our lives. My teeth were frozen and shaken to their roots and I promised myself I’d get a dental check-up when back in civilization. The trip took four hours, felt like ten. Where’s the other boat? Not seen, or heard. I hope they get back before us.

They didn’t, their boat wasn’t at the dock so we went to the lodge to warm-up beside the living room fire. The guys stood watch at the windows, speculated where they might be, but no boat arrived. An unbearable hour dragged and Wim announced he would go look for them. Andy jumped up, “I’m going with him.” They took the most powerful boat in case they needed to tow the other boat.

Two more wretched hours worrying, and then they were here, both boats, under their own steam. They were soaked, freezing, but with broad grins on their faces. When their teeth stopped chattering and were warm, dry, and a tall whisky in hand, they told their adventure. They were almost home but saw what they thought was us, up the coastline a bit, so headed there. The boat headed inland and when they caught up it wasn’t us, but people from another camp. They were invited for coffee and warm up. We better be on our way; the others will be worried. Hugging the shore, because it was already dusk and the wind still blowing but blowing them in the right direction. Soon, our guys came bouncing towards them, and what a relief for everyone!

Dry, cozy, and euphoric and reliving the adventure from the start, Archie went behind the bar and came back with the liquor trolley. “Help yourself.” So we all selected our favorite poison and dug in. The night stretched into mid morning and Bud returned, from wherever he’d gone. We offered to pay for the liquor but he smiled, “It’s OK, glad you’re all safe.” What a guy!!

Closing the camp started next day, but Ronnie and Andy were missing. A mountain of laundry awaited me, then all the curtains from the rooms, and the kitchen linen. The sky hinted rain might be coming, but a warm drying breeze prevailed. The three lines were full, with linen for three more lines ready to hang, and both machines clanking away so time to hit the lunch box room. I didn’t want the lunch box person next season to see what I encountered. All the plastic bags of salt, pepper, flour etc, (not much anyway) were thrown out. The unopened non-perishables loaded onto the trolley and packed away in the pantry. All the dishes washed, packed on the shelves, covered the shelves with plastic and fastened down with staples. Scrubbed down the sink, scrubbed the floor, switched off the light and shut the door. Back to the laundry, brought in the dry and hung out the next three lines. Folding the laundry I sang my favorite summer songs, in time with the syncopated squeak of the machines, my favorite being Sitting on the Dock of the Bay, which may have been appropriate, but a bit mournful.

Wim and Petri cleaned the kitchen and packed everything into the pantry, (Effie went out on the last plane. Not a word about cooking breakfasts or making the bread. Didn’t matter, I loved it and I’m sure she appreciated it.) All the food had to be packed into boxes, labeled, sealed and taken to the dock. The fridge food was packed into boxes, labeled, sealed and left in the cool room, until just before the pane arrived. Freezer stuffs packed the same and left in the freezer. Still no Ronnie and Andy.

The guides winterized the boats and fastened (locked) them onto racks. Heavy steel doors pulled down and nailed and then padlocked. The motors went inside the fish house, when the house was cleaned out.

The guides finished packing the frozen fish for guests (who didn’t want the hassle of carrying it out with them). Most guests took their fish with them. The fish house was sprayed with strong bleach and disinfectant, including the ceiling, and then hosed down. They packed the motors in boxes and bolted them to the floor. Still no Ronnie and Andy.

Plywood sheets were nailed to the outside of the lodge, over the verandahs, out buildings and all the windows, to protect over the winter. The nights were getting cold; the days were shorter and had taken on a foreboding chill. The guides said they could smell snow. Still no Ronnie and Andy.

All this took two days and tomorrow we would be leaving - lets party!! We all had our favorite poison and of course, beer, and we tried to finish up the food, mostly cookies, pies, and junk that wouldn’t be returning.

Here comes the plane. Leaving this beautiful place, this extreme experience, these beautiful people, was a real wrench. There were times I wished I was somewhere else, when it was so hot, the hordes of mosquitoes, the incessant and nasty black flies, the tired sore body, the hard and long days - The Land of the Midnight Sun, but now I had muscle and character. There would be money, I guess? The money might be considered pitiful for two months hard labour, the experience made up for it. How many girls from DownUnder could say they spent a summer, on the second largest body of fresh water on the Earth, doing laundry, cooking breakfast for guests, making bread, packing lunch boxes for fisher men? Not many! Extraordinary!

Where are Ronnie and Andy? I packed everything in her room into a box when I cleaned our trailer, and the guys carried our stuff to the dock. I checked the other trailers and they were clean! Then a last 360 look from the dock, feasting on the beautiful colours of early fall and thinking, would I ever come back. Then, here comes Ronny and Andy, strolling down the dock, hand in hand, looking deep into tearful eyes. They didn’t say a word, just climbed into the plane and snuggled into the back seat. I looked out my window as longs as possible until the dock faded from view, and we roared into the blue.

Back in Yellowknife Bud treated the crew to a wonderful dinner at the Yellowknife Inn, gave us our pay envelopes and profuse thanks for the great work, over and above. We talked well into the night, exchanged addresses and hoping to see each other again, maybe next year at the Lodge. And then it was over.

Next morning, in the Yellowknife Inn lobby, Ronnie and Andy, hanging all over each other, reluctant to say goodbye, with silent tears streaming down their faces. This scene was too precious, poignant, sad, and taking way too long. I walked over and extracted Ronnie from his arms wrapped my arm around her shoulder and led her to the all packed car. She sobbed, “You drive.”

It seemed a long time before she could tell me about their love, and his promise he would get a job, stay out of jail, and get out to see her in Banff. Well, we can only hope, and I tried to be encouraging, and hopeful he would make it. She took over the driving after we had a day hiking around Alexandra and Louise Falls, and washing off the dust! No bears. We cruised past Kakisa, made the necessary stop at the border to sign out (not really!), and very glad to be… BACK ON PAVEMENT!! We almost missed the dust cloud as we left, (not really) but were very thankful and relieved we had made it.

The uneventful drive down the remaining thousand plus kilometers to Banff was, well, uneventful. Our first stop; have a beer at the Cascade Hotel, and check in with Dorothy Gow.

THE END
January 1, 2015