| Hallowed Ground |
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| Written by Jason Schoonover |
| Sunday, 01 July 2007 08:49 |
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Hidden among Saskatchewan’s geological tributes to Canada’s war dead, Reindeer Lake is a magnificent wilderness treasure in the Canadian Shield Su! Did you see that!” “See what?” A three-foot jackfish had exploded vertically out of the water by our canoe with another fish T-boned in its mouth. Su swiveled her head in the bow just in time to catch another immense pike bursting from the lake like a Polaris missile with a fish in its mouth. That most unexpected doubleheader was one of many highlights from paddling northern Saskatchewan’s immense Reindeer Lake. At 180 miles long, 2,500 square miles and with 5,500 islands, it’s North America’s 10th-largest lake and Canada’s fifth. Because of its enormous beauty, it’s also every bush pilot’s favorite. And despite Saskatchewan’s custody of what is arguably the best wilderness canoeing on the planet—100,000 pristine lakes mixed with a rich history of fur-trade and exploration—Reindeer Lake rarely feels the dip of a paddle. Canoeing is practically a minor religion in this province, but the lake seldom floats a canoe because of its sheer size. On the map it frightens even experienced paddlers. It shouldn’t. Reindeer Lake is not the fearsome ocean it inspires. It is the most outstandingly beautiful lake I have seen in decades of canoeing, and the largest traverse we faced in two weeks of idyllic paddling was only three-quarters of a mile. Exploring Reindeer first piqued my interest in the summer of 2005. I had been invited to lead a family of seven middle-aged siblings plus a nephew across the daunting Wollaston Lake just to the north. The final destination was Pennycook Lake, named in honor of their uncle Elmer, a military policeman in the Canadian Provost Corps who never returned from World War II. The purpose was to attach a commemorative bronze plaque and conduct a ceremony. More than 4,000 lakes, islands, rapids, and other features in northern Saskatchewan are named in honor of fallen servicemen. About 30 are from World War I, 40 from the Korean War, and 24 from the Canadian Merchant Navy—but the vast majority is from WWII. Reaching Pennycook wasn’t easy. We’d narrowly avoided the wrath of a forceful gale on enormous Wollaston that kicked up three-foot waves, there were several small, intermediate lakes to stream hop, and we had to hack a new half-mile-long portage trail on the last lap. But after this hardship, Pennycook was a delight—clear and beautiful, with a wonderful raised campsite amid reindeer moss and jackpine, and a view of the entire half-mile-long lake. The family eagerly explored the area, finally deciding on a large upcropping of Precambrian Shield to attach the plaque. The spirits of a momentous occasion filled the air. “Uncle Elmer was a farm laborer and our dad’s younger brother,” said Gord, my best friend from high school and the family spokesman. “The stories we heard as kids characterized him as a sociable, fun-loving young man who loved practical jokes.” Lance Corporal Elmer Pennycook was part of the advance up the west coast toward Rome on April 30, 1944, when the front tire of his motorcycle blew and he piled into an eight-ton military truck. He was pronounced dead the next day and is buried at the Canadian War Cemetery at the Moro River, near the small Adriatic town of Ortona. Doug Chisholm, a bush pilot who honors the war dead (see For The Record, below) flew up in his Cessna 180 float plane from Lac La Ronge, Saskatchewan’s northern capital, and conducted a simple, but heartfelt ceremony centered on attaching the plaque. After gathering his thoughts, he paid tribute to Pennycook, followed by a recording of “Taps.” The service hadn’t left a dry eye, including mine. Once the emotional nine-day trip was over, they returned to civilization. But since I was in the vicinity of Reindeer, I had organized another one-week, 10-person expedition among some other friends to follow immediately. I was particularly curious about Reindeer because of Deep Bay—the seven-mile-in-diameter meteor crater. Despite freakish, horrible July weather that left us wind-bound for two days, the obvious and outstanding beauty of the bay struck me. I had expected a continuation of the unaesthetic Wollaston, whose nearly total lack of Shield, few good campsites, and rocky, swampy shorelines were thoroughly unimpressive. The lake’s open areas were enormous, and the islands mostly massive. Plus the fishing was lousy. Thus I had never imagined that Reindeer could be so beautiful. Yet Precambrian Shield—at 2.5 billion years old, some of the oldest rock on the planet—was predominant and soaring higher than I’d seen anywhere. The water was crystal clear. Small islands were everywhere. “This reminds me of nothing less than the Gulf Islands,” I sputtered, picturing the indelibly beautiful Juan de Fuca Strait near Vancouver. “All it needs is arbutus trees.” “You know, that’s exactly what I’ve been thinking,” replied Pete Williams of Vancouver Island. “Right down to the Toni-Onley-silhouetted landscape.” Instead of the usual plain gray, glacially sculpted granite Shield found elsewhere in graceful whaleback shapes, Reindeer’s was most frequently slashed through with dikes of all widths, and in multiple colors with large mineral crystals, a geologist’s dream. Campsites were also an abundance of ledges, sometimes with open parkland behind, covered with jackpine, balsom, and birch, and always thickly carpeted with reindeer moss. (The lake isn’t named so much for the moss, however, as for the vast herds of caribou that used to descend from the Barren Lands each winter until only a few decades ago.). Golden sand beaches—virtually unheard of in Shield country—were speckled about. The water was so pure and delicious I didn’t hesitate to drink it exclusively. Because of that northern blast, we didn’t get much of a view of Deep Bay crater on that first trip. But I was so impressed that I organized a longer, two-week exploration for the following year. Besides Su Hattori, my bow and bed mate, old university mate, Aeneas Precht, and Jane Zhang joined us. This time we spent a magical day camped on the edge of the crater, with its wooded, raised rim sometimes surpassing 300 feet. The crater describes a perfect circle but for the northwest section, which consists of a few islands, the inlets connecting it with the rest of the lake. Where Reindeer averages 100 feet deep, the crater plunges to more than 600. Unlike our stormy first visit, we were delighted to discover a beautiful, well-used beach site on its lip. It had to be one of the greatest camping sites in the world—and the weather was picture perfect. Chisholm flew into that picture while we were hammocking out on a tiny island. We had coordinated by sat phone. He circled but, alas, didn’t spot us. It was too bad; we had fresh fillets. More importantly, he had ice cream. Aboard was a client, en route to the lake of the same name to attach a plaque in honor of his uncle. On yet another day, Andre Gagnon, the Quebecois bush pilot of the single local deHavilland Beaver, those growling Harley Davidsons of the air, also circled us in greeting. He had watched us load the barge and had expressed ruefully that he wished he could join us. He said the lake never sees canoeists and, indeed, we were an oddity, often stared at by the local Dene Natives. Reindeer was even more enchanting shrouded in smoke from a nearby forest fire, which wrapped it in an air of fog-like mystery. But an even bigger mystery is why this gorgeous, historically rich lake isn’t paddled more frequently. LOGISTICS Vehicles can be rented at the Saskatoon airport. Ric Driediger is a canoeing legend in northern Saskatchewan and operates Churchill River Canoe Outfitters (www.churchillrivercanoe.com) out of Missinipi on the Churchill River, the main highway of the old fur trade. (And, yes, it means the same as Mississippi.) He can supply canoes and equipment and run shuttle. Fly in with nearby Osprey Wings (306-635-2112) in their Turbo or Twin Otter, or google local Reindeer Lake fishing lodge operators to be ferried by barge (really a large boat) up the lake from Southend, a small village set at the south edge of Reindeer Lake. One would expect the odds of being windbound greater than on a lesser lake, but we enjoyed two solid unbroken weeks of superb weather. We agreed we had sat on horseshoes, but we also agreed it could be run in normal conditions—which means every kind of weather imaginable thrown at you in the course of a single week. If explorer David Thompson could paddle it in his flimsy birchbark canoe, as he did in both directions in 1796, you can do it far faster and safer with today’s technology. Build in windbound days, though. FOR THE RECORD A Saskatchewan bush pilot is the driving force behind an exhaustive mission to honor Canadian soldiers Feeling a huge debt to the generation that made his life possible, Doug Chisholm is documenting and providing memorial services for the families of veterans who have fallen in war. I met Chisholm, 53, shortly after he launched his project in 1997, when a simple request sparked his curiosity. An elderly woman in a Regina hospital had always wanted to visit Soutar Island in northern Saskatchewan. The island was named in memory of her brother, Pilot Officer James Soutar, who had lost his life while with the Royal Canadian Air Force during World War II. A friend called asking if Chisholm would fly over and take a photo. “I found the island, circled, and took the pictures,” says Chisholm. “After that I landed and got some sand and rocks and sent it all down. She got it just before she passed away. It was really special for her.” He then asked the Saskatchewan government for more information about the young flier, and they mailed the initial 4,000-strong list of air force, army, and navy servicemen for whom the geo-memorial sites had been named between 1950 and 1970. Merchant marine and Korean War names were added in 2003. The government tried to notify families, but by that time most had moved. It became another of Saskatchewan’s best-kept secrets—like Reindeer Lake. But not for long. The government formed a list of casualties that included name, rank, casualty date, regimental number, and the geographic feature and location. Chisholm began photographing the sites from his plane. He tastefully framed these photos, along with relevant information and a photo of each young man, and sold it to the families for $100. I couldn’t see how it could cover expenses. “We could have made and screwed on a plaque ourselves, but Doug contributed his experience and professionalism, which made it better for us,” says Gord Pennycook, whose uncle Elmer died in World War II and is the namesake of Pennycook Lake. “And the video he shot provides a lasting memory. But another reason we wanted to include him is we recognize the greatness of his project, and we wanted to support it and be a part of it. We probably would never have done the trip without Doug’s initiative. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience for everyone.” During our second trip to Reindeer, Chisholm flew over us with Bob Calder aboard. They were en route to Calder Lake to attach a plaque in honor of Bob’s uncle, Captain Ken Calder, who served for five-and-a-half-years in WWII, and fought in the Italian campaign. He had been married only eight days before he shipped out, and when he returned in June 1945, he found that his wife, a nurse, wanted to marry a doctor. “He couldn’t handle the Dear John,” Bob Calder says. “Ironically, after surviving years of war he died by gassing himself in her apartment in Vancouver. Because he was on leave, he was declared a casualty. He was 34.” Fifty years later, a close family friend passed along his suicide note to Bob Calder. “This, and the fact that the suicide impacted three other families, led to my writing A Richer Dust: Family, Memory and the Second World War,” Bob Calder says. For it, he received the John V. Hicks Manuscript Award for literary non-fiction. A chapter about his uncle is included in Chisholm’s book. After landing at Calder Lake a dozen miles away, they tied up at a small island. “We found a gorgeous spot to camp and have dinner,” he says. “It was stunningly beautiful. The following morning we went around the lake until we found a wonderful face looking out to the water. Chisholm performed the ceremony. He even left a little tobacco, in reverence to the Native spirits. It was a very simple kind of thing, but very moving. I also said a few words myself, but I got so choked up I had to stop. Finally, we built a cairn, and I placed a copy of my book in it in plastic.” Thus far, Chisholm, whose real job is as a maintenance crew chief with Saskatchewan’s water-bomber fleet, has shot 3,600 of the sites, been involved in about 120 plaque placements, and flown more than 1,000 hours on the project. Fifteen hundred of his framed tributes proudly hang on family walls. He also authored Their Names Live On: Remembering Saskatchewan’s Fallen in World War II, profiling 89 of the men. “It’s heart-wrenching,” Chisholm says, “but it’s an honor to share images of these geo-memorial sites with surviving families who appreciate my research. Although so many of the sites are remote, the names live on in the quiet serenity and immense beauty. It was a fine tribute by our province.” Jason Schoonover’s next book, Adventurous Dreams, Adventurous Lives: Today’s Explorers Recall the Youthful Dream Launching Their Remarkable Lives, will be out in September. An ethnologist and Fellow of The Explorers Club, he splits his year between Bangkok and Saskatoon, Saskatchewan. To see more photos of this expedition, please see www.jasonschoonover.com. Originally Published, Paddler July-August 2007 |
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