My Trapper Mom

Chapter 4: Big Stony River

Let's continue with the story, shall we? The previous three chapters primarily consisted of my reflections on being a mischievous toddler, with some moments that were endearing to some and tedious to others.

As I mentioned before and will avoid repeating as we progress through the upcoming chapters, many of my memories from that time are what I call "shock" memories. However, not all of these memories are negative. They are filled with excitement, curiosity, and amazement that come from growing up in the wilderness. Allow me to give you an example. Imagine sitting in a room with the same routine, surrounded by the same pictures and colors day in and day out. Over time, your mind becomes accustomed to the monotony and starts to ignore it. But suddenly, one day, you step into a room filled with an array of vibrant colors, unfamiliar sights, sounds, and people. Everything is new to you, as you have never experienced such variety before—you have never touched, felt, smelled, tasted, or even chewed these things before.

It's about stepping outside in the rain and embracing the power of everything a young mind could desire and avoid. I can assure you that not every moment was challenging, nor were they all joyous or sad. But they were real, significant, and grounded. Every day was unique; there were no monotonous school bus rides or predictable routines, except for the daily struggle for survival and the constant endeavor to learn, create, scavenge, clean, exert, work, play, and collapse into deep sleep from sheer exhaustion. Even as a young child, I was growing into a young man.

I don't recall the moment when my mom met the man who would become my new stepfather. Perhaps it's frustrating because I was taken care of while they had their initial encounter and decided to get married. It reminds me of Stewie from the cartoon Family Guy, who wants to get even with the world because he is unaware of what is happening on the other side.

Anyway, let me share a cherished memory. As my mom stepped out of a passenger train, she graciously thanked the conductor. She held me tightly in one arm, balancing a large bag in the other, when suddenly, a bearded and robust man said, "Here, I've got him."

...Once again, I felt like Stewie and didn't appreciate it at all. However, he managed to calm me down with his soothing words and I distinctly remember the scent of wood smoke emanating from this strong, burly figure as he carried me down a small hill towards the tree-cut line, approximately 300 feet away from the train tracks. I gazed into the face of this smiling bushman, as he babbled a deep-throated manly gibberish in an effort to comfort me.

Suddenly, we found ourselves immersed in the heart of the forest, surrounded by inexplicable sounds of yelps and commotion. Just around the bend of the path, where towering trees reached for the sky, we stumbled upon an awe-inspiring scene that left me utterly spellbound. Overwhelmed with wonder, I heard my mother exclaim, "Wow, they're absolutely breathtaking!"

Unable to accurately count, I was captivated by the countless majestic creatures peacefully resting in their harnesses upon the snow-covered trail. Some were partially buried, waiting for their impending adventure. Little did I know, I was about to embark on an extraordinary seven-mile sleigh ride, led by a team of dogs that were part wolf and part Husky, down a frozen river and towards our new two-story log cabin.

I vividly recall the towering figure bending down, still cradling me, as he opened the canvas and blankets attached to the top of the grand dog sled, beckoning my mother to climb aboard. Without hesitation, she accepted the invitation, and I was promptly handed over before being securely tucked in with blankets and canvas alongside her. In that moment, the commanding voice of the dog god resonated, "Mush! Ho!" and the sleigh took off as if manifesting a figment of my wildest dreams. My mother's joy was palpable—she squeezed me tightly and nestled me in her arms, overcome with sheer delight, as we navigated through a dense two-mile forest path, ultimately arriving at an unexpected entrance to a wide river. Prior to this, we had traversed what locals refer to as a trapper's portage, an arduous undertaking. There were sections of the river that proved impassable during the freezing winter, but that is a tale for another time. (As with the latter, we'll talk more about this majestic river that was named 'Big Stony' by the burly trapper you just met. There is also a tale of 'Little Stony' too! More on all this later.)

Whoosh! Down the 50-foot embankment, we descended, gliding onto the carefully packed snowshoe pathway atop the frozen river. This trail, meticulously forged by a trapper the day prior with snowshoes, had solidified over a night or several days, making it a smooth passage for the sled dogs and their heavy load. Such preparations were necessary after a significant snowfall. Dogs, akin to humble yet essential snow machines, could easily become overwhelmed, mimicking the fatigue of an overworked farm horse before noon. It just wasn't done—a dog was regarded as both a companion and a survival partner.

Unraveling the course of time in my mind's eye, I perceived our journey down the river to have lasted an awe-inspiring three months. Every moment was laden with exhilaration as I observed the noble creatures in the lead, their bushy tails wagging joyfully as they trotted forward, diligently pulling my mother and me. Occasionally, a grunt would escape the man's lips, accompanied by the sound of his labored breath, affirming his role in running alongside the sled, guiding it unyieldingly onward.

In an instant, we rounded the final bend, and at first, nothing came into view. However, as realization dawned upon me, I understood that the majestic two-story log cabin awaited us, perched atop a hill a quarter of a mile ahead. Nestled serenely amidst towering popular jack pine trees, the cabin stood tall, beckoning us towards its warmth and security.

Finally, we approached the hill leading to the cabin, and with a resounding cry of "Mush! Mush! Mush!" bellowing behind us, our pack of spirited dogs charged forward, propelling the sled up the incline. We came to a halt beside the magnificent log home, and the voice of our guide proclaimed, "We have arrived!"

My brand new home... I couldn't contain my excitement as I eagerly dashed out of the sled, desperate to embrace one of those enormous teddy bears. Oh, they were so affectionate! I can still vividly recall a gentle female teddy bear giving me an exuberant lick, playfully cleaning the snow off my face from our thrilling journey. She stood tall above me, bearing the name "Mandy." I simply couldn't bear to be apart from Mandy for the rest of the afternoon. Even my mom couldn't keep me indoors, I needed Mandy more than anything. Eventually, she grew tired of my unwavering hugs and quickly scurried under the house to find solace.

...And now, it's time to drift off to sleep and let dreams of Mandy guide me into the next adventure. Goodnight!

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