Hitching in Denendeh and Riding on the Deh Cho (2005)

This is a story from 365 days ago, give or take. My apologies for the delay in production, but I had an interruption of familial sorts in October when about 70% of this article was written. I am in the middle of new stories as I click "publish" now, so please stay tuned.

Macdonald

Well, for some reason, I got very nervous about how I would get into the Valley--beyond the roads. So leaving Somba Ké (Yellowknife) was a little gut-wrenching, at least enough to be very noticeable. I am guessing it was all the internalized hype--“hitching into the Valley!” and I was fearful of failure. Plus, once having arrived in first Fort Providence and later “The Knife” and realizing that neither the canoe nor a plane ride would work to getting me down the valley north further exacerbated the nerves. I would wish to say a lie: that at first the challenge of hitching into such an unusual location would make me happy, but in reality the nerves were indeed simply stretched thin.

I left for Liidlii Kué (Fort Simpson), unsure how well it would work out. Before I even walked three blocks within Yellowknife’s Old Town (the bay area), a woman pulled over and offered me a ride. She was, if you want to keep track of these things and I know I do, the 92nd ride of my trip. She dropped me on the road out, by Fred Henne Territorial Park.

I was waiting here less than an hour when one of my more important/knowledgeable “contacts” drove by--Petr Cizek. Petr has been living up here for 12 years and recently wrote “The Second Coming of the Mackenzie Valley Pipeline” for Canadian Dimension. Aside from being just plain very enjoyable, we had very useful and interesting discussions for 3.5 hours until he dropped me at the “Providence junction”. After he let me out, 20 minutes or so passed until “Cath” picked me up--a woman just hired by the Deh Cho to work as a drug and alcohol counsellor. She was very nice and easy to get along with, but her extreme ignorance of the situation she was about to drop herself in and of Dené and Deh Cho history make me hope, for all concerned, that she is a fast learner. I fear a cookie-cutter approach that would resemble what could perhaps be applied in the southern cities she comes from might get spliced onto the un-fitting Deh Cho people--a situation that would leave everyone at the least, frustrated.

My time was good-- re-establishing connections long in coming, and new discussions had me ready to try the original plan; “if necessary”, I recall the thought passing through my head back May time, “I’ll hitchhike into the Valley”. Awhile ago, Batiste had suggested to me (when still possible to do) that we canoe into the Sahtu Region of the Deh Cho Valley. Later, it was changed to wanting to canoe the Deh Cho Region. Well, the canoe he generously provided turned out to be too leaky for a long trip and that plan was scrapped. Thus I ended up in YK, learning that the conference was a northerner only. Now, leaving Simpson, I would try to hitch. Both Herb and Wes had mentioned a large number of boats going down river and turning at Great Bear in order to go to Deliné to attend the Dene National Assembly.

I tried first to go to the docking area down in Simspon, finding no one there and sat down to wait. Perhaps 45 minutes had gone by when a cop showed up and started asking me a bunch of questions. These ended with “Don’t mind me I’m just being a nosy cop.” He explained why I thought it best I try to get in a boat at the Ndulee ferry. Realizing that this meant the same thing as a cop doing it in the south--that he wanted me out of his jurisdiction--I asked him if he would drop me off on the highway to Pehdzéh Kí (Wrigley). No problem, ride number 96: Officer Al Keefe.

On the only part of the highway remaining with all-season accessibility, I only waited about 15 minutes or so and was only passed by the chloride truck that works to keep the dirt from dusting up through a spray. Then, Robert who used to run the co-op store in Wrigley grabbed me and took me the whole ride--with him stopping in places he suggested I might want to take good pictures. He was always correct with his assumptions.

We got here, Pehdzéh Kí (where I am writing this in a notebook), and he gave me the quick tour--“There’s three roads. The first one is by the hill to the river and has the gas station. The gas station is never open, you have to go to that house there and get him to come pump your gas. On the second street is the store and post office, that place is usually open or at least, it used to be. No one shops there though, it’s the most expensive place in the Valley since the highway opened up and now things are driven in--killing a drop-off from the barge.” I later bought bread, margarine and oatmeal for $11.78. It was never open again the entire time I’ve been here. He continued: “Over there is the other store, it’s open about two hours a week.” Then he took me to the dock to drop my things before leaving me behind at the store.

Once I had left Simpson for Wrigley, I knew that getting a ride down the river, if I managed to do so, would be one of my own personal great accomplishments. I have held the belief that one can hitchhike anywhere, should they choose, if they are willing to never give in. This was to be part of my first test of this concept; was I full of shit? Now that I had seen the canoe that myself and my friend Batiste were going to paddle through the valley take on water faster than a flood plain, and considering the public nature of the project I was involved in, I was filled with dread of failure. I had no idea this was to be so well-timed.

Wrigley holds an annual spiritual gathering, and this year it was being held on the same weekend as I arrived; that is no small coincidence, seeing as this is a village of approximately 200 people. This weekend had a number of people in from elsewhere in Denendeh, and there were many events, talks, demonstrations, feasts and more for the three days. It also was a few days before the Dene National Assembly. This basically meant that there was to be a boat-based traffic jam for a brief second on the Deh Cho.

In the meantime however, I had time to spend enjoying the events of the Spiritual Gathering, talking to people and feeling glad to be alive. I took particular pleasure in this one man’s perspective on my question about when the boats would go through. I wanted to know if it was to be tomorrow or the day after. He told me to learn to be patient. As a hitchhiker, such is always good advice; this whole waiting for a ride thing was taking on a new character but the same form I have long known. I could feel myself, despite seeing the extreme social dysfunction of the village, falling in love with Wrigley. The level of alcohol and other abuses is higher and more destructive than I have seen anywhere, yet the 20% of the population (my guess at a figure) that are fighting with everything they have to hold the society together really struck me deep. I have never seen a more honest, less pretentious place in my entire life. What you see is what you get. Humanity, suffering from colonialism, the aftermath of recent genocidal residential schools and the constant threat of the Mackenzie Gas Project, which would stick more than 1000 people next to this community, destroy their land and reduce them to a minority on their own land while not having any control over their own future.

I knew no one in this village, so my time here I spoke no politics unless it was spoken to me. I was surprised (and delighted) how it was brought up for me several times—always with the perspective of letting the visitor know that the people here have a proud history and fear the MGP. Since these were not interviews, I will say no more than that.

The final morning of the gathering (I had been in Wrigley for three days) I ate the pancake breakfast and readied to see the boat launch and try my luck at getting down the valley to the boat-in or fly-in only (in the summer) community of Tulita (the former Fort Norman). As I left the community centre gymnasium where breakfast was served, I noticed that I was surrounded by boats—so I’d better get ready to go. I ran down the stairs to the boat launch and packed my things together in record time. Then the boats started coming in and I started wandering up and asking, with little in the way of response. However, Benny (as he would tell me his name was later) had pity on me, and offered me a ride should the boat have room. I tried to help loading the boat and getting ready; his family were all getting on the ride. He called me over and said there was indeed room and asked me on.

The total rush of success as the boat pulled away from the river shore and I was on it was something that I have had the pleasure of knowing so few times in my life; a feeling like a hockey player getting drafted or a musician landing a major record deal, I’m guessing. A goal set and conquered, once the boat got there anyhow. The whole ride was freezing and completely caught me unprepared. No matter, we were now in Tulita.

Once there, I went into town and discovered there was a cookout at the band office and ate there before going to sleep in a tent by the river. After my usual running about here and there in Tulita for a couple of days, I decided that I would try and go further north down the river. After the first day went by with only one boat going either direction and starting to feel nervous about getting out… I adjusted my plan to being willing to take a boat going anywhere, north or south. Then, thinking on the date and a friends birthday back in Vancouver, I adjusted once again to “Can I get a ride out of here and not have to phone for help money stranded in Tulita?”

Those of you who know my belief in my relationship to foxes will understand how important it was to my state of stability that a fox came to visit my camp while I was readying for sleep after day two. I literally felt my place on the road washing over me when my friend from the canine world came off the cliff face to visit the area. My nerves settled and my spirit guide had told me that I was going to get the ride I needed.

The following morning I got up and made my camping coffee as always, followed by oatmeal and taking down the tent. As I was literally packing up the very last of my things, a truck towing a boat came to the launch and I approached asking where he was off to.

“Wrigley.”

“Is there any way that you have room for one more on that trip?”

Long silence.

“Honestly, I’m prepared and completely willing to beg, really, just ask,” I injected. He looked around, laughed and told me it was okay.

“Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you,” I said, and then ran to get my things and head back on the road/river.

His name was Ben, and he turned out to be Benny’s nephew. Ben and Benny gave me more than a good dose of Sahtu hospitality. Along the river, Ben stopped to let out four others at a work camp about two hours south upriver from Tulita. He had to pick up a few more in Wrigley and I was lucky enough to benefit from his day on the Deh Cho.

I slept another night in Pehdzeh Kí before hitching out the next day, getting a ride with a representative from the Mackenzie Gas Project. He said a lot of ignorant things about the north, and he wasn’t trying to be an asshole. That’s what truly made him frightening, as it was all clear that these are merely assumptions that people like himself make about this area. They import their belief in “progress” and “jobs”, and completely know nothing about the traditions and lives of the ten thousand year history held by the stewards of the land. He complained about a lot of things to do with the north, and couldn’t wait to get back South. I was personally barely out of the Valley and already wanted to go back in. I had achieved my goal, getting nicknamed an “extreme hitchhiker” along the way.

Time is what you must trade, like cash, in order to hitchhike anywhere. Unless you are intending to go to a militarily restricted area, if you spend the time trying, eventually you can get anywhere. Travel is a right, not a privilege. So is a healthy planet. Hopefully, while exercising the first right I am able to have even a small impact on the second. I know one thing: I have never loved the road more, and now realize that even the rivers are the road. Perhaps it took too long, but Leonard Cohen explained the river to me. For it isn’t obvious at first, but:

“Then she gets you on her wavelength
And she lets the river answer
That you've always been her lover
And you want to travel with her
And you want to travel blind”

Blind, perhaps. But after that trip? I can see more than I’ve ever imagined. See you all on the road....