My parents had moved to Vancouver after the fire, and my twin sister left with them. My brother and I stayed in Campbell River. Both Logie and I were logging out of Campbell River. When my dad passed away in 1974, I was logging up at the head of Bute Inlet for Butler Brothers Logging. Logie was logging for Mac & Blo. Dad’s death happened in the fall. It was a cold, wet and windy fall day, and due to this inclement weather, I was unable to get a plane into camp so I could get to Vancouver in time for the funeral.
It was a cold October, and there was snow up on the hill. Down at camp, it was raining heavily, and the wind was screaming through the trees. It was a big camp, up along the Cumsack Creek, just below Mount Waddington on the BC coast. Cumsack Creek flows into the Homathko River just up from the end of Bute Inlet. There were over 250 workers in the camp.
The head foreman did his best to get a plane into camp for me, but Bute Inlet is a pretty dangerous place for a plane during a big storm. A pilot did give it his best shot, but could not make it in. They managed to get a plane to come in the next morning, but by the time I got to Campbell River, the morning flight to Vancouver was long gone, and I needed to wait for the next flight, later that day. I missed Dad’s funeral, as it was in the morning that day.
When I arrived at my parents’ place, my brothers and sisters were pissed at me, and they started in on me right away about missing Dad’s funeral; they all said I did not try hard enough. I left after spending some time with Mom, and I went back to camp. I told Mom I would visit her soon. She knew I was the black sheep who always seemed to come up short when my siblings compared me to them, at least in their eyes. I did write a story to honour my dad.
“Spirit Island”
A time of sadness had come to my village. A respected Elder had set his prints on the spirit trail. He had been a wise and honest man. His kind and generous ways had earned him many true friends, who would mourn his passing. Myself included. For as long as I can remember, he has taught me the old ways and customs. I had thought we would be together forever. Now he was gone, and he had left me with a void that would be hard to fill.
I contemplated that as I stepped out into the early morning light and looked upon the sea. There was not a breath of wind, and the water was as smooth as jade that had been polished by the timeless tides. The dawn’s mist shone with a golden light in the glow of the rising sun. One might think the Great One himself was present today. As I glanced at the forest, it seemed, for just a moment, full of shadows slowly moving among the giant coastal trees. They seemed to be spirits of my people coming to guide one of their own back home. But as I watched, I saw it was but the morning’s mist rising with the coming of the day’s warmth. I turned my eyes back to the sea and searched for the Island that was out in the bay in front of our longhouses. By squinting, I could just make out the giant trees that stood facing the village from the island shore. The swirling mist made them appear to come alive and dance. They looked like totem poles.
The Elder was at the beginning of his greatest journey, for today, we would take him to the Island. I was to be honoured with saying his farewell. I could see the canoes were loaded, and the men were patiently waiting for me as I walked down to the beach. I reached the Elder’s canoe and was placed in the bow at the head of his cedar box. I shed silent tears during the passage to the Island. My mind was full of thoughts about this Elder, and all the things he had taught me during the time we had spent together. Including the stories and the legends, he had told me. The healing plants we had gathered together. The endless days during which we had studied the ways of the animals.
The last words he had spoken to me from his deathbed were echoing through my mind as we arrived at the Island. He had reached up from his bed to take my hand and said, “Always follow your heart, for the truth lies there”. “I will try”, I had replied, then he was gone. The Elder’s box was lifted from the canoe by six of his sons and carried to the highest tree on the Island. They placed him there, among those who had come before him. They each then placed a gift at the foot of the tree. It was now time for me to say farewell. As I went down on one knee and bowed my head, I silently placed an eagle feather among the other gifts to aid his flight to the forest of the Great Spirit. I sang a song of goodbye to this elder, and as I looked up through my tears at his place in the tree, a great sorrow overwhelmed me, and the farewell words flowed from me like a river rushing to the sea.
I tried to honour him with my speech, though in truth I had little knowledge of what I was saying. All I could think of were his last words, “Always follow your heart, for the truth lies there”. The mist was in my eyes as I spoke the final words of my speech to him. “You are in the forest now, and my heart is with you. I will miss you, I will always honour you, Father.”
I was still a teen, and he left far too soon. I do miss my dad. I still get teary-eyed when I read this story, as I wrote it from my heart.
When I was back in camp, I did a lot of thinking about my dad. At first, I was mostly thinking about how Dad would beat me and how, even though I always tried to live up to my dad’s standards, I always failed miserably at this. I remembered how he would always say, “Why can’t you be more like your brothers”, or how he would say to me whenever I screwed up, “You’re never going to amount to anything,” and it was bringing tears to my eyes.
Eventually, as I lay on my bunk thinking of these things, tears ran down my cheeks. I came to understand that they were not just tears of shame but that they were also tears of loss, the loss of my childhood, and the loss of my dad.
I began to remember all the good things about my dad. Right from the time I was a toddler, my dad would take me out and about with him and always introduce me as his little buddy, thus my nickname. Sometimes he would take me to the horse races and tell me that if I were able to stay small, I could become the greatest jockey in the world. This was a real dream of my dad’s. He loved the track, and I loved horses. But to our dismay, I just grew too big. Even though I never became that famous jockey, I did cowboy for years and made a living from the back of a horse. I think my dad, if he were still with us, might have been proud of me because of that.
My dad was only mean when he got into alcohol, I will admit that was pretty common. But there were all the other times when he was sober and teaching me about the forest, about medicine, about the animals and about who we were. It instilled in me a true sense of our history, about our ancestors, and this was a gift he gave me. When he talked about the animals, plants or medicines, it was always fascinating, and he would tell me the other kids had no appetite for this learning and how I always seemed to absorb it with great anticipation. I wish I could have been there for his funeral to say goodbye.