Our documentary team travelled to James
Bay to capture the spring goose hunt activities on film last
April. While we were there, I mentioned to our hosts that the goose hunt took
place in the fall in Eastern Ontario . The next
thing I knew, a Cree contingent was planning a November trip to Grenville County
In the last weeks of summer, I attempted to organize this
cross-cultural hunting expedition as I would any project, by researching,
scheduling, planning and communicating. But I received very little
communication from the Cree in return.
They plan their daily activities around hunting and fishing.
Their work schedules are normally very accommodating for this purpose. Continuous
emails from some woman in Ontario
(me) attempting to coordinate a hunting trip, therefore, were going to remain
unanswered until the last possible minute.
After receiving no reply to my emails from one potential
guest, I decided to try his cell phone. Wireless services arrived in northern Quebec about three years
ago and they have been extremely well connected ever since. It took him a while
to answer, he explained, because he was busy pulling a moose out of the bush.
Well, that’s an excuse you don’t hear every day.
I had suggested the second week of November for the hunt,
because there are normally a fair number of geese at that time, as well as an
abundance of wild turkey and deer. A letter of permission was acquired from the
local Algonquin and Mohawk Indian Chiefs – more of a courtesy than a regulation
– and the Ministry of Natural Resources was informed that we would have a
visiting delegation of Crees coming to harvest on our property. The Crees
informed me that they were only interested in hunting geese. So we planned to
take them to the St. Lawrence River . They
could comfortably stay at the McIntosh Inn, in Morrisburg.
As the first of November approached, I began to worry. I
hadn’t received final confirmation on the number of hunters. Finally, I
received an email explaining that the men of the Salt family in Waskaganish,
whom I had met last April, were indeed coming to hunt. In addition, they would
be bringing their wives, their elderly parents and some children. And, oh yeah
– they had decided that they would like to stay at our farm instead of at the Inn .
Well, I had extended the invitation. Back when I thought it
would be four or five hunters coming to join my hunter-gatherer’s party. I had
been planning this event for weeks, if not months. I could hardly turn back
now.
I cancelled the seven rooms I had booked at the Inn , and began hauling boat and camper mattresses out of
our basement storage. I farmed all the girls out to relatives for the weekend,
and set up our very own hunt camp at the farm. Who would have guessed we can
sleep 15??
When I broke the news to my hunter-gatherer, he was more
than accommodating. After all, he had signed up to spend the weekend hunting
with people who had it in their blood. He was pretty excited.
I rushed home from work on Thursday evening, anxious to
arrive home before my guests landed after their 12-hour journey. I finished up
making beds and waited. And waited. Finally, by 8 pm, the extended Salt family
had successfully GPS-ed their way to the Fisher farm. And they were hungry.
After introductions were made I dished out some of the Farmer’s homemade
mac-and-cheese and settled down to get acquainted.
Within minutes our guests were conversing enthusiastically
in Cree, interspersed with the occasional English word and peals of giggles.
At 3:30 the next morning, the Farmer and I rose to prepare
breakfast for the hunters. We went through 5 dozen eggs, 5 pounds of bacon,
four loaves of bread and a kilo of coffee this weekend. The bannock that I made
myself remained uneaten. I believe the dog is sniffing at it now, and wondering
what sin he committed to receive that surprise in his bowl.
The men, including 70-something-year-old Johnny Weistche and
12-year-old Riley Salt, headed out to the St. Lawrence at 5 am. There they met
up with my hunter-gatherer’s party, who were very excited to learn goose
hunting from the pros.
Unfortunately, with our unseasonably warm fall thus far, the
geese were not exactly abundant. The men followed tradition and allowed young
Riley to take the first goose, which he did with ease. He performed a perfect
goose call with his mouth that was so realistic the local men thought he was
using a calling device. The elder Johnny took the second goose, and that was it
for the day. The second day was even worse. As the temperature rose to a nice
Cree summer day, the geese went elsewhere. But despite driving 12 hours to hunt
and then coming up empty handed, we didn’t hear one word of complaint or
discouragement from this group. Always positive, often giggling, they just took
the day as it came. The men swapped hunting stories and compared notes. They
bonded over a shore lunch cooked on an open fire.
On Saturday evening, we stood outside the barn watching the
horses as a flock of geese began to approach. Riley did his call a few times,
and I watched amazed as the geese made a slight change in direction to fly
right over our heads. Again Sunday morning he called geese in from all
directions. He is the Vienna Choir boy of goose callers; hopefully he will be
able to keep that high pitch when his voice changes.
By the end of the weekend, I got over my insecurity about
being a non-conventional wife who rarely cooks, doesn’t know how pluck her own
goose and didn’t personally create the wood carvings that decorate my home. I
got to know the Cree women fairly well during our short time together, and I
admire so many things about their culture. They were very good at taking care
of their elders. The families are all very close, and the men take their women,
children and parents along with them to hunt camp. Everyone plays a role in the
smooth operations of the hunt.
Back in April, I met the grandmother Clymie while she was
stitching together a pair of moosehide and beaver fur slippers. This weekend I
was presented with my own pair. They are so beautiful I almost don’t want to
wear them.
I am looking forward to the spring, when the Salt family
promises to return, and the Fisher farm turns into a hunt camp again. The
introduction to this fascinating native Canadian culture is worth every bit of effort.
p.s 2015: It wasn't until after they had left that we were told a relative of the Grand Chief Billy Diamond was in our hunting party. Over the next few years we had random visits by Cree hunters who would harvest geese and bring back to their village to share with other residents. Word travels fast when hunting is good. When people we could not identify or communicate with started showing up, we had to put a polite end to the Fisher Farm hunt camp. Here is the link to the documentary film I was working on when we met the Crees: http://www.eeyouchofeeyouistchee.com/about.php
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