Chapter Four
Swearing Lake
In the late 1970s, my parents put their names into a lottery draw for a cottage lot at Weyakwin (Weyakwin means swearing in Cree language) Lake, a lake located about 150 km North of the town of Prince Albert. They won a lot, with the condition that they build a cabin on it, and that’s exactly what they did. Father was a good carpenter, and he could do most of the work himself. He did framing, sheeting, floors, wiring, plumbing, and concrete work too. Sometimes he asked a colleague or friend of his for pointers or help, and dad’s Uncle Jim helped him a little in the early stages. I often accompanied father on overnight trips up to Weyakwin,... perhaps just to keep him company in the early years, and then later to actually assist with the sub floor and then the pine floor and also to help with the building of the Garage.
Dad wore a belt with a folding knife in a sheath, the knife was a Schrade “Uncle Henry.” My Grandpa George gave me a smaller folding pocket knife and I, to be just like dad, got a sheath and put the knife in it and found a belt and wore that knife around with great pride when we would go to the lake. There was a practical aspect to it too ( I thought), because there were bears up there, even though I never ever saw a single one, in all the many times I went there over the years, if I got attacked by a bear, I reasoned, I could defend myself with my jackknife!
The drive up to Weyakwin was long for me, but I always enjoyed looking at the scenery. To get there you drove North out of Prince Albert, out past the hamlet of Spruce Home, then past another hamlet called Northside, and past Emma/Christopher lake highway junctions, then past the Anglin lake junction, and then past the turn off to Prince Albert National Park and Waskesiu Lake. By this time, you had driven about an hour. Thirteen kilometers later you passed a service station where we would often stop to “gas up” and grab a pop or an ice cream cone. When we went to the farm we’d often stop at the Holbein store and do the same thing. I loved the cool, sweet pop in the summer time especially, and often, I would go for a ‘crush,’ in one of the many flavors being offered which included: orange, grape, lime, and cream soda. Dad usually got a “Pinchi” (Pepsi) cola.
From Timber cove we would continue on, past the “Half-Way House,” it was a gas station by the Elaine Lake Road junction, and then about 20 minutes later we would turn off the highway and head west, 9 miles up the gravel road into the Thunder Hills and to our cabin which was about a 5 minute drive from a couple different docks on the lake, which was Weyakwin Lake, and a boat launch/fileting house and the beach. There were other cabins in subdivisions all around, too.
In the early years dad had an old green canoe that he would put a little motor on, and we would fish with it a little. But rather than summer fishing, dad preferred Ice fishing. He took me when I was just little, and I got the hang of it right away.
For years we made trips up to Weyakwin, just the two of us, lots of times in April when the fishing season was still open then,... back in the good ol’ days…. April was the spawning season for Walleye and we would find spots on Weyakwin where “they were biting,” and pull out our limit (maybe 6 or 8 walleye each) in no time at all. Dad would use a hand Ice Auger and drill a couple holes and we would just jig our lures rigged with a minnow, off the bottom of the lake and sometimes chat,... and sometimes just sit in silence. Maybe looking at the scenery on the shorelines, up in the hills, or on the islands, maybe thinking,... and sometimes,... I would worry.
I remember being out on the ice and fishing, catching lots of nice pickerel, and just taking everything in, so happily,..., looking to the West at the burnt over landscape and then suddenly, thinking of something I did, some childhood play, and, at the thought of upsetting dad or one of my Grandfathers,..., if they knew that I had played a sexual game. I’d get an immediate pang of nervousness and a terrible guilty feeling. It was something that was usually out of my mind, but it was lurking and would jab me whenever I was having my very best times. Still, I accepted it all, the good and the bad- and the times we had at Weyakwin were far beyond “good,” they were magnificent! We caught fish like crazy, went back to the cozy cabin with its hot crackling fire, and dad would filet a few Pickerel (Walleye) and debone them, and then we’d have a feast of fresh walleye filets dredged in flour and salt and pepper, and fried in copious amounts of butter with a side of brown beans that we’d throw on the stove to warm up, along with bread and butter. Those meals were very memorable! I ate as much as I wanted, and always until I was full. Walleye filets are amazingly delicious, very expensive to buy and are nothing short of a delicacy. Sometimes dad would have a cold beer in the evening, or a glass of rum and coke, but he never drank excessively. I looked upon it all with great pride, loyalty, and admiration! This man, who built all these things, knew how to fish so well, and wasn’t afraid of anything, was my father! I was the proudest and luckiest kid in the world. Sure I had my doubts and anxieties, but the love and joy I got from being witness to all that gave me abundant peace and hope for the future, and I strove to become more like my father as quickly as I could.
Back then dad drove a 1976 orange Chevy half-ton, two wheel drive, with a cap on the back. The cap had funny blue curtains hanging at the flip-up door of the cap above the tail gate and the cap was white in color. One day in about 1980, I came walking home from school through the backyard as I always did, and there, parked in a kitty corner to the shop was a yellow colored snowmobile with a patchwork blanket carefully placed over it. I hurried into the house to learn that dad had purchased a skidoo! The skidoo was a Bombardier Olympique brand, single cylinder, with a pull start. The engine had a lot of compression and so it was hard to start. I wasn’t even close to having the strength to start that machine. Dad had to always start it. I soon had the thought once we went out ice fishing, what would I do if dad got sick or hurt out on the lake and he couldn't pull the start cord? I couldn’t start it…! I’d have to walk for help I thought. “Build a fire, I thought, stay warm, could always wait for help….”
As a matter of fact, we did have trouble with that machine on more than one occasion. Sometimes, it would get “flooded'' and wouldn’t start, or, the rewind would give out on the starter rope. Dad never panicked,.... I would stay calm too. I was never afraid as long as I was with my dad,.... He always got the machine going. Out on the lake he would take stuff apart, pull off the rewind, or pull the spark plug and he would make it work. It was amazing. We never got stranded. My dad is a very skilled mechanic.
Dad hired a welder in Prince Albert to build a sleigh that had a hitch that bolted to the back of the yellow skidoo. We would load up the skidoo and sleigh, with ice fishing rods that dad made out of 1”x1” wooden sticks, an ice ladle to clean out the holes after drilling, and the hand powered ice-auger. Everything we had was used or homemade, and very simple. Other people out on the Lake had newer skidoos, and they wore fancy snowmobile suits, and drilled holes with power augers. I noticed that right away, yet- Dad didn't care at all,... and of course, I saw that right away too…. The fish didn’t seem to know or care who was driving what skidoo, either however, because we caught as good or better than anyone else. We had incredible fun out there on the ice, many times on Swearing Lake, it set the stage and forged the base for another dimension of bushcraft which was hunting. I was delightfully accompanying father, afield, on hunting trips probably by the time I was about 6 years old. I was an eager apprentice and determined to learn everything I possibly could about fishing and hunting. I rationalized it this way : If I could be good enough at fishing and hunting, everything would be okay, despite having worries and OCD struggles, because those times with father absolutely obliterated the annoyances of OCD. Hunting was a perfect arrangement too, because it started in October for dad, (he didn’t like September hunting so much because the ducks and geese were hard to pluck because they had pin feathers) and you couldn’t go ice fishing then anyway!