Daddy, I’ll do dat.”
My father took his axe and chopped small pieces for the fire. I watched in admiration as he put dry boughs and freshly cut sticks of wood into place. He took out his matches and lit the fire. It was such a beautiful spring day. Filtering through the trees, the brilliant sunshine splashed on the fresh snow like millions of diamonds. The scent of spruces, junipers, and birches filled the clean air, and the smell of woodsmoke filling my nostrils told me it was mug-up time.
Daddy took the grub bag from the komatik and started pulling out the food. He scooped some snow up with his little kettle and hooked it onto a twig over the fire. When it was boiling, he added loose tea leaves. Then he poured our tea into tin cups and passed me a big slice of bread and a lassie bun. There was something about eating in the woods that made it very special.
“Tis some good, hey, Daddy?” I said. “Is ya tired?”
“No, Jimmy, I’m not tired yet. I’m goin ta look round fer some partridge an check a few snares. Den I’ll finish loadin de wood.” He paused. “An ya gotta be quiet when I go huntin, cuz ya’ll scare em away.”
“I’ll be quiet. Won make a sound,” I said chewing on my bun. He put on his rackets, threw his gun over his shoulder and ventured a little way into the woods. I didn’t have any rackets, so I couldn’t follow him because the snow was too deep. He hadn’t gone far when I heard a loud bang. I jumped. It sounded very loud as it echoed through the dead silence of the forest.
“Whass ya got, Daddy?” I squealed.
“Got two partridges wit one shot!” he yelled back, sounding as excited as I was.
“Two wit one shot! Dat’s good, hey, Daddy?”
It was always a joyous occasion to get food. He laid the birds on the snow and proceeded to finish loading the wood. I watched as the snow turned red from the blood of the birds but all I thought of was how good they would taste for dinner tomorrow. I sat on one of the logs he had placed beside the fire and watched him. The dogs lay down, patiently waiting for us to finish. Some were napping, some were rolling in the snow and others were grooming their fur, but they were happy. I was beginning to feel tired and sleepy. Daddy finished loading the wood, piling it higher than my head. He’d turned the komatik around before he’d started loading, so we were already headed in the right direction. He then lashed the wood onto the komatik, hooking the line onto the bars and over the wood to the other side. He was making sure the wood was secure.
“Jump on, Jimmy!” he yelled.
“Awright, Daddy.”
I sprawled on top of the wood and hung on tightly. Daddy grunted something to the dogs, and we headed for home. The dogs were working extremely hard. Their tails and heads were down as they strained to pull the heavy load uphill.
Spring was the time for the seal hunt. At that time of year the sun was quite bright and strong, and there were either no sunglasses available or no money to purchase them. Consequently, Daddy became snow-blind many times. This was a painful condition and sometimes laid him up for several days. The sunlight and wind in his face while travelling caused his skin to burn and peel.
As the sun melted the snow, it became heavy and wet, making the komatik harder to manoeuvre. Another problem occurred each spring when the snow thawed during the day, then froze overnight. Ice shards like broken glass cut through our sealskin mukluks. It was painful for the feet with only duffle vamps and socks as protection. But for the dogs it must have been excruciating. Their feet bled from cuts, leaving red footprints in the snow.
The seal hunt was the event that heralded spring. Seeing seals piled on Daddy’s komatik was a happy sight. My parents shared the work of preparing the seal pelts. Mommy meticulously removed fat and fur, while Daddy stretched the pelts on frames and hung them on the cabin to dry. I remember watching him nail up the enormous pelts.
“My, oh, my, tis big, hey, Daddy?”
“Yeh, Jimmy, tis big nough ta make ya lotsa nice slippers an new mukluks.”
Melting ice came as a surprise to us after such a long winter. One day while we were sliding down the hill onto the brook my tiny komatik slid right into the steady. I started to cry as I leaned over the hole, trying to spot it.
“I lost me kumlik down de brook, Mommy!” I cried, running into the cabin. “Tis gone ferever!” I kept wailing until Sammy began to make me another one. Then my loss was forgotten.
Spring breakup was a difficult time for all the families in the community. By the end of April, the ice became too dangerous to travel on as the snow melted rapidly. Daddy couldn’t get to his traps. Finally, he had to pull them up and prepare for the trip back to Spotted Island. The move occurred in April every year. By this time food was running low because Daddy couldn’t tend his traplines. We were poised to make the move, but the waiting could go on for days, sometimes weeks.
Daddy and Mommy constantly watched the sky and read the weatherglass, waiting for the right time to shift outside. When conditions finally became civil enough to take the risk, everyone had to move quickly. It was a race against time because the Labrador climate, always relentless and unforgiving, could change quickly. There were so many last-minute jobs to be done, such as collecting the furs, packing our things, storing all of Daddy’s winter belongings, and securing the cabin. The other three families in the settlement moved about the same time.
We had to carry all of our things down to the landwash. It was such a long walk! But every family member had to do his or her part to move from one place to another. As the komatik was piled high with our belongings, I got more and more excited. I watched with pride as Daddy rounded up the dogs and harnessed them. The dogs took us from Roaches Brook down to the shore. If the run was frozen, we would continue on to Spotted Island by dog team. If there was open water, we would have to wait until a neighbour with a boat showed up to collect us. Every year the weather was different.
I was thrilled when we were finally off. It was time to prepare for the fishing season. I wasn’t afraid of the choppy sea. I was anxious to get to my favourite place in the whole wide world — Spotted Island!
One year I remember being picked up by a boat. As the vessel pulled out from our inlet, my mother eyed the icebergs in the distance.
“Don’t go too close to dem ol tings, Tom! Dey might founder down on top a us!” Mommy was yelling over the putt, putt, putt of the Acadia engine that powered the motorboat. We were chugging through the choppy ocean, and she was terrified of the gigantic icebergs floating majestically southward on the open sea.
“Awright, Mammy,” Daddy assured her.
As we made our way to Spotted Island, I gazed in awe at the craggy cliffs looming straight up from the deep blue of the North Atlantic.
All along the Labrador coast tiny fishing outports were tucked away in sheltered coves, bays, and tickles (tiny inlets). As the boat rounded another point of land, our summer home came into full view. The hillsides of this rugged and treeless place looked as though millions of boulders had been dropped from the sky. Standing out in sharp contrast were the berry bushes and low-lying foliage sprouting from cracks and crevices in the rocks. With its rugged
