to engage in pure research. Once a week, they would get together at The Museum for a major think tank. This plan is in sharp contrast to what others who also claim to have known Wendell believe, which is that Wendell would have wanted the cabins to return to the earth naturally with time. Having read much of the available literature, conducted some interviews with folks who knew Wendell, and pondered the man and the much-revered cabins, I am confident Alice’s knowledge reflects his true wishes. That said, the cabins are returning to the earth slowly. I believe the humanitarian Wendell Beckwith, who called himself a “citizen of the world” when encouraged to seek Canadian citizenship, saw a legacy in continuing to support sustainable initiatives with the local people and furthering the virtues of pure science and environmentally sound living via his northern studies bush institute. What a destination such a research centre would have become for Wabakimi trippers. Certainly all would have been welcome in Wendell’s vision. In the 1970s summer heyday of Wendell’s years at Best Island, up to three hundred visitors per summer were noted. He was a hermit, yes, but not in the summer canoe tripping season. We were excited to read the cabin’s guest book. Not long before us in 2005, members of Wendell’s family, including grandchildren, visited Best Island. One granddaughter, age five, as I remember, commented: “Now I know where I got my brains from.” Long overdue guests, perhaps, but certainly it was a treat to see that a family visit was a part of the overall story.
Wendell’s vision for Best Island is now important to consider. In the early part of the summer of 2005, Wilderness Connection Outfitting operator Jim Pearson arranged for the Ministry of Natural Resources to cover the roof of The Museum with a large Fabrene plastic tarp. Two separate trees have fallen, destroying sections of the roof. Time to save the buildings is dwindling! Responsibility for the buildings is uncertain. A group was established in the 1980s. Energies were later channelled for a short while through Wilderness Connections operating out of Armstrong in the summer months. Wabakimi Park staff appear uncertain as to which course to take: serious investment towards permanent repairs, modest upkeep, or turning a blind eye, defended by a local view (that appears unsubstantiated) that Wendell would have wanted the cabins to return to the earth. Frankly, I don’t buy it! Perhaps some home refurbishing TV show should be brought into play.
Seriously, though, a canoe trip in the heart of the Wabakimi boreal forest, accented with a lingering tour of the Best Island cabins while being informed about the life and three pillars of Wendell Beckwith, is a rewarding and imaginative journey into how we dwell or might dwell in the Canadian north woods.
Wendell Beckwith was a true hobbyist. He expressed a committed “defiance of the contemporary.” He expressed strong values toward the development of ideas and personal development. He sought out his own brand of liberty. Aldo Leopold might have called him the ultimate hobbyist. This doesn’t sound right, given how the word hobby has come to be understood. But Wendell did exercise many of the hobbies of others with his environmental, scientific, and humanitarian work. I missed meeting Wendell Beckwith with a last-minute route choice change on a 1977 canoe trip. Too bad for me. I have only seen two pictures of Wendell. He has a big smile in both of them.
It would be a shame to lose the cabins, the critical link to the man and his story, because of short-sightedness at this crucial time. On August 16, 2005, twenty-five years to the day since Wendell’s departure, I sat and thought of my own dwelling on the earth amidst the aura of the Beckwith story. It was time well spent. I was grateful to Wendell and I am certain I am not alone in drawing energy from the site. Perhaps this is Wendell’s legacy: pure reflection for those canoe trippers who continue to travel and think in more primal ways.
Wendell’s way is not the only way to dwell well in remote places. Enlightened Nirivians will tell you that a touch too much Scotch, a crazy idea well played, and a commitment to encouraging the natural integrity of the place can go a long way towards dwelling well and inspiring a great story.
Nirivia’s main cabin.
We were on Lake Superior, sea kayaking in 2013, out for over a week travelling from Silver Islet to Gravel River (near Rossport). We had known about Nirivia from a fine area guidebook.[5] When Beth Foster paddled over to a nearby cottage and was greeted with “Welcome to Nirivia,” we knew that not only were we in the right place, we were in for a fine time as well.
Now Nirivia isn’t a cottage or camp name. It is rather a secluded self-styled nation state with its own commercial activity, national flag, national anthem, titled members, and certificates of citizenship. Russell Evans, a founding member and King of Nirivia, with his partner, Sharon Manitowabi, would be our host for the afternoon. We had a lot of questions, and lucky for us, Russ was the man.
First, the Nirivia story. In 1977, four Nipigon residents, including, Russ Evans, were camped on Lake Superior near present-day Nirivia. They had learned that the Robinson Superior Treaty — Lake Superior Native bands’ land claim between Michipicoten and Thunder Bay — did not include the many off-shore islands that had been their childhood playground. Russ at age thirteen had camped solo on the islands to get his Pathfinder badge. As the Scotch flowed, an older Russ and friends decided the group should claim a portion of the islands. Some loophole in the treaty allowed this process a degree of formality. Nirivia: what a name. Apparently the four may have been trying to say Nirvana, but it came out Nirivia, which, you have to admit, does have an exotic feel to it. They thought so too. Nirivians will tell you that Nirivia is more a state of mind than any serious sovereignty bid. That said, they do have an honourable declaration of intent for their fifty-nine islands (St. Ignace Island, at 132 square miles, is the largest among them).[6]
All the fun nationhood stuff — a flag, anthem, awarding of titles (Official Scribe, Commander of the Navy, and Cosmos Inspector, for example) — isn’t simply a joke. And the declaration is not just political theatre or fun. The Nirivian state held for decades an active licensed tourist establishment; the Nirivian Island Expeditions Ltd. Fishing was the mainstay. They had a healthy business supported by word of mouth and a great T-shirt. I’d give up a big Lake Superior trout for one of those T-shirts or a certificate of citizenship. Fishing and boating remain a big part of the Nirivian lifestyle. We felt right at home. Indeed, the day before we arrived Russ had caught a twenty-three-inch speckled trout in the Nirivian homeland.
The declaration also has some teeth. The focus of Nirivia’s state of mind is a proclamation focussed on preservation of the island’s integrity. There are three objectives: multi-use recreation, no heavy resource extraction, and preservation for future generations. When one thinks of the uncompromising 1970s resource extraction polluters in nearby Red Rock and Terrace Bay, it is easy to see the degree of serious attention needed. Nirivia in the late 1970s received treatments in the Toronto Star, the Globe and Mail, National Geographic, Reader’s Digest, the Minneapolis Star, and others.[7] I asked Russ, now sixty-five years young, what he thinks of it all over thirty years later. His response? “Well, look what it created!”
So what is Nirivia now? Beth Foster, Robin James, Liz Calvin, David Taylor, Margot Peck, and I experienced warm Nirivian hospitality. Russ and Sharon were generous with their time, and we enjoyed a very hot sauna and cold Superior swim. “Look what it created!” Glorious boating travel with well-forested islands, just enough safe harbours and pebble beaches, grand views out to sea, and an inland view peppered with islands and high forested hills.[8] It is a sea kayaker’s paradise … if the winds are calm and you have lots of time. The Nirivian state of mind would serve one well when travelling the many open water island hops out there: wait for the right weather, relax, take it all in, have a purpose, and don’t take it all too seriously. Russ was an exemplary Nirivian, and we felt blessed to be a small part of this inspiring Lake Superior story.
What does the future hold for Nirivia? Russ mentioned many times that the idea was spawned from the carefree 1970s lifestyle. Today, the Nirivian elders who remain are Jim Stevens and Russ. Both live in Thunder Bay. Both see in their time out on the Nirivian
