Northland Footprints

By Kenneth Conibear

This is a realistic novel of the Canadian Northwest, situated on Little
Bent Tree Lake in Canada's Northwest Territories, in which animals are the
chief characters. It describes with humour, drama and pathos a whole
community of animals and birds and their unceasing struggle to live. It is
neither a fantasy nor a treatise. It is fiction, with creatures of the
world playing the main parts in the drama- the beaver, the muskrat, the
silver fox, the whiskey-jack, wolverine and many others. Along with all the
emotions that make any story worth reading- love, hate, fear, envy- here are
such animal/human qualities as heroism, devotion, mother love, fidelity,
cunning, all portrayed through the lives of the book's characters. Their
loves, hunger, feasts, fights, sadness, gladness, deaths, their
interrelations, the part played in their lives by winter, summer, the
snows, the winds, the buildings of the beaver, the introduction of fear
into their lives because of the introduction of man, the
hunter/trapper- these are combined into a unified plot which draws to an
exciting climax.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Aug 18, 2006
• ISBN: 9781412241472

Kenneth Conibear

Kenneth Conibear was born in Canada in 1907, and moved with his family to the Northwest Territories in 1912, travelling there by rail, stagecoach and barge. He was raised in Fort Smith, and was home- educated to the grade 10 level by his parents and friends within that community. He was sent out to Edmonton to complete grades 11 and 12, and continued on to the University of Alberta where he was selected as the Alberta Rhodes Scholar in 1931. Following 3 years at Oxford, he spent the next three years in England writing and had his first novel, the highly acclaimed "Northland Footprints" published in 1936. It was then that he was referred to as 'the Kipling of the North'. In 1937 his publisher, Lovat Dickson, hired him to travel with and manage the Canadian Indian naturalist Grey Owl's speaking tour of England, and he has often been consulted as an expert on Grey Owl. In 1938 he returned to the Northwest Territories with his wife, Barbara, and had "Northward to Eden" published, followed in 1940 by the novel, "Husky" written in collaboration with his brother, Frank, and "The Nothing Man," privately published in 1995. In the North, he was a hunter, trapper, storekeeper and skipper of his own fish-packing/freight boat on Great Slave Lake. After serving in the Canadian navy during WWII, he tried to establish a business carrying freight down the Mackenzie River to the Artic communities - plus serve as a guide for two men from Seattle who wanted to film an adventure trip down the Rat River in the far North - the subjects of this novel. All of the author's novels were based on his intimate knowledge and love of the people, the animals, and the natural environment of the north. He moved 'Outside' and at the age of 55 was hired by the newly established Simon Fraser University in Burnaby, British Columbia. He retired as administrator of the English Department at the age of 70. He presently lives in Vancouver, British Columbia with his second wife, Marilyn.

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Copyright © 1936,1937, 1939, 2000 by Kenneth Conibear

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

First published in 1936 by Lovat Dickson Ltd., London First reprint published in 1937 by Macmillans, Toronto Second reprint published in 1937 by Charles Scribner’s Sons, NewYork

French reprint ‘Betes du Grand Nord’ published in 1939 by Albin Michel, Paris

Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data

Conibear, Kenneth, 1907-

   Northland footprints, or, Lives on Little Bent Tree Lake

ISBN 1-55212-418-5

ISBN 978-1-4122-4147-2 (ebook)

I. Title.

II. Title: Lives on Little Bent Tree Lake.

PS8505.O64N6 2000      C813’.54      C00-910730-4

PR9199.3.C36N6 2000

TRAFFORD

This book was published on-demand in cooperation with Trafford Publishing.

On-demand publishing is a unique process and service of making a book available for retail sale to the public taking advantage of on-demand manufacturing and Internet marketing.

On-demand publishing includes promotions, retail sales, manufacturing, order fulfilment, accounting and collecting royalties on behalf of the author.

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Contents

LIST OF CHARACTERS

PREFACE

BOOK ONE

Chapter 1

THE BEGINNING OF A JOURNEY

Chapter 2

AN EXPERIMENT IN DOMESTIC ECONOMY

Chapter 3

INTERRUPTIONS IN A JOURNEY

Chapter 4

A TRAGEDY AND ITS SEQUEL

Chapter 5

A TRAGEDY AVERTED

Chapter 6

THE END OF A JOURNEY

BOOK TWO

Chapter 7

HOSTAGES TO FORTUNE

Chapter 8

A CHASE AND ITS ENDING

Chapter 9

SPECIAL INSTRUCTIONS

Chapter 10

LESS SPECIAL INSTRUCTIONS

Chapter 11

MISTIGI THE PIONEER

Chapter 12

BALANCE OF POWER

BOOK THREE

Chapter 13

VIRGIN COUNTRY

Chapter 14

VISITORS BY DAY AND NIGHT

Chapter 15

AWAKENED MEMORIES

Chapter 16

MISTIGI THE ARCHITECT

Chapter 17

BURIED FEAR

Chapter 18

MISTIGI & LITTLE CHEESEH, CONVALESCENTS

Chapter 19

FAILURE

BOOK FOUR

Chapter 20

FEAR

Chapter 21

WINTER

Chapter 22

THE TOUCH OF SPRING

Chapter 23

NOT TILL THE HOURS OF LIGHT RETURN

Chapter 24

MISTIGI THE FORGIVER

Chapter 25

LITTLE CHEESEH THE GOOD SAMARITAN

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

LIST OF CHARACTERS

With names given to them by various Indian tribes

Ah’-meek, the Beaver…………………………………………….Ojibway

Tsa, the Beaver…………………………………………………Chipwyan

Mist’-i-gi, the island Muskrat

Mist’-i-g-na, the charming young female Muskrat

Mist’-i-gi-nish, the sour old female Muskrat

Little Mist’-i-gi, the young Muskrat

Tzom’-pah-Ne-keith’-e, the Silver Fox…………………………Chipwyan

Pee’-lish, the male Bear cub

Sib’-bly, the female Bear cub

Jones

MacIvor

Brandy, the leader of the dog-team

Sass, the male Black Bear ……………………………………...Chipwyan

Tel-kal-e-as’-eh, the Ermine…………………………………… Chipwyan

Nool-tsin’, the Skunk…………………………………………... Chipwyan

Sang’-wiss’, the Mink………………………………......……………Cree

Tha’, the Marten………………………………………………...Chipwyan

Neg-eek’, the Otter…………………………………….......…………Cree

Na-pi’-eh, the female Otter……………………………………...Chipwyan

Ne-keith’-e-Y-chao’-thin, the Cross Fox………………………..Chipwyan

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PREFACE

WHEREIN THE AUTHOR AND THE READER PUT THEIR HEADS TOGETHER TO CONSIDER A PROBLEM

On small experiences must he build, Reader, who would tell you a story of animals in the wilds. He who writes of man has all his past life in which to seek for truth or romance, with many conversations with others of his kind, and with many documents on paper and parchment to aid his search. But he who writes of animals can have spent but a small portion of his life with them at best: in that time his talk with these people of whom he would tell you can never have been made unequivocally, through the mouth, but only through his heart and theirs; and the documents he has are but the writings which the little people have left on the melting snows, in the dust which shifts with every wind, or in the ambient viewless wind itself. A bit of tooth-marked stick, a groove where a tail has dragged in mud, a grass-root house from which the soul has fled at his approach, a swirl in still waters, a rambling footprint in the snow, a glimpse of a head, round wide eyes in the night, a fleeting dark-coated back, a sense of a presence which cannot be seen or heard-these are the scanty materials on which I have presumed to describe to you not only the appearance, which are easy to establish, but also the inward motions, the hopes, the fears, the very soul of little people whose lives are immeasurably different from your own. So it is that in casting about for a title which will tell you truly what you are bout to read, I am amazed at my own temerity in ever beginning this work, am suddenly humble, and choose Northland Footprints. In all honesty, between you and me and the nearest beaver dam, it can be little more.

They are very shy, my little people. Shyest of all, perhaps, is that small fellow you may know best and already love, the engineer who builds dams and bridges without a slide-rule, the plumber who never forgets his tools because he is born with them in his mouth, the little gentleman who sometimes walks on three legs, of which two bend the wrong way, and the third is a tail-the beaver. Shy, too, are those often-hunted navigators who use no compass nor any map but that which Nature prints indelibly in the heads of all her small creatures who have used the highways she made for them long ago-the migratory birds. Very shy indeed is that little epicure who if he could would eat oysters every month of the year, regardless of the inclusion or omission of its name of this or that letter of the alphabet, that small long-tailed philosopher who recognises no world-principle but his belly, and has never heard of tomorrow-the muskrat. They are shy, and the fox is shy, and the mink, and all the other people of the Wilds; even the whiskey-jack will approach your camp-fire, hopping on rigid legs as if he were a clock-work toy, only when his beak and his crop are empty; give him a large piece of bannock from your tea-bag, and, unless he is an old friend, whose acquaintance and trust have more patiently solicited than ever you need woo a maiden’s in these days, you will see him no more till he has fasted again.

You may of course find all these people in the Natural History Museum-stuffed. you may find them also in the Zoo-imprisoned. But if you would see them as they live their own lives in the wilds, to the wilds you must go, and there you will be lucky indeed if you see much more than the stories which Northland Footprints tell.

How much, then, of this book is true? To this inevitable question, I should like to answer that it is all true, that I have been as faithful and accurate a biographer as the snow which received and recorded the tale of Nekeithe-Thoeh’s death under the moon, or that of Little Cheeseh’s hunger when all the woods were hanging out garlands for the coming of Spring. Yet I cannot; man’s vision even of his own kind is limited, at others he can gaze only through dark, distorting glasses. I must answer, then, only that this book is as true as I could make it.

Some matters I have not found it hard to establish. Beavers do unquestionably leave their home lodges and travel in search of mates when they are two years old. The female beaver, according to the evidence of all trappers, does show more initiative than the male. The rabbits of all Northern Canada are subject to a Great Disease which attacks them fiercely every ten years, depletes them for three, then leaves them alone to increase for seven. Lynxes do keep still in traps, belying their ferocious appearance. Bears do have sore feet in Spring. Moose’s ears are in continual motion while he sleeps. Foxes do exhibit marvellous care and intelligence in training their young. Muskrats do force a way up through three feet or more of ice in Spring, and can swim under ice for hours. Whiskey-jacks are hungry in Winter. Animals do suffer horrifyingly in traps; whether they have the sensitiveness to pain of more highly conscious creatures such as man we can never know, but that they suffer to the extent of their ability is clear. Trappers are not cruel; trapping is.

These, and many similar facts, it is not difficult to verify. Others are matters of speculation almost alone. It will probably never be known exactly how muskrats, for instance, cut their way through ice; the fact is indisputable, but conditions under which the operation entailed could be brought under observation are almost inconceivable. In such cases I have made imagination my instrument, guided by such items of evidence as are available, and reined in by probability.

Other processes of animal life may be fully understood sometime, but at present are not explained. The exact manner in which a beaver builds a dam, for instance, appears to be still a matter of conjecture. Here there is nothing to prevent observation of every step in the process, except the shyness of the builders: yet such observation seems never to have been made, or at least recorded. In preparation for this work I have read many explanations of how the foundations of the dam are laid; they all differ, both from one another, and from the method which my own inspection of beaver dams and observation of them at their labour would lead me to assume to be theirs.

Perhaps beaver differ in their methods? Perhaps in their beaver world there are jerry-builders, those who put their faith in mud, those who swear by sticks, and those who regard as somehow decadent and modern the use of anything less than good old stone? Perhaps beaver, and other creatures, are individuals?

I think they are. I have assumed as much. The two sisters of Ahmeek and Tsa, I am told, would not separate when they came to the mouth of their home creek, but would keep together till they met mates or an accident. Generally no doubt this is so; but in this case, and in others where my readers who know as much of animal life as I yet differ from me, I must suggest to them that wild animals, like our tame cats and dogs, can have their own, particular, individual ways of meeting the problems of existence. Otherwise from the beginning there could have been no differentiation of kind, no evolution of species. So Ahmeek’s sisters separated and set him a problem, being in some small way different from all other beaver, each of which in turn is in some small way different from all others of its kind. So I believe, and so I have tried to express.

In any case, you may say, this is a small point. I hope it is. I hope the critic will find that it is in small points only that I have allowed my little people to act otherwise than as they normally do. In greater matters, where deep-rooted instincts are involved, I have tried to avoid manifestations of individuality and to show the general species-habit, so far as it is at present ascertained. Even Mistigi, I believe, is a normal muskrat within, though the gods work all outward circumstances to his advantage.

In one place only have I consciously deviated from what, in a realm of conjecture, bears some likeness to verified fact. This sin I have committed in making the first instances of the Great Disease among the Snowshoe Rabbits (or Varying Hares, as they are properly called) occur in high Summer rather than in mid Winter, the time at which, according to general opinion, the incidence of the disease is first manifest. For this I have two excuses. The first is that it suited my purposes, in the chronological arrangement of this book, so to do. The second is that general opinion may be in error. It is most probable indeed that the Great Disease is always present among the rabbits in latent form, as it is certain that it breaks out among them whenever conditions are favourable to it-that is, whenever the rabbits have increased to such numbers that there is insufficient food in the country to maintain them in health. Such conditions may occur in Summer, though admittedly it is in Winter that the greatest hardship is suffered, and the Disease is most rife, among them. The lack of evidence in the Summer, such as dead bodies on the ground, means little, for of all optimists Nature is the most ready, and in that season the most able, to cover up her mistakes.

In any case the general picture of the Great Disease and its effect upon all creatures in Northern Canada is, I believe, accurate. It is a picture of recurrent booms and depressions in animal economy very similar to those that occur in our civilized world. The cycle of these has these differences from ours, that it is far more regular, certain, and simple; it has this resemblance, that those who alternately suffer and profit by it are as ignorant of its causes and control as we are of ours, though to us it is all clear, predictable, explicable, as ours may be to unknown gods. Trappers, whose livelihood depends on the supply of fur-bearing animals, understand the cycle of wild life perfectly, and could possibly control it if they cared to take the trouble. Yet they could not do so without changing the rabbit to a creature quite different from his present self, making him a sheer automaton far removed from Nature’s pattern. There, if you want it, is a moral.

Yet I have no moral to put. You may extract many from this book, or you may not. For my part I intend none, but only to present to you as true a picture as I can make of a world much different from ours, yet related to it, and in some ways not unlike.

And so I leave you in this land of little streams and lakes, of little hearts and little minds, among my friends, the engineers, the plumbers, the philosophers, the Winds, the Snows, and Nature. If you want to know where you are, look up Great Slave Lake and Slave River on the map of Northern Canada; Little Bent Tree Lake lies south of one and east of the other. Hanging-Ice River you may find on some few maps, but even on the best of them there will be no hint of its beauty. Little Bent Tree Lake itself you will never find, but now that its great distinctive tree is gone and its inhabitants have tasted the civilizing influences of man, you will not go far in the North before you come upon one that you may well mistake for it. Nor will you journey long, I think, before you catch glimpses of Ahmeek, Miniwash, Peeshoo, Nitchie-Moose, Little Cheeseh, Mistigi, and the rest. But you must approach them cautiously, with your heart warm in tenderness, for they are very shy, and you cannot speak to them or hear them speak to you, in Nature, or in these pages, otherwise than through your heart.

There are many people to whom I owe much of the information and the spirit of this book. Chief among them, I think, is my eldest brother; he unreservedly passed on to me much painstakingly gathered knowledge which he himself intended to use in a study of these little wild people whom he knew far better than I. Other authorities have unknowingly contributed their share to this work. Lydekker’s Natural History has proved an invaluable source of information for external facts and appearances. To Ernest Thompson Seton I owe a greater debt, not that I have intentionally plagiarised a single fact or incident from his many illuminating books on the ways of animals wild and tame, but because from him I have learned much of that sympathy for and understanding of the lives of humble creatures which I hope the reader will find strong in this work. To my friend, Grey Owl, that master-writer of the ways of man and beaver alike, I owe not only exact information but also many things of the spirit which cannot but have had their influence here.

My other helpers must be nameless. They are the trappers of the North, the Joneses and MacIvors whom I have known and talked with, supplementing my own experiences long ago, all the length of the Mackenzie River system, from Waterways to Aklavik. I would thank them personally for their unwitting help if I could see them now. In default of so doing I can only hope that in my human characters I have done justice to their strength, while not shirking to record their weaknesses. For in this matter, too, I have tried to be the honest biographer.

BOOK ONE

THE COMING OF THE BEAVER

Chapter 1

THE BEGINNING OF A JOURNEY

Down the middle of a small throatily-gurgling stream, over which the willows were so closely arched that the thin light of the sinking sun flashed but fitfully from its wave-jewelled, stone-broken surface, two round dark heads moved swiftly, curling white streamers of water before them. At first they were so close together that the narrow, pointed chin of one seemed to ride on the broad flat tail which belonged to the owner of the other. Then gradually the leader drew away, till the slowly spinning eddies that swirled back from his neck were all but lost in the deeper currents of the stream before the other reached them. He seemed to hurry, and had good reason, for narrow and shallow waters are unsafe places for young beaver people alone in the wilds of Northern Canada.

The stream broadened, the willows gave place to tall and upright spruce, the sun peered through green tops million-needled, while the waters ceased their urging cry, spreading contented and slow in the deep, wide basin which the creek had here formed for itself. The leader relaxed his pace, folded his front paws under his breast, and paddled with leisurely strokes of his large webbed hind feet. Once he stopped and turned half-around, treading water till his small eyes were high above the surface and his heavily-furred back glistened in the sunlight. Satisfied that his partner was not far behind, he slipped into the current again, and swam easily with the stream. An angle of waves spread from his head across the smooth water to the grass-lined shore. The grasses danced in them, whispered to each other, nodded, and were still.

The second beaver hurried. All four feet moved quickly in the water, sending up swirling footprints which rose behind him, shapeless, distorted, slowly spinning, and were soon lost, with every other mark of his passage, in the all-enveloping, eternally-lasting order of the woods and streams through which the young couple made their way. Sometimes in his eagerness he thrust deep into the water with his tail also, but whether such action was a help or an impediment in his progress it would be hard to decide.

As he neared his brother half-way down the wide reach a change came over his expression and his manner. Swimming quickly still, but cautiously, careful not to make a sound, he half-lifted his lips over long, curved, yellow teeth, and puckered the stiffly upright hairs on his brows till his eyes could be seen to gleam with excitement; he seemed to grin. Suddenly, close on his brother’s tail, he dived quietly under water, and there swam as quickly as he could.

The leading beaver, feeling against his sensitive skin unusual movements of the water below him, looked down, and saw the dark, wide, shadowy outline underneath him. His eyes shone; he too, seemed to grin. He dropped his front paws from his chest, dug them into the water, and paddled at full speed on the surface.

Foiled in his attempt to take the lead, the slower beaver rolled himself aside with a single twist and thrust of his tail, and shot up beside his brother. The two faced each other in feigned astonishment, with surprise, alarm, and consternation written all over their faces in the exaggerated lines adopted by children in games of pretence. One slapped a loud challenge on the water with his tail; the other answered. Both backed-water, and a minute later they were circling cautiously about each other, manoeuvring for position.

At first they seemed in deadly earnest, but it became more and more apparent as the tactical struggle progressed that it was merely part of a game which both animals were enjoying greatly. A few feints and strategic retreats roused their excitement to such a pitch at last that their assumed astonishment and antipathy broke down in squeals of delight. Then they rushed upon each other, the forepaws of each breaking the water in his attempt to gain speed before the other. They met shoulder to shoulder, and a most enthusiastic and lively set-to began.

Tumbling, rolling, pushing each other under, slapping the water resoundingly with flat tails, putting their short arms about each other’s necks, gurgling and squealing with glee, the two beaver played for five or ten minutes as if they were the most irresponsible creatures in the world. Then, apparently, one of them remembered the dignity and destiny of their race and the own pressing problems of this pair of adventurers. He touched the other’s nose with his, communicating some well-understood message. Both dropped their antics, and a moment later they were paddling sedately down the creek, side by side.

The sun was lower now, and when they came to bending willows again, arched over a narrow stream, its light was scarcely effective. They hurried on, through twilight, through the first hours of dark. They played no more; there was no friendly contest for leadership now. He who had led first led all the way, often pausing to allow his brother to catch up to him. The slower one laboured behind, working hard, and often, as he grew tired, swinging partly out of the line of travel by imperceptible degrees, and bringing himself back to it by sharp angry flips of his tail. His left hind foot handicapped him when speed was called for; it was slightly deformed, and the web was torn with a wound of long ago.

Many places suitable for beaver to sleep in they passed with scant inspection: hollow banks, willow-embowered islands, and spits of sand on which the green reeds grew like a jungle. Clearly they looked for something else, and were uneasy. At last they found it; against a hollow bank a peeled stick lay half in the water, cloudy white in the darkness. The brothers hastened to it, smelt it, examined its sharp-bitten ends, whimpered sounds that were almost speakingly human, expressive now of delight, now of loneliness, and at last hurried ashore, dragging their tails on the mud. In the hollow they found more sticks, chips, and a bed of soft dry grasses rounded down in two forms side by side. Other beaver had slept there, others whom these two knew, and whose scent was rich in memories.

Bustling awkwardly out of the hollow on short legs, the two creatures who had been all grace in the water waddled clumsily to a small tree, reared themselves on each side of it, and cut it down with quick, sharp bites of teeth that went through it like a saw. They carved it into lengths, dragged them to the hollow, and ate the juicy, Spring-rich bark. Then they put fresh chips and grasses on the floor, not so neatly disposed as those they had found there, lay down, and went uneasily to sleep.

They cuddled tight in each other’s arms, each gripping his brother’s fur with small hand-like front paws, shoving noses into each other’s soft throats, shutting out all the exterior world which crept along the slow shadows of night. Often they woke in the darkness, whimpered, looked about with peering, shifting eyes, and drew closer together again. They were but young beaver, Ahmeek and Tsa, and it was the first time they had ever spent a night away from the home of their birth a long day’s journey up the creek.

There they had been born a little over two years before in a rounded dome of sticks and earth on which the old snows of Winter, melting quickly, were fast channelling little streamlets of mud. There for two years they had lived under such solicitous parental care as the beaver, almost alone among all the young peoples of the wild, has been blessed with by Nature. During their first year particularly they had been favoured, sharing with their two sisters of the same litter an all-important place in the lodge. The tenderest barks and weeds had been set aside for their special benefit. They had been washed and combed twice a day at least, and more often when they had their little baby illnesses or cried for the soothing motions of their mother’s tongue and paws. Small channels had been cut through the muskeg for their private use. They had on great occasions been given the delights of a ride on their fond father’s wide tail as he dragged it over the ground behind him.

Later, they had been taught to peel their own small sticks, to wash and comb themselves with tiny paws, to dig in the weeds for the choicest waterlily roots. They had been encouraged in their attempts to build small houses for themselves, and even when they had united their efforts to throw a miniature dam across the main feedway to the lodge their parents had looked on with kindly tolerance and practical instruction. True, something had cut down the infantile fabrication during the following night when they were asleep, and true also that that something had left foot, tail, and tooth marks singularly like Papa and Mamma beavers’; but they had been no whit discouraged, and had promptly built another one. So the first Summer has passed most pleasantly, and within the small confines of the lodge in the Winter they had ruled as veritable little gods.

But with the Spring four new kittens mysteriously arrived, and the first litter’s importance seemed to melt as quickly as the snow on the crown of their mud-covered dwelling when the sun poured his splendours upon it. In the second Summer they were still tolerated, and some attention was paid to their wants, but their place was not what it had been before. They played and gambolled about in the water very happily, the four of them always together; but any interference of their sport with the needs of the newcomers or the work of the lodge was now not brooked for a moment. Their engineering projects, edifices, earthworks, bastions, redans-all solid and well-constructed affairs now-were ruthlessly and openly broken down whenever they stood in the way of lodge entrance or food-supply routes.

In the Fall worse had come. It was the season of labour, when the great dam and its auxiliary had to be re-shored and re-mudded, when trees had to be felled on distant banks, when big