Short Stories, Essays, Poetry, Journalism.

No Man’s Country

No Man’s Country

Nunavik, 750 000 square kilometers of land north of Quebec, is home to a fair sized population of people who refer to themselves as the Nunavimmiut. The region borders the east coast of Hudson’s Bay, Quebec, and Labrador and winter temperatures average around -30 degrees celsius with blizzards and biting winds alternately scraping and burying the landscape. It is an expanse of mountainous tundra void of any vegetation save for a few wildflowers and fruit-bearing plants which blossom in the warmer months. There is an abundance of animal life–Caribou, arctic fox, wolves, wolverines, seals, belugas and musk-oxen– all of which are the main subsistence and profit trade for the region’s inhabitants.

Shortly after 1884 a boat of eager Hudson’s Bay Company employees landed their steamship Neptune off the coast of Nunavik in order to establish a European port and company-operated trading outposts. Shortly afterward the French fur company “Revillon Frères” established themselves in direct competition with these men and quickly established 48 Nunavik trading outposts to the HBC’s 52.

The maples were just beginning to yellow when Gabriel Denault, a French migrant, was called into the Frères office at Laval. Gabriel had received a call from Peter Suckow, the man who was responsible for assigning him his winter post. A muscular Canadian in his late 30s, Peter stood with crossed arms waiting for Gabriel and nodded when he entered. He extended a hairy paw toward Denault.

Gabriel had been Brought to Canada in 1912 at the age of 17 and began to work for the french company as soon as he was able. Starting as a labourer on the docks he demonstrated his ability for physical work and gradually moved up the ranks. At 19 he went North to be trained in outpost operations. Other traders took to him quickly despite his lack of know-how and by the time he was 20 Gabriel had established an 80 mile trapline and survived a winter in the tundra. The next winter he began working outposts at full pay, trading with the Inuit and learning their ways.
“How do you do?” he said to Suckow, and shook his hand.

Suckow had helped to establish the post which he was now assigning to Gabriel. “Pin’git Post” said Suckow, releasing his grip to pull documents from his jacket. He handed the papers to Gabe, who took them and looked them over. “There’s your trading license. I Built this place myself,” Suckow went on, “Pretty little place, ‘Specially when the snow melts. I think you’re gonna like it”. Pingualuit Outpost, as it was formally known, stood 150 kilometres off the Northern tip of Nunavik at Pingualuit Lake. Suckow informed him that because its size and location he would run trade alone and therefore be in isolation for most of the coming winter. Gabriel hesitated at first but after a moment he nodded and accepted the license. “Great,” said Suckow, “welcome aboard. We’ll take you to the south end of the bay where our guys will outfit you with supplies, dogs and a map. You’re on your own from there. Come back here for six am tomorrow– and easy on the hooch tonight, got it?”. Gabriel nodded, chuckling, and departed.

After a turbulent flight through an early season storm the Frères plane touched down in the mouth of Hudson’s Bay. Gabriel unloaded his belongings and hurried to the station in front of him to receive the rest of his equipment. As soon as he entered an elderly man began handing him his things and ushered him through to the back where he found his dogs and sled waiting. With a final gesture the man sent him on his way and watched from the cabin as Gabriel and the plane took off in opposite directions.

Travel up the bay was quick and limited snowfall meant that dogs and sled moved across the ice with ease. When the team turned inland, travel became more arduous and barren patches of ground replaced the comparatively smooth ice. Navigation became difficult too with no coastline to follow and Gabe was forced to pick his way through valleys and rely more on the poorly drawn map to keep his course. On the third night he chanced across a herd of five caribou and dropped one with his rifle. Dogs and stomach fed he rested well, then awoke early to complete the final leg of his journey.

It was mid afternoon when he reached the top of the ridge that overlooked the outpost. The day was mild and Gabe could identify the cabin two kilometers to the east sitting just offshore of the frozen lake. Had Gabe been unable to see the outpost the location would still have been hard to miss; formed by a meteor impact, Pingualuit Lake stood out as a perfect sunken circle about four kilometers wide and was encircled by a ridge which rose up another 50 meters. Renault moved along the ridgetop until it dropped away then let the dogs loose and rode his sled to the bottom. Once he had slowed he tied up his dogs and entered into his new winter abode. It had only been built three years before so though cramped and weather-beaten the cabin was in generally good repair. It had been outfitted with a stove and stovepipe, a low bunk made of spruce and a thick little square of glass through which he could look out at the lake. It was midday by the time Renault settled in and already the light was waning. Exhausted, he collapsed on the bunk and did not awaken until mid-afternoon the following day.

For six snowy days he worked to repair the cabin and built an adjacent shelter for his dogs and the firewood, which he collected from a thin patch of forest some 50 km to the south. He patched holes with a combination of thawed mud and moss, a trick an inuit trader had taught him during his first year in the north. He cleared cobwebs and other remnants of feral tenants which had occupied the otherwise empty outpost through the previous summer, then mudded the runners of his sled for protection and faster travel. House and sled readied, he prepared himself for a pre-winter hunt.

Renault set out early the next day. He hiked back up the ridge while the dogs pulled his sled and supplies and was about to descend the other side when he spotted another herd of caribou headed South along the flats. He drew his rifle and traversed across the slope, slowly making his way down to reduce the gap between himself and his prey. At 100 feet out he fired at a large buck and missed. The pack turned to run but he quickly re-aimed, fired and dropped a sow. After bringing dogs and sled down to the base of the ridge he took the meat, keeping half for the dogs and the rest to cache by the stand of trees he’d used for firewood. At noon he arrived back at the forest, stopped for food and then headed south in search of more caribou.

By 4:00 pm the light had faded and his team was growing tired. The temperature had dropped to thirty-five below and a wind had picked up, bringing with it a snowfall that covered their tracks as they were made. Gabriel checked his surroundings, blurred now by the increasingly violent wind. He could see no protection from the coming storm and so he pressed on. After three more hours of pushing blindly through snowdrifts Renault found a ridge that offered some protection and dug into the snow to provide him and his dogs some shelter. There he waited patiently for the storm to pass and tried to sleep.

Some hours after midnight the wind had backed off enough for Gabe to be able to progress with more certainty. Again he took in his surroundings, which were barren and shapeless aside from the ridge where he had gone for cover. After making some bannock for himself and feeding his dogs the last of the kill he decided to press on. The sky had cleared enough to be able to see the stars again and so he pointed himself South, hoping he had not strayed too far off course. The further south he went the more disheartened he became. He tried to recall the direction the winds had been coming from. The storm had blown in from the west, hadn’t it? He cursed himself for making such a long journey in a place he yet knew so little about. “I’ll drop another three dear,” he told himself, “then I’ll head back”. But Gabriel came across no more caribou that day and was beginning to lose hope again until finally his dogs slowed their pace and began to prick up their ears. “Here’s a pack now” he thought, and scanned the white horizon for signs of life. Gabriel could see nothing but his team remained on high alert. “Where are they, kids?” he whispered to his dogs. Then he looked down and saw their backs. Though frozen together by ice the dogs’ hair stood on end and their haunches became rigid. Gabriel looked around again but could see nothing, and for the first time admitted to himself that he had become lost. Nervously he tugged on the reins and tried to urge his dogs forward but they would not budge–they were somewhere else, with whatever was moving through the white darkness.

Then, 250 feet from his lead dog, he saw a vague outline, a barely distinguishable silhouette against the wind-blown banks of snow. Gabe squinted into the bleak beyond, watching the shape emerge. The outline gained body as he watched and the dogs began to growl–he could see now without a doubt that it was a polar bear. Caught between fear and awe Gabriel looked on as the bear closed the gap. Moving his hands slowly while keeping the rest of his body still he tried once more at the reins, urging his dogs to “go, go”. The dogs fell silent but held their ground. The bear was less than 100 feet out before it raised its head to see Gabe, who was now frantically tugging at the reins. For a split second the animal seemed surprised, its black slits widening, revealing twin hungry pits that glanced around before focusing directly on Renault. He swore. The bear rose up on its hind legs and gave a sniff to the air, then dropped to all fours and came towards him at a full sprint.

Gabe made a grab for his gun and knocked it into the snow. He reached for it again, stumbled and had barely re-centered himself before the dogs took off with a jolt. Supplies slipped under his feet and off the sled as he tried to keep his balance. Gradually he regained control, but when he glanced behind him he saw the bear 40 feet back and closing fast. Gabriel mushed the dogs onward and this time they obeyed, bounding through the snow at top speed. The land in front of him was flat and void of any cover; there was nowhere for him to go. He could feel the sled losing momentum as the dogs began to tire, and then, before he could react, a hidden patch of exposed ground rocked his sled and sent him flying. Scrambling desperately he pulled himself up just in time to see the bear give up chase on the dogs and turn back toward him. The bear approached slowly and Gabriel became calmer, his fear turning to resignation.

He lay still, closed his eyes and tried to be at peace. He had gone in over his head, he had been too bold in an unforgiving territory and it would now consume him. The bear was close enough now that he could hear its breath. He shrunk into the snow and waited to feel the sharp pain that would be his end, but it never came. Cautiously he opened his eyes, and when he glanced up he found the bear laying on its side, a red stain spreading through its thick white fur. He sat up and looked around for the thing that had stopped the bear from ending his life. Back where his sled tracks had come from there stood an Ihalmiut boy of no more than ten years old, wrapped in a parka and holding his gun.

The boy approached the bear slowly, put his hand on its chest and turned to Gabriel. He moved no further but continued to stare at Renault with unblinking eyes, his face expressionless as he watched the white man rise clumsily to his feet. When Gabriel approached the boy glanced down at the gun and offered it to him. He received it with a grateful nod. He offered the boy thank-you’s and the boy nodded back with a confused look on his face, then left to retrieve Gabriel’s dogs for him. Gabriel ran to collect his supplies and when the boy returned on the sled he offered him canned bacon, lard, flour, tea and everything else he had. The boy’s face remained confused but he accepted a few items with a smile. Then, pausing, Gabe uttered the one word he hoped the inuit boy would understand. “Pingualuit?” he asked, and the boy stopped. The smile adopted a look of recognition and he pointed over the flatlands close to where Gabriel had come from, then gestured up to the sky. “And you?” asked Gabriel, pointing at the boy. “Where did you come from?”. The boy gestured around him and then pointed East. With a shrug and a final effusive bow Gabriel tied down his supplies, mounted his sled and took off in the direction the boy had pointed. When he had gotten some distance away he glanced back, but the boy was already gone.

« »

Spam prevention powered by Akismet