{"id":895,"date":"2012-01-31T07:58:24","date_gmt":"2012-01-31T07:58:24","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue9\/?page_id=895"},"modified":"2012-01-31T07:58:24","modified_gmt":"2012-01-31T07:58:24","slug":"johanna-van-zanten","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue9\/writings\/creative-non-fiction\/johanna-van-zanten\/","title":{"rendered":"Johanna Van Zanten"},"content":{"rendered":"

Fort Good Hope <\/strong><\/h1>\n
Johanna Van Zanten<\/h6>\n

For years Hank had invited me to visit him; I had finally accepted his invitation. Hank lived in the North West Territories, to be precise: in Norman Wells, a small industrial settlement–under a thousand residents–located just below the 66th N degree latitude, on the north bank of the mighty Mackenzie River, known to the locals as Deh-cho–Big River in the Dene language.<\/p>\n

Norman Wells is 1370 miles north of Edmonton, a bit over twenty-two hundred kilometres as the crow flies. In the winter, which runs from October till May, the river ice forms a temporary highway, but travel is not recommended for rookies. Freight truckers are used to driving it, although it remains a risky trip at the best of times.<\/p>\n

The only way into the settlement during the months without ice is by plane, or by boat. Upriver leads to Hay River and Great Slave Lake, while downriver (northwards), the river flows towards Fort Good Hope, Inuvik and eventually, the Beaufort Sea.<\/p>\n

Hank was my neighbour in the Netherlands, until he left for Canada at age eighteen. As kids we attended the same school; our parents were members of the same church community. We were as close as siblings: we walked to school together and played together. Hank was one year older and thus always in a different grade from me.<\/p>\n

Hank had three sisters; he was the second-born child. After Hank\u2019s youngest sister was born, six years went by, until the eldest of the three younger boys was born.<\/p>\n

I remember the boys\u2019 births well. Hank and I would walk daily past the hospital, operated by nuns, where his mom recovered after each birth. Hank\u2019s mom kept the most wonderful chocolates in a box by her bed and would give us one, each time we visited: a large truffle, soft creamy inside, covered with a solid dusting of cocoa, slowly melting in our mouths on our walk home.<\/p>\n

Hank had a stutter that made him practically speechless at times; he received speech therapy in school, which he didn\u2019t mind. Hank hardly ever stuttered when we were together. I heard his father make cruel remarks to him about it once.<\/p>\n

Hank would not come with me to visit if mydad was home. He would leave immediately on the arrival of my dad, who had a loud voice and always said what he thought, apparently without any filters. Hank still is a gentle soul today.<\/p>\n

After school, we would sometimes relax in the dog kennel, lying in the straw between the dogs, chatting, each with our head on a dog, the beautiful and gentle Scottish Collies named Tanya and Nora. Or we would play hide and seek with the neighbourhood kids.<\/p>\n

After grade school, Hank entered the baker\u2019s school, destined to follow in his grandfather\u2019s and father\u2019s footsteps. I would sneak away from my homework to visit with Hank in the bakery at the end of the street, where he was mixing the ingredients for bread, cutting the slabs of cake, or mixing the glaze for vanilla bars following the family recipe. The air was always warm in the bakery.<\/p>\n

After his immigration to Canada, Hank occasionally made the trip home. We would visit then and exchanged stories of our adventures. Hank had moved from east to west and then north, ending up in Norman Wells eventually, accepting a position in Imperial Oil\u2019s lab.<\/p>\n

A number of workers lived in temporary buildings, flown in and out by their oil field service industry contractors, most on a two-week schedule. Herman chose to stay in \u201cthe wells\u201d on his days off. After years of promises, it was time for me to visit Hank at this exotic location in the North.<\/p>\n

In July 1980, a transatlantic flight took me from Amsterdam to Edmonton, my first trip to Canada. When the plane broke through the clouds, dropping low enough for me to see the landscape, the land seemed empty to me. I saw huge swatches of land of different colours, only sparse buildings, and the odd village strewn across the land, connected by very straight highways crisscrossing at right angles. Boy, was this land ever empty compared to flying over the Europe, was my first thought.<\/p>\n

At the airport, I saw that most males were wearing hats with a protruding visor, logos printed across the cap. When I tried to read the logos, assuming that perhaps there was a connection with the wearers\u2019 employment, I had to conclude that the words were without meaning to me.<\/p>\n

The women were dressed in drab and unattractive styles. Everybody was wearing runners and jeans. Not many seemed to have fun, as far as I could see; I saw only closed-off faces. It gave me the impression that people had a hard life, were somewhat downtrodden.<\/p>\n

As instructed by Hank, I got a taxicab to the closest hotel. This was easy. On advice of the driver, I chose the Riviera Hotel on the outskirts of the city, as I had no time to explore Edmonton. The hotel was bland and a little worn, but adequate. I had a bite to eat in the restaurant and went to bed early.<\/p>\n

The next morning, I was supposed to catch the Imperial Oil Company plane at the airport for small aircrafts, adjacent to the international airport. I took another cab and pretty soon was seated in the small office of a large hangar where Esso (as Imperial Oil was then called) kept their private planes.<\/p>\n

I was shocked to find out that I was going to have a ride in a six-seater airplane. Yes, Hank had not been a man of many words, and still isn\u2019t. Never before had I traveled in anything smaller than a 767 Boeing.<\/p>\n

I had to state my name and Hank\u2019s name, which the receptionist, a guy in blue coveralls, checked against a document on a clipboard. My free ticket was a gesture of Esso\u2019s compassion: a courtesy flight for visitors of those workers who did not fly out regularly and were living in isolation for extended periods.<\/p>\n

The flight lasted nearly three hours. I was completely in awe all three hours. The landscape changed drastically soon after leaving Edmonton: no farms were left and fewer roads; dense bush was everywhere, interspersed with lakes and rivers.<\/p>\n

This view slowly reversed the farther north the trip took us, until I saw mainly lakes and rivers and hardly any solid land. Obviously, nobody could live there; I concluded that it must be wilderness below.<\/p>\n

Then the river Mackenzie came into view: one mighty thick snake, glistening through the dappled brown, silver-blue and brown-green patches of earth below us, meandering in lazy bends: an overwhelming presence in the landscape. A low string of mountains was visible to the right of the river and another range flanked it at the other side. Besides the tarmac of the airstrip, no asphalt roads ran through the village.<\/p>\n

Hank was at the small airstrip to pick me up with a company truck. It was July, so the weather was good. He took me to the Atco trailer he shared with other employees, and his private room. It was more than adequate. Hank is a meticulous housekeeper and his digs were clean and cosy.<\/p>\n

A number of trailers sat close together, lined up in rows, connected by wooden elevated walkways, useful after a snow fall, or when the thaw had set it and turned everything into a mud pit: moisture would sit on top of the permafrost, unable to seep into the ground. A snowmobile sat by one of the trailers, a squat scooter on skies, rather space-age and out of its element.<\/p>\n

Several men shared the communal living spaces in this particular trailer, where each had their own room as well. No kitchen there, as everybody was served three meals at the company mess hall, a fancy name for another Atco trailer with a kitchen and an adjacent space with Formica tables and chairs.<\/p>\n

I spent a few days exploring the town, acclimatizing, while Hank was finishing his shifts. I met a few interesting people: most were employees imported from elsewhere and some were locals. We ate our meals in the mess hall: hearty, North American food, and plenty of it.<\/p>\n

We made a few short rides in Hank\u2019s boat on the enormous river, which must have been at least six kilometres in width at Norman Wells. A few drilling islands were located right in the middle of the river from where barges transported oil, extracted from below the river bed and its direct surroundings.<\/p>\n

Hank announced that we were going to make a big trip on the river. Although I had a feeling of dread, I simply pushed that away as anticipation that belongs to a new adventure. Hank explained that the next settlement, Fort Good Hope, was having a big pow-wow of the Dene Nation this week; Hank was invited by a friend.<\/p>\n

Although some Caucasian workers warned me not to go there, as I would not be safe in their view, I was not worried. I was very curious and trusted Hank\u2019s judgement.<\/p>\n

Hank\u2019s friend was Daisy, a Dene woman from Fort Good Hope, really more a girl, of twenty. She had a baby with a Caucasian man, Pete, a former employee of one of the contracted services who got fired and had stayed in the area living with Daisy. Their little family was coming on the boat trip as well. We needed Daisy, as she knew the way, although she had never travelled home on the river herself.<\/p>\n

Pete apparently suffered from some sort of a mental problem, according to Hank, and he was on medication. Hank thought Pete was harmless, so he had not objected to Daisy\u2019s request to bring him. I hoped Hank was right.<\/p>\n

Hank owned a large freight canoe, custom made from bent cedar and covered with oiled canvas. It was a beauty. Hank said that we needed to bring two oil barrels with gas for the small outboard motor, for the return trip. We would mostly coast downstream to The Fort, using only the paddles to keep us straight, but upstream would be a challenge with a boat full of people travelling without extra power. Hank would drop the barrels off at two strategic locations on the way north, so we would be able to find them on our return trip and fuel up.<\/p>\n

When we were all loaded up, the boat was very full. We had some food for the three-day trip and Pete loaded up a flat of beer as well.<\/p>\n

The baby was happy and entertained us during the long trip. Daisy provided excellent and responsive care to little George. Pete slept most of the time and only woke up occasionally to drink another beer. My Swiss army knife, purchased especially for my trip to Canada, came in handy for opening the beer. Although it was summer, the cold was seeping though the blanket Daisy brought, so we wore all our clothes, layered up.<\/p>\n

Summer in the north means the sun never sinks below the horizon. It was exhilarating to experience never-ending daylight for the first time. The sun still hung in the sky at one o\u2019clock in the early morning at an angle that compared to about seven o\u2019clock in the evening in the British Columbia or Alberta south. It would stay there, until it rose to its highest position again at midday. This gave us endless hours to travel, until we got tired and needed a rest. Hank had a small tent we set up on a riverbank and crawled all into it, after our chilli dinner, cooked on an improvised fire. Lucky for us, it was too early in the season for flies and mosquitoes.<\/p>\n

One day we saw a large, dark coloured animal swim cross the miles-wide river towards the other side, ahead of us. We thought it might be a moose, although there are known to be caribou in these parts, and black and grizzly bears as well. When close enough, we saw it was a large bear; it paid no attention to us.<\/p>\n

We once saw an animal shuffling away in the taller grasses while we pushed ourselves on shore. Hank thought it was a badger. Nothing else moved.<\/p>\n

This country was devoid of humans. No noise, no people, no traffic, no planes, just this wide, seemingly complacent river framed by its banks, a meter or two high and a several meters away from the water, with miniature, skinny evergreens growing on it. I realized that we could not rely on others finding us if something happened: no telephones, no traffic on the river whatsoever. The complete wildness of the place instilled a feeling of insignificance and humility. The word awesome took on new meaning for me.<\/p>\n

Hank and Daisy knew some of the landmarks on the way to The Fort, such as where another river, the Mountain River, would join the Mackenzie and the two together become an even wider waterway. Just after that, the Sans Sault Rapids would appear, a hazard where many inexperienced travellers would dump their boats. Local boaters had instructed Hank to stay on the left side of the centre, the right side to be avoided at all cost, as it contains large rocks hidden by the water.<\/p>\n

We were also warned of the Ramparts, solid steep banks of fifteen meters high along both sides of the river. Together with the high banks, the riverbed also narrows at that location to about less than a third its size. A large quantity of water must squeeze itself through the ramparts: nowhere else to go but up. Once we passed that hurdle, we would be very close to our destination, Fort Good Hope.<\/p>\n

I assert that my story may be proof of a higher power that protected us. If not that, it was certainly not due to any skill or intelligence on our part that we survived the trip. After the fact, we acknowledged that we had been very unprepared of what came next on our last boating day.<\/p>\n

The trip was 145 kilometres long on a river that is considered navigable. Outfitters that are well prepared and outfitted do indeed organize occasional canoe trips for adventurous travellers. We had planned to arrive in the early afternoon at Fort Good Hope, the rapids and the ramparts still ahead of us.<\/p>\n

The Sans Sault Rapids (without drop) did indeed quicken the speed of the boat to at least double its usual speed. Although there was no drop in the level of the river, the pure size and the width of the river made the rapids scary enough. The baby and Daisy were sitting in the middle of the boat, the most stable spot. Luckily, we had already relieved the boat of the two barrels with gas before we hit the rapids. I stood in the front of the boat with a paddle at the ready, in case of rocks popping up. Hank sat in the back, steering, with the outboard motor on.<\/p>\n

Pete was useless. He had been drinking the beer, mixed with his mental health medications. Because he was the only other male in the boat besides Hank, he apparently felt he had to do something when he woke up. It would have been better if he hadn\u2019t. He raised himself from his seat, grabbed one of the two paddles lying in the boat, made an attempt to keep the boat straight with it and dropped it in the river.<\/p>\n

The paddle disappeared, quickly floating out of reach. Pretty drunk, or whatever it was that affected him, Pete just about cried, looking very upset, unsure what to do next.<\/p>\n

\u201cSit down, please!\u201d I shouted. \u201cDo not move!\u201d Because the back of the boat was heavier than the front, both men sitting there, the current pushed the boat sideways, a dangerous position to be in. Water pushing up against the side of the boat started splashing us. The canoe felt unstable. Hank called out: \u201cI don\u2019t know what to do!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJust let it go, we can\u2019t catch that paddle anymore,\u201d I shouted. \u201cKeep the boat straight. Give it a bit more on the throttle; maybe that will help.\u201d<\/p>\n

The boat straightened slowly, moving again with the current. We were able to keep it there for the next few minutes that seemed to last an eternity, until we safely left the rapids behind.<\/p>\n

We relaxed. Pete sat sheepishly on his spot and would not look anybody in the face. Baby George had been asleep throughout this episode. Daisy seemed unaffected by the panic, nothing showed on her face, but she was holding on tight to her baby.<\/p>\n

Who could have saved the baby in this cold water if the boat had tipped over, I thought? Who would have survived the current? We had no life jackets or any safety equipment on board, no flares, no extra food, no extra lifesaver we could throw at someone in the water. I was not a strong swimmer; I would probably not float very long wearing all those clothes.<\/p>\n

Pete went to sleep. Daisy, Hank and I were quiet, floating along in silence, each occupied with our own thoughts. That went on for another two hours, until we were wondering when the ramparts would announce their presence.<\/p>\n

I was trying to see something, anything, ahead, but saw nothing different. I looked into the water, which was opaque since the Mountain River had mixed its yellowish, turbid water with the clear Mackenzie stream. The water had changed and seemed as if it was boiling, little bubbles coming up, and bigger bubbles even as I looked, causing a lot of turbulence, seemingly coming from underneath the boat.<\/p>\n

\u201cHank, look down at the water, do you see that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, it looks like boiling, what is that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI am not sure. Daisy, do you know what that is?\u201d<\/p>\n

Before Daisy could answer, we saw the big wave coming at us out of nowhere with a speed of maybe fifty clicks an hour. I estimated it to be about two to three meters high.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh my God! What do I do?\u201d Hank shouted while steering the boat sideways, as if to turn around.<\/p>\n

\u201cDamn it, Hank, not sideways! Keep the boat straight whatever you do! It\u2019s going to sink if the wave hits us that way. Go right through it! Keep the boat straight!\u201d<\/p>\n

Pete had woken up due to our hollering back and forth, looking dazed. Daisy had a worried expression on her face, but remained calm, holding tightly to little George, who had also woken up.<\/p>\n

\u201dYes, keep the boat straight, Hank,\u201d Daisy said.<\/p>\n

The wave struck us full force, splashing water on and around us. We did get a bit wet from the spray that hit the front of the boat. The boat shuddered on impact, but Hank kept it straight. That was all.<\/p>\n

We laughed, let out some whoops, felt very brave and pleased with ourselves, having once again escaped a worse fate. The water now was boiling hard all around us. Gradually, the movements dissipated over about ten minutes and only the fast current was left.<\/p>\n

Now we saw the ramparts to our right, after a widening of the river to twice its size. We could not see it earlier, as the river bent off towards the right, hiding the riverbanks.<\/p>\n

A small boat came towards us with two Dene men, one young, and an elder.<\/p>\n

\u201cHi, welcome to Fort Good Hope. Are you here for the assembly?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, hallo, how are you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood. We need to know whether you have any liquor on board. We are a dry settlement and no one can bring any liquor. Do you have any?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, we don\u2019t. This man here drank it all, ha, ha.\u201d Hank pointed at Pete who shot him a dirty look.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, good then. Please, continue and have a good stay with us.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you very much.\u201d Hank and I said simultaneously.<\/p>\n

We were delighted to have made it safely to Fort Good Hope and were full of new energy. Hank was all chatty. I was very curious as to what awaited us beyond those high riverbanks.<\/p>\n

We pulled the canoe, onto the riverbank. We saw some small roofs on the top and a path leading onto the higher ground. About five other boats were pulled up on shore. An improvised, temporary wooden dock stretched into the water from the shore.<\/p>\n

We unloaded our boat and walked up the path. The settlement stretched out before us: a flat terrain with about twenty wooden log houses and about twenty other wooden structures: small, old homes. To the right was a larger, industrial-looking building. Someone explained that was the Hudson Bay Company store. Off to the left was a brand new, modern building with glass and cement.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is that?\u201d Hank asked Daisy.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s the school and gymnasium where the meetings and the dances are.\u201d Daisy\u2019s grandmother had come to welcome us and Daisy and the baby left us. Pete followed Daisy.<\/p>\n

Daisy had explained some of the logistics and the purpose of the meeting: the Assembly of First Nations of the North West Territory was having elections. Band members of the territory would (re-)elect delegates whose terms were up, to represent them on the council of First Nations. The council would then elect a new territorial chief.<\/p>\n

This language and form of government was Greek to me. I was unable to put my experiences in Fort Good Hope into any kind of meaningful perspective, until after I immigrated to Canada, had studied First Nations history and had met many First Nations people in my later work in northern Alberta.<\/p>\n

Hank knew quite a few people, due to his work in Norman Wells; he introduced me among others, to a George Erasmus, who would become national chief three years later. I was treated like a guest and was invited to all of the communal meals. Daisy\u2019s grandmother made sure of that by taking us to our first, ensuring us we should return for each meal. I witnessed the installation of the newly elected chief, George Erasmus, and the daily celebrations and drum dances, which continued till the early hours. The food: caribou, musk ox, deer and fish, brought by the visitors from all over the territory, was roasted over in-ground pits, supplemented by canned food and breads.<\/p>\n

Many young Dene arrived at our tent inquiring about the purpose of our trip. They explained tirelessly to us–two of only a handful of Caucasian visitors–what the background was of First Nations\u2019 push for self-government, the main subject of the discussions, giving us a brief history lesson.<\/p>\n

My first impression was that these young people were very articulate, well-educated representatives who truly wanted to make a difference within their lifetime, a political force to be reckoned with. After the last day, Hank and I returned to Norman Wells by plane, as the weather had turned and we had become smarter.<\/p>\n

My trip to Fort Good Hope is etched in my mind and in my heart; it set the tone for my wish to live in Canada, this land of endless beauty, the last vestiges in the world of true wilderness. Since that memorable trip, I made my home and have raised a family of my own in Canada. I give much credit to the Sahtu Dene First Nation of Fort Good Hope who first taught me about the generosity and resilience of Canada\u2019s people.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Fort Good Hope Johanna Van Zanten For years Hank had invited me to visit him; I had finally accepted his invitation. Hank lived in the North West Territories, to be precise: in Norman Wells, a small industrial settlement–under a thousand residents–located just below the 66th N degree latitude, on the north bank of the mighty […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"parent":339,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","template":"authorpage.php","meta":{"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-895","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue9\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/895","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue9\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue9\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue9\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue9\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=895"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue9\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/895\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":897,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue9\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/895\/revisions\/897"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue9\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/339"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue9\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=895"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}