KANATA: STAN 1965
Sacred Haida traditions spring to life in this excerpt from Blood Cove, a new novel by R.J. Belcourt and Iggy Fay
Enjoy an excerpt from the novel “Blood Cove” by R.J. Belcourt and Iggy Faye, in which sacred Haida beliefs and traditions spring to life.
The sweet smell of red cedar fills the tradesman’s senses. His feet shu e through the layers of wood chips that litter the floor as he moves around the totem he is carving. Skillfully his chisel etches the outside ovoid of the Raven’s eye deep into the trunk of the ancient tree. The rhythmic tap-tap-tap of his hammer striking the chisel handle echoes from the walls of the longhouse, reminiscent of the ancient drums of his Haida ancestors.
In his youth, Stan spent years developing the skills of his art. He learned from the best. His Uncle Walter was watghadagaang, a master carver. Endless days were devoted to observing his uncle chop and carve the huge trunks into magnificent totem poles. At first Stan simply helped by handing tools to the artist and sweeping up wood chips, but after a few years he gained his uncle’s respect and was taken under the older man’s tutelage.
Abruptly his uncle is there, in the longhouse, reminding him in his patient voice, “Concentrate Stanley. Let the blade do the work.
“Easy now. Widen the outer ovoid,” the old artisan goes on. “Remember the basics I taught you; thick on top, thin on sides, and bottom symmetrical. That’s it. Now, compress the edges on the eyelid lines. Yes, yes.”
Under his uncle’s eye, Stan had learned to chisel and paint, but had been limited to the top character of the pole. The carving of the “bottom man on the totem pole,” despite the saying, is reserved for the master crafts
man, being the most highly viewed character of the structure.
“Stanley! Balance your fine lines.” “Uncle Walter! Enough already. I have this.”
“Careful, son. I may have taught you everything you know, but I did not teach you everything I know.”
“Sorry, Uncle. I appreciate your advice, but I do remember everything you taught me before you passed away.”
“Very well, Stanley, understood. I will go now and leave you in peace. I look forward to the raising ceremony.”
“Thank you, Uncle. I will make you proud.”
“Goodnight, Stanley,” answers the ghost as he walks away and dissipates through the wall.
Today, Stan Fairchild is one of only a handful of Haida artists left on the island who practise this art and are interested in preserving the native traditions and culture in any form. Growing up deep in the rain forest of Masset, Stan learned to fish the coastal waters with his father, while his mother taught him the medicinal value of native plants found hidden on the lush carpet of the forest floor. Stan was prone to visions when he roamed the forest alone. Quite commonly he would see ghostly shapes and forms in the forest, and not knowing what they were, he was afraid of them. Eventually he confided in his mother and she explained that he was special—that he was touched. She told him that the presence of his ancestors’ spirits was nothing to fear; rather, she taught Stan to train his mind to communicate with them. He soon learned they were not only a source of support and encouragement, but they were willing to share a trove of knowledge and folklore long lost to living band members.
Stan eventually moved south to Skidegate to open a successful cannery business. He became proud of his heritage and somewhat of a self-proclaimed ambassador of Haida Gwaii. Stan enjoyed sharing his fishing stories with the fishermen at the local watering hole. He loved teaching the mothers and caregivers about the herbs and plants with secret medicinal properties that could be used to heal patients of ailments that modern medicine failed to cure.
His enthusiasm was contagious, and soon the band began to experience a rejuvenation of Haida pride and confidence. Stan spearheaded the development of the Haida Council and was elected president. The protection of the Western red cedar forest was his main priority, which put him at odds with the big forestry companies seeking huge profits by harvesting the massive trees found throughout the area they egotistically called the Queen Charlotte Islands.
RAISING SPIRITS
The crowd huddles together on the beach, wrapped in tightly held blankets to shield themselves from the cold wind blowing o the ocean. They watch in silence as a Haida canoe approaches, propelled by ten strong men chanting and rowing in unison to the rhythm of the drummer seated at the centre. The steersman stands at the rear and guides the formidable canoe towards the beach. Carved from a single
16-metre red cedar log and capable of holding up to five tonnes of cargo, the Lootaas, or Wave-eater, meets little resistance as it breasts the ocean waves.
The group onshore erupts in applause and joins the paddlers in chanting and drumming, as the men step from the canoe into the icy water and drag the dugout onto the beach. Forming a loose procession, they move up the beach towards the totem pole lying on the sand. When they and members of the crowd have taken their positions along both sides of the pole, Stan shouts directions through a megaphone. On his count, the crowd hoists the totem pole and carefully carries the heavy trunk towards a deep hole that has been dug near the tree line. The elders, wearing ornate white ermine hats and chilkat blankets, sit proudly in chairs to observe the celebration. With its bottom end overhanging the hole, the totem pole is lain back down and heavy ropes are attached to its upper portions. These ropes are linked to a series of poles and levers.
Stan separates the excited crowd into four groups that, at his command, tug the ropes to raise the pole. As the pole nears vertical, the bottom drops into the hole. The jubilant crowd cheers and yelps at the sight of their marvelous totem pole standing tall and magnificent. Once it is in position, everybody participates in filling the hole at the base with large rocks and sand. A ceremonial dance ensues; warriors with rattles pursue masked children covered in cedar bows.
Stan is overwhelmed by emotion. The project over which he has toiled for more than a year has come to fruition. He holds back tears as the ceremonial dance ends and the local Shaman blesses the great totem pole.
“You’ve accomplished a wonderful thing here, Stan,” says Big Mama, wrapping her arms around her husband.
“Thank you, dear, for your patience and support.”
“Look at the pride in their faces. It’s been years since we’ve experienced such fellowship in the band.”
“We must take responsibility for helping our young people to discover their Haida roots. We need to educate them, to lead by example.”
Big Mama looks up at Stan’s weathered face and smiles. ‘This is why I married you.”
“And here I thought it was because of my boyish good looks.” “Love you, baby.” “Love you, too, honey.” “Let’s go home now, you silly old fool,” she says playfully. “You need your rest.”
“Just a moment, hon. I have one more thing I must do.”
Stan walks over to the carving, closes his eyes and presses his right hand against the pole. When he opens his eyes after a moment, he sees his Uncle Walter sitting cross-legged in the sand nearby. His uncle smiles, nods his head in agreement and puts his hand on his heart. Stan puts his hand on his heart and smiles back at his uncle.
“Stan, is everything okay?” asks Big Mama.
“Yes, honey,” answers Stan, turning and walking to her.
“Walter just appeared to you, didn’t he, sweetheart?”
“Yes, he sure did.”
“And he approved?”
“Yes, he sure did,” repeats Stan with a wide grin.