Around the Rowan Tree, Day 50

We all helped each other out. There was a tremendous camaraderie amongst us all

The boys were certainly learning about life and I along with them. I had always wanted to travel “just to see”, as an Irish lady traveller had once said to me.

Apart from our Canada adventure and once or twice to Tenerife when the farm was doing a little better than usual, I had not been out of the country. But now I was travelling vicariously through the family.

I was always eager to hear of their adventures and the independent way that they travelled gave them many. When they got to the country of their choice they looked for work, anything that would give them enough money to let them stay and explore before moving on.

Like his brothers before him, Lindsay visited many places – Spain, Israel, Greece – and got seasonal work. There were certain little restaurants and cafes where farmers came to look for foreign labour when they needed pickers for tomatoes, apricots, oranges or olives. The young travellers learned of these places from each other.

They also gleaned a lot of information relevant to them from The Lonely Planet Guide, a battered copy of which could be found in most rucksacks.

It was a very different sort of life from package holidays but they were prepared to rough it, sleep anywhere, out in the olive groves or on beaches swept by warm seas.

Anxiety

“Did I tell you about the time I was selling melons on the beach in Greece?” Lindsay asked. “I hadn’t had a good day. I was short of money. I went to sleep on the beach. I was really tired and slept like a log.

“When I woke up in the morning my melons and the little money that I had were gone. Oh my melons, oh my money!”

“And what did you do?” I asked, my voice edged with anxiety.

“Oh, I had friends,” he replied. “They helped me out until I got a better job picking apricots. We all helped each other out. There was a tremendous camaraderie amongst us all, it was great.”

At one point later on, Lindsay followed Grant to Canada’s North West Territories. Like the rest of them, he had heard Ronald and I talk of our adventures in Canada before he was born and had been inspired to see it for himself.

He lived there for one bright summer but wasn’t sure if he could handle the severe winter and possible lack of company.

“What did you think when you first arrived there?” I asked him one day.

“It was early in May,” he explained. “Grant met me in Edmonton where he had been taking a short holiday. We started on the long journey north. It would take us three days at least.

“It was close on a thousand miles to Lindberg’s Landing. The distances amazed me. We seemed to be travelling forever but there was much of interest to see in northern Alberta.

“After we eventually reached a small place called Enterprise, near to where the road branches off to Hay River, there was nothing but trees and more trees, fir trees mostly which you couldn’t see over or through.

“However, the skies were brilliantly blue and the sun shone all day. I couldn’t get over the clarity of the air. I had not a care in the world. I thought it would be all plain sailing.

“I had come thousands of miles, only 300 or so more to go. Grant had said the Mackenzie highway was a good road. I’ve never in my life been on a lonelier one.

Misjudged

“It seemed to be never coming to an end; no houses, no gas station, just trees and more trees.

“Half way along Grant’s truck broke down. We both know a bit about motors but very soon realised it was unfixable without a certain tool we didn’t have.

“‘What do we do now, Grant?’ I said. ‘We’ll just have to wait till someone comes along,’ he replied. ‘When will that be?’ I asked. ‘We haven’t seen one vehicle of any kind since the turn-off to Yellowknife’.”

“‘Normally,’ said Grant, ‘there are several trucks on the road heading for the ferry that goes to Fort Simpson. Perhaps I’ve misjudged things a bit.

‘The ice roads that we use all winter have broken up but maybe the reason there’s no traffic is that the ferry can’t operate yet as there are still chunks of ice floating down the river. Don’t worry, though, something will turn up.’

“Grant didn’t seem at all concerned but I couldn’t help thinking of the black bears I had seen at the side of the road and how cold it was at night even if it was May. Besides, I was hungry.

“But Grant’s optimism paid off. Within an hour a truck approached us and stopped. ‘You guys having problems?’

“‘Sure are,’ replied Grant and told him what ailed the truck. “Perhaps I can fix it. Can fix most things these days. I have tools in my truck. In fact, I’m on the way up north to fix the Fort Simpson Ferry. It’ll soon be sailing time again. Any day now the river will be flowing free of ice’.

“But even after poking about in the innards of Grant’s truck for quite some time and the use of some choice, picturesque, blasphemic language that made me smile in spite of the predicament we were in, he said, ‘No, I can’t fix the goddamn thing. It’s got me beat.’

“‘Tell you what; I’ll give you a lift to the ferry. Where are you guys heading for, anyway?’

“‘Lindberg’s Landing’, said Grant. ‘It’s getting nearer,’ said the truck driver. ‘Jump in’.

“He let us off on the road, still about 80 miles short of Lindberg’s Landing.

“‘What do we do now?’ I asked. ‘Dunno,’ said Grant. You know how he is, Mum, a lad of few words. ‘Not much chance of any trucks passing now, but don’t worry, something’ll turn up.’

Action

“Shortly after he said that we heard a loud droning above. ‘Quick!’ said Grant, sparked into instant action for once, ‘Get off the road’.

“I hadn’t time to look up. I scarpered into the trees. “Down came a small plane, a Cessna, on to the road just where we had been standing a moment before.

“I hadn’t particularly noticed but we had been standing on a part of the straight-snake-road where it bulges out for a space.

These bulges recur at intervals on the Mackenzie highway for use as emergency air strips for planes to use should they get into trouble.

There is nowhere else to land. They can’t land on trees or muskeg. The bush pilot who stepped out of the cockpit seemed equally surprised to see us.

“‘What are you guys doing here?’ We explained our plight. ‘I’ll take you over the river to Fort Simpson if that’s any help,’ he offered. ‘Once I get this goddamn plane fixed. I’m on the grocery run there while the river’s unstable.’

“We remained in Fort Simpson for a day or two until the river was clear and the ferry was running again.

“Ed Lindberg came to collect us. It was late but still light when we arrived at Lindberg’s Landing.”

More tomorrow.