W ashika

“
”
Bob Poirier lives on his land near Maniwaki, Quebec, studies
Algonquin, and treats and cares for all species of fauna at his wild
animal rehabilitation centre. With Washika, he has revived an era
and inspired new life into a wild and beautiful place.
A Novel
Washika
He stared at the sand or ashes and brittle, black
branches as they walked. The straps made Henri’s
shoulders ache but the tank did not leak. He had
that at least. And there was Lise. This fire could not
last forever. Things would eventually calm down and
they would be at Washika again. The first Sunday he
was back, he would go to see her. Walking that way in
the black nothingness of the island, he remembered
her clearly and nothing interrupted his thoughts of
her, those green eyes. How they spoke to him. He
recalled how he had stared into her eyes for as long
as he could manage it while he caressed her with the
flat of his hands.”
Robert A. Poirier
I
t’s summer in the ’60s. Twenty-one testosteronedrenched high school students are working at the
Company bush-camp Washika. Idealistic, confident,
sometimes troubled, they meet their match in tough
older bush workers, a devastating forest fire, sand flies
and leeches, and occasionally beautiful women.
Washika
$24.95
www.barakabooks.com
Robert A. Poirier
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Washika
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Robert A. Poirier
Washika
A Novel
Montreal
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Copyright © Baraka Books 2012
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, record­ing, or by any information storage
and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Cover illustration by Dean Ottawa
Cover by Folio infographie
Book design by Folio infographie
Editing by Mary Bialek
Map on p. 12 by Robert A. Poirier
Photos by Douglas Gagnon : p. 13, The Basko operated by the late Arthur Gagnon, and p. 227
Illustration p. 305, other photos and back cover, by Julia Philpot
Legal Deposit, 4th quarter, 2012
Bibliothèque et Archives nationales du Québec
Library and Archives Canada
isbn 978-1-926824-53-6 (Paper)
isbn 978-1-926824-72-7 (PDF)
isbn 978-1-926824-71-0 (Epub)
isbn 978-1-926824-73-4 (Mobi/Kindle)
Published by Baraka Books of Montreal
6977, rue Lacroix
Montréal, Québec H4E 2V4
Telephone: 514 808-8504
[email protected]
www.barakabooks.com
Printed and bound in Quebec
Baraka Books acknowledges the generous support of its publishing program from the Société de développement des entreprises culturelles du
Québec (SODEC) and the Quebec Government’s Programme de crédit
d’impôt for book publishing.
We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts for our
publishing program.
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Pantone
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To Louise and Pete
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Table of Contents
Foreword
Map of the Cabonga Reservoir
11
12
WASHIK A
Part I
13
Part II
75
Part III
137
Part IV
227
Glossary
305
Acknowledgements
311
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Foreword
T
his is a story about twenty-one students who recently completed their
final year at the Collège de Ste-Émilie, a high school in the small Quebec
town of Ste-Émilie. The students signed up to work for a major forestry
company, a summer job on the beautiful Cabonga Reservoir located in
the heart of the La Vérendrye game reserve some 270 kilometres north
of Montreal. The students were hired to work on the sweep, an integral
part of the log drives that took place for years on the Cabonga.
This story, although told in English, actually takes place almost entirely
in French. All of the characters are French speaking, with the exception
of Emmett Cronier who speaks French but always swears in English. A
glossary at the end provides definitions for the French terms and expressions and for some English words specifically related to logging.
Washika is a story about young students working with older men, about
discovery of attitudes and selfishness, and about situations never dreamed
of. It is a story of change, experienced either willingly or unwillingly, but
change that leaves its mark for as long as water flows from the Cabonga
into the mighty Gens-de-Terre River.
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Map of the Cabonga Reservoir
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PART I
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Chapter 1
Cabonga Lake was quite a large lake, famous for its long sandy beaches
that stretched great distances along the shore and deep into the jack-pine
forests. With the arrival of the white man and the forest industry, the
lake and its surroundings were slowly but irreversibly changed. More and
deeper water was needed for transporting the trees felled by the lumberjacks and so a dam was built at the south end of the lake, just where the
mighty Gens-de-Terre River begins its flow southward. After the construction of the Cabonga Dam the water flowed steadily from the
Cabonga River in the northeast and Cabonga Lake was gradually transformed into a larger body of water, the Cabonga Reservoir. Some of the
former beaches remained, though smaller in size, while others disappeared
completely. New shorelines were created, flooded areas of jack pine suddenly appeared, and new islands, that had once been lesser mountains in
the forest, sat above the water.
Washika Bay was one of the larger areas to survive. Before the flood,
the bay, with its extensive volume of beach sand, had been almost desertlike, a natural clearing stretching more than a mile in length and almost
as deep. Even after the water level rose the clearing remained, as long
though not as deep as it had once been.
Washika Bay was a camp site, a Company depot of sorts, for those
men who worked the waters of the Cabonga in tugboats, rounding up
logs that came from the logging camps and towing them downstream to
Cabonga Dam.
All of the buildings at Washika Bay were painted green, a deep
forest green. However, the camp itself was well organized and anyone
visiting the site could see immediately, that much thought had gone into
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WASHIKA
planning the layout of the buildings. The infirmary, for example, had
been built on a section of beach that sloped upward from the water to
the main plateau where the rest of the camp was situated. This provided
for a quiet, peaceful environment should any patient have to spend an
extended time there. The camp was built along the north-south axis of
the bay, the infirmary being at its northern extremity. Just above the
infirmary, a gravel road arrived from the lumber camps to the north, went
straight by the camp, and ended at a log dump, at the extreme south end
of the bay. The next most northerly building was the generator shed where
a diesel engine-generator combination created electricity for the camp
during certain fixed hours. The shed had been situated far enough away
from the other buildings that the noise from its diesel engine did not
disturb the residents of the camp or the infirmary. Next to and south of
the generator shed was the garage-cum-machine shop. There, two men
maintained and repaired the tugboats and the two tractors that were used
for manipulating logs at the log dump.
The camp itself faced west, looking out onto the Cabonga. To the east
was the jack-pine and white-birch forest. The main sleep camp was a long,
narrow building, placed lengthwise and close to the forest and just south
of the garage. There was a den at its north end with a hallway leading to
the common washbasin and the two washrooms. On both sides of this
hallway were individual bedrooms, each housing two beds. In front of
the main sleep camp was the cookhouse, which consisted of a kitchen
and a separate dining area where all the men at the camp took their meals.
Just south of the cookhouse was what the men commonly referred to as
the bunkhouse-and-office. This building was unlike the others in that
half of it served as a sleeping area while the other half was an office for
the camp clerk and two scalers, a radio room, and the van, a simple store
with numerous articles for sale to the workers. Directly west and in front
of the cookhouse was a small hut containing the truck scales. The west
side of the hut had a large window facing the gravel road. Less than three
feet from the hut were long wood planks laid down, level with the road.
What could not be seen were the mechanical parts of the scales beneath
this wood planking. When the trucks stopped there with their loads of
logs to be weighed, the total weights appeared as a numerical reading on
a scale inside the hut.
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WASHIKA
17
Settled in next to the forest and several hundred feet from the camp
were three other small cabins. Like all of the buildings at Washika, these
three cabins were painted green and had black, tarpaper roofs. The first
of these cabins was a small one-room structure where P’tit-Gus, the chore
boy slept and rested when he could. Next to this cabin was a three-room
building where the cook, Dumas Hébert, resided. There was a small den
and a spare room for an assistant, if and when he had an assistant. The
last of these cabins was somewhat more elaborate: not only did it have a
separate bedroom and living room but also running water, a kitchen sink
and a washroom. This was where Simard-Comtois, the superintendent
of the camp, spent a major portion of his time.
Not a single superfluous person lived at Washika Bay. Nor were individual tasks vague or lacking in apparent usefulness. The staff members
were middlemen of sorts, intermediaries between the lumberjacks and
the pulp mills hundreds of miles to the south, and without them the connection between the former and the latter would simply not exist. The
whole scheme of things was simple enough to be effective. The tractortrailers arrived from the logging camps with their loads of logs. The wood
was weighed at the truck scales and measured by the scalers. This same
wood, once measured and stamped by the scalers using a hammer-like
tool with a Company insignia on one end, was pushed off the log dump
into the Cabonga by one of two huge tractors driven by Percy Dumont.
The logs floating by the log dump were gathered up by the tugboat captains and their crews. Large pockets of this wood were towed downstream
to Cabonga Dam. When enough wood had accumulated, the dam was
opened, allowing the wood to pass through the opening and into the
Gens-de-Terre River. The logs followed the current and the rapids of this
and other rivers until they reached their final destination. There the sawmills and the pulp and paper mills transformed the logs into profitable
commodities.
/
One Monday morning, at the end of June, a Company bus drove up to
the sleep camp at Washika Bay. Twenty-one high school students stepped
down from the bus and, with loaded packs on their backs, stood in a
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WASHIKA
circle around the superintendent of the camp as he delivered his welcoming speech. No one paid much attention to André Simard-Comtois’ words
of welcome. The students were intrigued by the buildings at Washika,
the generator noise, and the tractor-trailers arriving at the scales but,
mostly, they marvelled at the great expanse of beach sand before them
and what seemed to be an unending body of water to the west.
The students were finally introduced to one of the tugboat captains,
Alphonse Ouimet, and they took an immediate liking to him. They were
especially amused when he called them his “little ducks” not knowing, of
course, what the man was referring to. Alphonse issued instructions: they
were to enter the sleep camp, select a room and a bed, store their packs,
and then head to the office where they would be supplied with hard hats
and gloves. Their hard-toe safety boots, it was assumed, had been purchased
in town. After lunch they were to follow him down to the wharf.
“And don’t forget the meal tickets,” Alphonse concluded. “Be sure you
get tickets at the van or you won’t eat!”
These instructions were delivered in a friendly manner and the students, although feeling a bit jarred after their bus ride from Ste-Émilie,
felt immediately at home. They entered the sleep camp and, before long,
all available beds were spoken for.
Alphonse had followed them into the sleep camp. He counted seven
students standing by the washbasin, heavy packs on the floor by their feet.
“There’s another sleep camp,” he said. “But first, is there anyone who’d
like to work in the kitchen? You’d be like an assistant to the cook.”
None of the students responded to the man’s request. They looked at
each other and then back at Alphonse.
“You,” Alphonse pointed to one of the students. “What’s your name?”
“Morin,” the student replied. “Henri Morin.”
“Okay,” Alphonse said. “Listen, Henri. Go to each of the rooms and
tell the guys what I’ve just said. The one who accepts the job will have
his own room in the cook’s cabin.”
Henri left then and, stopping by the door of each room occupied by
the students, he relayed the message about becoming the cook’s assistant.
It wasn’t long before he returned to the washing up area, followed by a
tall, slim boy whose head was a mass of tight black curls.
“Good,” Alphonse nodded towards the boy. “And what’s your name?”
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“Richard Gagnier, monsieur,” the boy replied.
“Okay, Richard. Take your pack and go to the cookhouse. The cook
there is Dumas Hébert. Tell Dumas that I sent you and that you’d like
to work with him this summer. He’ll fix you up.”
“So,” Alphonse turned to the others, “that leaves one more bed here.
One of you guys can take that one and the rest of you come with me.”
One of the students lifted his pack and followed the young man who
was soon to be the cook’s assistant. The six remaining students followed
Alphonse across the yard and into the bunkhouse-and-office.
“This is the bunkhouse-and-office,” Alphonse smiled. “The other half
is the office. The van is there too. When you hear a bell ring, go to the
cookhouse for lunch. And don’t be late. The cook’s pretty strict about
that. You’ll see.”
The students went to the van as he had instructed. Afterwards, they
sat on their bunks adjusting the straps inside their hard hats for a better
fit. They flexed their new work gloves and folded the long string of meal
tickets. Suddenly, an irregular bell sound could be heard coming from
nearby and, shortly after, they saw the older men leaving the sleep camp.
The students followed the older men and joined them at the cookhouse
landing. There, they saw Dumas Hébert for the first time. The students
smiled as they handed him their meal ticket. Dumas did not return the
smile. When the last of the students had gone inside, Dumas entered,
closing the screen door behind him. He walked to the centre of the dining area and addressed the students.
“My name is Dumas Hébert. I am the cook here at Washika. Your
table will be that one there to my right. You will be ten on each side. As
you can see, it is crowded so no elbows on the table. Be sure that your
hands are clean and that your hair is properly combed when you come
in here. There are two bells for the meals. One bell is to warn you, and
the second is for the meal. So, do not be late. Also, after breakfast, there
is one bell, for making lunches. That is all.”
It was all very clear and simple. There would be no foolishness in the
cookhouse. There was plenty to eat and the food was delicious. All agreed
that Dumas was an excellent cook even if he was a führer of sorts.
After lunch the boys followed Alphonse to the wharf where they were
introduced to the Madeleine, a six-cylinder tugboat and its two drive
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WASHIKA
boats. They were issued life jackets and, when all were aboard, Alphonse
backed the Madeleine away from the wharf and swung her bow around
in a southerly direction.
After what seemed like less than an hour, Alphonse veered to port
towards a stretch of beach sand spotted with logs of various lengths. He
shut down the engine, allowing the Madeleine to drift up onto shore.
Alphonse stood on deck and spoke to the students.
“Well, my little ducks,” he began. “You see the shore there and all the
logs on the sand. Use those hooks I showed you and pick out the logs and
toss them into the water. Over there, where those dead chicots are, there
are logs in the water behind them. Some of you go in there and pick those
logs out and toss them over here. I want two or three of you in each drive
boat, with pike poles. Now, here’s the thing. We want to pick out all of
the logs along here and toss them into deeper water. You see those square
timbers here. They’re called boom timbers. I’m going to make a kind of
corral with them. When we’ve picked out enough logs I’ll close the corral around them and snub the corral to shore. One of the tugboats will
pick it up on its way to Cabonga. There are logs like this all along the
shoreline. These are logs that got away from us during the drive to
Cabonga. It gets pretty windy here. Sometimes the logs are on shore,
sometimes not. That’s when you boys have to go into the water. And so,
this is the sweep. We always have to come back like this after a drive.
Okay? Now, my little ducks, to work!”
/
So began the summer job at Washika Bay. All of the students working
there were from the Collège de Ste-Émilie. Over six thousand people
lived in the town Ste-Émilie, which was built up on both sides of the
Gens-de-Terre River about eighty-five miles south of Washika Bay. The
town had two beautiful stone churches, a bank and post office, and two
large brick-covered schools which served both elementary and high school
students. One of the schools was run by the brothers of the Sacred Heart.
It was the brothers who had named the school Le Collège de Ste-Émilie.
Also covered in brick and run by the “Grey Nuns,” or the Sisters of
Charity, was the hospital, L’Hôpital de Ste-Jeanne d’Arc, and the convent
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“
”
Bob Poirier lives on his land near Maniwaki, Quebec, studies
Algonquin, and treats and cares for all species of fauna at his wild
animal rehabilitation centre. With Washika, he has revived an era
and inspired new life into a wild and beautiful place.
A Novel
Washika
He stared at the sand or ashes and brittle, black
branches as they walked. The straps made Henri’s
shoulders ache but the tank did not leak. He had
that at least. And there was Lise. This fire could not
last forever. Things would eventually calm down and
they would be at Washika again. The first Sunday he
was back, he would go to see her. Walking that way in
the black nothingness of the island, he remembered
her clearly and nothing interrupted his thoughts of
her, those green eyes. How they spoke to him. He
recalled how he had stared into her eyes for as long
as he could manage it while he caressed her with the
flat of his hands.”
Robert A. Poirier
I
t’s summer in the ’60s. Twenty-one testosteronedrenched high school students are working at the
Company bush-camp Washika. Idealistic, confident,
sometimes troubled, they meet their match in tough
older bush workers, a devastating forest fire, sand flies
and leeches, and occasionally beautiful women.
Washika
$24.95
www.barakabooks.com
Robert A. Poirier
Extrait de la publication
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