When I got back to Whitehorse last week, Rob and Loni said that they were going out to visit a carving camp out near/on Lake Laberge. Although I was anxious to get home to the cabin to check the mouse traps, I thought it would be a few hours that would be well spent so asked them to see if they could get me on the boat, and they did.
The Sundog Carving Camp is situated on the banks of the Yukon River, on an island that of course, is only accessible by boat. The camp (referred to as Fort Dugout by the youth) is 18 First Nations and non-FN youth who are working with master carver Wayne Price (Haines Alaska) to carve a traditional Chilkat cedar dugout canoe. A special place indeed. At that point, they had spent 22 days carving the canoe and had been at camp for one month. A tremendous committment not only to the canoe and to each other but to themselves...no drugs and alcohol, no parties, a summer in the bush learning traditional skills, spiritual healing and as is the case for all of us spending time away from the built environment...about themselves.
We went with a delegation of parents, grandparents and friends. To my surprise, there was also going to be a special visit to the camp by the dancers from Carcross. The carvers didn't have any idea that they were coming. The boat took them around the island so that they could drift in from upstream. We had just finished eating and were listening to Josh, one of the carvers, play a song he had written on his guitar. From a distance came this sound of drumming and singing...some people started to go to the water to see what was going on. "What is that?" "Do you hear that?". Soon the boat carrying the dancers (and some elders) came around the bend and into sight. Drums went down to the dock with the carvers and there was a beautiful and moving singing between the groups in Tlingit (so I didn't understand any of it). The dancers then asked to come on shore and the carvers welcomed them.
The sound of drums and Tlingit song over water, reverberating in the trees and off the banks was beautiful. The strong calls of these young men on shore reaching up to the sky, echoing back to them. For me, somebody from the South, on their land, it was very moving.
Once the dancers and more guests came on shore and everyone had been greeted and fed (I forgot to mention that there was a special meal this night...Pizza Hut delivers EVERYWHERE!), I was honored to be able to take part in a pretty special night. The Tlingit dancers danced and sang traditional songs...with the carvers and elders taking part. They shared the translation of some of the songs. Many of the carvers got up to join the dance in the end. There was a small fire (used to warm the drum skins) and the dust was coming up, people sweating and this powerful drumming and singing echoing back...a remarkable scene.
The next thing that happened was a ceremony to bless the canoe, to hear its story and what this group of carvers was accomplishing one wood chip at a time. To honour those before and to honour the work of these youth. I just tried to follow the lead in the dance around the canoe, to remember how to smudge, to respect and have an open heart to the traditions of the people whose land I was visiting.
A thought came to me during this, when I really was feeling like an outsider, like an observer...that I was so honoured to be welcomed to be part of this. That there was a time (and still is in some ways, in some places) that the opposite would never be imagined...that the Natives wouldn't be welcomed into the community celebrations, the sacred times and places of the generations that came before me. I think it is a powerful statement to the day when we can finally heal our collective wounds of a shameful history that dispite the way that they have been treated, First Nations communities continue to open their arms, their hearts and their land to us. I was really moved by that, and really honored to be part of this evening of celebration.
Those young carvers are doing something tremendous. I can't wait to see the cedar dugout come down the river with paddles dipping, drums beating, voices raising to the sky!
And as for this "few hour" field trip...well, next time I'll pack a sweater when it's a "few hours"...Yukon time!
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