Haiku 4: Hebron

 

Bricks against a wall

Inuit forced from homes

Yet: "We forgive you."

Hebron Monday, October 7, 2024

It's been a while since I've written anything but I'm back at it now and am approaching the end of the entries about the trip to Greenland and Labrador last fall. This one is taken from my journal at the time.

Hebron Monday October 7, 2024.

I visited Hebron on our first trip with Adventure Canada in 2015. Then it was overcast and on the cool side. Today was a gorgeous, sunny and relatively warm.

I remember when I was here before chasing a number of little birds with an 800mm lens on a Nikon camera from the onboard lending program. This time there were very few birds. I guess most of them have left for warmer climates.

I noticed quite a difference in the state of the buildings from the last time.

Mind you, that is 9 years ago. Some of the buildings we walked into last time have completely collapsed. I remember taking photos of piles of bricks against the wall of a building.

There are still piles of bricks but the building no longer stands. I spent quite a long time just sitting on a rock, looking out at the sea and wondering if I would ever pass this way again.

My guess is that I won’t. 

One of the most striking features of Hebron are the three plaques that stand behind the church. The first is a copy of the apology offered to the people of Hebron becaused they were forced to relocate after the Moravian mission closed.

The second one contains the names of all the families who were forced to relocate. The third one, the most poignant to me, is the response to the apology.

Too late, I decided to try to walk up to the inukshuk on the ridge but when I got level with Randy he advised me that I didn’t have time to get there and back before we had to go back to the ship.

Better safe than sorry, I turned around and found it only took me 15 minutes to get back to the landing spot. Likely, I would have had time to get to the inukshuk and back but you never know and I certainly don’t want to be the person who causes the whole operation to come to a grinding halt because I’m off somewhere I shouldn’t be.

Apparently there is a huge storm coming in so the plans are changing: we will be in Nain tomorrow and then we will boot it for the safe harbour of St. John’s, before it hits. No Lanse Aux Meadows, no St. Anthony, and no Terra Nova Park. I was looking forward to seeing Lanse Aux Meadows again, and Terra Nova Park but that’s not in the cards for this trip.

[Here's a link to info from the Canadian Encyclopedia if you'd like to read more about the history of Hebron and the relocation. https://www.thecanadianencyclopedia.ca/en/article/hebron-mission-national-historic-site-of-canada

Ramah Bay, October 6, 2024

Well, happy new year and I’m back to writing about the fall trip. There are 5 destinations left: Ramah Bay, Hebron, Nain, Indian Harbour, and St. Johns. I’m going to give each location its own post because it’s easier to manage the photos that way.

So, let’s visit Ramah Bay which has been frequented by people for 7000 years. Ramah Bay was an important source of chert, a mineral used to make sharp edged tools. It was prized and widely traded. In fact, examples of chert from Ramah Bay have been found as far south and east as Maine.

Bear guard at sunrise

This was my second visit to Ramah Bay and we set foot on shore just as the sun was coming up over the horizon. The light was spectacular and something I hadn’t experienced having travelled there during summer when there were only a few hours of twilight between dusk and dawn. A short walk along the beach brings you to a waterfall. It’s possible to get in behind the waterfall and, on my first visit, I stayed on the beach near the waterfall. This time I decided to venture farther afield.

Person behind waterfall

MJ noted in his briefing that there was a hike up to an inukshuk on a ridge. He said it was challenging and not to take any chances. Normally that would have been enough to put me off, but since I had had so much fun on all the other hikes, I reasoned that I would give it a try, being careful to look back down to make sure that I could always see a comfortable exit route. If things in either direction started to look dicey, I’d turn around. The hardest part was crossing a stream but there were staff members stationed on either side to point out the best spot to cross.

I don’t remember if I mentioned that I fell twice on the hike the previous day. The first time I tested my footing on a slanted rock and it seemed ok but when I put my other foot on the rock both of them slid and I ended up on my butt. It was a very short slide so there was no damage done. I may or may not have said some colourful words. About an hour later, as I was plowing my way though some low willows, one of them caught my trailing foot and again I found myself on the ground. Good thing I was on my own because I got really ticked off that time. Other than being in a rather black mood for a while, I was fine. I guess things come in threes because as I walked towards the stream crossing in Ramah Bay I stepped on another slanted rock and ended up on my butt. This time I had an audience who were quick to make sure I was all right. I carried on across the stream and began the climb up to the ridge.

I chose my route carefully, remembering clearly all the times I hiked with Bill, Richard’s dad, and the things he taught me about choosing a path up a mountain. This climb was made easier than the ones in the Rockies because there were no trees so  the steep parts and rocky outcrops were more visible.

Climb up to the ridge

As I climbed I headed for the large slabs of rock recalling Bill’s voice saying that if I had boots with good soles it was fine to walk on slabs. What I had to watch out for was collections of small rocks on top of the slabs because those could become very efficient ball bearings that could send me flying. I didn’t fly or slip for that matter and I kept the promise to myself by often assessing the terrain for a suitable route down.

By the time I reached the ridge, the sun was up and it was quite windy. A large inukshuk overlooked the bay where the ship was anchored.

I chatted with a couple of people and then moved off the ridge out of the wind. I stood looking down at the ship standing in the golden light of early morning.

Inukshuk and Ocean Endeavour

This moment, and others like it, were the whole point of the trip. After a while, I made my way back down, stopping often to enjoy the view. I was fairly pleased with myself as I climbed into the zodiac for the ride back to the ship.

Shortly after dinner there was an announcement that the aurora was putting on a display. With the naked eye they just looked like grey wispy clouds against the black sky.

Using a longer shutter opening on either the camera or the phone revealed the intense reds and greens.

I stayed out on the deck watching the wisps undulate and dance until I began to shiver.

After a cup of tea and the customary notes in my journal I climbed into bed thinking how appropriately the light of the sunrise and the light of the dancing aurora had bracketed another memorable day.

A moment of grace

That title sounds a bit pretentious but I’m not sure how else to describe it. Let me start from the beginning.

We were delighted to spend the Christmas holidays this year in Vancouver with my uncle, aunt, cousins, and their families. On the morning of New Year’s Eve Sharon, my cousin’s wife, and I were sitting at the table, doing word puzzles, drinking tea, and watching the birds at the feeder.

Sharon had just filled the feeder for the first time this season and the birdy telegraph clearly told of a new food source, There were chickadees, pine siskins, and juncos, all chowing down.

As we watched the birds coming and going, chasing each other off and then returning to the feeder, one pine siskin came straight at the window flying a few inches from the ground under the area where warning decals were on the glass. He hit the window pretty hard and landed on the ground with one wing outstretched.

I wanted to hold him, to keep him warm. Sharon opened the patio door  and I took a few steps to where he lay. I slipped the fingers of my left hand under him. As I picked him up, his wing folded back against his side. I registered his closed eyes and his rapid breathing. How fast is normal for a tiny bird? There were bits of seed on his beak. I talked to him, I told him he was beautiful, told him I wanted to help him, told him he was safe. I don’t know how long I held him or what else I said to him. I didn’t want him to be afraid and I just kept talking.

After a while, he opened his eyes and moved his head a little. I took my top hand away and he continued to sit on my hand. Eventually I moved to the end of the picnic table and put my hand on the table top. By this time he was looking around. After a few more minutes I asked him if I could put him on the table. When I touched his back, he squawked three times and flew into the hedge.

I’ll never know if he survived. I hope he did. I do know that for those moments my vision narrowed and the only thing that mattered was the small bird, so light and soft in the warmth of my hand.

Photo courtesy of Sharon Preston