5/29/17, “SGang Gwaay”
Ninstints, British Columbia (SGang Gwaay)
It’s been a cross between a chant and a prayer. “SGang Gwaay.
SGang Gwaay.” It is pronounced,
“skUNG-wye.” The thought of this establishing
shot is what has caused me to endure the brutal cold and wind as we cruised at
30 knots, the wind chill making it below freezing. The ceremonial picture the sole reason why I
devoted a four-day weekend to this trip.
SGang Gwaay. That is why I came,
and that is where I am. This was the
destination, the purpose, the reason. It
is quite possibly Canada’s least accessible WHS, but I don’t think Nahanni was
any easier.
SGang Gwaay is the local
name, Ninstints the name the British gave it.
It is the same place. I have made
it. Nothing else this trip matters. In fact, after I close this entry,
technically the rest of the trip will be The Return Journey. Was it worth it? Absolutely.
These mortuary poles (not totem poles) depicted in the WHS inscription
photo provide one of the best establishing shots I have ever taken. I think there are less than two dozen souls
in this entire village, 14 of them part of our group. It is so calm and peaceful here, but I did
not come to see nature. I came to see
culture. I came to see this World Heritage
Site, and I saw it. I have succeeded in
my mission, and I have said, “Western Canada Complete.” Newfoundland and Labrador awaits. Okay, so, how did I get here?
After I closed last night, I published,
relaxed a bit, had some ice cream, which had melted in the fridge, then went to
sleep after letting the ice cream settle and packing for the morning. I woke up a little before 6 AM and walked
down to the dock. They suited me up in
boots, splash pants, and a heavy-duty jacket.
Was this really necessary? Yes,
it was.
There were to be 12 of us in the
group, but only 11 were here. The other
guy was coming from England. He had
flown to Calgary with a motorcycle, biked, then took a ferry. He was running a little late, so we
waited. James asked if I had wanted to
sit in the back with him, which would allow me to smoke my cigar, if I could
manage. As soon as we took off, even
suited up, it was brutal. The wind was,
well, 30 knots right in our face, and there was no sun. We stopped for breakfast, literally, just
slowed down. Breakfast was various
pastries and wraps, along with coffee.
After breakfast, I asked James if I could smoke. He said I could, if I could manage to smoke
at 30 knots. I quipped, “Smoking a cigar
at 30 knots isn’t a problem, but lighting it is.” He said he would take it slow until I was
lit, so I lit up a Tattoo. It smoked,
but quickly. Our next stop was a little
dock to relieve ourselves and stretch our legs.
We got back aboard, and I lit up a Prensado, which would have lasted 2
hours indoors. It last half an hour at
30 knots. We soon came up on SGang
Gwaay, and I could feel the WHS calling me.
It would be three hours from that point before I got to take my
ceremonial picture, and I was really Jonesing.
First, since it was “zero tide,” we had trouble pulling up to
shore. It was a bit of an adventure to
get off the boat, but we managed. After
five of us, he decided he would use a skiff to get the rest of the group to
shore, no easy process.
After we settled
ashore, he began to cook lunch, yes, cook, while his first officer checked us
in with the local watchmen. Lunch was
soon ready, freshly grilled salmon and some sides. It was delicious. I loved every bite. After lunch, we headed back to the watchmen
cabin and had to wait. It was after 2 PM
by the time we got on the trail to the village, despite having first pulled up
to the beach at noon.
I just wanted to
take my ceremonial picture. We started
to see a few mortuary poles, and I asked where the spot from the inscription
picture was, but they gave me a cryptic answer.
We learned a lot about the tribe, what the poles meant, and how they
lived. It was interesting, but I just
wanted to light up my cigar and take my ceremonial picture. Eventually, we came to that point, and they
pointed me to the beach where it was taken.
I ran off from the group to take my ceremonial picture, and I could
hardly contain my excitement. It was the
exact spot. I lit up my last Vegas
Robaina Exclusivo Canada, from my last trip to Canada, took my ceremonial
picture, and made my announcement.
“British Columbia Complete.
Western Canada Complete. Newfoundland
and Labrador, I’m coming for you.” I
leave for Newfoundland and Labrador in a month and a day. That is all that stands between me and
“Canada Complete.” I then sat down on a
piece of driftwood in view of the inscription photo, where I proceeded to write
this entry, which I will now close, as we are about to head back.
Queen Charlotte, British Columbia
What a day. What a
day fucking day. I am exhausted and
chilled to my very core. I just can’t
wait to get into my nice, warm bed, which I will do the moment I publish this
entry. The tips of my fingers are almost
numb. My chest is cold. I can hardly breathe. That is what spending a day with very little
sun and a 30+ knot wind in your face will do.
Was it worth it?
Abso-fucking-lutely. I don’t just
say that because it was the only way to see the WHS, the WHS that allowed me to
say, “Canada Complete.”
I say it because
it was an experience I will never forget.
I say it because it because the carved mortuary poles at SGang Gwaay
were one of the most impressive cultural sites I have seen in all of my
travels. What on this continent
compares? Not much, but I would put it
in league with Taos Pueblo and Teotihuacan.
It is just that one vista, but it is a seriously impressive vista. They are not as old as I thought, only dating
back to the 18th Century, but that is about as far back as wood
structures can remain, anyway, especially so close to the water.
James figured that there were only another
couple of decades left before Mother Nature reclaimed them for her own. That means, I am the last generation that
will get to visit that site. The culture
dictates that these poles must be left to their own fate, otherwise the spirits
will be trapped in them for all eternity, so we will not see any preservation
efforts. It was tribe that was
eradicated by small pox, and these last remnants are soon to be gone. I will never forget them, though.
After I closed, we made our way back to the
boat, and I took a nap once we were underway.
We stopped to see some humpback whales, and I took that opportunity to
light up an E.P. Carrillo. We stopped
next at a place called Windy Bay for snacks, and they have an actual, modern
totem pole there. We learned about the
carvings on the pole, what everything meant, and posed for a group photo.
From there, James said that he would “clip
it,” as we were running late. 45
knots. That’s how fast we went. That’s what made me feel like I was going to
freeze to death. I lit up an LFD for
that stretch. As soon as I had my cell
signal back, it now being after 11 PM in New York, I posted my photo and got
caught up on my notifications. I was
worried that the Chinese restaurant (J & T) would be closed when we got to
shore, so James called my order ahead.
They said I could sit down to eat, so it seemed pointless to do it that
way, but James was insistent. We soon
landed, and I rushed to the restaurant, just up the block and across the street
from my hotel.
They were waiting for me,
but they were still open for a bit, so I could have just ordered the
traditional way. James had ordered a
large wonton soup and a sweet and sour pork for me, which turned out to be way
too much food. If I had ordered at the
restaurant, I would have gotten the small soup and the combination plate. As it was, the soup was enough to feed a
family of four, and the pork was clearly meant for two, but it actually was
only nominally more expensive. I just
didn’t need to eat that much pork, and I am paying the price now for such a
heavy meal.
Sweet and sour pork seems to
be a specialty of these small towns in the North, and having it at least once
has become a fixture of these trips. It’s
always very good, but it’s a hard dish to screw up. You just fry some pork in a wok and drown it
in sweet and sour sauce. It tastes the
same in Fort Smith and Fort Simpson and Queen Charlotte. If I get it in Nuuk or Ilulissat, I’m sure it
will taste the same there, too.
After
dinner, I went back to my hotel room and had a bad case of the shivers. I started to wonder if it might not be viral,
rather than physical. No time to worry
about that now. I then went out to the
balcony, where I sat down, lit up my trusty Ardor, and proceeded to write this
entry, which I will now close so that I can publish and get back inside, where
it’s warm.
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