April 1

Snowflakes are falling as rays of sun try to poke their way through a fast-moving bank of clouds. It’s hard to predict whether the snow will carry on for any length of time, because Islands’ weather is eclectic. In fact, Percy Williams told me not too long ago that someone once summed up the climate of Haida Gwaii by offering the following piece of advice: “If you don’t like the weather right now, just wait a minute.”

I’m going through my notes this morning, but parts of them are barely legible—they’ve been rained on and, in some cases, I can see that I was trying to write too fast. Not taking shorthand has its drawbacks—a few of the sentences gallop right off the edge of the pages.

March 30 – Honna Checkpoint:

“I’ve been here every day, except one,” Hereditary Chief Niis Wes tells me, “and I enjoy the company. I go to language school (Skidegate Haida Immersion Program) in the mornings, and come up to the road in the afternoons.” He adds that he and his son, Giitsxaa, recently visited people at the Juskatla checkpoint “to show them we’re with them,” and feels it’s important to continue doing this.

Niis Wes, who is 92 years old, went to Coqualeetza residential school for grades three to eight. “After I came back, I went to work cutting wood with a hand-saw to help support my mother’s younger children,” he says. “The saw was eight feet long and it took two people to use it—one on each end. Later, my father built me a rowboat so that I could go out and get food, and after that, he built me a 28-foot troller named ‘The Joker’…I always liked that name,” he says with a grin.

“My first father died of the ‘flu when I was five,” Niis Wes continues, “and his name was Isaac Wilson. My second father, Jimmy Jones, built the boats for me. And I’ve worked at some different things—I was a seine skipper for awhile, and I worked on a boom boat in Sandspit for 31 years. Sometimes we’d work six and seven days a week.”

More than a few Islanders know that Niis Wes, whose English name is Ernie Wilson, is a skilled fisherman. I ask about the time that he won the local fishing derby, and his eyes crinkle with glee. “It took me 40 years to win that derby!” he chuckles, and points at the large medallion he’s wearing, which is fashioned in the shape of a Haida copper. Niis Wes spent his derby winnings on a piece of gold out of which he had the medallion made. “I thought about it for quite awhile, and decided I didn’t want to just spend the money and have nothing to show for it!” he says.

Queen Charlotte resident, Sarah Eaton, is also at the Honna checkpoint today. “The first time I was stopped on the road here, I thought it was for a seat-belt check,” she says, “but then I was filled in. I was told everyone was welcome, so I decided to come.” Despite having undergone recent knee surgery, Sarah’s trying to spend 2-3 hours each day at the site to show her support and lend a hand. “I’ve fought for justice, in one way or another, most of my life,” she says, “and am vividly conscious of things that have happened to the Haida and to the Islands. It’s time to turn things around.”

Husband-and-wife teams often assist at the checkpoint, too. While Tony Young works a shift on the road, Sunne Young is moving about in the open-air kitchen. A generous supporter has brought by some elk meat, and Sunne has helped turn a portion of it into a rich stew, which is simmering inside a tall, black pot, over the fire.

Josina Davis, a supporter from Tlell, is wearing a wonderful pair of dragonfly earrings, which make a strong statement in a subtle way. She and Sarah strike up a conversation and quickly find that they share a common interest—singing. Only moments later, the idea of a possible musical collaboration is introduced.

Around the fire, a discussion is taking place about how difficult it is to be away from Haida Gwaii for any length of time. One person shyly admits that, for herself, the hollow feeling of genuine homesickness usually sets in after two to three days. Dorothy Russ nods her head knowingly. “The same thing happens to me,” she says.

Gladys Hans and her mother, Golie, have arrived at the checkpoint. They, together with Albert Hans and Memory Pearson, formed the first cooking crew for the Juskatla line. For several days, they prepared hearty breakfasts, lunches, and suppers, not to mention in-between snacks of a treat dubbed ‘fried-bread power’. And, during this time, their “camp kitchen” hopped around a bit – it started off in the Port Clements Community Hall and ended up in the Mayor of Port Clements’ house! Gladys, who is currently taking Transition House Support-Worker Training in Skidegate, tells me she and her crew hope to travel back to the North soon to help out on a weekend. “We enjoyed the work and the people were great. We definitely want to go back,” she says.

Although our conversation, which took place over the dusty hood of a parked car, has pretty well ended, I can sense Gladys’s ongoing amusement as I continue to scribble furiously in an attempt to capture everything she’s said. And even though she kindly made a point of responding to my questions very slowly and very clearly—and, in fact, several times stopped herself in mid-sentence in order to give me a chance to catch up—I’m still a few sentences behind, and it’s making me sweat. “Can you tell me again what you said about the powerful fried bread?” I beseech her, as I bend down to retrieve my pen, which has dropped from my ferociously cramped fingers into a puddle. Gladys leans sideways and whispers from behind her hand, “You really should learn shorthand, Amanda. This is pitiful.”

Other things being talked about:
People truly enjoy it when folks from the Juskatla line come and spend time at the Honna line. For example, Alan Wilson’s visits and his skill in telling stories are still being talked about, chuckled about and appreciated. Also appreciated are the supporters who supply wood, cut wood, chop wood, and stack it. Their work feeds the fire, which, in turn, provides warmth, light, and a comfortable place for talking, listening and learning.