Voyageur's Song
18/09/14 04:38
The voyageurs are an indelible part of the history of Canada, especially the northern part. They operated as freight haulers in the days of the fur trade, covering thousands of miles by canoe. Their canoes were specially made to haul really large loads by human paddle. They had to be light enough to be portaged over the areas separating the lakes and rivers, tough enough to run the easier rapids and to be lined down some that were too rough to navigate by paddle. Of course there were also waterfalls and unnavigable stretches of rapids that required additional portages.
A typical voyageur was a relatively short man, probably 5’2” to 5’8” tall - my size, though I doubt that any of them had my portly figure. None carried an ounce of extra fat. They had to be lean and muscular. A starting load for a voyageur was a minimum of 100 pounds, but it was common for them to carry up to 180 pounds or more on a long portage. Portages were broken up by breaks every half hour, but some of the loads were so precariously situated on the backs of the voyageurs that they had to take their breaks standing up and bearing the weight of their packs. A tumpline was used to allow the neck muscles to participate in bearing the load and to take some of the strain off of the shoulders. Tumplines were also vital to balancing the load.
The basic meal for a voyageur consisted of bannock - a hearty and heavy bread that is first fried, then allowed to bake by absorbing heat from the fire. There are a lot of different recipes for bannock. I use prepared biscuit mix, but a true voyageur would shun such a concoction. One recipe calls for pouring a quart of water into the top of a sack of flour (the voyageurs carried flour in 100# bags). The mixture was kneaded in the top of the bag. When the dough was the right consistency, it was lifted from the bag, leaving the dry flour behind. Baking powder was added as well as a pound of raisins, if they were available and some form of fat or grease. This was kneaded before being put into the flying pan.
Once a day, usually after dark in the evening, they voyageurs were served a stew made with pemmican. Sometimes, in contemporary society, bacon is used as a substitute for pemmican, but it isn’t the same thing at all. Pemmican is mostly fat, with bits of dried meat. Pemmican was developed by the indigenous peoples of North America as a survival food in a very harsh environment. The name pemmican comes from the Cree word with a similar pronunciation, which is derived from the word Pimi, meaning “fat,” or “grease.” Pemmican stew was a greasy mixture, thickened with a bit of flour and flavored with salt and pepper. Because the profit for the voyageurs was in the amount of freight moved, the individual voyageurs were encouraged to travel lightly. The typical kit for a voyageur was a single blanket, perhaps a change of socks, and a hand-carved spoon. Most voyageurs found smooth rocks with indentions to use as bowls. These rocks were discarded when it was time to carry the freight on portage and a new rock was later found. Those who lost their spoons simply licked the stew mixture from the surface of the rock.
Bone tired from 12 to 18 hours of continuous paddling and portaging, they simply went to sleep on the hard ground with a single blanket to cover themselves. If it was windy or raining, they huddled under the upturned canoes for a bit of shelter. There were no tents, no air mattresses, no mosquito nets or repellants. It was a harsh life. At the most they had four or five months to earn a year’s wages.
There were two luxuries of the voyageur’s life. The first was the dram of rum, portioned out by the bourgeois at the end of the most difficult and longest days and occasionally when particular destinations were reached. This luxury paled, however, in the face of the greatest luxury of the voyageur - the absolutely beautiful scenery through which they traveled and the beauty that surrounded them every day. The day started with a spectacular sunrise, often over a gorgeous lake. The day ended with a dramatic sunset that filled the sky. Rainbows stretched from horizon to horizon and the spruce and birch and pine trees filled the forest. The voyageurs were surrounded by abundant wild animals and birds beyond counting. A fleet of white pelicans flying in formation over a huge inland lake is enough to take your great away.
The voyageurs sang. They sang as they paddled to maintain their rhythm. They had other songs for the portage to keep their energy high when they were working close to the limits of human endurance. They sang in the evening around the campfire and they had songs for waking each other in the morning.
They sang because they were men who loved their freedom. They were men who loved the test of the wilderness. They were men who loved living close to nature. Even with a rocky and lumpy bed insomnia is no problem for those who are too tired to do anything except sleep. And then the next day there is more beauty, more adventure, more of the world to see, a cup of tea with lunch and dinner and with a little luck a dram of rum from the bourgeois’ cask.
It has been a long time since the songs of the voyageurs rang through the north woods. Many of their songs have been forgotten. The collapse of the fur trade combined with the rise of the railroads and their way of life was lost to history. The land they crossed has remained empty for the most part. There are a few mines and a few remote villages. Here and there are fly-in tourist hunting and fishing camps. But the land remains empty.
When I paddle in the wee hours in my home a thousand miles south of the land of the voyageurs, I can still hear their songs. I get up early and paddle because my life demands that I exercise for endurance. Like the voyageurs, I occasionally face a long day on short rations.
Like the voyageurs, I need a song in my heart and fresh air in my lungs to greet the new day.
A typical voyageur was a relatively short man, probably 5’2” to 5’8” tall - my size, though I doubt that any of them had my portly figure. None carried an ounce of extra fat. They had to be lean and muscular. A starting load for a voyageur was a minimum of 100 pounds, but it was common for them to carry up to 180 pounds or more on a long portage. Portages were broken up by breaks every half hour, but some of the loads were so precariously situated on the backs of the voyageurs that they had to take their breaks standing up and bearing the weight of their packs. A tumpline was used to allow the neck muscles to participate in bearing the load and to take some of the strain off of the shoulders. Tumplines were also vital to balancing the load.
The basic meal for a voyageur consisted of bannock - a hearty and heavy bread that is first fried, then allowed to bake by absorbing heat from the fire. There are a lot of different recipes for bannock. I use prepared biscuit mix, but a true voyageur would shun such a concoction. One recipe calls for pouring a quart of water into the top of a sack of flour (the voyageurs carried flour in 100# bags). The mixture was kneaded in the top of the bag. When the dough was the right consistency, it was lifted from the bag, leaving the dry flour behind. Baking powder was added as well as a pound of raisins, if they were available and some form of fat or grease. This was kneaded before being put into the flying pan.
Once a day, usually after dark in the evening, they voyageurs were served a stew made with pemmican. Sometimes, in contemporary society, bacon is used as a substitute for pemmican, but it isn’t the same thing at all. Pemmican is mostly fat, with bits of dried meat. Pemmican was developed by the indigenous peoples of North America as a survival food in a very harsh environment. The name pemmican comes from the Cree word with a similar pronunciation, which is derived from the word Pimi, meaning “fat,” or “grease.” Pemmican stew was a greasy mixture, thickened with a bit of flour and flavored with salt and pepper. Because the profit for the voyageurs was in the amount of freight moved, the individual voyageurs were encouraged to travel lightly. The typical kit for a voyageur was a single blanket, perhaps a change of socks, and a hand-carved spoon. Most voyageurs found smooth rocks with indentions to use as bowls. These rocks were discarded when it was time to carry the freight on portage and a new rock was later found. Those who lost their spoons simply licked the stew mixture from the surface of the rock.
Bone tired from 12 to 18 hours of continuous paddling and portaging, they simply went to sleep on the hard ground with a single blanket to cover themselves. If it was windy or raining, they huddled under the upturned canoes for a bit of shelter. There were no tents, no air mattresses, no mosquito nets or repellants. It was a harsh life. At the most they had four or five months to earn a year’s wages.
There were two luxuries of the voyageur’s life. The first was the dram of rum, portioned out by the bourgeois at the end of the most difficult and longest days and occasionally when particular destinations were reached. This luxury paled, however, in the face of the greatest luxury of the voyageur - the absolutely beautiful scenery through which they traveled and the beauty that surrounded them every day. The day started with a spectacular sunrise, often over a gorgeous lake. The day ended with a dramatic sunset that filled the sky. Rainbows stretched from horizon to horizon and the spruce and birch and pine trees filled the forest. The voyageurs were surrounded by abundant wild animals and birds beyond counting. A fleet of white pelicans flying in formation over a huge inland lake is enough to take your great away.
The voyageurs sang. They sang as they paddled to maintain their rhythm. They had other songs for the portage to keep their energy high when they were working close to the limits of human endurance. They sang in the evening around the campfire and they had songs for waking each other in the morning.
They sang because they were men who loved their freedom. They were men who loved the test of the wilderness. They were men who loved living close to nature. Even with a rocky and lumpy bed insomnia is no problem for those who are too tired to do anything except sleep. And then the next day there is more beauty, more adventure, more of the world to see, a cup of tea with lunch and dinner and with a little luck a dram of rum from the bourgeois’ cask.
It has been a long time since the songs of the voyageurs rang through the north woods. Many of their songs have been forgotten. The collapse of the fur trade combined with the rise of the railroads and their way of life was lost to history. The land they crossed has remained empty for the most part. There are a few mines and a few remote villages. Here and there are fly-in tourist hunting and fishing camps. But the land remains empty.
When I paddle in the wee hours in my home a thousand miles south of the land of the voyageurs, I can still hear their songs. I get up early and paddle because my life demands that I exercise for endurance. Like the voyageurs, I occasionally face a long day on short rations.
Like the voyageurs, I need a song in my heart and fresh air in my lungs to greet the new day.