The “fire” on my mother-in-law’s television place burned almost continuously, day and night, during the recent Christmas season. When Linda and I stayed in her home I experienced a real dose of insomnia. Sometime during the night I sleepily wandered into the den where she has the tv. The fire seemed so genuine, I was moved to touch the screen. In my sleep deprived state I actually thought it might be warm. It wasn’t, of course, but the image of the fire burning so lustily conjured up camp fire memories from expeditions on the Bowron Lakes circuit near Barkerville.
I was working at that time with young offenders at the One Way Adventure Foundation, situated on the periphery of Hedley. The five youths in my group had experienced mostly failure and were considered unwelcome in their own communities. By taking them into the wilderness we wanted to give them a success experience, and also hoped to develop relationships of trust with them.
One expedition provided particularly vivid memories. There were two groups. Toby, our no nonsense Expedition guide was paddling with the other crew because their worker had little outdoors experience. On our second night, setting up camp at Wolverine Creek on Isaac Lake, we saw several bears observing us with great interest. They had learned that campers carried food.
I was becoming aware of a feud simmering between two boys in my group. Clem, a kid with a street fighter reputation, had taken a strong dislike to Jerry. With his long unkempt black hair, a faint, scrawny moustache and several front teeth missing, Clem’s appearance tended to intimidate. He seemed to need an adversary and had selected Jerry. Jerry was Clem’s equal in height, but lacked even a hint of ferocity. He was clever though, and let it slip he had a brown belt in karate. Clem understood instinctively he might be at a disadvantage against a trained practitioner of martial arts. No one was certain Jerry actually had a brown belt.
As we were about to depart from Wolverine Creek on Wednesday, the third morning, another camper offered me a trout he had just caught. I tied it behind my canoe and my paddling partner and I towed it all day. That evening our two groups camped at the end of Isaac Lake. Toby built a large, hot fire as usual. Clem furiously chopped wood, consuming some of his pent up inner frustration. Carl, Jim, Jerry and Howie joined me in setting up tents and hanging a tarp over the fire in case of rain. A couple and their son had stayed near our party on the lake and we invited them to our camp after dinner.
Sitting on blocks of wood around Toby’s roaring fire, we basked in the warmth. Everyone, including our 3 visitors, received a piece of perfectly done fish. I prepared cups of hot chocolate and handed out chunks of semi-sweet chocolate. Then Toby read a chapter from Jack London’s Call of the Wild. By 9 o’clock the sun had slipped to the other side of the mountain and we retired to our tents.
Thursday we broke camp early and paddled and portaged to McLeary Lake, where we had a rest day on Friday. The only excitement came when Carl caught a fish on his line. When he pulled it close, the fish darted under the canoe. Exasperated, Carl jumped into the water and followed the fish. He emerged spluttering, empty handed.
Saturday morning we encountered a stiff headwind on Lanezi Lake and drew close to the rocky shore. When the wind eased, the black flies descended on us. That spurred us on and we entered Sandy Lake. Here Toby surprised us by singing “Bobby McGee.”
We camped on the lake’s sandy shore and were again joined by the couple, their young son, and a family of 5. Toby was asked for an encore performance. We sat around the fire until late, telling stories and singing. For the boys it was a novel social experience and even Clem laughed occasionally.
After two more days of paddling, we reached the far shore of Bowron Lake. When we had dragged our canoes onto land, the boys spontaneously formed a circle, locked arms and did a victory dance. Then Clem approached Jerry and I heard him say, “You’re ok man.” Jerry reached out a hand and said, “You too Clem.” Maybe it was the magic of the campfires.