River Rough, River Smooth

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Anthony Dalton. River Rough, River Smooth

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RIVER ROUGH,

RIVER SMOOTH

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I met Ken McKay and Charlie in Winnipeg. They had driven down from Norway House for supplies and to meet me. They had doubts as to whether an outsider could keep up, or would fit in. I had my own concerns, yet had no wish to be rejected. It was interview time. Would I pass muster? Over coffee in a hotel restaurant, we discussed the forthcoming adventure.

“I have a difficult name so you can call me Charlie Long Name for short,” Charlie Muchikekwanape introduced himself with a smile and a flair that was to prove typical of his sense of humour and intelligence. In his mid-thirties, tall and solidly built, he sported a long, glistening, black ponytail tied back with a beaded thong. Ken, by contrast, was obviously closer to my age — though a few years younger. He was heavily built, with short, black, wavy hair. For an hour we discussed my background, the river, the York boat, and the book I planned to write. I had the impression that my many wilderness experiences in the Arctic, Africa, the Middle East, and elsewhere27 failed to move them. Their interest in me was solely based on how I would fare in their wilderness. They studied me as acutely as I studied them. They wondered about me. I wondered about them. We would be living and working close together for the next few weeks.

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