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THIRTEEN

THUNDERHOUSE

The Devil has made off with one of the packs!

— Native companion of explorer Phillipe Turner at Thunderhouse Falls portage, 1781

Canadians, generally speaking, are known for their rational, even-keel approach to the supernatural. Even some of our great writers have denied that Canada is home to ghosts, pixies, and monsters of world-class stature. Certainly, Indian mythology and legend have become the stuff of children’s bedtime stories, but underlying the surface fluff is a Pandora’s Box of hardcore demonkind.

Their existence has long been repudiated, dismissed, and sublimated by science, logic, Christianity, and cultural disconnection from the natural world. Our fears, however, remain. Demons thrive yet in the deep recesses of the forest and our minds. Mythology played an important role in the everyday life of the woodland Aboriginal people who believed that everything living or inanimate had a soul, a purpose, and a voice.

After thirty-five years of extensive research, personal observations, and experiences along the trail, I can report that I have witnessed many strange events — some of which have been precursors to mysterious deaths and disappearances. Oddly enough, an increasing number of canoe deaths within the Canadian wilds have occurred at places of “harmonic convergence” — specific sites where the corporeal world (the world as we know it in material means or “the land of upright life” to the Anishnabeg) melds easily with the incorporeal, or spirit world. Most often located at places of peculiar geophysical nature (pinnacles, waterfalls, cliff faces), they are strikingly beautiful, pristine, and isolated (getting less so as industry encroaches and destroys wilderness). Medicine men and women of the Medewewin Society (shamans dedicated to healing and soul therapy) used these sacred sites for ceremonies over the centuries. Drums, chants, and even hallucinogens (frequently peyote and magic mushrooms) helped to induce the shamanic trance and soul travel. No one was allowed to pass these places without leaving a gift for the resident spirit, generally tobacco or a medicine bundle. In return, the spirit would allow safe passage to either a physical or metaphysical destination. Thunderhouse Falls is one of those places.

Thunderhouse Gorge is probably the most acclaimed attraction of the Missinaibi River for its remarkable beauty, if for no other reason. But there is much more to it than simple visual appeal. Geologically, it represents the bold interface between the rocky Precambrian Shield and the James Bay Lowlands, exposing one of the thickest, continuous stratigraphic displays of early Precambrian gneisses and migmatites (striated and folded rock probing almost half a kilometre below the steep canyon walls). Mother Earth herself, exposed and vulnerable.

Thunderhouse also marks the rapid transition between Shield boreal forest and the vast, impenetrable slough of muskeg and spruce that runs to the sea. During the fur trade era it represented a monumental navigational obstacle fifteen kilometres long, establishing itself as a “rendezvous” point of exchange between Moose Factory rivermen and the voyageurs of the interior who came from as far away as Lake Superior and the Michipicoten Post.

But by far the most intriguing quality of Thunderhouse is its representation as a place of shamanic practice, in a physical and spiritual rationale. It once marked the division between western Ojibway and eastern James Bay Cree territories. Shamans from both cultures performed ceremonies here. The Conjuring House Rock — a pillar of impervious stone rising seventy-five feet out of the depths of the canyon below the falls, resembles the very shape of the Algonkian shaman’s sacred “shaking tent.” It is little wonder that early Native healers and seekers practised ceremonio-religious rites at this place.

It is purported that the shamans collected magic mushrooms — “shrooms” — that grew along the portage trail, for use in their ceremonies. When I first visited Thunderhouse, and carried my packs over the sixteen-hundred-metre trail, the first thing I noticed was the abundance of Amanita muscaria; easily recognized by its large rust-orange, white-spotted cap and phallic stem. Red squirrels had been collecting the shrooms, and pieces were either eaten out of them or chunks carried up trees and stuffed in the crotches of branches. Amanita muscaria is considered an edible mushroom but depending on the dosage, it could be lightly hallucinogenic. It was used as a winter tonic enhancer and relaxant (in mild doses), and as a hallucinogen (in heavier doses) for ceremonial use. However, muscaria does not have the potency and negative effects of the Psilocybe mushrooms. Psilocybe mushrooms can easily be mistaken for deadly shrooms, whereas the Amanita muscaria is recognizable and autonomous.

The use of magic mushrooms has been verified through archaeological studies and research; evidence for their ceremonial use goes back thousands of years. Several Mesolithic rock paintings from Tassili n’Ajjer (a prehistoric North African site) have been identified as depicting shamanic use of mushrooms. Increased use and dosage carries the possibility of a spiritual event known as “ego death,” whereby the user loses the sense of boundaries between their physical body and the environment, creating a sort of perceived (or real) universal unity — an out-of-body experience. Actual death doesn’t occur, although it is said that the once the soul leaves the body on a journey, the physical being is at risk (from cold, hypothermia, animal attack, falling, injury, etc.). Usually, there is a “keeper of the body” nearby to tend to the shaman’s physical body while the soul is travelling. Poet Dylan Thomas remarks, “… after the first death, there is no other,” which could be translated to mean that once the shaman gets the hang of it, the door into the spirit world opens more readily.

The spirit presence at Thunderhouse is very strong with dual personalities. It can be very angry and dangerous; or elusive, playful, and mischievous. As mentioned in a previous chapter, several people have died here, even experienced canoeists who got lured into the rapids above the falls. Nebaunaubaequae, to the Anshnabeg, was a symbol of the incorporeal nature of the water, appearing to man as a woman, and to woman as a man, seducing or enticing the victim and then drowning them. At Thunderhouse, Neb may very well be manifesting itself as a luring water spirit, tempting canoeists to run the rapids instead of taking the safe route along the portage. It was easy to get caught up in the water-play. Out of curiosity, I solo canoed down the rapids leading to the falls that had been the cause of five deaths and multiple close calls over the years. I’ve run many rapids, rapids more difficult and technical than these, but there was something deathly mysterious about this run. I felt that it had an aura, a drawing effect that pulled you deep into the centre channel away from shore — a dangerous place to be in high water as it was difficult to extricate yourself safely away from the current pulling you toward the falls. Here you could see the calm of the pool at the bottom of the rapids, where the portage trail was marked on the maps — a trail that didn’t exist — and the lure of an easy carry around the gorge was appealing. The falls remains invisible, inaudible, until your canoe passes through a narrow cut in the rock and the river pulls hard to the left as if crouching, waiting for you around the corner of a building. Once there you can’t escape unless you’re very lucky; if you swamp, the current is too strong to fight against … and Nebaunaubaequae claims another victim.

The Paueehnsuk also dwell here; little creatures that reside along the rocky shores who emerge in the evening to play along the dark corridors of the forest. They sit beside your tent at night and enter your dreams, trying to negate the powerful energy and influence of Nebaunaubaequae by sending you messages and warnings. Sometimes they just like to play tricks. Maybe you portaged your camping gear and set up your tent near the precipice overlooking the canyon, and left your canoe at the trailhead thinking you could run the rapids in the morning. Maybe you had a dream that night, something unsettling that made you change your mind about running the rapids above the falls, and you ended up making the long portage, all the time trying to think of why or what changed your mind.