To begin there is one trail leading from St.George's River on to George's Lake, across to Grand Lake into central Newfoundland. Another is leading to Burgeo, a natural and common lead encompassed by roads of pavement today, and old paths still exist along those roads. The other is to Coone River that never opened doors to new land. It was always there, the traditional country trails of the South.
Harries River to the North side of the Gut, and onto Grand Lake,also lay ahead to a natural trail to the East. A well named South West Brook, one of many Capital Path’s to the enterior head waters to Lloyds Lake, onto Annieopsquatch Mountains, (I avenged this mound of fog and mist, the chill of the air in mid summer sensed my departure), then leading sout west in a clock-wise Caisson, as did the Indians traveled for long encounters in trapping. Then to Portage Lake. Here separates the last Lake of Fischels River to the second last lake or pond of Flat Bay Brook, the divide, people would call this area.
I worked guiding with my uncle George and Gordon Muise, then encamped along this country for caribou, moose, bear, and in later years I prospected most of the rivers and country of this area.
Ben Alexander, courtesy in interest of knowing different minerals in the area, took me to his hunting lodge, by air, two different times. At Portage Lake my accommodation was in his care, being there, and not my first, helped me in preparing this book.
I could see between those two Lakes is the Ancient Trail. Old Joe Paul traveled this area and met my grandfather John at this site, and many more Mi’kmaq, that trapped in Old Country Pond area.
Now on to little level, across Flat Bay Brook at Mandiewage, (one area), then to Bear Pond, across Sheep Brook, out to the Big Marsh, then to St.George’s. Only a few trails off many coming to light in my memory today.
I could write a book on this area itself, on my footprints in the western turf, but it would take another lifetime. (The Country Trails of Western Newfoundland). Those endless trails are the life in mind, body and spirit, only but a reflection of my kin of the past.
Old Joe Paul told me he knew the trails like the veins on the back of his hands but there are many, but dare not attempt by myself.
"Sake" he’d call me "Joe is getting too old, I need to rest my bones and prepare another journey in life".
"When the sun reaches the West, like my kin friends of the East", I told him. "Times have, changed Joe". "The money has changed every thing.. everything now is fading away, because there no one left trapping, only hunting caribou some time." he said.
"And them bully moose. Get my pipe Sake we will smoke in friendship, and you will learn the ways of our people, but you have to be quiet and listen to the silence."
Those moments in my life bonded me with my own journey in the heart of another. This man held much wisdom. Frankly, I’ve never came upon another. People thought he know little but the Holy Bible could not hold as much peace as Joe held in his heart.
For centuries Mi’kmaq people traveled these trap lines, only to live year by year with no security for when they could not travel any longer. They traveled up South West Pond, on to Peter Stride's Pond, then to Portage Lake, to Old Country Pond, and John Mary Pond, an encamping area that one could stay with plenty of natural previsions to survive, even at harsh winters.
Grandfather John and his wife Mary would talk of this area in a passionate manner and many other lakes and ponds of the Western country, those out to Bay St. George. There was no end to trails and no end to memories of such area of natural shops, even our gulls' shop those places that are not tampered with by humans of today.
Old Joe Paul and old John Muise crossed paths here many times, Joe told me. It’s where the separation of two great rivers flow into the Bay St.George, and separate the women/men from boys/girls. I scouted those worlds, and many times returned to this area, only to find remains of campsites of years long gone and looked at the rugged paths of the past.
On one trip I sited 38 caribou grazing off the tundra, three Moose funning about, three bears in a 30 mile radius, two foxes not knowing us dodged on, 40 or more partridge, many ducks, two geese, and a number of mice scampering about the country. Only once have I seen a hare hopping about with delight. This reminded me of our forefathers when they footed these mounds long before my time.
It was told many times.... I would salmon fish with Peter Stride, Jr., Ralph Muise, Murdock Jesso, at the Dan Pool (a dam put there by Hayes, Old River Drive.
"During the times of the railway, with logging before confederation, saw mills were set up along this place, down from the Path End, having a mug up and a lunch with caribou buns".... said Joe Paul.
"John Muise, Jonnie Oliver and I many times traveled this country, Trapping, Hunting, gathering medicine on our trap grounds, and people from Burgeo, Conne River too." he said. "Many hard times we encountered".
No one today could ever exalt the excitement and strength I received from those frank moments listening to Elders.
There has been an oversite of the natural form of livelihood that stood upon those frontiers, in our history that unfolded decades of change to the Mi’kmaq way of life in social, economic struggles that lead the foundation of three generation of history.
I can only manage trails, gravesites, settlements in those days of depression but never a documentary in manuscripts to honor or to promote Mi’kmak, (the artist of the interior).
Maybe 500 years from now, when society takes another change in progress, their names will flow with the dignity of the FIRST PEOPLE OF THIS LAND.
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