Roughing it in Comfort
by Gilbert Oskaboose

Akuna ma-tata [Ojibway for ahhh, the Good Life. . .]

Just spent a week up in the deep woods, living in a 20 foot tipi, admiring the moose, feasting on partridge and bearmeat - and wondering how the "poor folks" [living in houses] were doing back on the rez.

Our hunting territory is a wild and lonely place, endless miles of hardwood hills and dark brooding boreal forest, crisscrossed by logging roads, dotted by marshes, a solitary place of ravens and hawks. Sudden, violent autumn storms come down from the high country, to lash the land with freezing rain and lightning. It's a place of awe-inspiring thunderstorms, mystical sunrises and spectacular sunsets.

It was in the Moon of Changing Leaves, when the Creator paints the distant hills all crimson and gold. Frost flowers ringed the marshes and in the cold mornings, tendrils of golden mist rise from the ponds, straight up until they are combed out by the early morning breezes. The only humans around were a few loggers, the odd birdhunter, and three white boys freezing in nylon tents a few kilometres away.

I guess living in a tipi for a week is no big deal to some of the western and northern folk, but it was a new experience for me. I'm no city slicker. I've spent most of my life in the bush, doing it the hard way, sleeping in truck cabs, on the tailgate, on the ground, in frozen pup tents..... When I was young and hard I could sleep on a rifle and use a knife as a pillow, but those days are gone forever.

Never again. I'm sold on teepees. My nephew - Jeff Jacobs of Dreamcatcher Tipi Products - makes them right here on the rez. A good tipi is warm, spacious and secure. They're practical, portable and in the right setting, as pretty as the morning.

I'm impressed - with Indian ancestors who came up with the tipi idea in the first place, with the countless generations who fine-tuned them to what they are today - and with my nephew for helping to revive this ancient artform. What an amazing structure. It's as solid as a rock, even in the wildest of storms. A small cheery fire keeps it warm and dry on the coldest nights. Properly positioned flaps draw stale air, woodsmoke - and even those pesky mosquitos - straight out the smoke hole. A lightweight 4 ft. high liner prevents condensation from forming inside.

We cut poles, put the tipi up and had a warm fire going inside by sundown. Then we walked down the road to see it from a distance. The stark white canvas and column of woodsmoke were etched against a backdrop of dark evergreens. The whole scene was bathed in the soft light of an azure sky tinged to purple and pink by a crimson sun sinking slowly in the West. It was a spiritual moment. Life will never be the same. Now that I've seen the light there's no way I'm going back to sleeping in a pickup truck.

Never did get around to shooting some meat for the winter, although we sat and watched two giant bull moose and a dozen bears. Getting old and mellow, I guess. Have to do an overnighter - or the Clan will be eating pasta and licking out Bravo cans when the snow flies.

I'd rather be daydreaming - of next year's hunt with a pretty little 18 footer, flying the colours on shaved poles gleaming in the early morning sun, moose stick-figure drawings on the outside, geometric patterns on the liner, bearskin robes on willow backrests. . . .