The Windigo and The Fork
By William Forgey, M.D.

Scott and Dave were lucky. Or at least they started out feeling very lucky. They were deeper into the North Woods than they had ever been in their lives. A remote cabin, 120 miles from the town of Churchill, Manitoba, a small town located halfway up the east coast of Hudson's Bay. Scott was the Junior Assistant Scoutmaster of Troop 16 and Dave was the Senior Patrol Leader. Scott's Dad had arranged for the boys to fly in to a small lake, about three miles from the cabin and to spend 10 days there over Christmas vacation when Boris, a trapper who lived in Churchill, was to arrive by snow mobile to bring them out.

The cabin was located at the very edge of the tree line. For thousands of miles north of them there was nothing but Arctic muskeg, "the barrens" as it is often called. While to the south a thousand miles of forest stretched to the plains of southern Canada and the US border. This cabin would have also been in the barrens except that it was in a valley that had protected the local trees from the severe blasts of Arctic cold that prevented their growth on the plateau above.

The incredible cold of this Canadian Arctic land made the remoteness even more impressive. In fact survival would not be possible if it was not for the down parkas and pants, heavy wool clothing and "polypro" underwear that Scott and Dave were wearing. But the cabin made the country not only safer to stay in, but allowed their adventure to be enjoyable. And what a cabin! Cut from local black spruce logs, the twelve foot square building had a sleeping loft, a wood burning stove, and a storage room that made the place appear like a palace in the north woods. To prevent cold leaks the cabin only had one small window on the ground floor, but two Plexiglas windows had been installed in the sleeping loft to catch the early morning and afternoon light.

Catching light was important, for there is little of it at that time of year in Northern Manitoba. The sun would peak above the horizon at 8:30 in the morning, then stay low on the southern horizon until it set by 2:30 in the afternoon. The rest of the time kerosene lights, and the flickering of light from the wood stove, was their only source of light. Unless they were outside after dark when the snow would reflect moonlight and frequently incredible displays of northern lights that could fill the entire sky with curtains of mysterious, flickering fire.

What an adventure! The plane flight in from Churchill allowed them a glimpse of the 100 miles of frozen barrens where they would soon be traveling over in a snow mobile. And then the edge of the forest with the tiny cabin tucked into the Manito River valley finally appeared through the frosty window of the plane.

The pilot buzzed the cabin, but they could not tell from the snow-covered mound whether it was ok or not. He swooped twice more over the river checking out the landing conditions before setting the plane down, actually bumping to a stop only a few hundred feet from the gap in the trees where the path probably led to the cabin.

The excitement of first stepping out of the plane was matched only by the hushed expectation of the boys as they snow shoed their way to the long abandoned cabin's door - hoping that the building was intact and habitable - or else their great adventure would have to be called off. The pilot went with them. The quiet of the frozen north seemed impressive after the engine noise during the hour and a half flight from Churchill. The only sound was the crunch of the snow shoes against the frozen snow and the excited puffing of their breath as they bound up the bank to the cabin site. The cabin was located only a short distance from the stream, but hidden by the trees well enough that it couldn't be easily seen.

As they approached the cabin they could see that the stovepipe was intact and the shutters were still fastened over the lower window. The Plexiglas windows in the sleeping loft above looked ok. They removed the large crow bar used to barricade the door - for in the tradition of the North Country this cabin had no lock - only a barricade to prevent animals from easily shoving the door open.

As they peered into the dark, empty cabin they could easily see that nothing was disturbed. There was no mess from animal destruction, the walls still had their chinking, the wood stove and its flue of stovepipe looked functional, and a variety of lamps, parts, and various tools were all in their proper place.

The pilot returned with the boys to the plane and helped them unload everything. They had kerosene, winter sleeping bags, extra clothes, a .30-.30 Winchester rifle and a 12-gauge shotgun - enough food to last the 10 days until Boris arrived and for the 3 day sled trip back to town - even food for the dogs for that return trip. The pilot was anxious to be off before his engine froze and possibly adding him to the guest list. And the boys were also eager for him to depart so that they could be on their own, away from all traces of civilization.

There was much to do at first. The shutters had to be taken down, the frozen pile of firewood uncovered, a water hole cut through 3 feet of river ice, and the stove started to heat the cabin. It was impossible to work with bare hands for the temperature hovered at 20 degrees below zero! With all of the hustle and bustle of their first day in the bush, it wasn't long before 2:30 came and the sunset. They boys enjoyed their first meal in the bush - a beef stew they had allowed to cook nearly all day on the hot wood stove.

That evening they stood beside the river's edge. The Windigo River seemed much wider in the night. They could barely see the dark splotch of the water hole against the pristine snow. And since they had been too busy to explore around that day, there were no other tracks that they could see in the fresh snow. While they stood beside the river, a dim yellow light began to glow above the stunted tree growth, slowly creeping higher in the sky. Their excitement grew as they witnessed a phenomenon strange and eerie. Growing stronger and more intense, the wavering light soared overhead, dancing wildly like a long silk scarf in a breeze. Swirls and whirlpools of light were oozing from its depths, while the shimmering enchantment danced across the sky in a florescent glow.

They stood in awe, in almost disbelief. Troops of bright yellow spears began marching vertically toward the west. After a time, the light began to fade, hanging in the heavens motionless, dissolving. The boys had witnessed their first grand display of the northern lights. It was more than the remoteness, the cold, and the unusual natural phenomena that gave the boys a strange thrill as they stood there that night. The cabin they were being allowed to use was almost never occupied. And for a reason. No Indian or white man would trap or live there, for it stood in a mysterious area. The very name of the river "Windigo River" was a warning of the awe which this area had for the persons who had named it. The windigo creature is known in nearly every northern Indian legend, sometimes translated as "he who walks on water and eats human bones." The myths about the windigo were known as far south as the Illinois Indians who had lived in the state that now bears their name.

"Tomorrow we will get breakfast before daylight so we can start to explore this area," Brain remarked, as much to himself as to his companion. Scott voiced his agreement. The short hours of daylight were too precious to be wasting inside cooking. There was much to do outside - and exploring this countryside, especially looking for tracks to examine the signs of animal life that surrounded them was high on the priority list. They felt certain that many unseen eyes were watching them. It would be nice to learn more about those eyes by examining their tracks in the snow tomorrow.

As they boys banked the stove and then snuggled into their sleeping bags in the loft, they were only vaguely aware of a muffled sound coming from the river.

Scott's wristwatch alarm went off the next morning at 7 AM, otherwise they would have surely overslept. It was hard getting up. The cabin temperature had dropped since the stove fire had died many hours before. Shining a light at the thermometer attached by a bracket outside the loft window, Scott could see that it was 38 degrees below zero! The muffled sounds had continued from the river all night. Dave had remarked that he was sure that it was the heaving of the frozen ice, as it cracked beneath the snow due to the intense cold. Scott felt that the thermometer proved that the cold was certainly intense.

The same fire that heated their cabin back to a comfortable temperature also cooked their breakfast of Red River cereal, a traditional north country breakfast which they had purchased in Winnipeg. The boys also prepared extra coffee for a mug-up on the trail and packed away hunks of fruit cake, beef sausage sticks, and pilot biscuits for a trail lunch.

Leaving the cabin just as the sun was glowing over the southeast horizon, the temperature had not warmed at all. Even getting into the snowshoes was an adventure, requiring quick work and many pauses to warm their fingers. But soon they were plowing their way through the snow, crossing the river with plumes of frozen breath hanging behind them in the still air.

They found just what they hoped they would see across the river. An incredible record of the otherwise invisible wildlife was written in the snow. Not a creature was stirring in the bitter cold, but the tracks of their recent activity gave away their presence. It was apparent that there had been martin, mink, and considerable movement of spruce grouse in the woods. The boys also discovered a fox trail. But they were not just looking at trails. They had also brought their sleds and a bow saw and axes, for they needed to cut more firewood to replace what they were using from the cabin woodpile.

Each day they repeated the adventure and the work required to live in the deep winter of the far north. Each night they huddled in the frozen cabin listening to the strange muffled sounds of the deep wilderness. They were becoming more and more acclimatized to the bitter cold, a process that was to be important if they were to successfully tolerate the long dog sled trip to the town of Churchill on Hudson's Bay.

As their trips took them further a field, they were not only seeing evidence of more and more species of wildlife, but also reading the dramas of life and death as they found several sites of recent kills marked by bloody, disheveled snow. These sights gave greater fascination to the wild sounds that they could not quite grow accustomed to hearing each night, sounds drifting into their cabin from that frozen wilderness. They could not but feel the wildness of the area. Perhaps it was the incredible remoteness, or the evidence of death and the struggle for survival that was evident all around them, but without any doubt there was an uneasiness that they were both feeling.

Call it what you will ... the Windigo, the Manito ... the remote wilderness had a spiritual component that was capable of drawing you into it deeper and deeper. It was not entirely unpleasant, but the constant evidence of death, the survival of the fittest, also cast a questionably evil sense to the experience.

That was the scary part. The mystery of this remote area had always had a fascination for both boys. They never quite understood why they would be drawn so strongly to being in the outdoors. This wasn't simply being outdoors, however. They were deep in the heart of the outdoors and were near the point of origin of the powerful pull that wild places had always exerted upon them both.

After spending a week in this frozen wilderness, the boys could almost feel that civilization was a dream and that what they were struggling with was the only reality of life. Dave particularly became fixated on the mysterious pull that this wildness seemed to generate. Especially at night, while listening to the muted sounds of the groaning ice. Or was it ice? Dave's excuse at first was that he wanted to check out these night noises and confirm that they were coming from the river. His solo sojourns into the night started one night with a simple ten-minute hike onto the river. The next night, however, he felt the need to go again, this time for half an hour. He knew it wasn't just to feel the ice rumble, but to be closer to the wildness all around him. To feel even more apart of it.

Scott, however, was looking forward to the dog sled trip more and more. It would be an adventure in itself, it would break the drudgery of daily life in the cabin, but more importantly, deep inside of him he was beginning to long for a link with humans again. To long for a break from the wildness of the frozen forest.

The third night Dave was gone for almost an hour and a half. Scott was concerned for his safety-who wants to be left alone in the North? But also genuinely worried about what was going on with Dave. And Dave gave very little explanation for the length of his absence upon his return. He seemed almost mesmerized by the beckoning call of this wild place. And that's when they had their big argument.

Now Dave and Scott were very good friends before this trip, and in fact had made many trips together. But Scott's annoyance with Dave's wandering started to expand into other areas. Perhaps he felt he was being abandoned, that Dave was taking risks by traveling alone that would threaten both their safety. Regardless, he started noticing other aggravating traits that Dave had. For example, the way brushed his teeth and then spit the water out between his front teeth. At first this was nothing, but as the tension mounted, it became somehow annoying. Then there was the matter of how Dave so thoroughly cleaned his plate. Now everyone is hungry during a wilderness trip. There never seems to be enough food. But Dave would literally scrape his plate clean with his fork. Scrape, scrape, scrape. Finally Scott had just about had it watching this happen with every meal.

How do you tell your partner you hate his guts by the way he holds his fork? Tension like this is without doubt contagious. So Dave's strong attachment to the call of the wild seemed to accelerate, partially to serve a selfish purpose, to enjoy the wilderness, partially to get away from the tension in the cabin.

And Scott's opinion of all of this? "Good, I'm glad the Manito is calling him. Maybe it will teach him how to eat properly!"

The fourth night Dave did not return at all. When Scott awoke at 4 am and found himself alone, he felt a sudden cold chill strike through him that even the bitter temperature could not account for. He had another 5 hours before daylight, so he started a fire to warm the icy cabin, hoping the light and warmth would ease the fear in his heart. But, of course it did not.

Alone on the edge of the barrens. The more he thought about it the more the more he realized how much Dave had been changing. He had seemed more than just interested in the wilderness. He had become captured by it. It was as if the Manito itself was achieving a presence within Dave. And that damn fork!

But even with that thought, Scott became more concerned about Dave. He could hardly wait for the sun to come up to go out to look for him. The wind had been gradually building until the snow started blowing off the Arctic plateau above them, dumping larger and larger amounts of snow into the valley. The five hours was like five years. But finally the glow brightened and a gray stormy day dawned. Scott rapidly saw it would be impossible to attempt to find Dave. The continuing storm made travel impossible. The wild seemed to have swallowed Dave whole.

And thus the day was spent alone. While the wilderness seemed to call to Dave, it was doing the very opposite at this time to Scott. He was feeling crushed by it. He wanted to stay in the cabin and was reluctant to go outside at all.

A cabin can be a place of refuge in the wilderness, but it also easily becomes a prison. And while a prison would be a horrible experience, it pales compared to the position that Scott was in. His best friend, and the only other human in this vast wilderness, Dave, had disappeared leaving him alone in it. He feared for Dave and he feared for himself. He did not know which of these emotions was the strongest. There is the cut to the quick fear that one has for his own survival; possibly nothing is stronger than that. But if there is, it is one thing; it is the fear that something has happened to your best friend, no matter how he holds his fork. And when that best friend is also your only link to civilization, it magnifies the combination of personal danger and grief that one could feel. And imagine doing all of this alone.

Eventually the long night came to a close-daybreak arrived. It was the day that Boris was to arrive. The day that was to represent the start of another adventure, but now was expressing something much more basic. Raw survival. Just to get out of this place had become Scott's strongest feeling. But just behind it was the loneliness of not knowing where or what happened to Scott.

Finally Scott heard the distant noise of a snow machine, a powerful snowmobile that Boris was riding. The sounds rose and fell, seeming at one moment close and the next far away, until finally there was the consistent racket of the powerful machine grinding it's way up the river near the cabin.

It stopped outside the cabin. The loud racket was replaced first by silence, and then the soft crunching of a person's making his way around the side of the cabin to the front door. Scott waited with baited breath until suddenly the door burst open and Boris stood there with a great grin on his face.

"How ya doing here, eh? Bet you're getting a bit lonely!" he exclaimed with a grin. But seeing Scott sitting, more or less cowering, dumbfounded, in the corner by the table, he immediately added "Well, I brought a present for you!"

Scott could hardly make sense of what he heard. He was safe! But his partner was gone. "I found him about 6 miles out, near the junction with the Churchill River, all cuddled up in a snow cave. Bet you thought the Manito got 'em, eh?"

And with that Dave crunched his way through the door. "Hi Scott! I never thought I'd be so glad to see a person this much in my life! I'm sorry I got carried away with the pull of the wilderness. It really taught me a lesson. I'm sorry that I pulled that stunt and left you here alone."

And Scott felt he had been given a great present, indeed, He was so thankful that Dave was alive and that he was no longer alone. But he never wanted to have to watch David eat with a fork again.



Story Outline

I. Dave and Scott fly to a remote cabin on the Windigo River in Northern Manitoba to spend ten days, before being joined by Boris with a snowmobile for a return trip to Churchill.

II. The mysterious wilderness exerts a pull on Dave, causing him to travel alone to enjoy it better.

III. Scott feels the stress of the lonesome wilderness and soon starts to notice minor problems with Dave’s mannerisms.

IV. Finally Scott concentrates on Dave’s use of his fork and it starts to drive him nuts. (“How do you tell your partner that you hate his guts because of the way he holds his fork?”)

V. Dave disappears into a storm one night and Scott is left alone. Scott feels sorry that his relationship with Dave has deteriorated over such minor things, and also feels the fear of being alone and anger at Dave for having put him into this situation.

VI. Boris arrives with the snowmobile. He has found Dave who was in a snow cave seeking refuge from the storm.

VII. Scott is thankful that his best friend is safe. But, he never wants to watch him eat with a fork again!