Told by Ali Apaqquq to Moses Naukaguaq who made this translation.
In the summer of 1943, we went on a kayak trip – myself, Davidee Kavik and two other younger men named Mususiapik and Makusi.I was born in the spring of 1916. People (from the Belcher Islands) used to go to Great Whale River in the springtime when seals started to bask on the ice, and that is when I was born. That is my sole reference. I will turn 70 when spring arrives again. When the first Qallunaat [Whites] came to the Belchers to do a census, nobody knew Davidee’s age. I was the spokesman, so I said he was my age, even though I wasn’t sure whether he was younger or older. As a result, we both started to receive our old age pension at the same time. Nobody seems to mind.
That summer, Davidee and I originally had not planned to go to Great Whale River because a lot of other people were prepared to go once the ice left. But the ice left all at once and the sea was open to bad weather so many people changed their minds about going, and we and two other men were the only ones left to make the trip.
There was no pressing reason to make the trip except that we wanted tobacco. In our craving for cigarettes, we lost all fear. The need for bullets was another reason. Although there were bullets, tobacco, and tea at the Hudson’s Bay Company post in the Belchers – and we could see this merchandise through the store window – the trader wasn’t there. HBC traders, be they Inuk or Qallunaat, always went to Great Whale River when the value of fox fur dropped in the springtime. The store windows were boarded up and there was a sign on the door from the store manager to the RCMP. We only wished to smell the aroma of a little tobacco once again. Back then, it seemed to us that tobacco was the most important thing in the world. I should have used it at every opportunity because now that cigarettes are readily available, I cannot smoke anymore and have not done so for a long time. Back then all our fears were overcome by our desire for tobacco, and if a person knew where tobacco could be got, that person would be drawn to that place like a magnet. That’s how things were when we lived at Uviluqluit.
Before setting out on our trip to Great Whale River, we had to pick up the two young men who were to accompany us. We reached their camp and left on the trip the same day. We started heading downwind, using the small deck sails on our kayaks. But we had not even left the shelter of the Belchers when the members of our great expedition got seasick. We came upon a party of people from the other side of Tukayait, and because it was getting too dark and windy to proceed across the water heading east, we decided to stay overnight at their camp.
The sea was calm the next morning, and we departed from the camp accompanied by two more men, one from that camp and another from our camp. They accompanied us part way in order to look for eggs on an island we knew had lots of eider ducks. We over-nighted on that small island, and the next morning we left these two men who were to turn back from there. The four of us again continued eastward, crossing the water between islands. We did not know the area, and there were no maps at that time. In fact, as Inuit, we had never seen a map. We had sealskin clothing that we could put on if rain started or the wind picked up. And we had two types of mittens, a short pair which we used in calm waters and another pair with long sleeves made from old kayak covering which we wore in bad weather. We did not have covers for the kayak cockpit when we were paddling. At night as we laid inside our kayaks to sleep, we covered the holes with our avataqs (inflatable sealskin floats).
From the island where there were many ducks – we call it Iparaitualaaq – we reached another island and stayed there overnight. But we didn’t get much sleep because moulting geese kept us awake all night with their honking and walking around. We had killed some geese during the day, and the next morning we got a lot more. We got so many geese that we had to stay another night on that island. We could not carry such a load for a long distance, so we dressed our catch and took only the meat.
After that, we continued from island to island and then started to cross over to the mainland from what we thought was the easternmost island closest to the mainland. But, as we were unfamiliar with the area, we had in fact travelled south of the easternmost island. We couldn’t see it because it was low in elevation. If we had travelled farther north and started to cross from there, we would have been at an ideal starting-off point. As it was, we started crossing to the mainland once we could see the hills along Richmond Gulf, which appeared as islands with no land between them. If we had started crossing from the easternmost island, we would have at least seen the land between the hills and it would have taken less than a day to cross over. As it turned out, the easternmost island was to our left when we were crossing. We had no fear once we sighted the mainland, but it was far and the hills of Richmond Gulf were high.
The wind was blowing from behind us, so we had no fear. But the wind changed direction and then picked up. It started blowing increasingly stronger from the south. We could tell by the huge rolling waves that a storm was coming. We removed our sails because they cannot be taken down once the kayak starts bounding around in the waves. The sails are attached to the bow and must be removed with the paddle when the wind picks up too much. We drifted north and the wave crests started to break as the wind increased. We paddled alongside each other and tied our kayaks together to form a raft. We were lucky that we didn’t get into the path of a breaking wave at that time. We sure didn’t do this all by ourselves – we were under the care of God, although we didn’t think about that then because we were more or less pagan. But we were assisted by God even in those days.
I once had an uncle who was my father’s younger brother, and he used to instruct me in all aspects of survival. He used to say that if the weather gets bad while you’re out at sea in a kayak and it seems as if a disaster might happen, than all the kayaks must quickly be joined to form a raft while it is still possible to do so. As this was happening to us, we took hold of each other’s deck straps so we could tie our kayaks together. But the sea was so rough that our hands just snapped open when the waves forced the kayaks apart. Then I thought of an idea that nobody had ever taught me. I went downwind from the other three kayaks and threw out a long rope with a piece of wood attached to the end. I told Davidee, who was as experienced as I was, to get his kayak between me and the wood and pick it up, and in this way were able to draw ourselves together and form a raft. We did this with all four kayaks and tied them together with stout ropes, one securing the bows together and another securing the aft of the kayaks together. When we were done, the raft felt very safe and could only be disrupted by being completely rolled over. But there was no way the raft would turn over. The bows were facing the wind. When I was learning how to hunt, my father used to face the bow downwind and the waves washed over the aft deck easily because it was lower. But we experimented by pointing the bow upwind, and sure enough, we rode the storm without water entering the cockpits.
Because we were drifting northward, we rigged a sea anchor by tying our loads together. When we lowered this makeshift anchor into the water, it seemed like we stopped drifting, just as if the anchor was on the bottom of the ocean. We had tied the goose carcasses together by the wing and leg stumps using a long thick rope. But we were drifting for sure. It just didn’t seem like it because we couldn’t see land. We weren’t afraid at all.
Fog had set in and there was a drizzle as it got darker in the evening, so we decided to stop for the night. We spent one night at sea. Our only problem was the possibility of running out of drinking water. We tried not to eat too much meat because that makes one thirsty. We had lots of food, but we tried not to be too hungry. When Davidee and I had been preparing for the trip, the younger fellows went to fetch drinking water. We told them to fill up two pots, which were not small. We would have had enough water for the crossing if they had filled the pots, but for some reason they spilled out half the water before they arrived back. We weren’t pleased at all, and the pond where they got the water wasn’t nearby. We were all set to keep going because we had paddled some distance that day. On the evening before the night we were to spend at sea, we ran out of drinking water. We wouldn’t have a drink again until we reached the mainland.
During the night, as we drifted without drinking water, the wind died down and it became calmer and calmer as dawn came. We unlashed our kayaks before the sky became bright, when we knew that we could safely paddle again. There was a thick fog, and our only reference to guide us was the direction the waves were rolling. As we paddled toward where we thought the land was, a long tunnel of clear air opened and we could see land at the other end. We were heading too far north and the land was to our right, so we changed our direction and the tunnel closed soon after we got our bearings. Because of this, we reached land earlier than we otherwise would have. If the land hadn’t appeared momentarily, we would have spent all day in the water, heading too far north. We were using the swells as direction indicators because the larger swells do not change direction easily even when the wind direction changes. I wonder if the waves still do that. It doesn’t seem like it when one is old and toothless.
We reached land long before evening, on the largest island north of Richmond Gulf. When we landed we went immediately to a pond on flat bedrock, laid face down side by side at the edge and drank to our hearts’ content. We were so tired that we all fell asleep in that position at the edge of the pond. We had pulled our kayaks up on shore with the intention of not moving again for the day. Somebody woke up – I forget who it was – and said that the fog had lifted. Sure enough, there was none and the sea was mirror calm. We set out in our kayaks again and headed south because we knew for sure we were too far north.
We had all heard of the Richmond Gulf Hazard (Tuksujuuk) and how long and narrow it was. We recognized it when we passed in front of it. The cliffs of the Hazard mouth were easily recognizable. After we paddled some distance farther, we saw an engine-powered boat and thought that we had met some Qallunaat because no Inuk ever used a motor boat. But it was Sammy Crow and Charlie Kumaluk with the members of their families. We had met them near the mouth of Little Whale River (Qilalugaksiuvik), but we didn’t know it. When they asked us if we knew where Qilalugaksiuvik was, we replied that we had heard about it but didn’t know where it was. They pointed to it and told us they were going to land there. They told us to follow along behind while they went on ahead to make tea. They gave us some tobacco to smoke, so we didn’t follow them right away. We rolled our cigarettes and smoked. I got so high that I kept looking at my paddles to see if they were dipping in the water the wrong way, because I couldn’t feel any resistance anymore.
We reached the people who had gone ahead of us while they were still gathering firewood to make tea. The tobacco had energized us, and we helped them gather the wood. Sammy Crow and Charlie Kumaluk gave us instructions about our intended route to Great Whale River and told us we would have to paddle for a day and a half yet. We parted company at Little Whale River when the sea was calm. Later when it got dark the wind started blowing from the east and we began to smell p1ants we never smelled before. This energized us again and we speeded along. We enjoyed the fragrances all night.
We had been told to go through a strait called Mitiqsitik north of Great Whale River. We thought we had found it when we saw a valley against the skyline. But it turned out to be a bay, and while we were trying to get out of it, the other kayaks started to leave me behind much to my surprise. I paddled harder, but then my paddle touched bottom and I realized that I was stuck on a sand bar. I was lucky that it was sand that I was stuck on and not rocks; the sealskin kayak cover did not get punctured. Once we got out of the bay, we stopped for the night before reaching Mitiqsitik.
We reached Great Whale River the next day long before evening, even though we took our time because we were tired. The wind was blowing lightly and we let our deck sails do the pushing in order to conserve our energy. When we got to Great Whale River, there were Inuit on the shore as we pulled up on the beach. We knew an HBC interpreter there named Ningauraaluk and we went to see him first. Even before consulting with the store manager, he told us not to go out in kayaks again because he feared for our lives. The manager told us that the HBC boat would be leaving for the Belchers soon and that we should wait for it. He said this right away even before we started trading. We waited, although we didn’t wish to because the weather thereafter was beautiful. We had travelled for a week to Great Whale River under poor conditions, but as we sat around for two or three weeks, the weather was much better than before.
At that time, there were some people from the Belcher Islands at Great Whale River. They had gone to Great Whale River earlier in the spring and then could not return home because the ice had started moving. The whole family was there and they had two relatives waiting in the Belchers. The family and all their dogs and sleds were put on the boat. As it turned out, the man and wife were to die shortly afterwards. Even the boat’s captain, Makusialuk, is long departed, I have heard. I recently saw a man who worked on the HBC boat back then. We were both in the Moose Factory hospital and he recognized me. I had seen him often after the boat trip to the Belchers. He remembered how all the passengers threw up on that trip. We couldn’t speak to each other, so we had an interpreter.
When we were getting close to the Belcher Islands, the captain of the HBC boat pulled out a map and I told him where to head. Back then there was no way I could speak to a Qallunaat, so I spoke to him in Inuktitut when I gave him instructions on our bearings. Nowadays, even though I hear Qallunnaat speaking their language all the time and I am always going south, I still cannot understand them. My hearing is perfect but this is how I am. Pointing to the map, I told the captain we had gone the wrong way. “No good. Uviluqluit are here,” I kept saying. I knew how to say “no good” in English, and I finally made him understand. He believed me and changed course. I kept saying, “Turn more this way” in Inuktitut and he did as I asked. The captain said he would drop us off at home in Uviluqluit when we passed by there, but a policeman on board suddenly decided that he wanted to see the HBC house first. We decided to head home by kayak, but after we had helped unload the boat because we wanted the income from that even though it probably didn’t amount to very much. At the time, we thought the income was a lot and that we could obtain something with it like tobacco.
Later that fall, two young men who had gone with us on this trip went sculpin fishing one day at Nuasaqna. By then we were not camped at Uvilugluit. We had moved to another area. The weather was bad that day with the wind blowing strongly from the south. The tide was very high. The two men were heading home after fishing, and they attempted to go through Tuksukatak across to Ukusialuktalik to their camp. It was so windy that travelling by water wasn’t even considered possible, so nobody expected them to come home at that time. But they tried to cross over to their camp and with no one knowing about it. Their kayaks were seen washing up on shore, close together but separate.
Nobody knows where they capsized. Perhaps they could have been seen when it happened, but nobody considered looking for them because the sea was so rough and windy. There is a strong current in that area and their bodies never washed ashore. One man, Mususiapik, had just recently married my wife’s younger sister Maggie. The other, Makusi, had also recently gotten married to my sister, but fortunately he had not taken her on this trip. A sealskin rope that they had used to tie their kayaks together had been accidentally cut by a harpoon head when they were in rough water. We always told them to tie a knot away from a harpoon head if they used a harpoon line to tie something, but they had slipped the rope through the loop where the head was attached. They had only been back at home for one week when they drowned. We were camped near them at another site.
Reprinted from E.Y. Arima, Inuit Kayaks in Canada: A Review of Historical Records and Construction, Canadian Museum of Civilization, Ottawa, 1987.