ODDBALLS
Why was it so important to me to go and visit Hap at Eskakwa? I wouldn’t have made the same effort, taken the time, if he was living in southern Ontario surrounded by so-called civilization.
Living with his family as he did now, deep in northern Ontario and isolated at Eskakwa during the winter, somehow epitomised our friendship. Our friendship was founded on dreaming, founded on longing for a simpler life, a life where you could shed the human envelope and rekindle our ancient link to wilderness.
As teenagers, Hap and I were always outside, regardless of the weather. We enjoyed any activity that physically challenged us. Our activities, starting with simply running through the woods, climbing trees and sleeping under the open sky, turned to canoeing and winter camping as we got older.
In high school we thrived on being different. We did not hang out at the local mall with the other students, we did not go to their parties, and we did not smoke dope. We were considered oddballs by the other students but this only intensified our urge to be different. We competed at being different, we competed at being loners, and we competed physically.
High school is a tough environment. You conform to fit in with the norm or you struggle endlessly to maintain your conviction. We reacted against the norm, against conformity, against fitting in!
When we were in grade ten, the school held a walkathon. Most of our class walked from the school all the way down to Toronto City Hall, a distance of thirty-five kilometres. Hap and I were the first to enter the square at City Hall.
When the bus came to pick up all the students and take us back to the school, Hap and I did not get on; we walked back. It was past midnight when we staggered through the front door of Hap’s house totally exhausted.
Visiting Hap during the winter was special. I have always liked winter; it is the season when you have to live consciously, be precise. Everything needs to be taken more seriously in the winter; running out of food, getting lost, cutting yourself, breaking an arm, or falling through the ice. You don’t even have to be that far from civilization for any of these situations to be serious.
I remember as a kid, I was probably only eight or nine, when my dog walked out on a small pond and fell through the ice. It tried and tried to get to land but couldn’t. I don’t recall thinking about it, but I jumped in. I made it the few meters out to the dog, breaking ice all the way, and then struggled to get back.
When we got to shore the dog shook itself, but this was not an option for me. The trip home was agony. I was cold and my clothes began to freeze; it was only by running all the way that I stayed warm.
Winter with lots of snow and cold is when I feel most alive – exhilarated. I love trudging through the snow on snowshoes or gliding along a trail on my skis. When it is really cold, you can feel and hear the squeaking of the snow under your feet. The cold air bites the inside of your nose. Wilderness in winter tests your resolve.
Hap and I had dreamt about living a simple self-reliant life close to the spiritual birthplace of all humans. Thoreau was a hero to us. Our utopia was similar to his ‘Walden’.
Now I was going in to share Hap’s Walden, if even for just a brief moment.