On Haida Gwaii
My return to Haida Gwaii was so complex and deeply personal that any public writing about it will, by choice, only skim the surface of the experience.
Last week, in Italian style, I trained up to Vancouver B.C., spent the day and night, then hopped on a puddle jumper to fly north for two hours. Haida Gwaii (two years ago officially changed from being called the Queen Charlotte Islands) is a cluster of two large islands and 150 or so small islands, so far north that SE Alaska is on the horizon.
You have to WANT to get there; there’s no easy way. 1) You can fly from Seattle to Vancouver to Sandspit (on the south island), then take a shuttle van, then take a little ferry to the north island, then rent a car and drive an hour and a half north to Old Massett. OR, 2) you can drive for 13 hours inland to Prince George, then drive 13 hours the next day to Prince Rupert on the coast, then take the 8 hour ferry ride to Skidegate, then drive north for an hour and a half. OR 3) you can do what I did and train or drive to Vancouver, spend the day and night there, take the sky train to the airport for an early morning flight, and fly directly into New Masset.
Haida Gwaii is far north of Vancouver Island.
The scene out the window, along the “Inside Passage” and the coast of British Columbia.
Landing in New Masset.
Years ago, I used to spend a month during summers in the town of (New) Masset, at the north end of Graham Island, fishing and beach combing. During that time, I developed friendships that I treasure to this day, especially with Merle – a Haida basketweaver – and Knud, their family and their Haida community. It was a solemn reason for going up this time. Merle’s dear sister, Emily, had passed away, and I went to take part in her memorial celebration.
Merle & Knud.
The fishing cabin and its current condition.
Lunch shortly after my arrival was delicious smoked salmon spread on Knud’s homemade Danish rye bread, along with a soup of seaweed, salmon eggs and eulachon (candlefish or smelt) oil. The soup is reminiscent of low tide and is high in nutrients. A traditional food for the Haida.
Seaweed soup and smoked salmon.
I stayed with Merle and Knud at their home in Old Massett, the Haida village. Expressions of the creativity within the community are all over town, with totems, flags, signs, church altars, and clothing.
The sign at the entry to the Haida village of Old Massett.
The pole out in front of the community center.
Beaver tail detail.
Flags of the Haida Nation, Old Massett Village Council and Canada.
The pole section at the entry to the new portion of the Haida cemetery. It is a remnant from a burned pole.
The pole outside the Health Services building.
The memorial celebration for Emily was a sit-down dinner for 500 on Saturday. Imagine the logistics and preparation! On Friday and early Saturday, about 25 people gathered to help the setup. In the kitchen of the community hall, we baked pies and yeasted rolls, cut up veggies for fresh eating, prepared meat and veggies for stew, and made jello with wild berries. Other folks were in the large hall, setting up tables and chairs and preparing each place setting.
How do you throw a dinner party for 500?
Women had been baking cookies for weeks to add to the supply at each place setting. Every plate was heaped with cookies, an apple and an orange, a dinner roll, salt, pepper, butter, sugar, cream, a cup and juice glass, napkin and plastic cutlery. Each place setting also had a brown, paper bag so all the goodies could go home with the person. Plates of cut, fresh vegetables were a new addition to the table since the last big “Do” I attended. Every three feet on the tables sat a just-baked pie or cake, for dessert at the dinner, and then later, back at home.
Emily’s granddaughter, Robin, made 500 cookies one day, and 350 Rice Krispie Treat squares the next.
A place setting, complete with a paper bag to carry it all home in.
Just before it started to pour down rain, we paused before heading off to the memorial: Merle, her friend Judith, and I.
Judith, Merle, Maureen.
Judith and I had spent time sewing a new wool dress for Merle for the memorial, with a design by Merle’s nephew, Robert Davidson. The dress was finished in the traditional “button blanket” manner, with pearl buttons for accents. Her headband is cedar bark with abalone buttons, vintage red glass beads and fur trim.
Merle has such dignity, elegance and grace.
I shot less than a dozen photos while at the memorial. I chose participation over observation and was really IN it in all ways. It would be tough to fully describe. But the “End of Mourning” song ended the period of sadness over Emily’s passing and launched the celebration of her life with traditional music and dancing.
The visual lushness of such an event cannot be described!
On Sunday, the day after the memorial and following almost two years of preparation, Merle and I relaxed. We went for a walk on the beach, and she showed me the Raven’s Tail weaving she’s doing.
Merle is learning the Raven’s Tail weaving process.
A close-up of the fine and complex Raven’s Tail weaving.
Merle showed me her first Raven’s Tail weaving. Her carved, silver bracelet was done by her nephew, Emily’s son, Carmen, Chief of Dadens.
While on Haida Gwaii, I MUST make a pilgrimage visit to my favorite beach in the world: at the base of Tow Hill on North Beach. “My spot” is covered with rounded pebbles of lovely, varied stone, and the tumbling clatter when the waves roll out is the music I yearn to hear.
I clambered over the slick, black stone with the waves crashing in so I could get to “my spot” of pebbles.
Whether bear dung or not, I didn’t want to find out while gingerly making my way over the rocks.
The tide pool pockets in the lava rock are so visually artful.
How curious, this lichen spiral, found on the lava stone.
Next to my favorite pebbly beach is a beach based on the striations of lava.
This little stone, wedged between two boulders, amused me.
When it was time to leave Old Massett and the islands, there were more people leaving than had been coming in. We flew out in a tin-can-with-two-wings-and-two-propellers. I couldn’t even stand up straight in the plane, and I could see right into the cockpit!
A flying tin can.
These images only show tidbits of the external experience of being in Old Massett. They say nothing of the deepening connection I feel for those in the Village that are close to my heart, or of the home-like tie I feel for the place.
