Tribal Journey (8 page)

All of a sudden a moving, rusty red wall broke through the fog and headed right for us. I didn't know what it could be. It scared me and I yelled.

“What's that thing coming right at us?”

Everyone turned to see the bow of a freighter ship as it became visible. It was barreling down on us. It must've been seven stories tall! The skipper saw it, too, and jumped into action.

“Hold on!” he commanded through the Sockeye's loudspeaker.

He punched the throttle at the same time he blasted the boat's horn. The Sockeye tilted backward as the engines cranked to full speed. I hadn't had time to grab anything to hold on to, so my wheelchair sped across the deck. I yelled again.

Luckily I was able to grab the handrail that surrounded the deck. That kept me from rolling to the stern and overboard. I held on as tight as I could.

Jessy saw what was happening and bolted across the deck to help me.

Our support boat easily moved out of the path of the freighter. But the Raven, being towed behind, just barely missed being hit. A huge wave crashed over the canoe, flipping it upside down. Of course, our paddles and spare life jackets were scattered in all directions.

Just as Jessy reached me on deck, the huge wave crashed into the side of the Sockeye. Our boat tipped sideways a little and then rolled back. The same wall of water hit Jessy and me full on. I had a firm grip on the handrail, but Jessy didn't.

The force of the water knocked him down and swept him toward the back of the boat. The stern had an opening in the handrail that allowed people to get on and off the deck. The water pushed him through that opening
and into the ocean. Now Jessy was the one who needed help.

I spotted the Lifesling hanging on its rack not too far from me. That gizmo had been used daily to get me into and out of the canoe. It was time to use it for what it was designed to do—save someone who'd gone overboard.

The Sockeye was still rocking back and forth in the rough sea. But, wheeling my chair with an experienced hand, I was able to grab the Lifesling and head for the stern. We'd all learned how to use it. I first attached the rope to the crank. Then I flung the U-shaped loop out in the water toward Jessy.

He was just pulling himself up out of the water and onto the top of the overturned canoe. The water was very choppy. The canoe wobbled furiously in the turbulence. But he was able to hang on. Our trainer had been right: the canoe would float, no matter what.

“I'm all right,” he shouted over the noise of the rolling sea. “I don't need the Lifesling.”

The other pullers arrived at the stern to see what had happened to their beloved Raven.
They watched as Jessy examined the bottom of the canoe.

“I don't see any cracks or breaks in the hull,” he shouted after a few minutes. “Who wants to help me flip it upright and gather up our paddles?”

A couple of the adult pullers jumped into the cold water. Each grabbed a life jacket from the water and put it on. Jessy got hold of one and put it on as well.

All three worked to turn the Raven over. Once the canoe was upright, they gathered up the scattered paddles and life jackets. Within a few minutes, all was back to normal. We used the Lifesling to get the three of them back on board the Sockeye.

And that ordeal served as our welcome to Canada. The rest of the trip was a piece of cake, as they say. We made three more overnight stops at Canadian Native communities. They were just as welcoming and friendly as the tribes south of the border.

But the closer we got to our final landing site, the more excited we all got. I heard from
Jessy and others who'd been on journeys before that the feeling you get is bigger than Christmas, your birthday, and graduation from school all rolled into one. That's big!

The night before Landing Day we stayed with the people of the Malahat First Nations. In Canada, tribes are often called First Nations. The Malahat Reserve was about ten miles, as the canoe travels, from Cowichan's landing site.

The Cowichan canoe officials had decided to have canoes come into their shores in groups. These groups were defined by the direction they'd come from. The Duwamish canoe was part of the southern group. We'd all come from the Puget Sound area.

So, while we were camped at Malahat, all the southern canoe families held a meeting. We picked a time and place that we'd all gather before entering the landing area. That gathering place was about a mile from the landing site.

I really couldn't sleep much that night. The sounds of hundreds of pullers and ground crew members floated in the air until the wee hours of the morning. They were singing, and talking, even dancing. Were our tribal ancestors watching us? Were they as excited as we were about the coming day?

The clamor of pots and pans awoke me the next morning. It was still dark, but our valiant ground crew was up and at 'em. As I was struggling out of my tent, Mr. Franks came up to me.

“We wanted to wait until this morning to tell you,” he said.

“Tell me what?” Did I miss something?

“The family has voted to have you ride in the bow of the canoe when we arrive.” He was smiling a big grin.

“But that's
your
place,” I protested.

“I'll be right behind you,” he replied. “But you've been an inspiration to all of us. You have some surprising gifts given to you by the Creator.”

“A few things
have
happened that really surprised me,” I admitted.

“I think the surprises in your life are just beginning,” he said. “Anyway, we're proud to call you a member of the Raven Canoe Family.”

“I don't know what to say,” I said.

“Just say yes.”

“Yes.” I repeated.

“Good. I have some regalia for you to wear. We'll have it on the support boat. You can ride there this morning. Later, we'll put you in the canoe.”

“Thank you, Mr. Franks.”

“Have some breakfast. I'll see you on board the Sockeye.” He headed back to the main group as Jessy stepped up.

“I'm here to help you with anything you need today,” he said.

“Really?”

“You're like a dignitary today. That's why you're riding in the front.”

“Okay then,” I said. I wanted to take full advantage of the situation. “I'll have pancakes,
maple syrup, and hot chocolate with whipped cream. On the double!”

“Don't push it,” Jessy said with a laugh. I laughed too.

It turned out to be a calm day out on the water. The sun was shining. A slight breeze cooled the air. The pullers were quiet for the most part. After two weeks of hard work, sometimes in dangerous conditions, everyone was thinking about the journey. We all had mixed emotions: both glad and sad that it was coming to an end.

As the Raven approached the gathering place for the southern canoes, it slowed. The Sockeye pulled in beside it so I could be lowered into the front seat. I'd put on the regalia Mr. Franks had for me. It included a red and blue blanket with small shells sewn all over it. And there was a cedar branch wreath that went on top of my cedar hat.

Mr. Franks, also dressed in his regalia, took the seat behind me.

When all the southern canoes were ready, we began pulling the last mile of our
journey. We formed a single line of about twenty-five canoes.

As we neared Cowichan Bay, we began to see the clusters of canoes from the other directions—the north, east, and west. I was startled as I began to understand the grand size of the whole scene. How many canoes were there?

Our skipper signaled that it was time for us to start our arrival song. We'd practiced this many times along the way. Our paddles stroked the water in sync with the song. Other canoes began their arrival songs as well.

The Raven was about in the middle of the line of southern canoes as we approached the shores of the Cowichan First Nation. Again I was startled to see the size of this event. There must've been five thousand people lining the shore. They were clapping, singing, hollering, whistling—you name it.

The southern canoes circled past the main area where the Cowichan leaders and elders stood on a raised platform. In front of the platform, closer to the water, was a large group
of singers who belted out a Salish honoring song. Several used hand drums to pound out the beat of the song.

Mr. Franks helped me to stand in the bow of the Raven. Leaning on my aluminum crutch, I stood as proudly as my broken body would allow.

I sang our arrival song as loudly as I could. In that moment I felt the power and emotion of thousands of people all focused on one joyful celebration. We were all celebrating what was once banned. We were celebrating the rebirth of our identity as Salish people, the rebirth of our ancient culture.

I'm embarrassed to admit that tears rolled down my cheeks as this feeling overwhelmed me. I quickly recovered my cool and dried my eyes, hoping that no one had noticed.

The only word I could think of to describe what was happening was “spectacle.” This was certainly a spectacle. Several TV news crews were filming the event. Many personal cameras also recorded the arrivals.

An M.C. on shore described the scene over loud speakers. “Canoes have been coming into the bay for quite some time now. More are coming. I can't see the end of the line. Can anyone see the end?”

The canoes from the east were the first ones invited to come to shore. Ten or twelve canoes from that group lined up side by side in the water. As a unit, they moved toward the shore until their bows touched land. One by one, a dignitary from each canoe introduced the canoe and announced where the people in it were from.

The chairman of the Cowichan tribe welcomed each canoe to their shores. All were invited to come ashore for feasting and Protocols. As soon as one line of canoes finished, another line of ten or twelve pulled in beside them.

While these canoes were performing their arrival duties, other canoes continued to enter the bay and circle the area.

Finally, it came time for the southern canoes to approach the shore. Our group
lined up side by side and drifted in. I was still leaning on my crutch, with Mr. Franks standing behind me.

Our turn came. “Mr. Chairman, we are the Raven Canoe from the proud Duwamish Nation,” Mr. Franks announced. “We are members of the Raven Canoe Family. Standing in our bow is a young Duwamish man of great courage, Jason Morgan. He overcame many obstacles to be a part of this journey. We present him to you as our most outstanding member. We are honored by your invitation to come to your shores. We have traveled more than two hundred miles.”

The Cowichan chairman spoke. “Mr. Franks, this young man needs no introduction to us. His story has traveled ahead of you. It has become almost a legend among the people of the canoe. We are honored to have you come to our shores.”

Mr. Franks proudly patted me on the shoulder. I was speechless. I sat down to rest.

After all the canoes had lined the shores and performed their arrival ceremonies,
an honor song began among the northern canoes. They used the handles of their paddles to pound out the rhythm on the floor of their canoes.

The song and the beat spread to all the canoes. It then spread across the shoreline like a wildfire spreading across a field of grass. As the sound grew, a kind of tingling spread through my body. I didn't know what it was. I was vibrating from head to foot.

To my surprise, I even felt it in my dead leg. For the first time since my accident, I felt something in that leg. It didn't last long, and the effect wasn't permanent. But that brief experience gave me new hope.

When the song ended, the M.C. said, “We've done a count and there are 109 tribal canoes here today. Can you believe it?”

The crowd roared, clapped, and cheered even louder than before.

The M.C. invited all the canoe families to participate in the Protocols that would begin at the tribe's headquarters that evening. We
all turned our canoes and headed across the bay to a beach where we could disembark.

Buses took all the pullers to the tribal park where our camps had already been set up by our hard-working ground crews. My first order of business: a nap.

That evening, the Cowichan volunteers had set up dinner for us in the tribe's gym. Pullers and ground crews lined up and filed inside to get plates of delicious Native foods. I had never seen such a spread of unusual things to eat, so I had to ask the servers what some of it was.

One large pot held something called stinging nettle and elk stew. Another held cooked greens made from fern tops. Moving down the line, there were clams, crabs, eels, and wild bird eggs.

Smacking his lips, Jessy piled his plate high with large helpings of the stuff. So I did the brave thing and filled my plate as well. Over the teeth, past the gums, look out stomach, here it comes.

The final food station was a sort of cobbler made of wild blackberries, huckleberries, and raspberries. That looked really good!