Thursday, August 3, 2006 — Hardships There the Hardest to Recall

Ear­li­er in the evening (Aug.2), the CBC Nation­al News cov­ered the very issues I dis­cussed in my last post­ing (Aug.1). I am very pleased, espe­cial­ly because the cam­era work from the ven­er­a­ble ice-break­er Louis Saint-Lau­rent was of fab­u­lous qual­i­ty. The polit­i­cal issues are com­plex. You can’t expect peo­ple to care about them unless they can visu­al­ize the vast, dan­ger­ous, and extra­or­di­nar­i­ly beau­ti­ful land that is at stake. 

Some­one has a poet­ic soul at the CBC. Nunavut is one of those places, like out­er space, that forces even the most phleg­mat­ic per­son to turn to poet­ry. Over a mag­nif­i­cent mon­tage of images from the Pas­sage, they played an old Cana­di­an folk by Stan Rogers:

(cho­rus)
Ah, for just one time I would take the North­west Passage
To find the hand of Franklin reach­ing for the Beau­fort Sea;
Trac­ing one warm line through a land so wild and savage
And make a North­west Pas­sage to the sea.

(repeat cho­rus)

West­ward from the Davis Strait ’tis there ’twas said to lie
The sea route to the Ori­ent for which so many died;
Seek­ing gold and glo­ry, leav­ing weath­ered, bro­ken bones
And a long-for­got­ten lone­ly cairn of stones.

(repeat cho­rus)

Three cen­turies there­after, I take pas­sage overland
In the foot­steps of brave Kel­so, where his “sea of flow­ers” began
Watch­ing cities rise before me, then behind me sink again
This tardi­est explor­er, dri­ving hard across the plain.

(repeat cho­rus)

And through the night, behind the wheel, the mileage click­ing west
I think upon Macken­zie, David Thomp­son and the rest
Who cracked the moun­tain ram­parts and did show a path for me
To race the roar­ing Fras­er to the sea.

(repeat cho­rus)

How then am I so dif­fer­ent from the first men through this way?
Like them, I left a set­tled life, I threw it all away.
To seek a North­west Pas­sage at the call of many men
To find there but the road back home again.

(repeat cho­rus)

And if should be I come again to loved ones left at home,
Put the jour­nals on the man­tle, shake the frost out of my bones,
Mak­ing mem­o­ries of the pas­sage, only mem­o­ries after all,
And hard­ships there the hard­est to recall.

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