|
|  |
|
Taut-line and Tow Rope |
In 1848 sixteen-year-old William Gladstone signed up with a Hudson's Bay Company brigade to paddle and row from Montreal all the way to Fort Edmonton and eventually to Rocky Mountain House. He spent the rest of his life in the west, building york boats and fort buildings when not paddling, rowing and towing on the long river system.
I could drag these matters far upstream,
the tow rope slung with rain and slurping wave.
I could pull them up by shouldering the line
against the steady torrent of remorse,
the york boat chucking at the rocks
when drawn to shore by current or neglect.
At every point from Montreal was choice.
I chose to sign, to sit with ale and boasts,
old crews and new misgivings gathering;
to launch past Lachine, row up the Ottawa,
the Mattawa, the French to Georgian Bay.
Even by York Factory I could have turned away.
But no: Forts Norman, Carleton came and went,
each fort a fork for me.
When the keel grounds we have to carry,
a man's weight compounded to one's own,
backpack strapped by taut-line to the forehead.
The longer the carry, the deeper the doubt;
but there's no descent till you pass high ground.
I was too young to understand
how permanent a choice can be.
But by Fort Edmonton I knew how close I'd come
to the continental divide of dream and consequence.
On to Rocky Mountain House, by order;
up to, but not over, my point of watershed.
Just as well: obedience had blurred with choice.
|
© D.D. Elves |
|
