The dissension and dissatisfaction with the liaison team’s work had spread to other members of the team, namely Palmer and Bart Dean. Dean had always been a man unto himself, stuck somewhere between crew and liaison team like Bardwell. As the group’s photojournalist, he had to be present to witness the crew’s daily life, which meant participating to a certain extent but maintaining enough distance to get photos. He was assisted by two crew members, who took photos from their canoes when Dean wasn’t around. Sometimes Dean hopped in and paddled with the crew so that he could get action shots. In Toronto, however, he hadn’t been carrying any of the gear. The city was a big media market, and he wanted to get as many stories and pictures published as possible. Dean’s discontent about the liaison team and the general leadership of the expedition stemmed from financial issues. He’d graduated from Northwestern’s Medill School of Journalism in the spring of 1976 and was enthralled by the opportunity to shoot an expedition and go on an adventure. The pay was only $800 a month, a lousy salary for a full-time journalist, but he didn’t care. It was going to be the journey of a lifetime. Unfortunately, it was looking less and less like he would actually get paid during the trip, because the expedition was so low on money. Not knowing if or when he’d be paid had corroded some of the joys of traveling with the canoe crew.
Then there was Palmer, who had spent most of her time on the portage walking with the crew members to show them their rest stops. She also helped them get the supplies they needed, be it tubs of peanut butter for their lunches or clean clothes at the end of the day. With her proximity to the rest of the crew, she heard plenty of the crew’s complaints about Jan and Marlena’s dysfunctions. Whatever she may have heard or said, Palmer’s more intimate relationship with the crew didn’t endear her to the adults she reported to. At the end of the Toronto portage, Jan gave her a stern talking-to about not undermining the liaison team that left Palmer in tears and did nothing to improve her relationship with Jan and Marlena. At least she had Baumgartner to keep her company. Having grown up surrounded by brothers, Palmer was grateful for Baumgartner’s sweetness and femininity. It was like having a sister, only they didn’t argue. The two young women’s differences had always seemed superficial—Palmer didn’t like wearing makeup or worrying about her hair, and she was more interested in camping out and roughing it than Baumgartner—because both were caregivers at heart. They wanted to make the expedition a success and do whatever they could for the crew, though they went about it in different ways.
Baumgartner didn’t have as much difficulty getting along with the women on the liaison team, perhaps because she was a year older than Palmer and closer in age to the adults—Jan was only twenty-five and Marlena was twenty-four. Of course, her closeness with them could also have been the result of working with them and not with the crew.
I’ve finally gotten to know Jan and Marlena and love them both dearly, I saw all the paperwork they had to contend with and helped them by doing what I could . . . Mom, you thought MY makeup habits would change—HA! Now I have Jan buying makeup galore and doing her nails every night, which she’s NEVER done before!
For their part, Jan and Marlena appreciated Baumgartner’s cheerful, capable presence on the team. At times they felt like everything was falling apart around them. Neither had any previous experience with logistics or organizing an extended wilderness outing, nor had they anticipated how much work leading the liaison team would turn out to be. The days were often filled with thankless toil. When the women visited a community in advance to check if a campsite would be suitable, they would sometimes request extra firewood or access to bathrooms for the soon-to-arrive voyageurs, and city officials would tell them it was impossible. Then, as soon as the crew members arrived, all those requests were suddenly fulfilled without a second thought. The costumes the men wore imbued them with a kind of magic. Their arrival would sometimes bring tears to people’s eyes, and it inspired communities to cook banquets and hold ceremonies in their honor. None of the women had period outfits or props or any other physical signs that marked them as part of the historic reenactment, except for a slip of paper behind the windshield of the van that proclaimed they were with La Salle: Expedition II. No one paid much attention when the liaison team drove into a new town, regardless of that sign.
It had also been a challenge to go from being a teacher, an unquestionable authority figure, to taking orders from someone else and trying to cater to the demands of twenty-three men. Jan and Marlena were accustomed to being decision-makers and disciplinarians. On the expedition, Reid was the final decision-maker, but no one was really playing the role of disciplinarian because everyone was expected to act like an adult, despite the relative youth of the crew members. Jan and Marlena weren’t much older than the teenagers and didn’t have the experience or confidence to address concerns in a productive way. Criticism from the crew felt like personal attacks, and hearing complaints over and over again left them drained and stressed. If they’d had ten more years under their belts, maybe things would’ve been different. But as it was, it never felt like what they were doing was good enough.
Baumgartner found her own ways of calming down on hard days. She’d asked her parents to send books on philosophy and piano music to keep her mind busy when they had spare time. In Toronto she’d stayed with three different families who owned pianos and practiced playing Carole King songs. She also got to spend some time with her boyfriend, Lieberman, although they often had to settle for a smile and a wink as they passed each other going about their respective duties. Lieberman was hoping to visit his father in Florida at the end of the expedition and had invited Baumgartner to come down with him, if all their plans worked out. She was very much looking forward to that kind of trip. Sun, sand, and relaxation. For now, she just tried to enjoy living in another country. It was less noticeable in Ontario than it had been in Quebec, since most people spoke English instead of French, but there were little reminders all over the place: the Esso gas stations and Bonimarto shopping stores, the butter tarts and burned pepperoni pizzas, the restaurants that never served water with meals, the beautiful rocky terrain along highways between fields of cattails. Even though they were traveling all the time and never stopped in one place for long, Canada had come to feel comfortable and welcoming, even when their accommodations left something to be desired, due to the fact that they had little money to spend on hotels. Still, she couldn’t help but feel the occasional pang of homesickness, as she wrote in letters home.
How is my room? I miss Elgin. Mr. Kerr, that econ prof, reminded me of Mrs. Pool and ECC [Elgin Community College] and all the students and classes and home and everything. I’m glad I’m busy and don’t have much time to dwell on it . . . The past 3 nights the liaison team has spent in an old “farmhouse.” There are 3 broken windows, no heat, 1 light bulb, bird’s nests—(we’re staying in the upstairs), the downstairs has broken furniture, a burnt out gas stove, a hole that goes to the basement—all in all, it’s a terribly interesting place to stay. We sleep in our bags on the floor or sofa.
Fortunately, they didn’t have to spend long in the crumbling farmhouse. Having finished the portage through Toronto and paddled up Lake Simcoe and the Severn River, the crew would soon be entering Georgian Bay, and the liaison team planned to rent a nice cottage along Lake Huron. This Canadian region was going to be the most remote stretch of their trip yet, and the men would be out of touch with the liaison team for much of the three weeks they were spending in Georgian Bay. Everyone was preparing physically and mentally, working on warmer clothes for the approaching winter, making extra moccasins, enjoying the company of other people while they were still in civilization. They anticipated making a small adjustment to the crew as well, since Father Loran was still having back problems. He’d sat out during the portage, sleeping on the HMS Haida and trying to recuperate. Paddling continued to be hard on his back. He was going to rejoin the crew in Georgian Bay, but if nothing improved, he would permanently give up his spot a
nd Bardwell would take over.
After hiking with the crew through Toronto, Bardwell felt strange going back to the liaison team. He wasn’t used to wearing real shoes or being able to watch a movie on TV. Even eating dinner at Kentucky Fried Chicken was a disappointment. The food tasted terrible. He missed the crew’s dinner of dried peas and being able to wear the voyageur clothing. Being stuck between two worlds continued to be a struggle. It was the constant uncertainty of each day, not knowing if he’d be paddling or helping the women. It was hard to watch the rest of the guys jump into the canoes and leave without him, especially now that there was such animosity between the liaison team and the crew. Where did Bardwell belong? If he had his choice, he’d move to the canoes full-time. But that would leave the ladies of the liaison team to fend for themselves.
Chapter Six
NO TRAILS BUT THE
WATERWAYS THEMSELVES
Georgian Bay, New France
October 1681
La Salle’s voyage is often described as a “discovery” that benefited France and the Sun King, and it was an impressive feat, especially by 17th-century standards. The privations he and his men endured are hard to imagine in a world of twenty-four-hour fast food restaurants and walk-in health clinics. The voyageurs regularly faced starvation and lived on rationed diets, despite expending thousands of calories paddling from dawn to dusk. At one point in his travels, La Salle’s trusted lieutenant Tonty ran out of food and was forced to live on acorns for three days.1 The nuts provide a good dose of nutrition in large quantities, but when eaten raw they’re incredibly bitter and can cause digestive problems.2 And raw acorns were hardly the worst option when it came to survival food. Rock moss, boiled in water to make a meager soup called tripe-de-roche, often saved voyageurs from dying of hunger.3 Considering what La Salle and his men had to go through to reach the end of the Mississippi River, the voyage could certainly be considered an ordeal, but it was one they overcame to make a great discovery. That said, the “discovery” only counted from the European point of view.
Native Americans knew their continent at least as well as Europeans knew the entire continent of Europe. They traveled regularly—sometimes by choice, sometimes by necessity. When Europeans arrived, Native Americans frequently aided their navigation. They would draw maps on deerskins or buffalo hides, in the sand, and on ribbons of bark.4 La Salle himself was the recipient of numerous natives’ advice when it came to traveling the Mississippi. While Europeans may have believed they were taking advantage of the knowledge of the unsuspecting indigenous people, it’s just as likely that the native guides were steering early Europeans away from sacred sites that they didn’t want visited. But the Europeans had their own religious agenda in the New World. Jesuit priests regularly made treks into Native territory and built missions, even in places where they weren’t welcomed.
As La Salle paddled through Georgian Bay on the northeastern side of Lake Huron, he and his men passed two such failed experiments in religious cohabitation. The first of the two abandoned missions was Sainte-Marie Among the Hurons, located on the land of the Wendat (also known as Wyandot) at the southern end of Georgian Bay. The Jesuit establishment was founded in 1639 and destroyed a mere ten years later after eight of the missionaries were killed in the Huron-Iroquois wars. The second site was on Manitoulin Island, the largest island in a freshwater lake in the world. In 1648 Father Joseph Poncet set up a mission near the village of Wikwemikong on Manitoulin Island that fared no better than Sainte-Marie Among the Hurons. Just two years after its founding, an Iroquois raid sent Father Poncet and the Hurons living on the island running for the barricaded village of Quebec City hundreds of miles away on the mainland. Within the year, two hundred people left the island in forty canoes, and a final Iroquois attack in 1652 drove the remaining native residents, the Odawa (or Ottawa), away from the island.5
Even with an entourage of thirty men armed with rifles, La Salle knew what the consequences would be if he encountered an Iroquois war party. Such a meeting could forever put an end to his quest. However highly the Frenchmen thought of themselves, with their “civilized” behavior and superior religion, the fact of the matter was that they were still visitors in a land very unlike their home.
Midland, Ontario
September 30, 1976
John Fialko hobbled into the fenced yard of the mission, taking care not to place too much weight on his right foot. The swollen instep ached with any movement, but at least he wasn’t carrying a canoe over his head anymore. The doctor he’d just seen assured him the foot wasn’t broken, despite the bruising and swelling. Lucky, considering the weight of the object he’d dropped (a 175-pound canoe) and the way it had landed (with the sharp, angular gunwales of the bow pointed right at his foot). It was also a bit of good timing. The portage was over. There’d be much less walking for the next few weeks as they paddled across Georgian Bay. Life would be lived in the belly of the canoe.
Fialko, who went by the name Pierre Prudhomme when in camp and on stage, was the epitome of a wilderness man. The original Prudhomme had disappeared for ten days in the wilds around the Mississippi River when he got lost on a hunting expedition. Against all odds, he found his way back to La Salle’s men, starving but alive. Like his namesake, Fialko seemed to have a limitless knowledge of survival, though he’d been fortunate enough not to need it yet. He quickly learned new skills, from building a spear to throwing a tomahawk. Though he could be reticent and preferred a subdued method of leadership, his commands were obeyed immediately and without question. If the crew had any word that most embodied Fialko’s attitude and abilities, it was “capable.” He relished the moniker. After all, being an expert outdoorsman was all about having the flexibility and ingenuity to adapt to whatever situations arose.
He looked the part of a frontiersman as well: dark brown hair that came past his jaw, a tangled black beard that obscured half his face, and muscle all over his body. A smile that stretched up to his crinkled eyes saved him from fully incarnating a gruff mountain man. His tendency to provide a helping hand whenever it was needed without complaint further endeared him to the rest of the crew. As the group’s “armorer,” Fialko had helped the teens build their rifles and overseen the canoe construction. Now he was tasked with making necessary repairs to keep the boats floating. Without his diligence, the crew would have quite literally sunk by this point in the trip.
The group would need capable leaders now more than ever if they planned to succeed in the next stage of their journey. Georgian Bay was the most isolated body of water they would have to paddle across. They would make only three stops in towns over the course of three weeks. They’d have minimal contact with the liaison team, and the only food they’d have to eat was what they carried and what they caught. If anything happened, no one would be there to help. They prepared for the month-long wilderness trek by getting weighed and measured for body fat before their departure. Belts might have to be tightened at some point. This bit of the trip was the closest they could possibly come to experiencing life as the original voyageurs had lived it, rationed diets and all.
Getting lost was the real danger. Georgian Bay is 120 miles long and nearly 80 percent as large as Lake Ontario, the last lake the group had crossed. Sometimes called the “sixth Great Lake” for its size, the bay is filled with tens of thousands of islands. When navigator Ron Hobart had looked at the bay’s charts for the first time, he realized there were a disconcerting number of blank spots. The expedition would be navigating uncharted territory without the benefit of GPS assistance, just as La Salle once had. What’s more, large parts of the eastern shore of Georgian Bay still belonged to First Nation indigenous people of Canada, including the Anishinaabeg, who belonged to the Algonquian group (a designation made on linguistic similarity that includes groups such as the Ojibwe, Cheyenne, and Loup). Chief Max Gros-Louis of the Huron had given the group permission to travel through his people’s land when the men departed from Montreal, but they were a long way fro
m Quebec and were portraying an era of history that had resulted in the devastation of native people and their culture. Only a few years earlier, when Lewis was leading the Jolliet-Marquette Expedition down the Mississippi, he’d been given an FBI entourage for fear that members of the American Indian Movement would attack the crew. The group was known for its large protests and the occupation of historic sites, including a seventy-one-day occupation and battle with U.S. armed forces at Wounded Knee, South Dakota, in 1973. And in the case of historical clashes between peoples of different societies, one culture’s hero can be another’s augury of destruction.
There had been no threats made against them on this voyage. They’d have to hope Gitche Manitou, the Algonquian incarnation of the Great Spirit, allowed them safe passage despite the misdeeds of their predecessors. And anyway, history was more convoluted than labeling the French as evil and the indigenous people as victimized. Some voyageurs married native women and never returned to the French colonial towns, and native people worked with the French as guides, interpreters, or soldiers. The Europeans who worked closely with them sometimes adopted native clothing and learned native languages. Their 17th-century world wasn’t one of a simplistic division between conquerors and conquered.
But the crew usually had an hour to give their show, and it had been written with a focus on the French voyageurs, not the Native Americans and First Nations they came in contact with. Capturing that level of nuance in a historic reenactment was difficult, and even if the men had wanted to stage a meeting between Frenchmen and natives, most of the country they traveled through was populated by the descendants of European immigrants. They’d be passing close to reservations on Georgian Bay but hadn’t planned any stops in those communities.
The Last Voyageurs Page 12