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On Friday, July 18, Tribal Journeys canoes gathered in Fort Rupert for a festival and celebration. Canoes were blessed and put in the water, and carving and painting continued to complete three other canoes for the journey. Everything was coming together as the people readied themselves for the days to follow....

July 19/97 - Fort Rupert
I woke to the feeling of having shrink wrap on my forehead, my bright red forehead. Reflecting back on yesterday, I feel sober. The excitement that surrounded me yesterday made me drunk with joy - a nice feeling. There is something about seeing the canoes being blessed and then slipped into the waters that speaks to the part of the soul which seeks a connection between the spiritual world and human nature. I can't but feel that this journey, with its social juxtaposition of RCMP and the First Nations, is growing into a spiritual awakening, not only for us in the canoes and the ground crews, but also for the larger community. Let the healing begin.

July 20/97 - Fort Rupert
The chipping and sawing stopped this morning, and we blessed the canoe. Chief Frank Nelson named it DZUNU'GWUN'GIS, and he thanked the carvers for their work and their spirit. As we held hands in the prayer circle, I could feel a tingling flow through me. I thought I heard singing and drumming as we listened to the blessing. After the blessing, we put the first coat of paint on the canoe, and I heard the song of the canoe. I felt the wood, smooth and hewed. Its spirit talked to me. The name of the canoe means "spirit under the water."

July 21/97 - Johnstone Strait
I had a fear of the water until today. I sat in the canoe and pulled with young boys and girls, older women and men. In harmony we stroked the water. The canoe rode like a feather on the air. The cedar, the sea water, the rain: the spirit flowed like the water slipping past the bow. As we pulled in the pouring rain, three Orcas broke the surface - a mother and her two young. We raised our paddles and Chief Frank Nelson sang a song for the whales. The Orca remained near us until the song was over. How do I describe the feeling of this gift?

July 22/97 - Adams River to Brown Bay
We broke camp this morning by 4 o'clock in the pouring rain and dark. The canoes were in the water by 5: we needed to leave early to beat the tide. The morning was misty and foggy. The canoes and the paddlers were silhouetted, giving the appearance that they were floating on clouds. As they moved along, the scenery was unbelievable - huge rocks and trees. Within an hour into our travel, two otters were spotted, and an eagle. Later on in the afternoon, we were joined by a hawk, which flew in a long circle, leading us around a point with the tide that pushed us along effortlessly.

Our destination was Elk Bay. When the ground crews arrived there, they discovered that a movie was being made there and were denied use of the camp. We had to carry on further, for about 4-6 hours, to Brown Bay. The last canoe came into Brown Bay at 10:30 p.m. At approximately Elk Bay, Vision Quest caught up with Tribal Journey. The weather was rainy with a few sunny breaks, enough to fool us into taking off our outer garments just in time to get rained on again. Being wet, however, did not dampen our spirits. We pulled that much harder. Frank sang us a paddling song and rejuvenated our strength and resolve.

A loose group of individuals, some related and some not, have been brought very close to each other, and we are now working together, and we are growing in strength with the knowledge we care for each other. We had to decide tonight if we are whiners or warriors.

July 22nd - Brown Bay
We were in the water before sunrise. The mist is rising off our course, drifting towards the sky as the sun lights up the tops of the hills. We saw two eagles fly up. This is a good omen, I'm told. We paddle in two-hour shifts. Often, we practise our canoe song. Being in a canoe seems to draw the sky, land and sea together: as it draws all of us. We are a group of people, strangers to each other when we started. We are now being drawn closer, and I begin to understand the pain, and the need to heal. The sighting of the whales yesterday has a connection to the healing, as do the eagles, otters, seals and the hawk. With each sighting, the pullers are re-energized, and the spirit of community in the canoe grows.

July 23/97 - Campbell River
Tribal Journeys is coming into Discovery Pass. Vision Quest is behind, still in the water. There are sixteen war canoes in the journey now. We are waiting for the shift in tide before we proceed. The paddlers are putting on full regalia for their arrival. They're proceeding up the river to pull the canoes out and then up to the bighouse for a feast and an evening of songs and ceremonies.

The colour, the size, the speed, the power, the songs that you hear. Each canoe has a song . The sky has cleared off. There is a ring of clouds around us, but above us is bright sunshine. The water is slightly choppy but the canoes are having no problem. The DZUNU'GWUN'GIS canoe has a Japanese television crew capturing the paddlers. They're sitting in the bow, filming towards the stern, capturing the sounds and the sights. There is a real sense of excitement and joy here. One of our pullers, James, said that he grew up being ashamed of being native, but through this process, he is beginning to feel proud.

July 23rd - Discovery Passage
Today we go through the narrows. I'm told they can be treacherous. Large fishing vessels have been known to flip over. Yesterday, we hit the rip tide, and a large wave broke over the stern, mostly landing in my lap. Still, I felt no fear. But today, aboard the support ship, I watched the whirlpools and the surging rip tide, and I felt the old fear of water returning. The water seems to be angry.
As we left the boiling waters behind us, a bit of our anger was left behind. I'm slowly beginning to understand the anger held in check by most of the pullers, which I now find myself sharing as I'm brought in closer. In our healing circles, the anger is expressed in a positive way, in a healing way, and we feel safe together.

July 24 - Campbell River to Comox
We are delayed today on the supply ship, the batteries were too low to start the engines. The pullers in the canoes, without breakfast, must be running low on energy. We are all wearing down.
Sleep is something that we all need. Our tempers are showing the effect. It seems we are falling away from each other, or better put, we are shoving each other away. Perhaps we have become too close too soon.

I am in the canoe when we win a paddle and water fight. A fragmented, bickering crew suddenly yells out in unison. A victory cry! We share in this symbol of our strength - our strength to overcome our personal differences. Much later I hear someone yell out "wanna be Indians" to another crew. I turn to look them in the eye. I am greeted with a smile, "not you, you're one of us". I feel the love and respect we all share now.

July 25 - Comox to Qualicum
Today is harder than yesterday. Like the sweat we generate from pulling, pain and anger begins to head out in bursts of hot words and streams of tears. I feel our crew is being pulled apart as the tensions mount. The canoe has a way of bringing out these emotions in us all.

For myself, I mourn the loss of my father, my tears flowing freely. I am not ashamed to show my emotions in the canoe, nor is anyone else. The canoe has become a safe place for us all to let go of our pain and anger. One crew member shares his anger in hot words, then his pain in gut wrenching cries. We all share his emotions, letting him know we love and care about him. The canoe is healing these wounds we all have, purifying our beings, gently edging us towards the strength of the warrior.

July 26 - Qualicum to Nanoose
I am on the "go between" ship today, helping move crew from the canoe back to the main support ship. I am tired, hungry, sunburnt, and lost in thought. I question myself as to why I am doing this. I don't know what it is, but all my life I have been drawn toward Turtle Island's First Peoples. Perhaps it is the unbending tolerance and patience they show me. They are willing to teach me to see through their eyes and to share what they understand about this world we all live in.

The canoe is like a small island bobbing about on the sea; and when we listen to our skipper, we work in harmony and the canoe glides effortlessly across the water. When we fail to listen, the canoe's weight can be felt, the pulling becomes harder and tensions mount. Having just written this I realize each of us has our own skipper, our hearts. I am here following my skipper. I know why I am brought to the canoe, it is a need not a want.

July 27 - Nanaimo
We are coming into Nanaimo Harbor, heading towards downtown. The canoes are all strung out in a long line. If you look down, you can see a line of paddlers with the sunlight glistening on the water. There are boats everywhere accompanying the canoes in: all sorts of support vehicles, and people who are curious who have come out to see what is going on. There are people on the shoreline, and they've been cheering and whistling, and the paddlers themselves seem to have a little burst of energy after a four hour pull. There's color everywhere: the canoes, the regalia of the paddlers, the boats. The sunlight is brilliant and warm upon us. The feeling of excitement that is going on right now, you can feel it building. I can see downtown Nanaimo on my right-hand side. On my left is one of the support ships. There are serious fishermen, sports fishermen, a punt for one of the other canoes. And it's a gorgeous day.

July 27th
This is the second day without being on the canoe. I feel it like a loss. As I watch our crew through a viewfinder, I wonder how I will portray this journey's healing spirit on film. In this canoe's culture, it is expressed through song, dance and art. It is the gathering of several coastal nations, each singing in turn in respect for each other, which speaks more of the spirit of healing than the hours of facial expressions I have captured on film.

July 28th
A day of rest. We have pulled the canoes out of the water to scrape off some of the paint we had hurriedly applied in Fort Rupert. DZUNU'GWUN'GIS: cleared of the old paint, with patches of raw wood showing through. I scraped along the hull, letting my hands run along her length, and I could feel the strength of the canoe. I ache to be paddling the waters with the crew. Things seem to flow better in the canoe than out. It's odd, but I feel connected with the canoe now, and I feel incomplete when not pulling. A sense of panic surges over me as I wonder if I'll have the chance to be back in the DZUNU'GWUN'GIS. I need to be back in: to heal, to reflect, to learn, to be strengthened, to find myself.

July 29th
I am back in the canoe, pulling through Dog Narrows, a tame version of the narrows we passed several days ago. The harmony of the canoe soothes my anxiety, eases my stress and discomfort. I realize I am on a path which will challenge me all the way. I find the strength to see clearly where I must now go. My resolve is stronger than ever. As a writer - not a journalist - I strive to relay the truth - I suppose my own truth - in my writing. I am in awe of the kindness and forgiving nature of my companions. We all express frustration and joy, and we do it in an open and straightforward manner. I became frustrated and blurted out anger, but the crew eased my temper with hugs and songs. I love them as family.

July 31 - Cowichan Bay to Tsawout
Our support ship failed to show up. We travel with the road crew, then leaving them we try to beat the canoes in to shore. I miss the canoe, the smell of the salt water, the cooling water fights. Standing on the beach watching the people watch the canoes, I am struck by how much the coming of the canoes means to the people around me. The excitement mounts as reports of sightings of canoes way out in the water reaches the audience's ears. The excitement reminds me of the feeling in the canoes as they come close to each other, ready for water fights, but more importantly, the friendly exchange of yelps and shouts, the spirit of friendship, a caring friendship grows with each encounter as does the coming ashore at each community. The people great the canoes with respect, awe, and encouragement. The community of the canoe grows, I am no different than the people on the land: we all desire to pull in a canoe together, beside each other.

August 1 - Tsawout to Esquimalt
On the water in a rental powerboat it's not out of place beside the urban shoreline. The cedar canoe seems majestic and awkward passing by ornate or gaudy homes sprawled on the real estate that once held a forest. On the beach people run their dogs, some cheer and dogs bark at the sight of the
canoes. Near Clover Point a relation of one of the crew sings a song, a soothing melody after pulling through the passage between "civilization" and Trial Island - one canoe stuck fast in the tide change. Even the powerboat had a tough time. Our canoe, skippered by a skilled hand, slipped between a few rock outcroppings into calmer waters. Easing past the point with the song drifting on the water, the powerboat revs up, jerking ahead towards Ogden Point and closer to the city.

August 2 - Esquimalt
Dzunu'gwun'gis is out of the water and on shore. We are finishing off the paint job and getting ready for the entry into the Inner Harbour. We all help a bit in different ways. Some paint, some help carve, other finish off the seats in the stern and bow. The canoe changes, as does the mood; we all know this is the last time the crew will be together, so close to Dzunu'gwun'gis. As the day progresses my sense of excitement turns to a slight depression. We are not going to be a crew after tomorrow, like a family that has grown and matured we are about to go our separate ways. We go with the strength of each other present within each of us, like a family.

August 3 - Victoria Inner Harbour
It is a day of great emotions. Around me on shore a crowd gathers, pushing for a view, hotly at times. The density and mood of the people is different than in the other communities we have visited. This community is moving at a different pace, a clock's pace. As I watch the Dzunu'gwun'gis come into the harbour, I see tears, laughter, and thoughtful faces. I feel a strong surge of pride in the way the Dzunu'gwun'gis reflects its image in the water: a dancing array of colour and the strength of the crew clearly seen in their composed looks. Later, when we have filed past the bleachers at the stadium, we all know this is the end; from here it is the North American Indigenous Games, a journey of its own. We know our journey in this canoe is over for now, until we are called to sit and pull, to take Dzunu'gwun'gis on another journey of spiritual discovery. For now we all know the silence and the temperament of the focus we have. For myself my course is clear, the canoe has set it. The sharing of the crew, sharing their growing pride has affected me, has focussed my resolve. Once you're in the canoe, you're in for life - I wouldn't want it any other way.

[SOURCE: FNAI Representative - A crew member in Chief Frank Nelson's Canoe]

A message from the crew of DZUNU'GWUN'GIS to Liz Devonshire, who is leaving the crew to return to work in Port Hardy: "We will miss your warmth and your strong arms. We hope to be reunited with you in Victoria on the weekend of August 2-3, when we can all sing the canoe song together once more. Love from the crew of DZUNU'GWUN'GIS. We love you."

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[SOURCE: FNAI - A crew member in Chief Frank Nelson's Canoe]

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