MOUNTAIN LIFE - Blue Mountains | Spring 2019

98 ML BLUE SPRING 2019 BACK PAGE words :: Nicola Ross “When I was a kid, my dad used to take me out to his trap lines,” Norm Dokis tells me. “I thought I was a scientist out there. One time I built a miniature birchbark canoe, stuffed it with horsetails because they look like missiles, lit it on fire and floated it downstream.” Norm says it exploded when it passed his startled father. While his dad was as likely to give him heck for doing silly experiments, in this instance, he was impressed. Growing up on the French River, visiting trap lines with his father, and learning to hunt and fish set Norm on a course that continues today. At 49, he’s still inventing. “I’m driven by discovery,” he says. Norm’s favourite expression is “That’s amazing.” He brings along his infectious enthusiasm on our tour of his discoveries on Canada’s first officially designated Heritage River. Norm is a resource liaison specialist with the Ministry of Natural Resources and a member of the Dokis First Nation. He’s created an eco-tourism lodge called Camp Petawachuan on his father’s piece of Dokis land on the French, where he spends time with students teaching them to track animals, call in moose, identify edible plants, and other skills he learned from his father. The sun hasn’t quite burned off the cool morning mist as he noses his boat up a narrow channel and starts telling me about Nanabush. This half-human, half-spirit character figures prominently in Ojibway legends, and I realize that Norm, whose father was a member of the Dokis First Nation and whose mother was French Canadian, relates to the challenges associated with Nanabush’s dual personality. We clamber out of the boat and search a cliff face on Chimney Island for some pictographs Norm found while out exploring a few years ago. “Don’t show them to me,” I plead. “I want to find them myself.” In due course, a granite wall liberally peppered with orange and green lichens reveals the first of two ancient rock paintings to me. Both involve a series of ochre lines painted above horizontal shelf-like cracks. One is vaguely fish-like; the second resembles a tree. Norm places a bit of tobacco on one of the shelves as an offering. We scan the cliff for a pictograph of what he thinks is Nanabush disguised as a hare, but the trickster isn’t appearing for us. Farther upstream, we pass Cradle Falls and Norm points out a split boulder shaped like a baby in a papoose that accounts for the name of this fast-flowing section of river. Shortly afterwards, he pulls up to shore again and we climb up a short, steep incline. Norm stops in front of a series of horizontal shelves in a rock face. He says he knew this was a special place when he discovered two round “bell rocks” sitting just inside one of the small cave-like holes. “When you clanged them together,” he explains, “they made a loud sound—likely it was a warning.” The rocks are gone now. “Someone took them,” says Norm in a surprisingly matter-of-fact tone as he places his offering of a small quartz stone on the ledge. This lack of concern leads me to ask him how he bridges his Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal worlds. “I’m not comfortable in a restaurant full of white people,” he says. “They all talk about cars and movies— someone else’s dreams, not their own.” I’m jotting down notes when a thundering echo across the narrow river channel startles me. Norm is stepping down hard on a flat rock that protrudes slightly from a ground- level crack in the rock face. A booming sound bounces back at us with unexpected intensity as he continues to pump the rock. Norm tells me it’s a “drum rock” that was also likely used as a warning. Clambering back down to his boat, he says, “The only thing that is not needed on the planet is humans.” This prompts me to ask him how he feels about First Nation members who exploit nature while claiming to believe that each animal, fish and tree has a spirit of equal importance. “The Indian will destroy the resource with his hand being forced by the white man. So every fish that comes out of the lake goes to the white man, but the Indian is blamed.” As we walk under a canopy of lacy hemlock, clambering over fallen logs, Norm identifies edible mushrooms, tells me a few tricks to cooking wild game, and describes how knowing the forest can save your life. Then he points out a largish shrub he refers to as striped maple. “If you are about to be attacked by a bear,” he explains, “look for striped maple.” He demonstrates how easy it is to break off a piece that is about an inch in diameter, and how it naturally turns into a spear. He says the centre of striped maple contains a poison which bears would likely smell. “Have you tried this on a bear?” I ask. “No,” he admits as a grin spreads across his face. “But if it worked, it would be amazing.” RIVER SECRETS “They all talk about cars and movies—someone else’s dreams, not their own.”