THE ARCHAIC PERIOD: 6,000 - 200
B.C. 
During an archaeological survey of the Mississagi River, we found a number of Archaic period campsites where the tool-stone of choice was the grey cherts from the Lake Huron islands. Since this material was not available locally, I have speculated that the people travelled down to the big lake to trade and to help provision themselves for the coming winter. But travelling downstream is relatively easy - travelling upstream is an entirely different matter...
The roar of the rushing water and the hammering of the peoples pulses in their eardrums made communication by any other means than signs, impossible. The heavy dugout was poised precariously at the apex of the rapid; its prow carving deeply into the smooth water at the top of the vee, its stern moving slowly from side to side in the first standing waves. All hands were clinging to the taut woven rope which connected the canoe to the people on the shore. Blackflies hovered around their eyes as they strained to haul the canoe over the brink. They had no time to brush
the flies away or to wipe the sweat from their streaming faces. Every ounce of strength was required to line up this, the last rapid of the day. Slowly the prow lifted over the lip of the vee and surged into the quieter water above. The two adults and four children breathed a sigh of relief as they pulled the canoe in to shore and secured it to a tree root on the bank.
The previous year they had lost many of their prized possessions and a sizable bundle of dried fish when their canoe had been forced sideways and tipped in exactly the same spot. What little advantage they had gained over the summer from their fishing amongst the islands on the big lake had been lost. The fine fat lake trout they had carefully dried in the sun, floated off down the river and
the precious light grey chert they had bought at the expense of many fine skins dropped to the bottom of the boiling waters. This year they were more lucky, although their successful lining of the rapids was due as much to skill and
teamwork, as luck. Their combined efforts had brought them safely through to an area of winding channels, swamps and thick bush where moose and bear were plentiful. There, once winter took hold they would be able to set up a stable winter camp until the seasons changed again and it was time to move on.
That evening they pulled the canoe ashore at a wide beach just below an open gravel terrace. They had camped there many times before. Their old fire pit was still visible beneath the new grass and a canoe which had finally succumbed to decay lay rotting beneath the tall pines where they had left it. As the family erected their portable shelter of spruce boughs and skins, and started a fire, the man selected a number of willow saplings from along the river bank and brought them back to the camp. Sitting cross legged in the warmth of the blazing driftwood he split the bark from the stem, using a razor sharp flake of chert, and carefully removed the inner bark from each piece. Once he had accumulated a sizable pile of fibres he began to twist them between his hands, spinning out a thread of uniform thickness and great strength. Another few weeks and he would be stalking the wary moose in waist deep snow and attacking the bear in his den. Those would be their mainstay through the long winter months. But now he had to prepare. If something went wrong and his hunting was unsuccessful he had to have something to fall back on. Starvation and death could come quickly in the bitter cold.
He had noticed some droppings on the portage showing that the hares would be common this year. With some cunningly placed snares made from the strong cords he could keep his family from starving with hare meat if all else failed. His family could set and maintain the snares while he was away hunting. Although the lean meat provided is difficult to survive on because of the lack of body fat, they would provide a source of sustenance until he could return with something more satisfactory.
He looked up from his work and gazed into the fire. Some nice fat bear in their dens would be best, he thought. He would find them by the tell tale yellow tinged air vents their breath melted through the snow. Killing them was a dangerous business, but it was worth the risk. A couple nice fat bear, some beaver and a few moose would see them safely through until the ice began to melt and the sap began to run.
As the smoke from the campfire settled and spread along the surface of the water, and dusk descended on the river the family moved closer to the fire. The man continued to strip and twist the willow fibres, now with the help of his two eldest children. The two youngest, seemingly oblivious to the chill in the autumn air played in the loose gravel by the river's edge while the woman patched sections of moosehide together with a bone needle and sinew. Her thoughts too were on the coming winter. She wondered if she would lose more of her children this year to the bitter cold.
© Nick Adams 2000