PALEO-INDIANS 8,000 - 6,000 B.C. 
PALEO-INDIANS 8,000 - 6,000 B.C.
This story is loosely based on a small late Paleo-Indian site I excavated in the Thunder Bay area. Although the site now lies many hundreds of feet above the current lake shore, at the time it was occupied the waters of glacial Lake Minong lapped its margins...
It was a long wait. Everyone was hungry now; skin drawn tight over lean frames, thick caribou skin clothing barely keeping out the autumn chill. Three weeks had passed since they had arrived at the crossing but no animals had been seen. Their supplies of dried meat were dwindling and the few fish they had been able to spear in the river shallows didn't go far among fifteen people. For years they had been coming to the same place, timing their visits to coincide with the dispersal of the caribou from their calving grounds to the winter feeding areas. For years their timing had been right, but this year something was wrong. Meahnung sniffed the air cautiously, trying to catch a scent of caribou musk or a faint hint of crushed grasses. Nothing. The sweet smell of the first decaying leaves and the ever present dampness of the lake crowded his nostrils. The first frosts had begun to hasten the world towards winter. For the last three mornings tiny splash pools back from the lakes shore had been glazed with ice.
From his vantage point on the high sandy peninsula he could see for miles down the lakes shore. If any caribou were moving down there he would be able to see them, and if they unexpectedly chose to follow the crest, he would see that too. But still he fretted, constantly turning his eyes along the shore in case he missed their passing. Others from the camp had abandoned their stations to forage inland in the hope of cutting off a group of stragglers, or finding something else to satisfy their hunger. Meahnung stayed at the lake shore watchful, silent and dismayed.
Three more days passed. Old woman Toowook died in her sleep; her stiff body was found in the morning curled up like a child's in her nest of furs. With a feeling of hopelessness the men made a pile of dry brush and placed the old woman with her few precious belongings on the heap. A spark was struck into some bone-dry grass. It caught, was thrust under the brush pile and within seconds the flames leaped up among the dry branches, spitting sparks and flames as the fire reached towards the old woman's body. A tongue of flame lashed the dry fur she was wrapped in and the acrid smell of burning hair blended with the smoke. Soon the corpse was engulfed in fire. The people encircled the pyre, keening or standing in silent contemplation, their thoughts averted from their present plight as they watched the flames rising higher. Gradually the heat of the fire subsided. In the centre the old woman's form could still be made out, dripping and crackling as the last remnants of her parched shell were rendered by the flames. In the morning Toowook's daughter would rake around in the ashes picking out the last remaining parts of her mother's body, to be buried away from the camp, overlooking the lake.
With nothing else to do now that the momentary diversion of the cremation was over, Meahnung resumed his position on the peninsula. He squatted, swaying back and forward on his heels, his arms clamped tightly around his knees in his customary waiting position. He sat there for many days, deep within himself. Only his eyes, which constantly combed the land showed that he was still alert.
A raven flew across the sky to the west, barrel rolled then dived out of site into the tops of the trees. Meahnung followed it with his eyes then suddenly noticed something moving along the shore about a mile from his lookout. At first he thought the dark shape was a bear, but as he continued to watch more dark shapes emerged from the cover of the cedars and began to move along the shore. Keeping himself well hidden he slid behind the rocks and, once out of sight, raced back to the camping place. Two of the men were out looking for small game, but there were enough. Picking up their short spears they raced downwind to where the river joined the lake. For years they had attacked the caribou as they massed at the water's edge. The first animals to arrive were always reluctant to cross the wide river until the press of those behind forced them in. If the hunters timed their attack well, they could sandwich their indecisive prey between themselves and the water, killing a good number of them before those nearest the water plunged in. Timing was crucial. If the herd became spooked too early they would disperse before the crossing. If the hunters were too late in attacking many would escape into the water. As Meahnung watched the animals massing along the shore he felt a stir of excitement tinged with relief. The caribou looked sleek and well fed from their summer grazing. There would be rejoicing and feasting in the camp tonight, and Meahnung would be sure to leave an offering for his guide and helper, the raven.
© Nick Adams 2000