That day the women went back in time to recall the skills and knowledge that they had been taught from early childhood.
They began by making snowshoes. Usually birchwood was collected during late spring and early summer, but today the young birch would have to do. They didn’t have the correct tools, of course, but the women managed with what they had to split the wood into four parts each, which they boiled in their large birch containers. When the wood became soft, the women bent it roundish and pointed at the tips. Putting two of these half-rounded sides together, the women awkwardly drilled many little holes into both sides with their small pointed sewing awls. The work was hard, but despite their aching fingers the women continued until they finished the task. Earlier, they had soaked the babiche in water. Now they took the softened material, sliced it into thin strips, and wove it onto the snowshoes. As the babiche hardened with a little help from the campfire, the women prepared leather bindings for their snowshoes.
When they finished, the women beamed with pride. Then they walked atop the snow with their slightly awkward but serviceable snowshoes to check their rabbit snares and were further cheered to find they had caught another rabbit. The knowledge that a few days before The People had tried to snare rabbits in the area without success made the women feel almost superstitious about their good luck. They went back to the camp feeling lighthearted about all that had been accomplished.
That night the women talked about their plans. They agreed that they could not remain in the fall camp where they had been abandoned, for there were not enough animals on which to survive the long winter. They also were afraid that potential enemies might come upon them. Other bands were traveling, too, even in the cold winter, and the women did not want to be exposed to such dangers. They also began to fear their own people because of the broken trust. The two women decided they must move on, fearing that the cold weather would force people to do desperate things to survive, remembering the taboo stories handed down for generations about how some had turned into cannibals to survive.
The two women sat in the shelter, thinking about where to go. Suddenly Ch’idzigyaak burst out, “I know of a place!”
“Where?” Sa’ asked in an excited voice.
“Do you remember the place where we fished long ago? The creek where the fish were so abundant that we had to build many caches to dry them?” The younger woman searched her memory for a moment, and vaguely the place came to mind. “Yes, I do remember. But why did we not ever return?” she asked. Ch’idzigyaak shrugged. She did not know either.
“Maybe The People forgot that place existed,” she ventured.
Whatever the reason, the two women agreed that it would be a good place to go now and since it was a long distance, they should leave at once. The women yearned to be as far away as possible from this place of bad memories.
The following morning they packed. Their caribou skins served many purposes. That day, they served as pulling sleds. Taking the two skins off the tent frame, the women laid the skins flat with the fur facing the snow. They packed their possessions neatly in the skins and laced them tightly shut with long strips of babiche. They fastened long woven ropes of mooseskin leather onto the front of the skin sleds, and each woman tied a rope around her waist. With the fur of the caribou hides sliding lightly across the dry, deep snow and the women’s snowshoes making the walking easier, the two women began their long journey.
Temperatures had dropped, and the cold air made the women’s eyes sting. Time and time again, they had to warm their faces with their bare hands, and they continually wiped tears from their irritated eyes. But their fur and skin clothing served them well, for cold as it was, their bodies remained warm.
The women walked late into the night. They had not gone too far, but both were bone-weary and felt as though they had been walking forever. Deciding to camp, the women dug deep pits in the snow and filled them with spruce boughs. Then they built a small campfire, reboiling the squirrel meat and drinking its broth. They were so tired they soon fell asleep. This time they did not moan or twitch but slept deep and soundlessly.
Morning arrived, and the women awoke to the deep cold surrounding them while the sky above seemed like a bowl of stars. But as the women tried to climb out of their pits, their bodies would not move. Looking into each other’s eyes, the women realized they had pushed their bodies beyond their physical endurance. Finally, the younger, more determined Sa’ managed to move. But the pain was so great that she let out an agonized groan. Knowing this would happen to her, too, Ch’idzigyaak lay still for a while, gathering courage to withstand the pain she knew would come. Finally, she, too, made her way slowly and painfully out of the snow shelter, and the women limped around the camp to loosen their stiff joints. After they chewed on the remaining squirrel meat, they continued their journey, slowly pulling their laden toboggans.
That day would be remembered as one of the longest and hardest of the days to come. They stumbled numbly on, many times falling down into the snow from sheer fatigue and old age. Yet they pushed on, almost in desperation, knowing that each step brought them nearer to their destination.
The distant sunlight that appeared for a short while each day peeped hazily through the ice fog that hung in the air. Now and again, blue skies could be seen, but mostly the women noticed only their own frosty breath coming in thick swirls. Freezing their lungs was another worry, and they took care not to work too hard in the cold and, if such work was unavoidable, they wore a protective covering over their faces. This could cause irritating side effects, such as frost buildup where the covering brushed against their faces. However, the women did not notice such minor discomforts compared with their aching limbs, stiff joints, and swollen feet. Sometimes even the heavy sleds seemed to serve a purpose by keeping the women from falling flat on their faces as they pulled onward with the ropes wrapped around their chests.
As the few hours of daylight slipped away, the women’s eyes readjusted to the darkness that began to enfold them. But they knew that night had not yet arrived and that there was still time to move. When it became time to camp, the women found themselves on a large lake. They could see the outline of trees along the shore and they knew that the forest would be a better place to camp. But they were so exhausted they could go no farther. Again they dug a deep pit in the snow, and after snuggling down and covering themselves with their skin blankets they were soon asleep. The thick skin and fur clothing held their body heat and protected them from the cold air. The snow pit was as warm as any shelter aboveground, so the women slept, mindless of freezing temperatures that made even the most ferocious northern animals seek shelter.
The next morning, Sa’ awoke first. The long sleep and cold air cleared her mind considerably. With a twisting grimace she stuck her head out of the hole to look around. She saw the outline of trees on the shore and remembered how they had been too tired to complete their crossing of the lake.
She got up slowly, not wanting to disturb her friend’s slumber and knowing that with a wrong move her stiffened body would lock up and refuse to go farther. A smile hovered around her lips as she thought of how she and her friend had complained loudly and often of their minor aches and pains a few days before, and of the walking sticks they had used until forgetting them at the camp the day before. Slowly stretching in the chilly air, she made a mental note to remind her friend of this when the right time came. They could laugh over the fact that for years they had carried those sticks around to help them walk better and now, somehow, they had managed many miles without them. Putting on her snowshoes, Sa’ walked about to loosen the stiffness in her sore joints.
From within the snow pit, Ch’idzigyaak looked up at her more agile companion who slowly circled the shelter. Ch’idzigyaak was still tired and feeling miserable. But she knew she must do her best to stand beside her friend through this hardship. She had lived long enough to know that if she gave up, her friend would give up, too. So she forced herself to move, but the pain that filled her body made her lie back down, and let out a deep sigh.
Sa’ saw that Ch’idzigyaak was having a hard time, so she reached down to help her climb out of the pit. Together they grunted, struggling to move. Soon they were walking again, and kept right on going until they reached the edge of the lake. There, they built a fire and, after eating some of the rabbit meat they had carefully rationed, they returned for their sleds and resumed their journey.
The frozen lakes seemed endless. Struggling through the many spruce trees, willow thickets, and thorn patches that lay between the lakes wore the women out until they felt as if they had traveled many more miles than they had. Despite having to make many detours around obstacles, the women never completely lost their sense of direction. Sometimes, fatigue clouded their judgment, and they found themselves straying slightly off course or going in circles, but they soon found their way again. In vain, they hoped that the slough they sought would appear suddenly. Indeed, there were times when one of them would fantasize that they had reached their destination. But the constant reminders of the intense cold and aching bones brought them quickly back to reality.
On the fourth night, the women almost stumbled onto the slough. Everything around them stood shrouded under silvery moonlight. Shadows stretched beneath the many trees and over the slough. The women stood on the bank for a few moments, resting as their eyes took in the beauty of that special night. Sa’ marveled at the power the land held over people like herself, over the animals, and even over the trees. They all depended on the land, and if its rules were not obeyed, quick and unjudgmental death could fall upon the careless and unworthy. Ch’idzigyaak looked at her friend as Sa’ sighed deeply. “What’s the matter?” she asked.
Sa’s face creased in a sad smile. “Nothing is wrong, my friend. We are on the right trail after all. I was thinking about how it used to be that the land was easy for me to live on, and now it seems not to want me. Perhaps it is just my aching joints that are making me complain.”
Ch’idzigyaak laughed. “Perhaps it is because our bodies are just too old, or maybe we are out of shape. Maybe the time will come when we will spring across this land again.” Sa’ joined in the joke.
Such musings were meant only to lift their spirits and the women knew that their journey was not over, nor would their struggle for survival become easier. Although they had grown soft in their old age, Ch’idzigyaak and Sa’ knew they would pay a high price of hard toil before the land yielded them any comforts.
The two women walked down the winding slough until they came upon a large river. Even in times of cold weather, the swishing undercurrents of the river eroded the ice and made it thin and dangerous to walk on. The women realized this as they carefully inched their way across the quiet river, keeping their senses alert for the sound of cracking ice or any hint of steam rising from between the ice chinks.
When they finally reached the other side, the tension and fatigue left both women mentally and physically drained. With what little energy remained, they numbly set to the task of building yet another overnight shelter.