The goose fat drips on the hot rocks surrounding the lazy fire. The goose, impressively fat, gets flipped over deftly by googum. This makes my eyes focus on the little chip of wood twirling around on the string that holds my favourite meal in just the right range from the fire. The wood, specially chosen from impossibly knotted wood and white bone dry over time, makes the smoke flavour the succulent meat. This whole goose flipping business goes on until the sixth goose is flipped.
Further up in the tepee, fish heads sewn onto a long line have been drying and cooked until dry black-brown hard. These get put away for further drying, away from weeks of heat, alongside a few dried lungs of caribou for good measure. The sucker heads, and even the main parts, will eventually get ground up into a fine powder and mixed with bear fats and blueberries. And basically the same thing for the dried lungs is done, months later.
Also drying out are thin slabs of caribou meats, various ducks and, on occasion, a bread dough is slowly rising. The fats, still dripping, are collected on sheets of aluminium, which, when the occasion arises, will be boiled until all the grease is gone from the sheets and collected as it rises to the tops of the pot.
Little nephew pokes his head in the tepee door flap, his snotty red nose tells us that he just came from some great adventure, probably wrestling with a porcupine this time. He solemnly tells us that a goose has landed in the nearby creek. The shotguns emerge and the quick sneak-up behind the small grove of willows reveal that indeed a goose has landed. A shot is fired and the small canoe is slipped into the quick waters of the creek. Minutes later, the bird is being prepared for a proper meal of goose and potatoes stew. Don’t forget the onion, someone suggests.
Perhaps other people know about whether or not the geese are flying north today. In a crackle, the HF radio answers back that in the camps further south, everyone is at the blind and ponds. Finally, after a long, cold and dry spring, the geese have decided that it is a good day to take a risk and fly north, to the safety of the frozen tundra, where there is nothing to hide behind. This way, no one can sneak up within a mile or two without being spotted.
Along with the geese, the female caribou head north to the calving grounds of the same tundra. This is mainly to get away from the suffocating heat of the forests and crazy constantly biting mosquitoes and black flies. Of course, the number one natural predator, the wolf, is around, but give nary a look at humans in their isolated cabins. He knows that if they do show up, he might end up on someone’s parka.
Sometimes, a jet flies by at 30,000 feet, the passengers totally unaware that there is life down in that vast horizon to horizon landscape called northern Quebec. Little nephew wipes his nose and heads out the tepee for another adventure, while the goose starts boiling in the pot over the fire, joining other foods that were harvested from this barren land. Everyone gets prepared for the arrival of the spring goose, and the camp quietens as the hunters leave for their favourite spot. The goose gets flipped again by googum…
