Addressing the threshold of elder-hood

Page 15

NASIVVIK

Aging, nature's great irreversible wonder, doesn't require any help to move it along. In the aging timeline, some milestones are notable for being perceived by the aging person. At the age of 54, my journey into elder-hood marches quickly forward, and some recent events confirm thresholds I've crossed toward the inevitable.

Last March, two of my sons announced their intention to cross the Nunavik Peninsula by snowmobile from Kangirsuk to Puvirnituq, a journey of 532 kilometres. Having done this before following others, they now wanted to do it themselves.

As a parent, my natural reflex was to lecture them about why just the two of them shouldn't do this. But, in confronting my self-appointed indispensability, I concluded that somehow, sometime, I'd have to resign my job as Micro-Supervisor of my sons' lives. Here was one such opportunity.

For once, I decided to be a help and not a hindrance toward my sons' desire to do unique things on their own. I full-heartedly gave them my blessing, and became nothing but helpful as they prepared for the trip. Everything changed for all of us; we had each crossed a threshold. For me, it was feeling the joy of letting go of my sons to a future of being their own men. For them, it was a transformation of their countenance from somewhat anxious uncertainty to vivid self-confidence.

Fifty miles inland from Kangirsuk, I parted with my sons at 7 a.m. Back in town by mid-afternoon, I expected some news at day's end about where they were camped and how they were. To my great surprise, one of my brothers in Puvirnituq called me at five in the afternoon to tell me that his nephews had already arrived. I couldn't quite believe they were there already. This journey usually takes 24 hours, in two 12-hour segments.

On this day, the weather had been ideal and the trail had been smoother than usual. They had not even stopped for tea in 10 straight hours of traveling. Having made this journey several times, I too know the head-clearing exhilaration of covering kilometre after endless kilometre of great tundra wilderness where even stopping for tea can be an unwanted distraction. They had covered this distance without their father interfering, and it was a fine trip.

Last summer, I crossed more thresholds toward elder-hood during a walrus hunt. Nothing was out of the ordinary as I departed for the hunt with two young men, who were eager to prove themselves capable as hunters of the aiviq (walrus). As eldest of the three, I was responsible for the conduct of the trip, but did not think of myself at all as an "Elder."

As we approached the hunting grounds, we were all alert and prepared for an encounter with our prey at any time. We were on the edge of a sharpened sense of being really alive. Our firearms, harpoon lines and floats were ready for use at any instant. Early on the second morning, the magic words were exclaimed, "Walrus, ho!" and, as we swung into action, we were all really alive!

At the height of the drama, I never thought of getting one of the young men to take the helm so I could take part in the shooting and harpooning. My two crew members did everything right, and I hardly had to bark out any orders. I simply steered and controlled the boat as if I'd never done anything but that during the high commotion of a walrus hunt. When it was all over, we had several carcasses to butcher, and we were very contented hunters.

It dawned on me only later that I had not fired a single shot, nor harpooned a single animal. In previous times, I couldn't have been prevented from doing these really exciting things. My consolation came at low tide when I retrieved by hook two walrus carcasses that had sunk after being killed. The excitement factor of doing this was several notches below the high intensity of the chase of the hunt. The amazing thing was, I didn't mind this at all! Yet, I did not ask myself, 'Is this a sign that I am now an elder?'

After the eat was butchered and prepared into units fit for fermentation, I told my two companions, "Pajugiitsaqutilli," a certification and benediction that means, "You have attained the ability to deliver food to others in every possible way!" Many years earlier, a superior hunter had said the same thing to me. I remembered how my state of being had soared upon being told this.

This was the equivalent of earning one's walrus certificate papers!

Now, without consciously perceiving it, I had bestowed this honor upon two young men, and in the process inched irreversibly closer to elder-hood.