Upon arrival at our fishing site, three of us commenced commenced the erection of the Chapleau Cree TeePee. This would be a spectaular sight that would ensure first prize for the best fishing hut. Again, our enthusiasm was high and confidence in our success great.

Under Jerry's watchful eye, the teepee went up. After a few minutes, Jerry felt we had things under control. He announced that he would prepare the fire for the making of tea. With great ceremony, and with wood and kindling, he retired into the shadows of our impressive structure's inner sanctum  to do just that. 

We were still securing the outer perimeter of the teepee when a great gust of wind rose up, and in a blink of an eye, the teepee was no longer there! Gone!

Now... Picture this... Jerry, squinting in the bright light, sitting on a stump, in front of his swirling fire, kettle in one hand, his hat in the other... When the teepee had lifted into flight, one of the poles had struck him on the head sending his hat and his cup flying, catching him in amazing surprise and disbelief. 

Man! The look on his face!

Without a word, (at least none we could understand, from the quiet muttering coming from deep within his throat) Jerry rose slowly from the stump. started his snowmobile, and solemnly drove off from whence we came...

We later found him in the comfort of the nearby Golden Route restaurant, drinking his tea. His gaze towards us told our group we had lost some points that day.

We never did win a thing at the derby, but we did have a hell of a good time, especially seeing that look on Jerry's face. I will not soon forget Jerry Boy.

Go with the Grace of God, my friend,  until we fish again on the other side, for surely, someday, all of us will.

Ian Fortin.
 

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