Several years ago, I was on a fishing trip with 5 other guys in the north west territories of Quebec.We have been going to that area for 20 years as the waters are Crystal clear and free of any pollutants. The area we go to is called James Baie L-2 area which is just off the larger, and more famous Hudson's Bay. It is where the White Beluga Whales go to spawn. This is the reservation land of the aboriginal Crees. It is in the french speaking northern area where the French treat the Crees very badly .One can't help to reflect on 1930s era Mississippi when listening to the french talking about the Crees. Well, as in all cases of bias and prejudice, the Cree and the French hate each other.

We have made many close friends with the Chief and his family over the years and they are truly a fine people.They are friendly, helpful and full of humor.They even stop by our camp every few days or so (200 miles from the nearest phone) to see how we fare.

What we usually do is drive our trucks to a power line trail. A 2 track which us takes up 100 miles to a site where we launch our boats. From there we travel about 60 to 70 miles and find a suitable place to set up camp. If I were ever to reach Nirvana or enlightenment This could be the place to make it happen. The idyllic, serene pureness of existence of this place is like no where else on earth. We come here at the end of June when the river ice is melting and spring is gently interjecting itself on everything around us .It doesn't get any better than this. Thoreau"s Walden Pond pales in comparison . Catching fish in water so clear that you can watch them bite the lure. Sitting around the the camp fire at night (at the top of the world here it gets dark at 11:pm) eating fish that was wiggling 20 minutes ago with several friends, and beer of course. At night one can howl across the lake and the wolves will always answer you back. You can keep this up for hours until one of you comrades finally yells "shut the fuck up, I'm trying to sleep" (I remember a few years ago I read an article in a magazine that said that some animal rights people were circulating a petition to ban fishing because it is cruel to the fish. As i thought about it for a moment I realized that they are indeed wrong, Fish love to be caught. Every fish I ever caught was wagging it's tail as I dragged it in) .

Late one afternoon I found occasion to trek to town for supplies (we were out of beer). This is a 10 hour trip, one way, The chief gave me quarters in his home as it was late and the winds were picking up. The lakes can be treacherous, especially at night. He would have been offended if I refused his hospitality.. After a simple but fine dinner of moose meat and fish, the chief asked me what I was going to do with all that beer in the back of the truck. Thinking quickly I told him that one of the cases were for him and the other 5 were for our camp. He replied " there are 6 men in your camp and if you only bring 5 cases of beer back does that mean that someone will go without?. With a big smile I told him that 4 cases were for me and that the other guys can split the other. He laughed and said "lets go out to the fire.

At the camp fire I noticed that I was the only one that was offered a bottle from the chief's new liquid windfall. There were 10 other men there so I retrieved another case from my truck and doled it out . The talk was friendly with lots of jokes, humor and tales of heroism as these are the things men do at a campfire.

Over the years these happy people and our group of fishermen have, in good spirit, shared many jokes and tales of trials and tribulation .After 2 or three jokes using me as the subject, I announced that I had a new Indian joke.

Let me note here that I can speak 5 languages .I know just enough French, Spanish and Japanese to find my way around in those surroundings but not enough to carry on a good conversation. I am fluent in 2 languages-English and Ebonics .I can not speak any Cree other then some polite greetings and a phrase that means something like "send your sister to our camp tonight".

The people there speak Cree and most know French as a second language.When we are at the camp fire I rely on a few that know English to translate so I can understand the discourse. So, now I tell my joke.

One sunny morning a young Indian brave asked his dad how he was named. The dad, puzzled, but long winded told him that when his sister was born, He looked outside the teepee and the first thing he saw was a running deer. Thus he named his daughter Running Deer. The proud father went on to say that when his other son was born he looked out side of the teepee and the first thing he saw was standing bear. Thus your brother was named Standing Bear. Why do you ask Two Dogs Fucking?

Well, everyone laughed and agreed it was a good joke. Everyone except for Mathew that is. Mathew is the tribal hunter. Orphaned kids, single mothers , Widows have limited means of getting food. Especially in the winter. It is Mathews job as the Tribal hunter to provide for them, and he does it well and with pride. Mathew Didn't like my joke and made comment on his displeasure. One of the tribal elders told him to not take of fence and to shut up. Mathew then cast an insult at me which is the wrong thing to do to a man whom grew up around Detroit and can trade barbs with the best of them. After a flurry of retorts, with the other guys rolling in laughter, Mathew became upset and challenged me to a fight. Now, this was stupid and I told him that I don't want to fight and We are all just having fun. Mathew then stood up and called me a coward. Mathew knew I could fight as a few years earlier I had gained the respect of the whole clan by fighting the Chief's nephew. I threw him around like a rag doll without really hurting him much. If I refused now I could lose that same respect that enables me to even sit at the fire with these hard men

I stood up and said " lets do it squaw man." The Chief intervened and asked me if I am accepting the challenge. I replied "Sure, It won't take long." Mathew then pulled out a big knife. One of the men handed me a knife .I threw the knife down and told Mathew to drop the knife or I was going to take it away from him, pull his pants down and tie him over a big log on the trail and let a big Bull moose have his way with him .Mathew, irate now, replied that he was going to shoot me. The chief then told Mathew" if you won't fight fair go home." and if He shoots me, he will be banished from the tribe and be forever be know as "Woman". As Mathew left he cast an insult over his shoulder to which I blew him a kiss.

One year later as I was fishing by the shore of a small river I met Mathew again. He was just coming around the bend , in his Trapper canoe, when he spotted me. He raised his rifle, pointed it at me and Yelled "Bang- Bang" .I stood up in the boat and waved my fingers on the top of my head , indicating antlers, and yelled my best moose call. After 15 seconds or so, it seemed like an hour, he finally put the gun down and started paddling away. I implored him to come back and we sat in the middle of that river for 2 hours drinking beer and we became the best of friends.To this day I look him up whenever I go there.

It was on one of these fishing trips that I did one of the dumbest things of my life. Not far from our camp was a trail which the moose use to get to the river. After many beers and some Jack Danials some one came up with the question of what it would be like to ride a moose. There was much discussion on it when I announced that It is entirely possible and I would show them how to do it.

There was enough moonlight to clearly see the moose trail. Soooo 10 minutes later I find myself hiding in a tree over the moose trail . The whole idea is to jump on the back of a moose when it walks under me. My buddy was hiding in the bushes with a camera as someone had suggested that no one would ever believe this with out proof. Well, soon we heard the thumps of a moose walking the trail.( a 1200pound animal cannot be silent walking through the woods.) It was a big male with a giant rack of horns. I was indeed drunk but not stupid so I let him pass and waited .If I had mounted this beast he surly would have thrown his horns back and would have done some serious damage to me. I have seen them do this when attacked by wolves. I waited.

About a half of an hour later i spotted my quarry as it unwittingly traversed under my tree. It was a big cow moose. About 900 pounds. This is it. I sprang from my perch and landed squarely upon the back of this now terrified creature .I hung on expecting a thrill ride like I had seen in a rodeo once. This moose obviously had never seen a rodeo for it immediately bolted towards a nearby tree and brushed me off against it. My buddy (remember the other drunk with the camera?) had passed out only to be awakened by the commotion and too late to get the picture. He stood up, laughing like a hyena until he heard the awful moans coming from me laying on the trail. I had dislocated my shoulder.. Not only that but I had landed haphazardly on the moose and the family jewels were in serious pain as we made it back into camp.every one was anxiously awaiting the report and the picture. Things got solemn as the situation was examined. Here I am 250 miles from a clinic, 400 from a hospital , in the middle of the woods , at night, with a dislocated shoulder. After pondering our situation for while it became obvious what we had to do. 2 guys held me while another (with limited medical experience I might add) raised my arm up as if I were hitch hiking and slammed one of his hands into my back while using the other hand to somehow force my arm back into the socket.I feel no shame in telling you that the wolves howled that night.