HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Bayfield Bulletin, 1964-09-24, Page 6BUSHY
TALES
by
ART ELLIOTT
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Page 6—Bayfield Bulletin—Thurs., September 24, 1964 Incorporation Meeting Date "Soon"
Latest Word From Municipal Board
No sooner got done with
that last bit about grub in the
bush than the second thoughts
started to pop up. By the time
the article was in type I began
to think of the most succulent
dish imaginable, and wonder-
ed why I hadn't thought of it
before.
A party of five under Frank
"Tag" Tagliamonte, field geol-
ogist for Kerr-Addison Gold
Mines Ltd., we were camped in
a trapper's log cabin on the
north end of a small lake in
Ben Nevis township. It was
February and extremely cold.
We were kept busy and hungry
cutting 72 miles of picket line
off a four-mile base, the end of
which was a long mile from the
cabin. This meant about four
miles on snowshoes to get to
work, about the same back.
The grub flown in by the
company was the best obtain-
able, no question about that.
But variety is hard to achieve
in camp meals, and the lad we
had doing the cooking was no
pastry cook. However, in the
next cabin was a trapper who
had been lucky enough to
marry an Indian woman. She
would probably be the first to
admit that she's no Elizabeth
Taylor, but man, oh man, could
she cook!
Good Goodies!
Her bush style bannock came
up a good four inches in the
pan and seemed to come out
just right every time. What's
more, she looked the part,
weighing what looked to be a
good 200. What the situation
boiled down to was, we were
loaded with rations, the trapper
was short. His wife was a
crackerjack of a cook and our
man wasn't. So the boss made
a deal. We supply the ingred-
ients. Mrs. Trapper is to make
three pies every day, keep one
and give us two. And that's
they way it went. Lovely pie.
One evening at dusk, just as
we were piling into the cabin
after a rough day and reaching
for the ever-ready coffee pot,
in jounced Mrs. Trapper with
the widest wrinkly good natur-
ed grin I have ever seen. She
bore with her what must have
been a two gallon kettle, with
fragrant steam escaping around
the lid.
Proudly and at the same
time shyly, she set it down on
the edge of the stove, said
merely. "Pretty good meat.
You try it".
"What the heck is it?" was
the unspoken but universal
question. Reading the minds.
she said: "Castor. Very good.
You know . . . beaver".
One of the lads lifted the lid
and peered in. We all peered
in. Still bubbling from her fire,
the contents were dark and oily
looking, and there wasn't much
question about what it was. It
was beaver all right. There was
the tail and all.
Mrs. Trapper joined in the
peering session. With a fork
she prodded at the tail, lifted
it up before the awestruck eyes
of the ignorant whites, rolled
her eyes, smacked her lips and
burbled: "Best part. Very
Real Treat
Wafted out the cabin door
by a chorus of thanks, our ro-
tund friend left. My partner,
Alex Mathias, himself Indian,
simply remarked: "Boy, if
you've never had beaver before,
you just haven't lived".
And that's about the size of
it. Gingerly we started into it,
nibbling diffidently at first,
then gobbling by the mouthful.
It was tender. It was flavor-
some, luscious, dark, soft, with
every bite inviting another, un-
til we were "podded out" as
the saying goes. But I couldn't
go the tail. It was about an
inch and a half thick, and as
far as I could see, pure blub-
ber, pure white fat. Of course
the secret of the cookmanship
had been the tail. The fat had
cooked into the rest of the
meat, the haunches, ribs and
legs, softening them down to a
delicious delicacy that yielded
easily to the side of the fork.
Knives were superfluous.
On the game list we've eaten
bear roast, stewed bear heart,
fried bear liver, stewed coon,
rabbit, partridge, roast duck,
goose, ptarmigan, stewed squir-
rels, moose in roasts, steaks
and 'burgers and venison too.
but that beaver topped every-
thing.
On the way out, I asked Mr.
Trapper to ship me out a car-
cass when he had one to spare.
He hasn't been able to spare
one yet, and that was four
years ago. Don't blame him a
damn bit!
Despite rumours and conjec-
tures to the contrary, it ap-
pears that if Bayfield succeeds
in incorporating as a village,
a vote will be required if the
question of liquor licenses com-
es up. And it appears likely
this will be an issue immediate-
ly following incorporation, if in-
corporation there is.
There has been a persistent
rumor that when last incorpor-
ated Bayfield was "wet" and
therefore would not require a
vote in order to have licensed
premises in the village.
According to Brig. Freder-
ick Clift, chairman of the Bay-
field Ratepayers' Association,
who has done considerable re-
search on the subject, Bayfield
will be in the same position
as Goderich in the matter of
liquor, and a full-dress vote on
the subject will be required.
Although the Ratepayers'
Association has not interested
itself in the liquor• question,
opinions volunteered by sum-
met* residents sewn to be pre-
dominantly against the grant-
ing of licenses in the village.
Vote Split
As far as the permanent re-
sidents go, the issue, on an in-
formal poll, seems to be split
down the middle. In other
words, present indications are
that liquor would be voted out
of the village.
At present there are two full-
fledged hotels in operation in
the village, The Little Inn and
The Albion, either or both of
which might be able to qualify
under L.C.B.0 regulations for
licenses of one category or an-
other.
Proprietors of these establish-
ments have indicated interest
in the subject, but have declin-
ed to state what their plans
might be.
In any event, it appears cer-
tain that if incorporated, the
village will not be automatical-
ly "wet" and a full dress vote
will have to be taken.
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THE BAYFIELD BULLETIN.