Celista had never seen anything like it, even in the most grandiose cathedrals of Europe.
It had taken her and Ellis nearly two hours to descend the narrow slope before them, which knifed into a looming cliff face that blocked out the Shuswap sun. The mountain before them disappeared into the sky far above where she stood gawking and transfixed, a slumbering stone giant silhouetted against the baby blue. She’d seen mountains like this from her aeroplane during her flight across Canada, their proud stone summits bald and untouched by humanity. Somehow it was more impressive to see one at eye level, to feel its awesome immensity from the ground. It reminded her of school days, when she’d learned about Mount Olympus and all the titans that dwelled there.
For the last twenty minutes of the descent she’d had to step through the tangle of fat tree roots obstructing their path like lazy pythons, swiping branches from her face and scratching through knee-high scrub bushes. Now suddenly the ground was bare, and before her was an astonishing and intricate crimson mural that reached out of sight. At its centre was a thick undulating serpent, twisting vertically, with clusters of tiny figures and symbols crowded on either side. Interrupted only by the occasional patch of moss or a deep crack in the stone, the blood-coloured paint almost seemed to be slithering up the wall while she watched. Her breath caught in her throat, her mouth agape, and the world around her went quiet. She felt like she was in the presence of something far beyond her comprehension.
“That’s where we’re going, m’ lady. This map is hundreds of years old, they say.”
Celista blinked in confusion. “Map?”
“That right there, that’s the Adams River,” he said, pointing at the snake. “They’ve drawn out every twist and turn, every eddy, all the way from where it begins up north to where it empties into Shuswap Lake. The accuracy is incredible, actually. They say it took them over a hundred years to complete.”
“And the paint, it doesn’t wash away?”
Ellis smiled, walked over to the stone, and cracked at the cliff wall with his hatchet. The paint remained undisturbed. “These are pictographs, and the Tribe of the River Eel have been using them for generations beyond count. It tells the story of their people, both their past and their future. This paint will outlive both you and I. They use ochre, mixed with fish oils, and it’s longer lasting than any paint white men have ever created.”
Celista shook her head in wonder. “And who is that?” she asked. “That figure on the tree trunk, with the long arms? Who does that represent?”
Ellis smiled proudly, gazing affectionately at the pictograph ten feet above their head. Surrounded by smaller stick figures, some of them draped spread-eagle across the top of the floating trunk, the ominous red man’s pointed knees reached up to his shoulders while he speared two paddles into the rippling water beneath him. He was spider-like and eyeless, and just looking at him gave Celista a quick shudder of foreboding.
“That is Nanor, or at least one version of him. He’s a shapeshifter of myth. The Tribe of the River Eel believe that it’s him that accompanies each new soul beyond the limits of death, paddling them beyond the limits of our reality. He takes them to join the countless generations that have descended into the Adams River to begin their new life amidst the tumult and chaos of the rapids. They believe that the souls of their ancestors live inside the water, and direct its flow. The river provides them with everything they need during life, then welcomes them into its arms after death.”
“That’s their religion?”
He shook his head. “The Tribe of the River Eel don’t have a religion, not in the way you and I understand it. You could say that the river is their God, but in their language there is no word for God. There’s no word for Heaven or Hell either. There’s only the river, and its messenger — Nanor. He is the bridge between this present moment, and eternity.”
“But isn’t he evil?”
Ellis laughed, and slung his backpack over a nearby branch. “Another concept that doesn’t exist in their worldview. Is the bear evil for eating the salmon? Is the eagle evil for catching its prey in its talons? Each being has its nature, its role within its environment. If there was no Nanor, some other being would have to take his place.”
Celista was still digesting this alien information as Ellis clambered further up the trunk, his movements effortless and languid. Again she marvelled at the fact that this was the same derelict who had wandered into her clearing the night before, seemingly starving and near death. Now he swung from one branch to the next like an acrobat, his muscles straining against his flannel shirt. Once he’d reached a spot twenty feet above his head, he leaned heavily until the entire tree drooped toward the cliff face in submission. With one outstretched palm he cupped a small protruding red stone, then turned it decisively to the right with a crack.
“What are you doing?” Celista asked, noting that the stone he’d turned was at the centre of a pictograph of the sun.
“This, right here, is the secret key.”
Years later, when society would know her as the world-famous Lady Celista Spencer, she would think back to this moment as a pivotal hinge in her life. If her initial trek across the Atlantic had been the moment she transitioned from girl to woman, this was when she fully embraced her future role as an explorer and author. It was about fear management — as a pitch-black hole appeared in the rock, its cleverly disguised stone door swinging into the darkness, she clearly saw the two choices before her: she could turn back now, and never understand what lay beyond, or she could trek forward with Ellis and experience whatever life had in store for her. It wasn’t a choice for her, really. Remaining ignorant would be intolerable; comfortable normalcy was not what she wanted out of her life. Even if it killed her, she had no choice but to soldier forward.
Ellis dropped from the tree with a thump, and gave her a lascivious grin. He retrieved his backpack and pulled it over his shoulders, then motioned toward the doorway. For a moment she thought she saw flames in his eyes, his sun-reddened face glowing with perspiration.
“If you’re afraid, I could take you back to the winery. We could be home by sunset,” he said.
“No,” she replied. “I mean to see this through.”
He chuckled happily, and swept his arm toward the entrance. “After you, m’ lady.”
The Literary Goon
#afternoon outing with my #boys AidMan (@aidweasel) and Mr. J. We went for a #lovely #walk along the #AdamsRiver in the #North #Shuswap because it’s #saturday and why not! • • #family #walks #autism #kids #brothers #river #exploreShuswap #exploreBC #explorationLIFE #trails #riverbank #sun #sunshine #bluesky #summer #adventure #NorthShuswap #adventuretime #familyexplorers (at Roderick Haig-Brown Provincial Park) https://www.instagram.com/p/CDpfSP5B8wl/?igshid=n2vn1haimad2
Inktober Day 31. Ripe. Yay! I completed my first Inktober! It was challenging, fun, and I learned a ton about a medium I had not used much before. Huge thanks to all of the folks who encouraged me and provided source materials... #salmonrun #adamsriver #colourful #art #yycartist #sketch #sketchbook #calgaryartist #sketchdaily #draweveryday #oneaday #calgaryart #yycart #creative #bacheloroffinearts #aesthetic #lefthandedartist #creativeweirdo #yyccreatives #artistherapyforthesoul #artastherapy @jakeparker @inktober #inktober #inktober2019 #artispersonal https://www.instagram.com/p/B4T0Nsth27z/?igshid=116fvx7n316y9
For every 2200 - 4300 eggs laid only 2 of those salmon make the journey back here 4 years later. #tsútswecwprovincialpark #salutetosalmon #sockeye #spawn #adamsriver #adamsriversalmonsociety #adamsriversalmonrun #pacificsalmonfoundation (at Roderick Haig-Brown Provincial Park) https://www.instagram.com/p/BpHVDazFaLa/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1qtoak42mo5lm
The Salute to the Sockeye takes place on the dominant year of the four-year cycle. It is estimated that 7 to 14 million salmon will return to these banks this year to spawn. Normally the run would be winding down, but they got a late start this year so we were very lucky to get to see them this active. #tsútswecwprovincialpark #salutetosalmon #sockeye #spawn #adamsriver #adamsriversalmonsociety #adamsriversalmonrun #pacificsalmonfoundation (at Roderick Haig-Brown Provincial Park) https://www.instagram.com/p/BpGR1culB7j/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1j1caffbl1m2r
Today is United Nations International Wildlife Day. This photo of Salmon spawning up B.C.'s Adams River in 2014 was diffidently one of the more challenging wildlife photos I have ever taken. #salmon #un #wildlife #adamsriver #pocketwizard #fishtank
Maybe it's National Geographic's fault but I expect to see salmon jumping up rocks over waterfalls while grizzlies line up for all you can eat.
Maybe it's the tourism board's fault because this anthropomorphic conglomerate smells more than the spawning fish do and animals know that means steer clear.
Maybe it's nobody's fault and that each fish here is a miracle or at least against a one in two thousand odds, give or take.
