Messages From the Past Are Beautiful Mysteries of Today
My mysterious journey towards pictographs
Have you ever seen a pictograph? It’s a painting done on a flat cliff wall, or boulders, of white rock. They’ve painted images in a red ochre hue. You may be mesmerized when you view them. Or they might make you furrow your brow in wonder. You might want to know who took the time to create them?
There are two reasons why this subject arose. I grumbled to my partner that I had writer’s block. He told me to write about Pictographs. The second reason is — it’s spring and that means we’re due for a canoe trip.
OMG, I can hardly wait! It’s like the holiday season around here. We get to prep the food. I shop, and he spends weeks dehydrating meals. We bring out the camping gear. Buy cool new clothes. Yeehaw, awesome times. It’s the most exciting time of the year. We love to explore and each trip is always a new route. Maybe we’ll see new pictographs, you never know.
Anyway back to what you want to know about the pictographs I’ve seen.
Pictographs
They’re paintings made centuries ago by members of Aboriginal religious leaders. They are believed to be sacred areas. The images can be a canoe with men in it or tall lanky beings, strange beasts, animals, or symbols.
As you know, every picture tells a story. Which I love — because I paint. Even when my painting speaks to me, I don’t believe it says the same thing to you.
I am simply a conduit from wherever the creation comes from to wherever it needs to go.
My take on the messenger
As an artist, I see them from a different perspective. I also understand them in a certain way.
Whoever painted them had a purpose, it wasn’t a random act. How do I know? Because you don’t carry red ochre around everywhere. Red ochre comes from an iron-rich rock. A piece of rock must be broken off and crushed into powder form to be used. One then has to mix it with a binding agent. Think oil or fat from an animal or fish.
You need a container to mix the red ochre and oil/fat in. The mixture has to be the right consistency, so it flows well. Then you apply the mixture to the rock face in a design with either a tool or your fingers. I find it interesting that I know this much from being an artist.
For me, this is where the magic begins. I feel their spirit connect with mine across the dimensions of time. To know that an artist stood, or sat in the exact spot I am in now, blows me away. Sometimes it’s as if I step into their body.
I’m transported back to that moment and time with them. As I stare at the image I lightly caress my fingertips. It’s like I’ve just tenderized my paint-soaked digits on the rock. I can feel the gritty texture of the powdered concoction rub into my tips. The stench of fresh fish oil almost more than I can bear.
Red paint embedded under my nails. It stains them for a while. My message left here is clear for those who follow. I know it will last for many years to come.
I shift my weight and break the spell. I don’t touch these paintings, ever. I need to remove myself from the space that should be theirs alone. It’s uncomfortable to me. I feel as though they can look right at me, and it freaks me out.
Most places where I’ve viewed the pictographs are in areas where it’s water access. I’ve paddled to them in a canoe. Many of them had to be painted while standing in a canoe. I can see by the height. The water could’ve run higher for others. I wonder if the person would’ve been alone or with someone else? Some of the locations are precarious.
Location, location, location
The set that I’m talking about is a major set of over 100 pictographs. They’re on the edge of a cliff-face, about six feet above a ledge that slants down towards the water. The water is about 60 feet deep at that spot by Agawa Bay, in Lake Superior.
You can hike down to them and hold onto a chain as you walk out on the ledge, to view them. We chose to canoe over. Yeah, I know it’s a surprise.
The first thing that came to mind was the icy cold, clear water. I could see huge slabs of crystalline granite that had broken off from the cliff-face, above the pictographs.
As I looked down upon these massive square blocks, I felt a shiver run right up my spine. The darkness around them was creepy. Some of these blocks were taller than a three-story building. It was as if a great monster could slither in amongst them.
I could feel the cold darkness near the bottom tempt me to jump into its icy cathedral. There were so many the effect was of an underwater maze. It felt like if you fell in, you’d never be released.
I couldn’t wait to paddle away from there. I’m sure my partner didn’t realize why I wanted to get away. I never said a word to him. Then I saw the pictographs.
Agawa Pictographs
I thought about when the pictographs would’ve been painted. Was the lake calm? Were they in a rush to paint them? With nothing to hold onto it’s easy to imagine the danger, the artist would’ve faced while painting them.
They must’ve had someone with them to hold the mixture in the container while they worked. Maybe they held onto the artist as well. You’d have to trust the lake gods to keep you safe while you worked. If you fell in it’d be hard to pull yourself to safety. Such a fearsome place to work.
I have to say they were beautiful. Pretty impressive and the first ones I had seen. It was as if I’d been where I shouldn’t be though.
I find pictographs bring a quiet, spiritual meaning to me. I’ve seen them on a boulder near the top of a mountain, in Alberta. There have been those at Agawa and Quetico Provincial Park.
Though I’m mesmerized by pictographs, I don’t want to touch them. I think it’s because as an artist when I paint my soul comes through my work. I think that’s what I feel with pictographs.
I sense their sacredness with an awareness of my intrusion into their space. I feel as if I shouldn’t be there. These messages are not for me. It’s almost like they repel me.
Another thing I’ve noticed is when we head towards them, some events will prevent us from locating them.
Lake Quetico Pictographs
We were headed to a site on Quetico Lake by some pictographs, and my partner decided he’d show them to me. It was a gorgeous day, calm waters. Perfect for a full day of canoeing. Not a cloud in sight.
As we came closer to the channel to take us by the pictographs, heavy clouds began to gather overhead. Within 15 minutes, the heavens opened up. We got drenched.
We had to paddle to the closest island to empty the water from our canoe. The rain never let up as we searched for an empty campsite. They were supposed to be on the opposite side of the lake from the pictographs. We found a site 1/2 mile past them.
We stayed an extra day, but the weather didn’t cooperate so I never saw them. Even though we’ve been to that lake a few more times, I’ve yet to view them.
Strange things happen
We took a few photos of the pictographs, but no longer do. The aboriginals in Quetico ask that you don’t, we abide by that rule. We’ve also had strange things happened when we did.
We were in Quetico park on a big loop that took us down to the bottom of Agnes Lake. It’s 21 miles long and runs North-South. It reminds me of a lowercase “y”. It’s one of the big lakes in Quetico. When she gets windy and wavy, paddlers get off her, quickly. The deepest part is over 300’.
This day it was calm so we took our time. We explored and fished. We had all day. Things were great and we decided we’d paddle over to the island where the pictographs were. I felt weird when I saw them. Then my partner got out his camera. We discussed whether we should take any photos. He took a couple, but we decided it didn’t feel right.
Shortly afterward, we continued our paddle across the last part of the lake. The winds picked up so the rush was on. Into the little bay, we went. We looked around for a site and found one that was okay. We set up our tent and then headed out to catch a fish for supper.
We paddled a little further into the bay and found the prettiest unmarked site ever. That was annoying. It would’ve been awesome to have. We returned to our site with a fish.
As I got out of the canoe, I broke my fishing rod. It happens but we thought it could be the photos of the pictographs. Maybe the spirit of the lake was mad at us.
The next morning, we left Agnes Lake and headed through two smaller lakes up to Kawnipi Lake. Glad to put more distance between ourselves and the pictographs. Just in case.
They weren’t finished with us yet. We came out behind a bunch of islands and decided to take a little break. It’d been a couple of hours since we left Agnes, a stretch was in order. We picked a nice little island, had some coffee, and checked our maps. Everything was great. It was calm as could be.
We loaded back in the canoe and headed out into Kawnipi Lake. It’s a 12-mile long lake, that curves to the north at the midway point. We came out at that point. No problem, we’d checked the map we’d be fine. We’ve been here before, we know what to expect.
As we came around the island out into the opened lake, unexpected 35–40kms wind gusts from the south-west, began to blow. Headed in an east-west direction is not what you want to be doing. The waves crashed hard and steady against the side of our canoe. Kawnipi’s current runs north-south. It’s a nightmare to navigate in these conditions.
Up ahead we could see the coast turn north. We paddled hard towards it. I slipped down off my seat at the bow and jammed my knees against the hull, to stabilize the canoe. With pure stamina and our eyes locked on our goal, we soldiered on. It was a time for action.
I tried to ignore the sharp pinnacles of the shoals about 30 feet from shore. I prayed to the heavens to keep us far enough away from them while our canoe bounced hap-haphazardly across the waves. The minutes turned to hours. Time was all but lost on us.
We gave joyful shouts, at the same time as we’d reached our goal. Amazed we’d made it through unscathed. “Don’t want to try that one again”, my partner said. A proud smile beamed across his face. I grinned with gratitude.
As we paddled on we saw an eagle above us chirping. It was then that we noticed — it’s mate and eaglets in the nest. We paddled closer to the other shore as we hurried away from them.
We began to look around and pulled out our maps to see where we’d camp for the night. To our horror, we realized we had overshot our route! We had to backtrack.
Once again, we had to go by the eagles’ who were none too pleased. We were concerned that they’d divebomb us if we didn’t rush. We came out into the area with the crosswinds and treacherous shoals. We paddled with more determination than we’d had before. We’d done it once. We could do it again. It was a nerve-wracking experience. One I would prefer to keep behind me.
We blamed the mixup on the photos of the pictographs. We found a buggy site up near the top of the lake and settled in for the night.
The next morning we left and headed to a couple of other lakes. The first portage was kind of eventful, as we tried to find a lost portage, to no avail. We turned around and did our normal route. We spent so much time searching for the portage, we ran later than usual. We chose to spend the night on the lake at the bottom of the portage.
All was great. We gave an offering to the water spirits as we asked forgiveness for our infraction, that night.
Up at dawn to get an early start, all was well until we got close to the portage. We figured the spirits wanted to ensure we learned our lesson.
As we paddled to the start of the portage, we heard the unmistakable sound of wood splitting. I slammed forward on my knees into the hull of the canoe as my seat broke apart! My partner took it all in stride and repaired it.
That was the end of our lesson from the water spirits. We finished off the next four days with no major incidents.
We don’t take photographs of the pictographs anymore. We believe in the sacredness of them. We honor the spirits of those who painted them. We believe there are other forces that one shouldn’t tempt, especially in the BackCountry.
We enjoy them for the beautiful stories they inspire and the unique ways they bring the past to life.
Thank you for reading.
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