Excerpt from my book FRENCH RIVER

INTRODUCTION

Listen...

Over the hard, immensely old Canadian Shield rocks of the Near North, where Ontario's huge mainland is squeezed to a narrow waist measuring a mere 160 kilometres (100 miles) from Quebec to Georgian Bay, the waters of Lake Nipissing flow westward down a most unusual waterway: the French River.

This is much more than a single stream carrying its waters from source to mouth. It is instead an intricate collection of channels and lakes, bays and marshes, rapids and falls, strategically located between the Ottawa River watershed to the east and the Great Lakes to the west. The French River shows so much physical diversity and has such a rich history that it is among the most exceptional and fascinating rivers in the province, if not Canada.

Before the arrival of Europeans in this part of the country, the Native inhabitants had used the river for countless centuries as part of a major trade route which carried them across much of northern North America. Regrettably, the name they had given the river then is lost in the mist of time: no written records survive from those prehistoric peoples.

The situation started to change dramatically in about 1610 when the first white man came from the east, followed by another some time later, then another, and still more until their light-skinned faces became a familiar sight in the region.

It was this river that brought the foreigners, Frenchmen at first, to the ancient lands and waters of the Native peoples. So the waterway soon became known in Ojibwe (the local Native language) as Wemitigoozhi Ziibii. Wemitigoozhi means stick-waver and Ziibii means river. This peculiar name originates from the Natives' first contact with French missionaries who were waving their crosses around while blessing the people. In time this name Wemitigoozhi was applied to all Frenchmen.

From then on the lives of the Natives would be changed forever, disrupted by contact with people of such a radically different culture and level of technological development.

The European visitors were explorers, missionaries, and fur traders who penetrated deeper and deeper into the unknown, eager to discover other worlds and meet new people. They travelled in birchbark canoes and were passionately dedicated to a single-minded search for knowledge, souls, or profit, willingly risking their lives in a fierce struggle to fulfil their dreams.

Over time these adventurers came to know the river by various names: Rivière des Sorcières, Rivière des Nipisiriniens, Rivière de Revillon, Rivière des François, Rivière des Français, and finally, French River.

During the more than 250 years that the western fur trade lasted, the French River formed a small-but-vital link in the lifeline between east and west. Its waters were part of the famous Champlain Trail, the Voyageurs Highway, the incredible Road to the West, a thin thread of rivers, lakes, and portages stretching for thousands of kilometres from Montreal all the way to the Pacific and Arctic Oceans.

Down this critically important but highly vulnerable canoe route, huge fortunes of precious fur were carried to ocean-going ships waiting in the St. Lawrence River, ready to transport the treasures to Europe. The backbone of this immense fur-trade network, the 4,000-kilometre-long (2,500 miles) central mainline between Montreal and Fort Chipewyan on Lake Athabasca, is shown on Map 1.

The exhilarating days of exploration, adventure, and trade are now long gone; the French River has left its glorious fur-trade past behind. No more the sweating voyageurs carrying backbreaking packs across the ancient, smooth-worn portage trails. No more the feverish rush of heavily laden canots du maître struggling upriver to get the precious furs to Montreal before the returning grip of winter would close the route down. No more the magic sound of paddlers' songs drifting over the misty stretches of the Stick-wavers' River. No more.

But perhaps they are still there somewhere, if you know how to find them, if you listen carefully with your heart. Soon you'll hear sounds coming from around the river bend: the swish of paddles, the laughter of excited voices, the water splashing against birchbark, the singing. You'll hear it all. Just close your eyes ... listen...

Parmi les voyageurs, lui y a de bons enfants.
Et qui ne mangent guère, mais qui boivent souvent,
Et la pipe à la bouche, et le verre à la main,
Ils disent: camarades, versez-moi du vin.

Lorsque nous faisons rout', la charge sur le dos,
En disant: camarades, ah! grand Dieu, qu'il fait chaud!
Que la chaleur est grande! il faut nous rafraîchir:
A la fin du voyage, on prendra du plaisir.