Mike W. Bryant
Northern News Services

Yellowknife (Sep 07/01) - Otter, a former American cowboy turned summer resident of the lakes and trails past the Ingraham Trail, says his canoeing days up here are over.

He says his aging body -- he turns 60 in November -- can no longer support his drive to push on down the portage trail, and onto unfinished business.

In many ways like a modern day Henry Thoreau, Otter lives the mystical life of a forest wanderer -- spending the last five summers -- 376 days in total -- living in solitude under the midnight sun, searching for little more than a bit of solitude.

He infuriates friends -- who say his journeys have all the hallmarks of a Hollywood movie -- while in town because he adamantly refuses to write a book about his experiences, claiming none of it matters.

"I burn my journal every year before I set out," he scoffs. "Every year begins a new story."

"The sad part of life is that we can't always do what we want forever," says Otter, who insists he has no other name.

"All I know, is that whatever I do next it won't be moving to town and settling down."

Two years ago, Otter swore he had paddled the North for the last time and figured it was time to try something else.

He ended up coming back for two more years anyway, but this time he says he intends to sell all his gear and canoe so that he won't be tempted to try for another summer.

"Really, the reason why I came back this year was that I thought I had to go back to where I was trapped by the (Tibbitt Lake) fire and deal with some issues," Otter explains.

"I wasn't scared by the fire but I was trapped and I don't like being trapped."

While on his 1998 portage trip up to Victory Lake, Otter found himself locked in by the fierce flames a forest fire that consumed 148,000 hectares of forest Northeast of Tibbitt Lake.

After several anxious days, he was able to backtrack through the burnt out brush, a little more sooty but alive.

He never made it into Victory Lake again this year because less than a month after setting out -- on July 1 -- he tore his right toenail off and was forced to return to Upper Terry Lake, where he would be in close proximity to medical assistance if he needed it.

"I was right on the doorstep to Victory Lake when the fire started and I had to turn back," says Otters.

Season of solitude

"The significance of it (making it to Victory Lake) would've been taking that one more step. Symbolically that would've freed me." Instead, Otter spent the rest of the summer paddling lesser travelled waters around Trough and Terry Lakes and reacquainting himself with old friends.

"There was a seagull on Terry lake in '97 where I was camped named Pinky," Otter recalls. "He still remembers how I use to feed him back then. As soon as I appeared on the lake this year he was back."

Conversationally, other than myself, Otter had not spoken with another human being the entire time out this summer.

On a lengthy canoe trip of my own, I had joked with my partner that if there was anybody we would see out there it would be Otter.

Sure enough, as we rounded a bend on Upper Terry Lake near the end of our trip, we saw a solitary being in a white canoe approaching towards us.

"Hey, Mike, is that you?" a familiar voice called out as we drew closer.

We spent the next hour discussing everything and anything about living out on the land, away from the trappings of city life.

"When you're by yourself, you're not talking to anybody," Otter laughs.

"The wildlife pretends you're not there. The birds would perch right on top my tent."

For now, Otter has no concrete plans on what to do with the rest of his life.

Having spent 37 years as a cowboy in New Mexico, and as a traveller since 1969, he has never worried too much about where life will take him next.

"Maybe I'll take up sailing," he says matter-of-factly.

One thing for sure, even if his canoeing days in the North are over, he says the many friendships he has made in the North are definitely not.

"I think since I started wandering in '69 I haven't lived in a place where I've felt so much a part of the community," Otter says.

"It's my Northern hometown."