“Never travel on your own,” was a dictum here in the Great North. Noah the gold prospector was not alone on this spring day, for he was accompanied by his gold-seeking partner, his wolf-dog Lucky. Here in Alberta, Canada, Noah woke up every day convinced that he would find gold in the rivers. Dawn had come, cold and grey, when Noah and Lucky left the main path to climb the steep banks, making their way through a thick forest of emerald-green spruce trees. The worm belonged to the early bird, after all. It was a fine day, and yet an imperceptible veil seemed to hang over the river, lined with stern evergreens, and the sun was wrapped in a biting fog. Noah loaded his canoe and set down his bucket and spade, as Lucky tottered happily at his side. “Alright, let’s go!” he said to Lucky, who bounded into the canoe. The animal sat in the bow, his great yellow eyes gazing into the horizon studded with spruces, rocks and mountains. The wind rustled through his thick fur, and his hot breath billowed steam. The wild murmuring of the river flooded in his pointed ears. Lucky was always on the lookout in this world bathed in silence and solitude; a world of untamed vastness, frozen in cold silence.
The two friends knew that the rivers bore treasure, and that it was first come, first served. Last autumn, Lucky had helped Noah unearth over thirty ounces of gold in the rivers of Alberta. It was a great haul, and one that had enabled them to heat their cabin, buy furs from the trappers and re-caulk the hull of their canoe. “Listen, listen!” cried Noah, driving his oars through the water. A flock of Brent geese were moving through the sky in a perfect V formation, as if heralding victory. Lucky was on alert, and watched his master carefully. Today was a fine day to find gold in all its forms: in flakes, nuggets or grains. Lucky barked; he could smell something. Noah stopped the canoe and hopped into the river. He swished his pan around to stir the pebbles and the sand. He repeated this motion over and over again, but saw nothing glinting up at him; no trace of gold. Lucky insisted, and jumped into the river, splashing his master. “Here, here! Don’t be hasty, we'll find it!”
In the Great North life was a fight for survival, and every day an adventure. Lucky liked the springtime, when he was free to run, jump and bark at all the beasts that moved between the grass; rabbits, foxes and birds. He liked to shake himself in the river, startling the gleaming fishes as they jumped and flapped in a panic. He like to cross the forest without any sled or burden to pull, alone with his master, and travelling down the free-flowing rivers once their ice had been melted by the friendly sun.
Alan Alfredo Geday
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