Appleby College - Argus Yearbook (Oakville, Ontario Canada)

Page 104 text:

10E In the North RABBITMARES 9 The two of them they stumbled. Abreast into the morn, To set a cold cruel rabbit snare, From which one ' would earn much scorn. Their eyes were but half open, yet they ventured on, Together off to the woods. Blood was In their song. Upon surmounting difficulties, With one of their crude snares. They returned to the warm fire pit. Hoping to catch some hares. When rising the next morning, One camper, he did sit, While the other left the fire ' s warmth, To find a dead rabbit. He returned very shortly, And lo and behold. To the other camper ' s amazement, Keith ' s rabbit was stone cold - dead! Then off they all wander Back to Rabbit Nose Keith took his prize to Nobby, A Rabbit, now half froze! Eversince it ' s blood ran red. On that afternoon, Keith sees rabbits, six feet tall, At night, under the moon. FORESIGHTS Look out, over the snow covered lake, At the sun sinking below the hills. And the breeze, cold and sharp, Shaping the drifts, each different. The air is dry. as are my lips. Darkness slowly creeps in upon it all The stars are like holes in black cloth, And the moon casts a ridicule grin ... upon us 9 Passing by time with little care, What will become of it all? It looms above us, snearing down, It calls to those who dare. The pitch so steep, that wears a frown, The face that is so bare. The way we chose is vertical, Decisions, yes or no. The hope to reach the pinnacle. The way that we must go. The urge to stop, the drive to go, A sapling here, or there. The will to climb so we may show, The cliff, a moment ' s scare. The line drawn thin betwixt the two, A ridge of snow and ice. With death of life so near to you, That ground, looks awful nice. The summit close, and yet so far, One pitch is in the way. This stump, I hope is up to par, Someway to end a day. At last, the top is in our grasp, A race to see the view. No need for things on which to clasp. Thank God. for flat ground too. AN IMAGE Alone and desolate it stood, silhouetted against the rising sun. Glistening with fresh ice ... Reflecting the branches and clear blue sky. With bark tough and ridged: the odd drop of sap ... Oozing forth from a separ ate world. Erect, unflinching, the soldier of the woods Stood alone and desolate, after the battle. N. Jackson We left the van, it ' s warmth and calm, And stepped into the Cold. We strapped on shoes with sweaty palms. We feared what might unfold. The crispy crunch of breaking trail, The old life left behind. Our bodies hard against the gale. The goal we hoped to find. The wind blown snow, the dark, grey, cold, It bit the feet and hands. Our reddened faces froze, yet told, We ' d conquer northern lands. The march grew long, and so did day, Our camp, we soon must reach. Fatigue grew strong in every way. I hate this off-white beach! A point ahead, around the bend. Our destiny to see. But wait; just snow and ice to tend, This seems like hell to me. Another ste p, another mile, I ' m walking half asleep. We ' ll be there in a little while, This thought, I have to keep. Am I here, or have I died, Or is this just a dream. God knows how hard my body ' s tried! I see a faint red beam. The sun has broken through the clouds, A ball of burning flame. The whistling wind is not so loud, The cold not quite the same. N. Jackson 100

Page 103 text:

Solo I came to Canada about eight months ago. Just two weeks after I arrived, our class went up North. We also were the first group who went there. Everything seemed so strange to me. The country, the people, the life. It was quite different from Hong Kong. Another thing was I couldn ' t communicate too well with the others because of the problem in language. As time went by I started to get used to it. The whole class was divided into three groups of seven. With the guiding of the instructors we usually had three day canoeing or hiking trips every week. I lear- ned a lot of skills everyday. For example, how to set up a fire, build a shelter, paddle a canoe and cook. I made a lot of friends too. But time passed by very quickly, there was only one more week left of our month. We were going to have our solos the last week. I started to worry. What will happen to me? , I thought. Will I get lost, or maybe even get killed by the wild animals? I also cared about the problem of food too. When I got there, starving was not the problem. I had to survive with myself for nearly one and a half days. What unknown dangers were lurking in the bush? Loneliness came over me, especially since I came from Hong Kong, such a crowded city. And the worst fear was the fear of failure. I got myself busy to keep the fear away, and then darkness came. I tried to go to sleep as early as I could, but all sorts of terrible thoughts came into my head: bears, snakes, devils, ghosts, I just couldn ' t go to sleep. Suddenly I said to myself: What am I afraid of? Why don ' t I just make up my mind and face the problem? I have to face it sometime. I thought of my parents who sent me over to Canada to be educated and learn how to face such difficulties; how could I let them down? I thought it over, it wasn ' t too hard really. Now I was not afraid any more. Nothing could scare me. The sky was very dark and I fell asleep soon afterwards. Although I woke up a few times, the night passed very fast. The next morning I woke up to the noise of a chipmunk. It was raining; I cooked my breakfast, although there was not much food left. In the afternoon they picked me up. I was proud of myself: I had made it. Editor ' s Note: this narrative was delivered at the Powell ' s House Chapel Service, May 11, 1975, by Herman Lam 10 A-1 Mm Herman at Seal Rock Sketch by John Wright

Page 105 text:

And straight ahead we see the place, The island, that we sought. Now all at once, the walk ' s a race, We ' ve beaten what we ' ve fought. We stumbled in, our limbs were numbed, The wood, it felt like foam. Thank God, my will had not suc- cumbed, It ' s warm: I ' ll call it home. T. French From Witch ' s Point we all could see Rabbitnose and I assure you it was a welcome sight. We had been walking for six miles. It was not actually the distance that bothered most of us but more the fatique caused by our first en- counter with snowshoes. As we neared the island, the first thing that caught my eyes was a large ruddy-brown coloured building. The most outstanding feature of the building was the fact that the roof sagged downwards at a moderate angle. Having never seen a picture of the northern campus, this building dismayed me to a great degree. When I stepped off the lake and onto the dock, I overheard that the large building was known as the boathouse and it was to be our sleeping quarters. Being quite tired we entered the boathouse immediately. My second surprise came when I realized that the staircase inside the boathouse was tilted to one side and badly iced. At the top of the staircase was a door. The second floor of the boathouse was different. It was warm and cosy. There was a total of five rooms, all furnished in chip board. Inside each room were bunks, with mattresses, constructed with 2x4 ' s. There were two large propane heaters along with two mantle - lit propane lamps. On the outside of the two largest rooms was a very inviting sun deck, where our only reminder of civilization, the Canadian Maple Leaf was flying. The most endearing feature of the boathouse, however, was the abundance of names of former occupants carved everywhere. Directly beneath the rooms was a storage area full of canoes, sailboats, and camping equip- ment. For the most part this was heavily piled but around the edges lay stocks of odd junk. The most interesting part of the boathouse was the ATV. It had six wheels and was very capable of making its way through any terrain, as its name suggests. G. Stott 10 It is a cold, wintry morning, and nine drowsy figures tumble out of bed, landing on the rough, splin- tery floor of the boathouse. Some are dressing, while others peer into the entrance hall, to see if the two duty boys have refilled the wash basins before going up to the lodge. It is customary for two boys from the duty patrol to go up to the lodge at six-thirty or seven and prepare breakfast for the others, who can sleep in until eight. Before they go up to the kitchen, however, they have to go to the waterhole and break through the layer of ice that has formed over the previous night, and fill up the washbasins. The bodies can now be seen filing out of the boathouse door, shuddering at the minus fifteen degree weather. They troop up the narrow dock-like path to the lodge, an outwardly plain, somewhat decrepit building in any other climate, but warm, welcoming and friendly here. The wooden-framed windows, par- titioned into six panes, in the old style, are insulated with plastic sheets. The figures shuffle silently past the windows, glancing inside and seeing the bacon grilling and the porridge congealing in the cauldron on the old-fashioned, gasfired, stove. As they open the outer door, they are greeted by a rush of warm air, and they step into the an- teroom, which is designed to conserve heat. They open the second door, and find them- selves in a warm, rustic room, with a huge stone fireplace, con- taining a hearty, crackling fire. Pelts of raccoon, squirrel and a rabbit head adorn the walls. Pic- tures of the lake and island in years now past also look down from the wooden-panelled walls. A battered spinnet piano leans against the far wall, the ivory keys yellow with age and use. The once shiny walnut box is scratched and dented, its fine 101