Tânisi—pronounced tahn-sih—(“Hello” in Cree),
How far from home can one wander before the heart turns back?
While my Polaris quad bike sputters—likely a carburetor or oil pressure issue—it hits me where I am: alone in this vast flat expanse of white. Somehow, in contrast to the heat and colour of Africa, I find myself on a solo rescue mission on Keeley Lake in subzero temperatures. How am I here? This was not part of the plan.
I love adventures—surely this is one for my stash of campfire stories—but I thought I would be somewhere in Gabon, Togo, or wherever in Africa if asked where I thought I would be right now when I started this journey in 2023. I can’t believe Africa brought me back to Saskatchewan.
A Very Big “Full-Circle” Moment
This is one of the biggest full-circle moments I have experienced. I was playing hockey in Namibia (inline hockey is very popular in Namibia) when I met someone whose company runs a lodge in Northern Saskatchewan. We soon established a skills and mutual needs match and, next thing I know, I’m the manager of their hunting/fishing lodge on the shore of Keeley Lake in Saskatchewan, Canada. I’m here on a quick contract.
My family moved to Saskatchewan the same year I was born in Cape Town. I grew up in the snow and on the ice for my first decade of life. Most of my time on ice was spent playing ice hockey, but I’m no stranger to ice fishing, snowmobiling, and hunting in the prairies. Still, I never thought that following my roots in Africa would lead me back to the frozen land home to my earliest memories. I haven’t spent a winter in Saskatchewan in two decades. That’s a big loop to close.
My Little Rescue Mission
This surprise solo mission on the lake started with a call from the RCMP (Canada’s police) on Saturday morning. I was going about my managerial routine when the officer called to notify that someone had placed a distress call — their truck is stuck on the ice. The police station in Meadow Lake is a one-hour drive away, so the officer asked that I go have a look in the meantime. I quickly left to put on all my warmest clothing and get the quad fuelled up.
Trepidation hit upon realizing how far on the lake I would have to go. I haven’t been out that far. The officer had sent gps coordinates of where they’re stuck. It was easy to triangulate the location on Google Maps based on the geographical layout of the lake. I wouldn’t need to bring a gps to find them. We don’t have one, anyway. Thankfully, the snow conditions should allow for me to go with the quad without getting stuck.
On my previous trip on the ice, there were areas of slush where my quad was breaking through the top layer. I felt like I was going through the ice. The reality was not so dire, but I was quickly reminded how long it had been since I was on a frozen lake, and that there is much to recall and relearn about reading ice conditions. Traveling kilometres onto the ice is no joke.
I was at the furthest point away on the ice that moment in the 360 degrees of whiteness with my Polaris sputtering. There was no sign of the distressed truck. This was all quite fun and challenging, though concerning for the distressed folks. This was a true mini adventure, just the way I like it, but I longed painfully for Africa at that moment.
Each day here, Africa calls me back. Africa sent me here in the first place. Why? Sure, I’m here to work and make money, but the serendipity of being here doesn’t go unnoticed. I’m very grateful to be in Saskatchewan. However, Africa is where my heart is. This much is clear.
I saw a group of ice shacks huddled together in the distance, so I took a detour to see if they had any observations to share. They hadn’t really seen anyone, but one of them offered their spotting scope so I stood on the quad to do a scan. They called this “glassing” during my days at a hunting outfit in Northern British Columbia. Still no sign of them. This made no sense.
I soon surmised they must have gotten unstuck already. I never found their tracks, but surely I would have seen signs had they broken clean through the ice. This seemed unlikely. I backtracked the way I came, cutting through another group of ice shacks toward a particular truck I noticed through the spotting scope. The truck and the woman inside matched the original description. My speculation was confirmed. She casually mentioned, “oh, we cancelled that emergency call”. Some folks on snowmobiles helped them get unstuck.
The officer was waiting on the shore by his truck when I returned. The false alarm had made him too wary to drive onto the ice. He was unaware of any cancellation of the distress call.
Appreciation
Despite the anticlimax, I felt like I had learned something on my little tour of the lake. I had gained a new confidence to navigate the ice and appreciated getting away from the lodge.
I especially enjoyed that moment of alone in the white expanse. There was a jolt of clarity there that was exhilarating. It grounded me in where I was while echoing my heart’s desire. In that moment, I had calmed down enough to stop the quad and appreciate the view. Until then, I had been tense about the search effort and too nervous to stop on the ice. Now I could really drink in the dichromatic landscape of blinding white and cerulean blue. I was at ease now.
I can’t believe I grew up here. What a simple place with a strange name—”Sas-katch-ew-aan”. It is as foreign-sounding as any place I’ve visited in Africa. What will it be like to think back to this experience when I’m back in the vivid colour and heat of Africa, reflecting on my old home from my new home?
Much gratitude to Saskatchewan. Much thanks.
What full-circle moments is life leading you to these days? Feel free to share.
//
G
The frozen prairie echoing distant bushveld, both teaching the same truth: home is not a place, but the pull that never quite lets go.
