Ɂedacho Kué – The Caribou Season

Herman Gahdële

Artillery Lake is known in our language, Dënesųłıné yatıé, as Ɂedacho Kué, the lake of the big caribou crossing/migration. The caribou cross through the lake, which is why we call it Ɂedacho. 

These crossings are seasonal. In the fall time, ɂetthën (caribou) travel through the southern part of the lake, Desnetche. In the spring time they travel through the northern part, Gaspa Kué Des (Ptarmigan River). We say, “Nelya, they are coming in.” In our language nelya is like a great big group, moving non-stop, moving as one.

The caribou come across the lake at ɂedacho, but not for long. For one whole week, all you hear are their hoofs on the ground on that point as one after another they come from the barrens down to the lake. You hear “bum, bum, bum, bum,” a great rumbling; and “ongh, ungh,” the caribou sound; and the “click, clack” of the antlers, all rattling together. That’s what you call nelya! When you say that word my people feel the whole picture.

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In the old days, people wait on the other side. They harvest the caribou with canoes and harpoons. They take as much as they can for the winter. They cut up the animals right at the shore and then they put the meat on the shoreline so the water naturally splashes on it, adding layers of ice for greater preservation. The thick layer of ice also blocks the predators, like wolverine, fox, and wolves. Later on in the season, when the people are hungry, they come back for the meat.

Tsá Kın (Beaver Lodge). Photo: Jess Dunkin

On the south east side of Ɂedacho Kué near K’ıchı Nué (Crystal Island), there are rocks piled about four feet high in the shape of an S and a U. With the S-rock you can jump on one side or jump on the other side, depending where the caribou are. The people hide between them and use bow and arrow to harvest ɂetthën. 

People don’t hunt by themselves. They work as a pack because it’s hard to hunt. The fast runners chase the caribou towards the arrow man. Everybody knows what to do. Everybody depends on each other. One mistake and they all get hungry.

Dzén Kı́n (Muskrat Lodge). Photo: LKDFN Traditional Knowledge Archive

Returning to Łutsël K’é from the tundra on Hakéth Hoɂé (Pike’s Portage). Photo: Iris Catholique

The people know when ɂetthën are coming. The elders know ahead of time if they will be earlier or later that year. They make sure they are there at the right time. They don’t have radar, but they know. There are other things that tell them, things like flies and ravens and seasonal changes. This is knowledge that is gathered over time. It goes a long way back, from when the people first tasted caribou.

In the springtime, ɂetthën return to the tundra. We say, nah-us. They are turning, they are heading back.

In the old days, when people gathered twice a year to harvest together, they would also have great activities including drum dancing, hand games, Dene trade, and competitions.  

There were hundreds, maybe even thousands of people here. People from four different directions and nations: Łutsël K’é, Yellowknife, Behchokǫ̀, and Deninu Kųę́. There were teepees a long way down the shore on both sides of the esker. My Granny said that it was just noisy. The gatherings happened at the two caribou crossings: Desnetche (fall time) and Gaspa Kué Des (spring time).

Madelaine Catholique preparing caribou dry meat at Ɂedacho Tué, 1995. Photo: Rene Fumoleau

The competitions happen after the harvest, when there is lots of meat. My grandfather and others have big bundles of dry meat and fat, the meat made by their wives, mothers, aunties. They take the bundles way out. People line up on both sides of the esker to watch the competition. Using a bow and arrow, you get one shot to try and reach the bundles. If your arrow wobbles while it’s flying, people laugh. But if it travels smooth and straight, they know there is a good person behind that arrow. They say, That guy knows what he’s doing. The closest arrow to the dry meat takes it all home.

Afterwards, the people start moving, spreading out to different places across our homelands for the winter (and for the summer). And then it would be silent again. This is what the caribou does to the people, makes them move, makes people happy and healthy and joyful.

The main road starts at Ekethacho (long portage) and spreads out into the tundra. People know where everybody is because they talked about it during the gathering. This way they can share meat if needed. The fall time gathering spot is where the Łutsël K’é people still gather today at Desnetche. 

When the people hear the first thunder on the esker at Gaspa Kué Des, the whole nation yells. They put their arms up with fists clenching strongly and with their whole heart they yell, “Marsi choooo!” It means I made it through the cold winter with my family. Some cry because not everyone made it. They grieve for those who were lost. The yell means I’m happy I made it here today. 

Thank you.

One of the cabins at Ɂedacho Tłaze (Timber Bay). Photo: LKDFN Traditional Knowledge Archive

LKDFN cabin at Ɂedacho Tłaze. Photo: Pat Kane

Ni Hat’ni Dene, the Indigenous guardians of Thaidene Nëné, and community members have observed that ɂetthën rarely pass by Ɂedacho Tué now, just as they no longer come to Łutsël K’é. Even though the caribou haven’t been coming to Ɂedacho Tué lately, the lake remains an important stop on winter journeys to other places in hazúghe (barrenlands), and visits by community members to the Łutsël K’é Dene First Nation’s cabin at Ɂedacho Tłaze are common year-round.