By Delynda Pilon

As I believe I have mentioned before, my family has been into many ‘get rich quick’ schemes over the years. Mostly this comes from an enormous lack of excitement about holding down a regular nine to five job. They figure a bit of effort placed in the right area will pay out a fortune, meaning a life of luxury and comfort. However, a lot of effort spent in working a shift each and every day will mean getting lost in the masses of regular Joe’s who spend all their days getting kicked around by the big guys.
This likely explains their obsession with legends about lost gold mines. My Uncle Jack and a friend of his (one who sat in utter consternation for several minutes while filling out a form that asked him to list his occupation) decided to chase down the legend of a lost mine in BC in the area of the Stikine River. My dad, who believes proper pronunciation is more of a suggestion than a rule, calls it the Stink Eye River. I think he just does it to annoy me and mom.
Anyway, Uncle Jack never met a job he really liked and spent most of his 60 some years avoiding  employment of any sort. This did not result in him being a rough and tough Charles Atlas type (my dad calls him Charles At Last - yes, I think to annoy me and mom). In spite of that, him and his buddy decided they were going to pack up a few canoes with some provisions, take their wad of notes which included speculatory maps of the possible location of this lost mine based on their extensive reading of deep theological papers somewhat like Weekly World News, and head up river in search of gold.
Dad: You know, Jack, there aren’t too many towns along the shore of that river. You won’t be able to buy provisions once you run out.
Jack: We’re going to live off the land when it comes to that. And once we come out, we won’t have to worry about provisions ever again.
Dad: You aren’t going to be able to buy smokes either.
This statement caused some real alarm since both Jack and his pal, Gordon, smoked like my dad’s old station wagon, which we called the pees-a-puck-a-hooey-hooey after the sound the engine made while trying to top a hill. After some negotiation, it was decided the two would bring along several extra cans of tobacco and smoke roll-your-owns. Surely they would find the gold before they ran out of smoking materials, and then they’d never have to worry where the next smoke was coming from ever again.
They decided the best time to make the trip was spring.
Dad: You know, spring run-off really brings up the level of water in that river.
Jack: Nothing we can’t handle. I am an expert, you know.
Dad coughed a bit at this and rolled his eyes. Uncle Jack laid claim to being an expert at all outdoor activities, from hunting to camping and fishing to trapping, and all because he was Metis. My dad is Metis as well yet he contends that you can’t know anything about outdoor activities unless you occasionally actually go outside. Uncle Jack did most of his camping and fishing from the comfort of his armchair while holding his remote control.
Dad: You know, they call that area Canada’s Grand Canyon.
Uncle Jack remained silent but a flicker of concern crossed his face. I don’t think anyone had every mentioned that part to him before. Then dad brought some more info to Uncle Jack about the deep canyons on the Stikine, some abysses so profound that the noon day sun couldn’t reach the water running within them.
Jack and Gordon’s excitement for their upcoming trip waned considerably.
Over the months their plans changed. Uncle Jack discovered some information about an old gold mine in the Vancouver area, a place much more suited to civilized fortune seekers.
Dad still talks about the lost mine on the Stikine River. He thinks Jack and Gordon might even have had some good ideas about exactly where it is currently located. Sometimes he tells mom it’s time to take a trip down the Stikine and check it out for himself.
I’m pretty sure he does that just to annoy her.
Pretty sure - but not  absolutely certain.