High on the Big Stone Heart: And Further Adventures in the Boreal Heartland.

John Abbott is a professor of history at Laurentian University’s Algoma University College. He is the co-author of The Border at Sault Ste Marie and The History of Fort St. Joseph.

This book of yarns begins with a dumb story about a stupid escapade, wherein the author, nearly 60, attempts to mimic one of the more dubious fads of our time: the survival cum reality caper. After walking into the northern bush, to a spot a mere two hours from his car, he assembles a grown man’s version of a boogle house, eats crayfish, drinks untreated water, pukes, gets dehydrated, debilitated, and published in Explore magazine. Most of the articles in this assemblage have been published elsewhere.

Some of the stories have merit. Where the Swamp Hag Lives is an entrancing story about the relationship between cottagers and a swamp that backs their properties. They assume that is a part of the commons for them to use as they wish, but discover that it is private property owned by a developer who suddenly drives a road into it (cutting several of “their” magnificent trees in the process). The mixture of public good and private interest in their solution is a commentary on the complexities of environmental morality.

Amongst the chaff of everyday magazine writing there are a few good story kernels, including Bill Barilko’s last fishing trip; fishing in the life of Rocket Richard; the production of lovely cedar strip boats at the Giesler boatworks in Powassan, Ontario; and the life and work of Murray Monk, trapper, of Red Rock on the north shore of Lake Superior. Then there is a pile of literary fragments (chaff) swept into a corner called “Part Two, Short Takes,” followed by the article (Part Three) that shares its title with the book. While this last piece has its moments, it is essentially a somewhat disjointed, impressionistic piece about Wilkins’ adventures along Lake Superior’s Ontario shore.

Most of the articles in this assemblage have been published elsewhere. For the most part, they are standard magazine fare and do not really merit incorporation between book covers. If, instead of going off on that survival escapade, Wilkins had embarked upon a vision quest and built himself a Pukaskwa pit rather than a boogle house, more good might have come of it.