The hidden years in Canada,104 the registry

Door San-Daniel gepubliceerd op Thursday 30 July 01:48


The registry

It was still early as I walked into Deadhorse, my night had been a mix of sleep and excited tossing and turning  under my blanket. I could not wait to go to the town hall to record the claim. So it was, that at first light I folded  the blankets neatly up and put them in a pile and I started my walk to Deadhorse. The village was still asleep and calm prevailed on the streets. I came along Bakery Jones and walked moments later past Jones's hardware store and in the distance I saw the only Snackbar I knew, owned by mr Jones, the hard neon light was already turned on. I chuckled, much had happened in a short time. I did not find it strange anymore that about half the town had signs with a Jones on it. If you came from here, you were always in some way affiliated to a Jones. If not, you were just a stranger. I could just see them at the town hall asking me, ‘You are not a Jones and you want to stake a claim, ' that is going to give confusion here. When you walked out again, the colleague  would ask his mate, ‘who was that and what did he want ', and the ANSWER would read, I do not know, it was certainly not a Jones. I just had the idea that if you moved here that it would take more than a generation before you were accepted.

I waved at the snack bar of mr Jones, who was behind the counter, he nodded as I walked past and a moment later I stood before the still closed door of the town hall. The white paper in a plastic frame informed me about the opening times, I would have to wait another hour. The townHall had not adapted to my early rising.’ Breakfast’, I thought, ‘up to Jones for coffee and breakfast,’ it was actually  a nice way to bridge time. It would be nice to be back here and chat with the old boy after my days of self-imposed solitude. The bell chimed when I stepped inside, it was a sort of coming home,  a warm sound. ‘Good morning Mister Jones ‘ I greeted him. ‘Has your car broken down boy and is the rest of your tribe on foot as well,’ the old man wanted to know, ‘Coffee?’ ‘I'd like some coffee and some breakfast,’ I said and had to laugh a little, as he called my friends my tribe'.No, the car is all right, I have given it to one of my friends, they’ll  come again tomorrow.' Oops. ‘ said the old man, ‘never lend your car or your wife out, and certainly not to a friend, that invites thunder and storm.’ I looked at him strangely. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘you do not believe me now, but over the years you will find that I'm right,’

I nodded wisely and took a sip of my coffee and after my breakfast I paid up and walked again to the town hall, the door was now wide open to bid every citizen welcome.De doorman stepped forward. ‘Young man,’ he said in a questioning tone. ‘ I want to register a piece of land, ‘I replied. ‘To the 2nd floor, next to the offices,’ said the man, ‘there's Mister Jones, he does Land Management.’. Unconsciously I smiled again. Jones, Land Management sounded more important than it was. It was a dark room with maps on the wall and a desk. The room was crammed with filing cabinets. 'What can I do for you.' asked a man with a white shirt and tie and suspenders, putting his glasses back on his nose. ‘ I'll want to stake a claim, ‘I replied. ‘That is only possible if you are a free miner,’ the man said, and he  prepared to sit down again.‘I am, I said and pulled my wallet out of my pocket and showed the freeminer's certificate. ‘That changes things,’ said Mister Jones, ‘what fun it's been a long time since some one has staked a claim here.’ ‘ Just show me on the plans where to find that claim then we can see if that piece of land is still domain.


He came up to the counter with a general map and folded it out. I can’t  find anything  on here, I said. ‘That's because it is a geographical map,’ said Mister Jones. ‘.’ In what direction is the intended claim? ‘ 'Close to the river Dead horse I said. ‘ ‘That was the old Peace River,’ laughed the man, ‘but that is long ago .. let's be specific.’ ‘There is a barbeque and picnic park outside Deadhorse, I said. ‘Downstream is a fishing pier. ‘I know those,’ said Jones from Land Management. ‘We will take a look at a submap.’ The map that  was being unfolded was old and dusty, but very detailed. ‘It must be somewhere here,’ I pointed out. He mumbled something that sounded like part 1000 to 2050. In the fourth map, I was surprised to see that I recognized certain things. ‘It is against the mountains almost touching them, I said. ‘ ‘Do you have any clear recognition point,’ asked the man, ‘for more specific than this, the map can’t be.’ ‘No, I said,’ yes, there are mountains and rocks and it is in the forest, well it looks alike.’

‘I came to pole with a text,’ I said suddenly.‘ Do you remember what was on it, Jones said interested, it sounds like a claim pole '' Oh I said, is it already someone’s? ‘ ‘That remains to be seen’, laughed Jones, ‘the Registry will clear that up.! ‘What was on the pole? I had to think deeply, ‘something 1032 I was sure there was something. There were some letters, I said, but the number was 1032. 'BC', helped mister Jones, ‘which is the state of British Columbia.’ ‘No,’ I said,’ I know, ‘I said, 'EoC was on it and then the number.’ ‘Then you will find that is an end of claim picket. Meaning that if your’s is past there, you can stake it out.’. So it was  really hours later that I left the land department with some poles with a numbered plate attached to them and was on the street again, the owner of a claim, which only needed staking out..

San Daniel 2015

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