One of the more interesting trips I took a couple years before moving West was to Labrador. I didn’t know a soul up there except a guy by the name of  Enoch Obed who had been in Bible school where Cathy and I attended. When I got to the village where 282 I thought he lived, I got on the phone and was trying to locate him. A couple of Indian fellows from Northwest River came up. They said they knew Obed and drove me all over Happy Valley and Goose Bay trying to find him, but we couldn’t. Some of those we stopped to talk to had never heard of him and nobody knew where he lived. We stopped at a centre and asked around. A man came out and gave me a phone number and I phoned. Enoch’s wife answered and said, “How did you find us? We just came to stay at a friend’s place. No one knows we are here.” I could only thank God for this little miracle. I spent the night with them. I really appreciated those two native guys for helping.

A couple of days later, I flew up to Davis Inlet and along the coast. Stopping at the little airport was weird. I was the only one who got off the plane. The pilots threw off some luggage and flew away. An old pickup rattled up. It was loaded with kids and gear of some sort. They threw some boxes on the truck and were about to drive off.

They hadn’t even spoken to me when they came up but I hailed the driver and asked if I could get a ride to town. lIe motioned for me to get on the back. I grabbed my bedroll and my little suitcase, threw them in and jumped on. The kids walked all over my suitcase, but I was glad to get a lift.  On the edge of the little village the driver stopped and I got out. There was no street, just a dirt road. I found out later that it was the only pickup in town.  Obviously there was no hotel or even an eating place. There was a Catholic church and a handful of trailers that I guessed were to provide housing for the school teachers. I went over to one and the elderly lady who came to the door was working in social work and was supposedly filling in until a replacement could be found.

“Where do people stay when they come in to town?” I asked her.

“They don’t usually come into town, but when they do, they go to the priest’s house.”

I told her I would just check around. I was checking the area to see if there was need for a missionary and if one would be welcome.  “If you can’t find anybody to take you in,” she said, “you can always come back for supper.” I thanked her and asked if I could leave my stuff with her. From her trailer I went up to the crew on the hill who said they were with Labrador Construction. “You can stay with us,” I was told, so I figured that was settled.

I went from there to the post office. Actually, it was a one room post office and store together. The proprietor and post master was from a town in Newfoundland that I had visited on another survey trip. I knew some of his relatives and we had a nice visit.

I went back to the lady’s place for supper. She seemed glad to have the company and told me I could stay there with her if I wanted to.  “Thanks, but I’ve already got a place to stay.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Where’s that?”

“Labrador Construction.”

“You’re not staying there!” She exploded.  “They’re the worst bunch in town. They’re a real bunch of creeps.”

“That’s the only place that I checked.” “I’ve got an extra room with a toilet. You can stay here if you want to.”

Had she been a young woman I wouldn’t have stayed but she was in her seventies and her place was nice and clean.

“What are you doing up here?” I asked.  “They didn’t have anybody else to come up here 284 so I’m sort of filling in until they find someone.” That sounded great to me.

After supper she bustled around the kitchen, doing the dishes, and it wasn’t long until the natives, mostly men, started coming in. Before long the room was full. She pulled out an old video and started popping in pornographic videos.  Talk about filth’ I’ve been around quite awhile and have seen things that would curl your hair, but I was shocked. I guess I was shocked even more to know that she was there to help these people socially and was showing those videos.  “You’re not showing that, are you?” I asked her.

“My daughter sends these from California.” “These guys don’t need that kind of stuff!” I knew there was already enough immorality without giving it a boost by showing a steady diet of that trash.  “It’s kind of entertaining.”

“Entertaining? I’ve got another name for it!” But I was just a guest in the home. I’d already said more than a guest should have. I excused myself and went to bed but I wasn’t able to get away from it. I could still hear all this terrible stuff as plainly as though I was in there watching it.  The next morning I tried to talk to her, but it was like talking to the wall. She had been showing those videos every night and was going to continue to show them. It put me in a bad position.  Just after I got to Davis Inlet a guy was shot on the dirt road that led into town. By custom, family members and friends hung everything he owned in a tree. They had his canoe and outboard motor up there, along with his rifle, his clothes and everything else he owned.

The family wouldn’t touch those things or have anything to do with any of them. It has something to do with the spirits. But, as soon as the funeral is over anyone who wants those things can take them.  They aren’t criticized or accused of stealing. In their eyes there is nothing wrong with it. I noticed over a period of two or three days that item after item disappeared.

Because of the permafrost, bodies weren’t buried in the ground. The dead were laid in the cemetery and logs were piled over the bodies. After awhile the logs rot away and a skull or a few bones may be lying there, exposed to the elements.  I made some good contacts in that little village.  The plane didn’t come back for four days so I decided to take the BONAVISTA, the government ferry which also carried cargo, that was due in a couple of days.  Along with the passengers, it brings lumber and firewood and will take anything anyone wants to throw aboard.

* * *

I’ve been to circuses in Canada and the States, but I’ve never seen anything compared to the circus in town when the boat makes its appearance. Guys were clambering onto the BONAVISTA before it even docked. They were taking flying leaps, grabbing the ropes and pulling themselves up on them.  When the big boat finally docked it seemed that all the 500 people in the village were there and I was with them. I went up to the wicket on board and said, “Can I get a ride up to Nain?”

“No problem.”

The ticket cost something like five dollars, which was quite a bit cheaper than going by plane. I had just paid for my ticket when the door opened beside me and the man jerked me inside and locked the door.  “Hey, what’s going on here?” I asked. “I just wanted a ticket.”

“We have to keep this part locked or we wouldn’t 286 know who was coming and who was going.” He saw my surprise and continued. “We keep the engine room, the cabin and the wheelhouse locked. The rest of it we let go. That’s their fun for the week. “ I thought it was interesting so I got out my camera and wanted to go out on deck and take some pictures but they refused to open the door for me. I suppose they figured they’d lose a paying customer.  When the crane finished unloading, the ferry pulled away. People were still jumping off. The captain didn’t even look back. I suppose everyone got off safely but it wasn’t the fault of the crew if they did.

The wind was strong and the boat was pitching like a rowboat in a storm. I went up in the wheel-house with the captain. I suppose we were three or four stories up but water was splashing against the windshield.

It was interesting to talk with the captain and first mate and the other officers in the wheel-house.  They asked me what I was doing and laughed when I told them I was a missionary.

“What you should do is bring a load of alcohol and a load of guns up here and let them kill themselves,” one of the men jeered.  “Yeah, you know, that’s not such a bad idea,” I said.

That shocked them.

“It sounds like a cool idea. Sure wouldn’t take long to get rid of them, would it? . . . I know what you’re talking about. I came from a bad home—one that was just like theirs. It was really delightful. My dad would come home and hammer my mother around and when he wasn’t doing that he was beating on one of us kids....”

I told them about some of the terrible things that had happened to our family and the suffering people like that go through. “That would really be nice, wouldn’t it? Take the kids, for example. I can 287 just see the terror they’d go through.” It wasn’t long until they were trying to backtrack.  I looked over at the captain. He was standing there with tears running down his cheeks. “I’m sorry, man,” he said. “I didn’t mean that.” “That’s okay,” I told him. “You guys don’t know what it’s like on that side of the fence. If you knew what it was like, you’d be looking for help for them, too. These people are going to Hell. That’s what our concern is. Their lives are being destroyed and nobody seems to care.

“Too many people have the same attitude you just showed.” The funny thing, right in the middle of this conversation a guy on the other side of the wheel-house was looking out over the sea. He was leaning against a sort of desk humming “Amazing Grace.

I figured he was making fun of me. I couldn’t help thinking how cynical he must be. I glanced at him and he glanced at me, then he winked and looked out the window over the sea.

I finished talking to the guys and, after being in the wheelhouse for a couple of hours, I went below. A few minutes later the captain came down to talk to me.  “I want to apologize for what I said up there. I say things like that and sometimes I think things like that, but I really don’t mean it.”

“That’s okay,” I said. We struck up a good conversation at that point and I was able to share the gospel with him person seen before came up and said, “Are you Hill?”

I about fell over, I was so surprised.

“Yeah,” I answered.

“I just got a message. They said if

you see a stranger walking around town

ask him if he’s Hill. If he is, tell him, ‘24

Roberts.’ “

That didn’t make any sense to me

but I wrote it down and shoved the

paper in my pocket. I found some

Christian teachers and a Moravian

pastor who had just recently been

saved. He told me his elders were all drunks and committed adultery and white and is married to an Inuit. Murphy is teaching there. We’ve been in contact with him ever since that visit. His daughter came down to Newfoundland to go to school.

I stopped in at Rigolet, Makkovik and Hopedale on my return trip. Like I said, nobody knew I was coming. I didn’t even know myself when I was coming or where I was coming, but on that leg of the trip I was on a big float plane that landed just out of Northwest River six miles out of Goose Bay.

Everyone else took off but I talked to the pilot a few minutes and helped him unload. Then I gave him a tract and decided to see if I could find a ride into taxi to meet the plane. Nobody in Goose Bay knew I was coming. A lot of strange things have happened to me but that is one of the strangest. It was totally awesome.

* * *

Another funny thing happened at the end of the trip. I got home and this guy from Salluit phoned me. I had just got home and was absolutely exhausted and had gone to bed. It was two o’clock in the morning when the phone rang and I reached over and lifted it. Some guy was talking to me and what he said didn’t make sense.

“This is Adamie,” he said.

“Oh yeah,” I answered. “I’ll give you a call when I get home.”

There was a sudden, deathly silence on the other end of the line. He had called my house and I’m in my own bed but I tell him I’ll phone him when I get home. I’m sure he did a lot opf wondering about what was wrong with me.

By this time we had hundreds of native frriends in the East as well as the West and in the Arctic. Then there were hundreds more praying friends, plus supporters and family. Our own children were leaving home and being scattered.

Traveling

I’ve traveled all across the North
From the Yukon to Greenland,
To Newfoundland and Labrador,
And on Artic mountain stand.
I’ve climbed the rugged Rockies,
And sailed the Arctic seas.
I’ve driven the Dempster highway.
And felt the Arctic’s chilly breeze.
I’ve been on Vancouver Island,
And walked the forest tall,
And down in old Quebec City,
I’ve paced the granite wall.

Leaving Yellowknife after a visit with Vince and Anne	Taken shortly after we moved to Prince Albert

Our 30th anniversary, celebrated at Headquarters during board meeting week.

Big Timber in B. C.	With Ray Nelson, who donated his Beach Baron to NCEM. This was the dedication service.