What makes a place special to one human vs. another? What makes you feel something deeper than you feel elsewhere in your life experiences? Is it the people? The history? The smells or the temperature or the views? Is it the vastness or lack thereof?
I spent a week in a relatively remote area of Canada to find out.
In the early 1900’s a man by the name of Gerald Holbrook discovered an area in the Gatineau region of Quebec. He was a man who didn’t take adventure lightly. He spent his time in many beautiful areas on this earth but decided to plant his flag at 31 Mile Lake. Through my initial research I could not figure out what drew this man to this place. Only after I began to look inward, did I figure it out.
31 mile lake is a 1.5 hour drive north of the Canadian city of Ottawa. While this may not sound like a large delta between a place and a major metropolitan area, I can assure you, it’s another world away. Once you leave the city lights in the rear view you’ll find quaint, lovely little communities. Where a baseball game on a Saturday afternoon amongst 12-year old’s draws in the entire town’s population. Where people huddle around a case of beer in the backyard with a fire and a camper trailer. Where every human, local or foreign, is greeted with a smile when you simply request a carton of worms or their coldest box of Budweiser. Where life just moves slower.
After the one grocery store (which serves up the thickest slices of bacon you’ve ever seen), you hang a hard right and make your way back east. After winding through some beautiful remote country, you’ll land in a place referred to as Point Comfort. It didn’t strike me until recently how apropos the name of this place was. It’s a place nestled between two stunning lakes. 31 Mile Lake to the north and Lake Pemichangan to the south. This piece of land was so small in fact, that when the area was initially surveyed, the team discovering the land didn’t even realize it existed. The previously mentioned 31 Mile Lake is only 26 miles in length. The missing 5 miles are made up of its neighbor, Lake Pemichangan. The beauty of this is just wonderful to me. They realized that a mistake had been made, but they stuck to their laurels. The name was the name, and how dare these modern travelers come in and try to change it based upon actual realized information.
Mr. Holbrook found his way to Point Comfort and couldn’t resist its allure. Surrounded by rich woodland and plentiful fishing, the man decided there was only one feasible route forward. Enter, the Gatineu Fish and Game Club. Mr. Holbrook knew what he found and knew that a place of such beauty needed to be shared. So, a proper club was founded in order to act as a social gathering location, as well as a fishing and hunting haven.
Mr. Holbrook didn’t stop there. While I don’t have any evidence, I imagine the man hopped aboard a fine yacht that he whittled out of the tallest tree in the forest and took to the water. He made his way north via water and discovered a sliver of an island that harnessed an irresistible view, and the potential of a perfect hunting and fishing base camp. Hunting base camp? On an island? I had the same questions. Bear with me. The name of this land has a storied history, but the name of the island is still in question. It’s known to some as “Half Crown Island,” and to others as “Half Penny Island.” Half Crown sounds a million percent cooler, so we’re going to roll with that. Mr. Holbrook started by building a main house, icehouse, boat house, and one small additional cabin. No small feat given the technology available, and the fact that it was 100 percent surrounded by water. People slobber over the creation of the pyramids. I say, go check out these dudes who fell trees, probably swam em’ across some frigid Canadian waters, then threw all 400 pounds of lumber on there shoulder, broke em’ in half using nothing but willpower, and slapped a cabin together. None of that previous sentence was an exaggeration, not a word. When this piece of property was acquired by Mr. Holbrook, another island to its north was purchased with it. And you guessed it, the name of this island is also left up to interpretation. Some refer to it to this day as Holbrook Island, and some refer to it simply as “72.” I’ll let you history buffs determine why Holbrook Island was on the ballot for naming the property, but deducing the rationale behind 72 is a little less obvious. It’s been relayed to me on several occasions that the island of 72 was the seventy second island on the lake, as you head from south to north. I find this to be preposterous. I envision a man in his hollowed-out tree trunk of a canoe paddling his ass for 20 some odd miles counting each island as they passed. If he had one more glass of whiskey the night before it could have easily been named 74, and if he had a full belly of bear and lake trout, he may have paddled on past a few previous islands and named it 68. Nonetheless, it’s a great name for a piece of land. Just a simple number. However, if you take a spin through google earth, you’ll notice it’s still named, to this day, Isle Holbrook. For those looking from the French to English translation, that equates to Holbrook Island. You’re welcome.
The location of Half Crown Island was made up of a beautiful expansive lake to its north, west, and south. To the east was a small sliver of easily passable lake with remote Canadian wilderness on the other side. This wilderness was full of incredible game hunting, that appealed to Mr. Holbrook and his family at the time. Hence, the hunting base camp on an island.
A few years passed when Gerald and his wife gave birth to a young girl who affectionately became known as “Bubbie.” Bubbie also took to the family interest of hunting and grew into a strong-willed woman who could hang with the best of em’. Bubbie began dating and developed a relationship with a man named Joseph Whitney. It just so happened the Joe shared many of the same interests. The passion for travel, adventure, and pushing one’s comfort zone. After years of chasing dreams around the world, including partaking in the initial Alaskan gold rush, Joe Whitney discovered what made him feel whole. This so happened to be at 31 Mile Lake. Joe must have said the right things to his father-in-law because he was offered to take possession of Half Crown Island. From that point on Joe and Bubbie spent many summers driving from their home on Martha’s Vineyard to the beautiful remote territory of Quebec. Those who knew Joe well, knew his strong suit was not sitting still. Joe and Bubbie added three more cabins on the island and undertook a role in running the Gatineau Fish and Game Club (GFGC).
I’ve meandered through life often hearing the phrase “if these walls could talk.” And to be honest, the phrase never impacted me in one direction or another. Until I walked through the variety of rooms and hallways at the GFGC clubhouse. Joe and Bubbie can be found right next to the bar, in a framed photograph next to two large bears, that they had shot and strung up by their hind legs for a photo. The image is striking, for many reasons, but what struck me the most was the relative nonchalant nature of what they had just accomplished. Many other walls were covered by incredible photographs and renderings of those who had come before me in that space. I felt connected to the place, without being a real part of the goings on of that establishment. It was, and will forever be a special moment in time, making my way through this tidal wave of small, local culture.
Joe and Bubbie gave birth to three incredible daughters. These children had the great fortune of spending time on the island and at the club. Later introducing their significant others to this adventurer’s wonderland.
Fortunately, this summer I found myself traveling in the footsteps of all these aforementioned people. I got to experience Half Crown Island, 72, GFCG, Point Comfort, and the joys that the 26 mile long 31 Mile Lake brought to these travelers.
I asked anyone that would listen the same question. Why? Why did Mr. Holbrook and others find themselves in this incredible place, in the relative middle of nowhere, and no one had an answer. Fortunately, I figured it out.
Through life a basic sense of adventure will take you to places that resonate. A place that illuminates the senses, awakens your imagination, and illuminates your passion for the world around you. Mr. Holbrook was making his way through life looking for a place that would speak to him.
31 Mile Lake spoke loudly. Screaming to the man that this place was one that would bring joy and wonderment to his life.
My full name is Tyler Holbrook Duncan. My brother’s name is Whitney Duncan. Gerald Holbrook is our great grandfather; Joe Whitney is our grandfather. Grandpa Joe left an indelible imprint on our lives throughout our upbringing. The canvas Joe Whitney painted on was partially teed up by our great grandfather, who we never had the pleasure to meet, Mr. Holbrook.
This is the part where I pretend there’s significant amount of pollen in the room…
Joe Whitney was a man that had some firm ideals and beliefs. If you wanted to turn right, he suggested left. If you thought the roast was undercooked, he would cook it even less next Christmas. If you thought you only needed 10 flashlights to safely guide yourself around Half Crown Island, he would provide 30.
I never recall Joe Whitney being actively engaged with me as a child, but as I grew older, I began to see his vision. He was the maestro waving the stick, orchestrating the music. He was not the one over your shoulder showing you how to play the notes. He made sure every human being that he was close to him had an impactful experience.
Joe Whitney took his three daughters (one of which is my mother, for those following along) to Aspen Colorado almost every winter. Colorado was the stuff of legends in my upbringing. I loved skiing, and Colorado was a magical mystery land of deep snow, big mountains, and bigger smiles. My last conversation I had with my grandfather was about adventure (whoa, pollen is getting ripe). Indirectly, he told me to chase what made me passionate. Go find something that makes you feel something. This was certainly a factor when I packed my duffel bag and booked a one-way ticket headed for Colorado, where I now call home.
It had been 19 years since I had been to 31 Mile Lake. It was high time to return to a place that makes me feel something. From Boston, this lake is a 9-hour drive. You’ll pass several incredible lakes in New Hampshire, Maine, Vermont, and Quebec before landing in Point Comfort. What I’ll never find in any of those lakes is the deep sense of joy I get at 31 Mile Lake.
A basic and undeniable sense of adventure brought by Mr. Holbrook here 120 years ago. He found it because it spoke to him. It made him feel something. The same things I had the absolute pleasure to enjoy myself.
My brother made a wonderful comment halfway through our trip to Canada. He noted that we should all spend more time taking pictures with our mind, and less time taking pictures with our phones. My mind took many pictures this week, and they’ll forever be stamped in my mental photobook. I love each one of them, and they all speak to me differently.
(Getting dusty in here again).
There is a grassy hill at the GFGC that we grew up sliding down on a piece of cardboard when we were little kids. The same hill that my grandfather’s close personal friend, Pat Tone, slid down when he was younger. I like to imagine that they’ve somehow preserved the same pieces of cardboard that would endure 100+ years of sliding. On Wednesday nights the clubs host a dinner, that we were graciously invited to by my Uncle, and current member of the club. My kids, along with my niece and nephew, discovered this time-tested ritual of cardboard sliding. Watching them brought me immense joy. During this event, Pat Tone made a comment that resonated deeply. He stated, “It would bring Joe so much joy to be watching this.”
Grandpa Joe was watching that night. I could feel his presence then and for the rest of the trip.
It was time for our last sunset over the lake. Members of my family made their way down to the water throughout the evening to take one last photo, either with their mind or with their camera. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I knew the emotion would stir inside because my last experience here was with my grandfather, so I chose to stay in the house. Saying goodbye to the lake was saying goodbye to a human I idolized. The next morning, I got my wits about me and made my way to the dock. I knew it would bring out emotion, but realized it would be worthwhile, fulfilling emotion. I walked down the stairs, stood on the dock, and took it all in. When turning to head back up the stairs, and back to my home in Colorado, I said goodbye, and vowed to come back to the place that had captured my soul and those of many others.
In With The Words 