+% A Pacific Tribune writing contest selection

®

The naming of
Kil-a.pie Beach

By N. P. DOUGAN

YING a little south of Hatch
Point, roughly half way be-

tween Cowichan Bay and Mill
Bay, and marked on the map
as Indian Reservation No. 12,
lies ,a clear shingly beach
known locally as Kil-a-pie.
The name was given by a
white settler who came late
to the district and is, strictly
speaking, not an Indian, but a
Chinook jargon word; the sig-
nificance of which, variously
determined by the connotation,
means to come back, to return,
to upset or to capsize.

It is more than a half a cen-
tury since I first trod Kil-a-pie
Beach near which, with others,
I had been employed by
Franklin Copley, cutting and
skidding logs to the nearby
salt-chuck.

Incidentally, Copley couldn’t
find a buyer for his logs,
which were first class but
small. The log market wasn’t
very good, and the price only
about $5 per thousand; and the
big mills didn’t want them at
any price.

We made the boom up and
it was towed to Victoria where
after some dickering, a deal
was made with the small Lee
or Leigh sawmill whereby the
logs were to be sawed into
lumber with Copley sharing
in the proceeds. Upshot of ths
bargain was that several of us
fellows got merely our grub
out of the job.

The boom of logs lay snug-
ly in the water, when on an
idle afternoon, I followed a
steep winding old trail to the
beach. Here was a memorable
picture: the mellow warm
September day; the brooding
stillness over land and sea;
the softly plangent tide. Here
you could stand and see far
out into the gulf, past the
southern end of Saltspring; on
your right, North Pender and
in the hazy blue distance you
could make out the dim out-
line of Mayne Island; and
almost beyond the horizon,
snowclad Mount Baker.

At the northern end of this
Strip of beach the hills fall

steeply and leave at their
base an oasis of rich black
muck-land, carpeted at this

_ time with wild grass, hardhack

and here and there an alder.
At the apex of this vee-shaped

oasis” gushed a_ crystal-clear

spring, to flow in a shallow
winding brook to meet the sea.

Where the clam-shell beach
meets the oasis, almost smoth-
ered in clinging brier roses,
Was a group of plum trees, now
loaded with ripening fruit of a

Nearby
were the scarcely recognizable
charréd remains of a dwelling
of some sort, from which it
appeared somebody had had a
habitation here long ago. But

rich purple variety.

who? The question excited
my imagination.

Many years were to_pass be-
fore I received an answer to
the question, and learned the
mystery of Kil-a-pie. It was
told me by an old, old man who
had been born on his Spring-
vale farm, where he had lived
all his life, not far from the
beach.

... and the

N THE early part of the
Peteiteknninctics a minor
tragi-comedy was enacted at
Kil-a-pie Beach. Two Russians,
man and wife, settled on a
block of land, lying between
Indian Reservation No. 12 and
Springvale farm. They built
a log house, erecting the logs
in a vertical, instead of the
eonventional horizontal
pattern.

Why they should make their
home here, far from kindred
or compatriots, -none ever
knew. Their indigency was
almost desperate at times, for
these were “hard times.”

The husband’s name was
Alexander and Natasha was
his wife. Though slight of

build, Natasha apparently had
the strength of a strong man,
and the resolute courage of a
legion.

Reduced almost to starva-
tion at times, she sometimes
begged food from the neigh-
bors. To the young men of
Springvale farm, they being
the nearest neighbors, she
would come asking in broken
English for a little flour, tea or
sugar. They, always generous
in assisting those less fortun-

&

ee ae

This place had been the im-
mortal home-of a segment of
the Cowichan Indians. Here
was a rich clam-bed, and the
sea was alive with salmon;
and here they built their cedar
plank house. They planted the
plum trees and learned to cul-
tivate the oasis under the tute-
lage of Father Peter Rondeault
who came to Cowichan in 1858,
and established a Catholic
Mission. (A man of fine char-
acter, Rondeault was greatly
respected by all the early set-
tlers, regardless of creed or
faith).

ate than themselves, gave her
what they could spare.

She wouldn’t take this with-
out rendering some service in
return, but would take their
clothes home and bring them
back clean and mended. She
complained of her husband,
saying he was shiftless and
lazy; and who should blame
her, for she had a baby to
raise about this time, too.

Someone gave Natasha a
young calf to raise, and she
worked hard to grow enough
hay to feed the beast, though
it was always half starved.

She went one winter day to
the store at Cobble Hill, trudg-
ing through the snow, to buy a
bale of hay and a sack of flour.
and astounding as this might
seem, she set out carrying the
bale and the sack of flour on
top of it, on an improvised
shoulder-pack.

She had carried this man-
sized burden a long way when,
fortuitously, she was overtaken
by a settler with team and
sleigh. The man gave her a
lift, but she still had nearly a
mile of bush trail to carry her
burden.

Soon after the government’s
demarcation of the reserva-
tion, a dispute arose regarding
ownership between the Cowic-
hans and the Coal Harbor
Saanich Band. The dispute was
referred to the courts by the
Indian Department, and a
decision was given confirming
ownership of the Saanich Band
in Indian Reservation No, 12.
In the meantime the Indians
abandoned the place.

During and following rail
road construction days many
new people settled in the dis-
trict, people who knew nothing
of the Coast and Salish Indians.

One of these, a real chechaco,
settled within about a mile of
the beach, and one day: he
found an old trail leading
thereto. In times of relaxation,
when days were sunny and
warm he was wont to go there
and enjoy the lovely prospect,
and gather a basket of plums,
if they were ripe.

One day, as he linger ed there -
“an ‘old Indian and his klootch-

man arrived in a canoe, com-
ing from somewhere in the
Gulf Islands.

The Indians drew their
canoe beyond the restless tide,
and proceeded to carry their
blankets and other “ictas” to
the house. Interested and
curious, the chechaco spoke,
addressing the Indian in Eng-
lish, “Good day. Is this your
place ?”

“Klahowya tilacume. Nawi-
tka okook nika illahae.” (Good
day friend. Yes, this is my

sequel

The man expressed astonish-
ment at the young woman’s
hardihood, but Natasha laugh-
ingly made light of her
Amazonian feat. The hay was

‘for her starving little cow;

But even if she fed it only a
handful or two a day, it would
sustain the beast but a short
time. And it would be a long
time before there was grass in
the meadow or browse in ‘the
bush.

March was ending cold and
blustery. Darkness had fallen
early bringing with it snow
and sleet.. The men of Spring-
vale had finished their chores,
and had turned towards the
house. when they saw a light
flickering along the Kil-a-pie
trail.

It was Natasha making her
way with the dubious aid of
a candle in a tin. In words
more broken than usual she
told them her cow was bogged
in Kil-a-pie brook,‘ and beg-
ged their assistance. The
starving beast had wondered
down the trail to the beach
seeking the sodden grass that
grew in the oasis and got
bogged in,the brook.

June 29, 1956 —

home. I have returned), ree
plied the Indian. Then soci
the mystified expression on
the white man’s face, he spoke
again: “Mesika kilapie” mg

have returned).

This was ‘ngonterheakiaae
to the white man, for to con=
veise with the Indians it was

quite essential to have some

knowledge of the Chinook iat

gon till pretty well the turn of
the century.

However, hearing the wo
“kilapie” several times re 1
peated, the chechaco took it
to be the Indian’s name. So he
passed the word on to others)
saying: “Kilapie,” the Indian
has returned to the beach; if

is Kil-a-pie’s place.

This appelation seemed ap
propriate and soon  slippe@
into general usage; and is use@
to this day by those few wh®
remember the pretty beach.

The Indians held no concep}
of the institution of privat
property. The sea, mountains
forest and streams and the
‘selves, were an integral pat
of a universal creative force
embodied in their animist
beliefs; thus, they did no
themselves, generally bestoW
placenames. Capitalist institu:
tions were rapidly obliteratin,
their lore and wonderful prir
itative ‘culture, and. givi
nothing in return. ’

Sad and lonesome was thi
ancestral home of the two old
Indians, and they soon left }
to return no more.

fT if

With a rope attached to thi
cow’s horns, Alexander am
another man were trying #
pull ‘the cow out, but

course their united strengly

was quite unavailing. Now
another rope was passet)
around the animal’s girth, ane
with some yo-heaving and ye
hoing — the little woman do
ing as well as any man — th
pocr beast was slowly T@
leased. . 7

They dragged the cow to the 4
Indian’s plank house — fof
she was beyond helping her?
self. Then Alexander, think?
ing that warmth would restore”
vitality to the expiring beas¥
tore planks off the house ane
made a roaring fire.

The near-famished Russia

performed the final act in th®
drama by slaughtering thel
cow before death set in, and
using the beef to sustain them”
selves. The Indian house, to
was razed by the fire; and §
ended all evidence of India®
habitation at Kil-a-pie Beac®
Alexander and his wife Nata
sha soon left the neighborhoo@s”
and none ever heard of thet
again, 3

PACIFIC TRIBUNE — PAGE