Recent Posts

The Silent Bonds of War: Stefan Sigurdson and Dori Benjaminson

The Silent Bonds of War: Stefan Sigurdson and Dori Benjaminson

Let there be no doubt. If you were on a tug on the North Basin, in the heavy seas of a ripping Norwester, with a motor in trouble, you’d want Dori Benjaminson with you. Dori spent most of his time in his mechanic shop beside the small store on Sigurdson Island at Berens River, in the summer, or Catfish Creek in the fall, working to get the outboard motors going again.

Music was the Voice Of Riverton

Music was the Voice Of Riverton

Like the presence of the rink and the inspiration it created, music was part of everyone’s life. Nothing better epitomized the “mustang” spirit just below the surface in the community than the remarkable New Year’s Eve dance.

Jack Clarkson: A Legendary Bushpilot in His Own Time

Jack Clarkson: A Legendary Bushpilot in His Own Time

This is an extract from Vikings on a Prairie Ocean published in 2014 It is reproduced here on the occasion of his 90th birthday, April 22, 2020

Hidden Treasures: Old friends of an “Old man and the Sea”

Hidden Treasures: Old friends of an “Old man and the Sea”

Hidden treasures found at the cottage this morning…. 45 years since Afi Malli (Brynjolfson) died I found his beloved pipes, which were his companions over his life. And beside them the roll- your -own cigarette papers which he filled with Old Chum pipe tobacco from his pouch when the spirit moved him to switch.., ultimately

Sigurdson Island

Sigurdson Island

“Sigurdson Island “ at the mouth of the Berens River, was a magical place for a young boy. As a little guy in the early 50’s each summer we would “Go North” to join Dad at the station for summer fishing. Sigurdson Fisheries had a long association with the community. My great grandfather had first started to fish there in 1895,The small granite island was a perfect place for a fish station, close to the fishing grounds, a constant breeze keeping the flies away, and the buildings cool in the summer sun.It would take me about 15 minutes to charge around the island.  A mossy slimy margin ringed its shoreline and made it an unwitting trap for any kid who got to close, and found himself/ herself thrashing haplessly to be a grip to climb up. My cousin, Helen Kristjanson, (no doubt known to many in Gimli), narrowly escaped her demise as she was pulled all but drowned from the water as a young child, rescued by the divine intervention of some nurses from the mission hospital who happened to be on the island visiting that very day.