Where the forests nose into the lake, where the salmon spawn each year; where the camps were, that’s where you’ll find Blind Siku’s place. Siku is not here, nor are his bones. But stand on the shore, look through the mist to the hills on the other side, and you’ll feel his presence, as sure as if he was behind you. It was my late grandfather, Billy Thomson, who first brought me to this spot, a full hour’s hike from the ne...
