Dead Creek is so called for a small stream that runs through it.The map,back in the library in Toronto shows it's headwaters to be near where it crosses New Brunswick Route 122,at a place called California.I'd never heard anyone refer to that place as California,but that's what the map calls it.A bit more reading revealed that it was so called because of some people who lived near there and went to California during the gold rush.By the looks of the map,there doesn't appear to be anyone living right there,and as far as I know,there are no houses anywhere along,except right along the main road.It's heavily treed now and rather swampy in places.At the road it's more of a swamp than a creek,but it runs in a ravine alongside a dirt road called The Horseback. I've been down to it,to go fishing,and it's a rough walk through the bush,and I got all scratched to pieces from the thick brush.And there wasn't much in the water except for eels and leeches.It's water is dark and stagnant in most places.Dead Creek was aptly named,because it was that kind of a place.Not at all inviting.
The Deadwater Creek came to the Upper Skiff Lake road and crossed under a small bridge.Just beyond the road,there was a place where we would go wading when we were really small,and once my father drove the car right down in the river bed to wash it.But for the most part the Deadwater was not a good creek at all.
Somewhere beyond where we used to wade it started a curve toward the southeast,below the hill on which my grandparents lived.It cut through the bush for a few more miles,until it entered a place called First Eel Lake,which,in turn emptied into the Eel River,then the Saint John River.But it must have been rough territory,because nobody ever took us there.
I have a recurring dream about the Deadwater,and I wonder if it's not been trying to reveal a secret to me,something that I imagine that I should know,but do not.
In the dream,I am walking in the stream bed,in very bright silver moonlight.That's it.That's all really.I'm walking along,and walking is much easier than I know it to be in waking hours.All of the underbrush and stagnant pools are there,as are all of the water logged trees along it's bank,but I have no trouble walking.Some one appears and asks where I'm going and I always say"all the way to the end.To Eel Lake.And I walk on,but I never get to the lake before I awake.
The Deadwater Creek came to the Upper Skiff Lake road and crossed under a small bridge.Just beyond the road,there was a place where we would go wading when we were really small,and once my father drove the car right down in the river bed to wash it.But for the most part the Deadwater was not a good creek at all.
Somewhere beyond where we used to wade it started a curve toward the southeast,below the hill on which my grandparents lived.It cut through the bush for a few more miles,until it entered a place called First Eel Lake,which,in turn emptied into the Eel River,then the Saint John River.But it must have been rough territory,because nobody ever took us there.
I have a recurring dream about the Deadwater,and I wonder if it's not been trying to reveal a secret to me,something that I imagine that I should know,but do not.
In the dream,I am walking in the stream bed,in very bright silver moonlight.That's it.That's all really.I'm walking along,and walking is much easier than I know it to be in waking hours.All of the underbrush and stagnant pools are there,as are all of the water logged trees along it's bank,but I have no trouble walking.Some one appears and asks where I'm going and I always say"all the way to the end.To Eel Lake.And I walk on,but I never get to the lake before I awake.
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