So my friend checked through this, I made a few changes, and I think it's really solid. The message may be a bit on the nose, but it's not like Disney never hits you over the head with an idea, so I think it'll fit.
This ride will be dark and scary, but still will teach a lesson and entertain, something the tales of the Wendigo from Algonquian legends themselves strive to do. It is also (probably) the most accurate and respectful ride done about Indigenous American mythology ever in the course of Armchair Imagineering, so hopefully that helps us!
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Once you pass through the queue, you board your keelboats from the backside of the trapper’s lodge. Your keelboat leaves through the docks and sets out into the forest. This portion is outside as you pass through a serene forest with the sounds of birds chirping and other animal noises. As you pass through this short, calm segment, you can spot some animatronic animals lining the banks of the river. A gentle deer and her fawn look on as you pass, while a grizzly bear scratches its back on a tall pine tree. A wolf and her pups play by the water’s edge as a moose wades in the river. You finally reach a fork in the river, but it appears a family of beavers dammed up one route, so you are redirected down the other path, into a darker portion of forest.
You pass through dense trees into the main show building. The atmosphere changes from the serene outdoors with the chirping birds to a darker atmosphere, most light not peaking through the dense forest canopy. Here, we see the glowing yellow eyes of forest predators peering at us as we approach a campsite. A fire is lit where an Algonquian shaman stands, surrounded by the people of his village. He wears the skull and antlers of a stag atop his head and his movements indicate he is telling a story, yet it is being told in the Algonquian dialect. Among the Indigenous folks surrounding the fire stands a white man donned in furs and pelts, a rifle by his side. The shaman continues to tell his story as our boat rounds a corner to see the shaman discussing with the trapper, this time, in English.
Trapper: “After beaver I am, care to point me towards em?”
Shaman: “Just down river is a beaver’s lodge. Yet, I must warn you, I have seen you trapping before, you take entire families. If we consume all of the trout in the river, there will be no food for winter, a beaver and a trout are not so different. If we trap all of the beaver, there will be nothing left in our future. Go well, but do not be greedy, for continuing down the path you are on will lead you down the curse of a Wendigo.
Trapper: “Your tales of monsters worry me not shaman. I ain’t gonna turn into no man-eating monster for killing some extra beaver or nothing.”
Shaman: “Heed this advice, take only what you must, should you hope to return a human and not a wendigo. Believe me or not, greed only consumes you, until you can never get enough, an insatiable appetite, feasting on the flesh of man, but your hunger never subsides. That is the curse of the wendigo. Be weary traveler, should you hope to not regret this.
Our boat passes through a clearing in the trees as we encounter our trapper standing by a pile of cleaned pelts, a beaver’s lodge smouldering from flame, the sweet and smokey smell of the maple branches used in the lodge filling our nostrils as it burns. From across the way, we see a white stag, a rare creature, one believed by many in the Algonquian culture to be the embodiment of a spirit or soul visiting, something that mustn't be killed. We watch as the trapper lifts his rifle and we hear a gunshot. The white stag vanishes into thin air as we pass, rounding a corner as we hear a horrifying scream from where the trapper was, the sounds of bones cracking and immense pain growing, we hit a rough patch of water, our boats tossing and turning as we pass through. The sounds of the forest change from the chirping of birds to the hooting of owls, an omen of death in many Algonquian cultures.
A baby begins crying off in the distance, and our boat turns to follow the sound, hoping to rescue the baby from whatever consumed the trapper. We round the corner as the wind begins to whip, blowing rough and hard, rocking the boat. The air becomes bitter and cold, and the atmosphere of the forest becomes darker and scarier as the sound of the baby crying changes into horrifying shrieks. We reach an embankment where the sounds are the loudest, and, from the bushes, we see a pair of white, boney antlers. Our boat stalls as the antlers begin to rise, showcasing the entire beast. Standing at eight feet tall, the beast stares at us, it’s body lanky and incredibly thin, it’s patchy black fur on skin stretched tightly across its boney body, its ribs and bones clearly visible. Where it’s head should be, the decaying skull of a stag, the eye sockets, a complete void of darkness and evil, with sharp teeth. The creature opens its mouth, emitting a terrifying shriek, mixed with the cries of a baby, the hoot of an owl, and the screams of the trapper, all at once, as our keelboat rushes backwards down the river. Just as fast as the creature appears, all light is snuffed out, and it is gone.
Our boat careens backwards down the river, the sense of dread still filling us as we hear the sound of a massive creature galloping towards us along the bank on all fours, breaking leaves and twigs as it goes, pushing aside and shaking trees, and startling animals from their hiding spots. The sounds the creature was emitting before still echoing from its cavernous skeletal mouth. We reach an embankment, but it is too close and we feel the boat stop, as if grabbed from behind. The boat begins shaking as something climbs atop the roof of the boat, growling. Some seats will feel dripping from above as the creature salivates, thinking of its next meal. The boat shakes again as the creature leaps off the roof, grabbing the boat again. However, we hear chanting similar to that around the Algonquian fire earlier. The beast shrieks and throws our boat as we screech across the ground, running over rocks and gravel, before sliding back into the water.
We continue, rapidly, down the river, the rapids picking up as we speed down in an attempt to escape, and suddenly, the running stops. Nothing can be heard except the sound of crickets. Our boat slows down, only to reach another beaver dam, this time blocking our path. From behind the dam, the same, horrifying creature from before rises up, somehow having gotten ahead of us. We all watch as it lurches forward on all fours, its lanky legs and arms spindly and long creeping towards us as a predator stalking its prey. However, the chanting begins again, and from the forest emerges the shaman, chanting at the beast. He is able to approach it, chanting and emitting light from his torch, lighting the beast aflame. Smoke blocks our view and when it clears, the creature is gone and the trapper stands where it stood, shaken, but alright.
The shaman tells the trapper that he did not heed his warning and allowed his greed to consume him, and that is why he became the ravenous wendigo. Luckily, some wendigo can be saved by a holy man who knows the spirits, should their ancestors wish to save him.
Shaman: Greed is among the greatest evils. Should we take too much, very little is left for others. Everything we encounter in these woods is a part of a cycle. To interrupt the cycle and destroy a crucial step is to destroy life itself. You are lucky, our ancestors were looking down at you, for many who cross the line between human and wendigo cannot be saved.
Trapper: “I didn’t believe. I didn’t think anyone would be hurt if I took a little bit extra, but now I see.”
Shaman: “Nobody aims to become a wendigo, it is not about thinking, it is about doing. Take what you must, but leave more for tomorrow. Leave more for those around you. This is the true way to defeat a wendigo. To succumb is to allow yourself to be consumed by your greed, and now you know what it is like. Go well travelers, and beware the curse of the Wendigo.”
The beaver dam splits in two as our boat gently cruises out of the forest, passing by a larger Algonquian village, longhouses and shacks, as children play and men and women work. Here, we see a society working together for the betterment of the group, the birds singing again as we pass by. We then return to the dock, now understanding the curse of the Wendigo.
