Grizzlies, Gales and Giant Salmon

by Pat Ardley

  Suddenly, I saw our skiff—hallelujah! My heart skipped a beat. I was so sure we would never see it again because we were so close to the open Pacific here. It was high and dry on the rocky shore and wouldn’t be floating again for quite a while. I tied it up to a tree, and then we headed back to the dinghy. We had to take a different route because the tide was coming in so fast it was filling the huge bay as if it were a little bathtub. Fortunately I had tied up the dinghy high on a thick tree branch.

  George had arrived back with the speedboat by that time. He put a seven-and-half-horsepower engine on the BC Tel skiff, started it and the gearshift fell off in his hand. It was just as well since there was no gas in the skiff’s tank. We were about halfway back when I called to him and said that I would trade a good used boat for a tow back to the dock. After all, I had tied the skiff up, which gave me salvage rights. He promptly came out for us in our speedboat, as the batteries seemed to have recovered. We got back to the dock and piled out of the dinghy when I noticed Zak chewing on his paw. He had picked up a treble hook between the pads. By this point, I was looking for a patch of sand to bury my head in.

  I straightened up from helping Zak and overheard George talking to the minister on the radiophone, saying that we would like to invite everyone over for supper. I must have looked stunned because he leaned over to me and said, “It’s the least we can do!”

  The sun was on its way down so that meant that suppertime shouldn’t be too far off. I immediately started jogging back to the house, trying to count the number of people on the boat. He thinks I’m a wizard already, I was thinking. An instant dinner for ten adults and two kids, after spending the day searching for our boat on the high seas? As it turned out, the minister called and said, “Only four people will be over for supper, the rest are Indians and they like to keep away from Whites.” It was an ill-spoken comment from a man of the church that I have never forgotten.

  I made a big pot of chili, baked a shortcake, tossed a salad, heated bread, thawed strawberries, set the table and was just in the process of whipping the cream when the other half of “we” drove up with the dinner guests. The skiff was already back, floating and securely tied to the dock with two ropes instead of one. We were quite giddy throughout dinner as we laughed and counted all the things that had gone wrong that day. But as I climbed into my cozy bed later, I counted all the things that had gone right.

  The Thomas Crosby V came to our rescue when we lost our skiff at Calvert Island.

  Chickens and Ducks

  Our “ugly carpet” was auctioned off at the Sotheby’s Parke-Bernet public auction at the Bayshore Inn in Vancouver at the end of the next summer. It was 1980 and it sold for $13,500. My dad had recently bought a revenue one-and-a-half-storey house and property in Winnipeg for $13,500. My cousin had been at the carpet auction and was breathless with excitement as she told us the final price. We thanked our lucky stars and the God of Moths for protecting the carpet from larvae damage. Then we did a Snoopy dance while we both imagined what we would love to do with all of that money. We settled on buying two more speedboats and motors. Not very romantic but very worthwhile. Now we had accommodation for twelve guests and six fourteen-foot speedboats for them to fish from.

  We spent time the next winter building a new float with a thirty-foot greenhouse on the south side and two more crew rooms on the north side. I was very happy to spend time collecting soil for the deep boxes in preparation for the fresh herbs, edible flowers, and squash and tomato plants that I would eventually plant.

  The following spring, I needed a dentist. I had bitten down on something hard and hadn’t just chipped a tooth, I cracked a big piece off the side, big enough to loosen the filling, which fell out. I was having trouble eating and couldn’t wait much longer before I would have to get the tooth fixed. We also really needed some supplies and fresh produce, so I booked a flight out to Port Hardy. I would go to George’s dentist who lived in Lake Cowichan, where I could stay with George’s mom and dad, Irene and Ernie. It was always so much fun to stay with them, and they still had tea and toast every night just before bedtime. Sometimes we dunked the butter-slathered toast into canned fruit swimming in sweet juice. It was such a great tradition.

  My first dental appointment was the next morning, and it would take a couple more appointments to properly fix the tooth. In the meantime, Ernie, Irene and I went out shopping for items on my wish list. We had replaced the old wood stove, which had two propane burners on the side, for a much better new wood stove. But I found that I really missed the instant heat of the propane burners, so we looked for something to replace them. We drove back to Duncan, and Ernie took us all over town so I could find counter tiles, hinges for my new kitchen cupboard doors and a two-burner portable propane stove. George was building a shelf beside the wood stove for the burners and running a gas line into the kitchen from the hundred-pound tank outside. While I was trying to decide on the right tiles, George’s dad went next door to a second-hand shop. He came back grinning from ear to ear holding a tiny chainsaw just for me.

  My tooth was fixed and I had bought as much as I could carry, so after we enjoyed an ice cream cone from the Dairy Queen in Duncan, another great tradition, Irene and Ernie dropped me at the bus station. I took the bus to Campbell River where our new friends Rick and Kris Hackinen met me, and we took the ferry to Quadra Island and drove to their place. They had ten acres with a tiny cabin as well as chickens, goats and a couple of horses. I felt completely at home feeding the chickens and moving heavy bales of hay for the horses. Rick loved fishing so we had fresh fish and lovely fresh produce from their garden. Somewhere around the third or fourth glass of wine, Kris and I cooked up a plan to find some chickens for me to take back to the lodge so we could have fresh eggs.

  The next morning we headed out in Kris’s Volkswagen Bug on an adventure, with the island’s newspaper open to the for-sale section. The road on Quadra is up and down and around and around, so I was getting quite carsick. I was still used to driving on the Prairies where you can see miles and miles of straight, flat highway in front of you. We stopped at a little farm with a sign that told us they had chickens for sale. The tall white chickens were in a very large fenced area and we were expected to catch them ourselves if we wanted them. Chickens don’t like to be caught, so we had to be quick and smart. Chickens are quick, but not smart. After a little running, tricking, flapping and laughing, we had three chickens stuffed in a cardboard box. Next, we headed out to find some raspberry canes to plant.

  On the way to the nursery, we passed a sign that announced ducks for sale. Kris made a quick U-turn, and we went in for a look. They had Muscovy ducks, which are large and white and lay very large eggs. These ducks were running around loose in a big yard. We had to be even trickier to catch these ones. The owner helped as we herded a bunch into a little side yard where we could grab them one at a time. Shortly we had three Muscovy ducks also stuffed in a cardboard box. We headed out again for the raspberry canes. We were having so much fun, that I didn’t think about what I was going to do with the birds when I got back home. I also gave very little thought to actually getting them home! We finally found the nursery, where I bought six raspberry canes for my garden, and then we headed back to Rick and Kris’s so I could pack my bags. Kris and I then drove to the ferry, and she dropped me off at the bus depot in Campbell River. All my parcels fit nicely on the big comfortable bus, including the boxes with the live chickens and ducks. But the driver took one look at my belongings and yelled, “This isn’t a moving van ya know!”

  The bus arrived in Port Hardy at about 6:30 PM so I would have to stay overnight and fly into the inlet the next day. I walked into the bus depot and asked the woman in charge if I could leave my extra parcels, including the two boxes with chickens and ducks in them. She said, “sure, no problem,” without even batting an eye, and told me I could pick everything up on my way to the airport in the morning. I left my stuff, cross
ed my fingers and checked into the Seagate Hotel. The next morning I had a leisurely breakfast before I arranged for the airport shuttle to pick me up at the bus depot and headed there when it was time to leave. I walked into the building and found the woman in charge in a panic on top of her desk. She shrieked at me as I entered, “Help, there’s rats in here!” I could hear the scratching noises were coming from the cardboard boxes. Poor lady, she had thought I was leaving two cartons of frozen chickens and ducks. I thanked her profusely and started carting my belongings out to the shuttle.

  There were no other passengers on this flight so there was no problem loading all my freight into the back of the Beaver. The weather wasn’t the best for flying but I trusted that the pilot also wanted to get home that day. And I was missing George terribly, so all I could think of was getting back to him. We had a bit of a bumpy flight with the plane lifting and dropping and careening about—we rarely flew a straight line. I let my mind drift to my safe place, and after forty minutes of being bounced around we were finally flying over Sleepy Bay, and there was George waving from in front of our house. I could see smoke whipping away from the chimney and thought about how the house would be so warm and cozy. I waved back at George as the plane tilted a little to my side, and then the pilot started turning the plane in a wide circle. We bounced and dropped and jerked around violently as we turned, and I could see whitecaps being blown off the waves in Darby Channel where we were supposed to land.

  The pilot did indeed want to get home safely that day. I didn’t even have a chance to wave goodbye to George since I was now on the wrong side of the plane to be able to see him. Of course we couldn’t land safely on the water in this wind, so, suddenly we were headed back to Port Hardy. Bouncing and dropping so hard I could see the airplane wings flapping like those of a large bird. Oh, how much pressure could the wings take before they snapped off? We banged and rattled, swayed and knocked our way with the engine groaning and thrusting each time we dropped. I was so busy grabbing for handholds that I didn’t have a chance to do my silent singing, all I could manage was a low growly hum that reminded me to breathe. Breathe in … growl out … breathe in … growl out. And there was the airport finally coming into view. The wind was relaxing a little and the pilot made a huge sweep around the runways and came in from a different direction than usual, but he made a perfect landing. As we taxied to the terminal building, there were a few blasts of wind that I felt almost flip the airplane, but we pulled up safely and came to a stop.

  I walked with wobbly legs into the terminal and sat down with a sigh of relief. The realization hit me that I would have to do that all over again tomorrow. I’m still looking for the skyhook! Hopefully they would check the weather better before we took off. This time I felt so bad for George, who I knew had the fire stoked, the house all cozy and somewhat clean and a fresh pot of coffee ready for my homecoming. We should’ve been together and chatting heartily over coffee by now, not just me sitting here wondering if I would ever get back home safely. Oh!—and the chickens! I got up and raced over to the airline counter to let the people know that there were live chickens and ducks in the boxes. We had a good laugh when we saw the look on the face of the baggage handler as he wheeled the moving boxes into the back. The airline had travel cages for dogs, so we carefully let the chickens go in one and the ducks in another. I had a bag of feed with me and fed and watered them before I headed to the hotel for another night. The airline staff was fine with having the chickens and ducks there. Just pay them and they will store and carry anything and everything, anywhere you want.

  The wind blew for hours, but I noticed when it started to settle down in the middle of the night. The Seagate Hotel is right on the shore, next to the government wharf, and I could hear the rigging clanging and banging on the fishboats tied there. As the wind died down, the jangling of equipment also settled down. I was finally able to sleep.

  The next morning I eagerly headed out to the airport because the sun was shining and I could barely detect any wind. They were loading the airplane again as I arrived, and after I helped get the chickens and ducks back into the boxes, we were all set to go. The weather was perfect for flying, and I actually enjoyed the flight. I was so happy when we safely touched down on the water just outside of our bay. George came out to the airplane float and we whooped and hugged and I had trouble letting go. I was holding on for dear life, holding on to dear life!

  It was so good to be home. George was so happy to see me after watching the airplane bouncing its way back over the bay that he didn’t even get annoyed that I had arrived with six large, live birds in cardboard boxes.

  Rivers Lodge in 1980. The two guest cabins are on the right. The main lodge/dining room is in the centre. Attached to the main lodge are our small bedroom and bathroom. The building on the left is the workshop and generator shed, and the big greenhouse with crew rooms is behind.

  We let them go in my lovely new greenhouse that George and I had built the previous spring. Now we had to come up with a plan for a chicken coop that would keep the birds safe from otters, mink, cougars, wolves, eagles and hawks. Well, there was the boom-winch float that we weren’t using at the moment. George wanted nothing to do with the darn birds, so using the chainsaw Ernie bought for me, I built a little house with lumber and scraps that we kept on hand for spur-of-the-moment projects. I laid chicken wire down completely covering the surface of the float. There was a natural dip between the two middle logs that I draped the wire into, creating a safe pond for the ducks. Then I built the frame around the edges of the float and attached the chicken wire to it and moved the house across one end. I also covered the top of the cage completely with chicken wire. On one corner I wrapped wire around a two-by-two at the bottom and put nails into the upright so I could secure the wire but open the cage if I wanted to go in. I wasn’t going to go in very often and muck around in the poop, so I put hinges on the roof of the little house so I could lift the lid and reach in for eggs. I used cedar shavings to line boxes for the hens to use as nests. I collected plenty of greenery along the shore to throw in for the birds. They soon felt safe and comfortable and the ducks happily splashed in their pond. Then they all started laying eggs. Duck eggs are amazing, with huge orange-yellow yolks—very creamy and delicious. I made gorgeous duck-egg noodles with them, and was always experimenting to find interesting things to make for our fishing guests.

  For this brochure, we thought the caricature of George and me would stand out and help people remember our lodge.

  One day I was sitting on the edge of our float dangling my legs over the side. Mist was rising from the wet planks all around me as the sun rose over the trees and warmed them. There was complete silence. George was out in the boat, no generator was running—it was just me and the fishes. I was splashing my feet in the water when suddenly there was a loud thrumming sound, getting louder, and then sounding like a train was heading right at me. I looked up just in time to duck my head as an eagle swooped above me—so close that it ruffled my hair—with its talons extended, intent on the chicken coop. It aborted its dive awkwardly at the last second when it saw the chicken wire across the top and rose, skimming the roof of the woodshed by mere inches. It was a close call for all of us.

  I loved having the chickens and ducks. I enjoyed watching them, feeding them and collecting the eggs. George simply enjoyed eating the eggs. Once in a while I would scoop out the valuable chicken manure into buckets and carry it to my garden. After it had composted for a few months, it would be an amazing fertilizer for my vegetables.

  Sockeye Fishing with a Kidnapper

  Jack Rendle wasn’t just toothless. At that time he was at least ­seventy-eight years old. His back was bent over with osteoporosis, age and hard work. His head wobbled uncontrollably, and he was as skinny as a starved chicken. His jaw stuck out, his hair—of which he had very little—was always greasy hair, his face and neck were deeply wrinkled and saggy and there were man
y spots on his wretched hands that seemed to be permanently bandaged.

  Jack was anchored in our main bay when we got back from the store one day. George pulled up to the side of his fishboat and chatted with him for a few minutes. Jack invited me on board to have a cup of tea, which I declined but George accepted on my behalf. I thought I might look mean if I continued to say no, so I let George help me climb up and onto the damn Grizzly King. George continued on into our house, and I sat on the side of Jack’s boat. He boiled a kettle on his oil stove and made a pot of tea, then handed a cup to me with a strange look on his face.

  The sockeye run was going to be huge this year and there was a commercial opening starting that evening at 6 PM. Jack was almost ready to set out his net and asked me if I would like to fish with him that evening. “No,” I told him. “I have to make supper for George.” He laughed and said George would be able to take care of himself. Then he pretended to reach for my empty teacup and grabbed my wrist instead. He leaned over and tried to kiss me, with the promise of more to come later in his eyes. I wrenched my hand away and stood up. “Please take me home,” I said, again trying not to sound bad tempered. Jack laughed and said he wanted me to come fishing with him, but he begrudgingly started the engine and drove me home.

  George came out of the house all smiles and helped tie the boat up. I jumped off the boat and headed straight for the house while Jack explained that he would like to take me fishing so I could see how it was done. George came into the house. “Hurry and get your rain gear,” he told me. “Jack wants to take you fishing.” I blustered, “He tried to kiss me!”