Grizzlies, Gales and Giant Salmon

by Pat Ardley

  It sat right in the spot where the house was to be built. When all the brush was burned, we brought our two Gilchrist jacks to the site and used them to lift the trailer, so we could drive skids under it and slide it off to the side and out of the way. This job took several days and it made me think about the big picture: How long was this whole project really going to take? We would have to be finished well before our next fishing season to give us time to prepare for the arrival of guests.

  One afternoon I walked down the hill to the store after the plane had been in to deliver the mail. There was a letter from our friends Rick and Kris from Quadra Island. They had been married back east in the summer and had finally had time to unwrap their wedding gifts. After stuffing the scraps of wrapping paper into the old wood stove to burn, they decided to go for a dip at a beach just minutes from their cabin. While they were enjoying a nice swim, the sky got darker and darker. Rick decided to head back to their house to call and find out if there was a forest fire nearby, only to be met by the utter destruction of their cabin and its entire contents. They were still reeling from the loss when Rick wrote the letter. Neighbours rallied and helped build them a simple A-frame house that would provide a home for the short term. And the Salvation Army opened their doors and said, “Take whatever you need.” It’s incredible how a community pulls together when one of their own needs help. Rick didn’t want to mention to their new friends that their firewood supply had also burned, but he mentioned it to us in his letter. They were not prepared for winter, which was fast approaching.

  George cooked up a plan and asked me what I thought of inviting Rick and Kris to join us in building the Fisheries house. They would have a warm place to stay, lots of food and would be paid for their work. I thought the plan was brilliant. I loved them both and thought we could work well together. They also loved the idea. They could help for two-and-a-half months after which Rick would start a job on Quadra that he hoped would be ongoing for many years. We told them to bring good rain gear because the worksite had become a mud field after the brush was removed and it had rained non-stop for ten days.

  A few days later, while we were waiting for the plane to arrive with Rick and Kris, Jack came into the bay. After I tied up the Grizzly King, he climbed off his boat and turned to hand me a lovely wild rose! Where on earth would he have found a wild rose flowering on the 8th of November in Rivers Inlet? At least it wasn’t between his teeth, and he kept his pants on.

  Part of the design plan was to excavate for a crawl space. We had started work on it, but the Fisheries officer who would be living in the house pleaded with the powers that be to put in a full basement. A crawl space would not be good for anything but the furnace and hot-water tank. This brought the price up and added a load of work for us, having to dig out tons more soil with shovels and wheelbarrows. We ran into bedrock in the southwest corner and decided it would have to become part of the full basement.

  It rained and rained, and we slipped and slid on the two-by-twelve boards that were laid out end to end running to the edge of the steep cliff as a path for dumping wheelbarrow loads of fill. George and I worked for two days to dislodge a huge old cedar stump, until Rick joined us and we all chainsawed, chopped and dug the gigantic stump free from the soil. We finally had all the pieces off that could be removed and used the come-along to haul what was left to the edge. We then used peaveys to launch it over the cliff. We celebrated our success with lunch in the trailer and planned our next step. We had one more major obstacle: a boulder the size of a small truck. This was moved using both jacks and the come-along in combination with bloody knuckles and red faces. As soon as it was moved off the footprint of the house, we left it and from then on worked around it. Too much time had already been spent clearing the damn property.

  One evening during dinner after a particularly stressful and gruelling day, Rick looked at me, raised himself off his chair and said, “I don’t think I should do this but” … and hurled a handful of mashed potatoes at our new ridgeback pup, Blazer, who was comfortably sleeping not far from the table. I looked at him in surprise trying to process whether he thought he shouldn’t feed the dog, or shouldn’t throw food from the table? With no answer at hand, I grabbed a handful of potatoes and also threw them at the dog. Then George and Kris were throwing potatoes. Poor Rick was trying to stop us but we were not to be stopped until all the potatoes were mounded around a very bewildered dog. We laughed like we were punch drunk—with that kind of laugh that bubbles up from your belly and you have no control over—while Rick tried to explain his reasoning. Nothing could stop us until we had wrung out the last speck of energy and collapsed in a heap on the table. Apparently Rick didn’t like the lumps in the mashed potatoes, but Blazer thought he had won the lottery.

  One morning Sportspage wouldn’t start, so we headed to work at Dawsons in our two small, open fishing skiffs. We had sold our original tank of a boat, The Page, when we bought Sportspage. The drive took a little longer but the weather was good, so I enjoyed the trip with the wind in my face at the front of the open boat. That night when we headed home the competitive streak in both George and Rick came out, and we raced all the way home. Our boat had a little more weight with the large tool box and chainsaw but the two boats were quite even until we turned into the bay. George cut the corner behind the little island then cut the turn into the home bay. He turned so hard the skiff was on its side and I was holding on for dear life knowing that George would dump me out before he would lose a race in his own boat and in his own bay! Seriously! What is it with the men around here almost pitching me out of their boats?

  We left Dawsons at the end of another hard day, in the speedboat that was ostensibly working again. We got partway home, though, and the engine quit. George radioed the fellows on the Falcon Rock who were tied to the dock at Dawsons. They came out to tow us home, where George could tinker with the engine again. We were about a mile from our home bay when the Fisheries boat suddenly died. George jumped back into our speedboat to see if it would start, and surprisingly it did. They moved the ropes from bow to stern and from stern to bow and George started towing the Fisheries! We pulled their boat, which was five times the size of ours, all the way back to Dawsons. Then we headed back home in the last bit of light, hoping against hope that the engine would make it all the way and … it did. In the soft twilight, George motored slowly into the bay and partway across, put the engine in neutral. Ripples flowed out from the boat and made the reflection of the lodge buildings quiver and dance.

  We took a few days off for a Christmas break and showed Kris’s sister, Beth, around the inlet. We also made what had become our traditional Boxing Day trip to Clam Beach, which is part of the Penrose Island Marine Provincial Park on the north side of the mouth of Rivers Inlet. It’s a pretty little shell beach sheltered on one side and open to the swells of Fitz Hugh Sound on the other. On a perfect Boxing Day, the sun would be shining and we would wander along the rocks looking for shells and interesting bits of driftwood. We would light a fire for the hot dogs and marshmallows, then have a game of kelp baseball. George would perch on a rock facing the waves and contemplate life. I would sit and ­chitter-chatter with my friends. On a not so perfect Boxing Day, it would be raining and cold. We would still do all of the above but head home dripping wet and frozen. This particular Boxing Day was a Christmas miracle because it was sunny and warm all day.

  Next up was New Year’s Eve at Calvert Island. The four of us climbed in our speedboat and headed over for a visit with Andy and Nell at the BC Tel station. I went for a walk with Blazer out to the tidal flats in front of their house. I quickly noticed a wolf chasing geese in the distance. He noticed us and decided Blazer was more interesting than geese and headed over toward him. I called Blazer back but he pretended not to hear me and kept wandering farther away. I yelled for him to come. Then I screeched his name so loud that they both stopped, and three seagulls seemed to do somersaults through the reverberations.
Twice, Blazer turned to look at me and both times the wolf advanced a little closer. It was like in a macabre game of Mother May I. I had to get Blazer back to me, but I was becoming more and more stuck in the deep tidal-flat gumbo that my boots were slowly sinking into. I anxiously extricated my boots and in a loud voice carried on a one-sided conversation with Blazer as I floundered carefully through the slop toward him. He finally turned and walked back to me. I grabbed his collar and, holding on tight, advanced toward the wolf. He sprinted away and then loped up into the bush, where I was sure the rest of his pack was inspecting us. I decided to get the heck out of there before he brought his friends back and surrounded us with a ring of glowing eyes with saliva dripping from their jaws.

  We celebrated New Year’s Eve in style with lots of dancing, lots of food and lots of laughs, but the elastic band of responsibility was pulling us back home, and though we did stay overnight we didn’t stay long the next day. So much work, so little time!

  When we got back we had a bit of time to catch up on chores: chop and pile more firewood, fill the Aladdin lamps, pump oil for the generator and the oil stove in our backroom and the cabin Rick and Kris were staying in. George pumped gas into all the day-tanks we had, fuelled Sportspage, sharpened the chainsaws and checked the water tank and pipes to make sure everything was in good order. I did laundry, a little cleaning, baked bread and made soup for the coming week’s lunches. There was never a break from upkeep. Life would quickly grind to a halt if we didn’t keep up with the lowly chores.

  Happy New Year 1982! Now back on your head!

  Building the House at Dawsons—Part Two

  We were well rested after our Christmas break and eager to get back to work on the Fisheries house. The freight boat was due to arrive a few days into the new year, and we had a lot of building supplies on it that would need to be moved again. This time George arranged for some of the freight to be dropped onto the Fisheries float so we wouldn’t have to move it right away. We also had eight bundles of locally milled two-by-twelves towed to Dawsons and tied to the Fisheries float. We weren’t able to talk Lucky into opening his log boom, which meant George wouldn’t be able to push the bundles of lumber straight to the bottom of the hill in front of the building site. Instead, we had to break the straps holding the bundles together, unload the two-by-twelves, board by board, and haul them up the walkway two pieces at a time, one board precariously balanced under each arm. Have I mentioned back-breaking, exhausting work? Each load seemed heavier than the last, each load I looked over and cursed Lucky for not allowing us access to the bottom of the hill.

  After several days of hauling wood up the ramp and slogging up the walkway, Lucky relented and said he would open his log boom. We now had enough wood to create a ramp from the building site to the bottom of the cliff. After spending a day of us gouging a path up the hill, George nailed two-by-twelves together in a ninety-foot-long ramp and attached the come-along at the top. While Lucky had the boom opened, George untied a bundle of lumber from the dock, pushed it through the logs with the skiff and tied it to the bottom of the hill. Then he quickly headed back to push another bundle through. I spent that time putting extra nails into the ramp so it would hold the heavy bundles.

  The newly milled lumber was quite green so the wood was extra heavy. After hauling the cable down the ramp, George hooked it to the first bundle and turned the wood so it just rested on the bottom of the ramp. Up at the top of the hill again, he tried cranking on the come-along but there was no way that the bundle would move. I added my muscle to the handle, and we were just barely able to get the wood to move onto the ramp. George slipped a three-foot-long pipe over the come-along handle and poured oil on the ramp, and then when we both pushed and pulled at the end of the handle, the bundle started to jerk its way inch by inch up the ramp. It was arduous, gut-busting work that left me panting for breath and for a sunny lounge chair, a good book and bonbons.

  There was so much mud to move out of the way for the basement. We had been slipping and sliding off the boards that were supposed to keep us out of the mud. It was treacherous, balancing a wheelbarrow full of mud and pushing it downhill. Many loads tipped as we lost our footing on the mud-greased planks. We were all wearing rain cuffs that covered our work gloves and went up to our elbows under the sleeves or our raincoats. We still ended up covered with mud inside the gear and out. We had to hose our gear off at the end of the day, as George wouldn’t let us in his boat until we no longer dripped mud.

  The weather warmed in the middle of January. I straightened up from a task as I felt a waft of a Hawaiian breeze gently ruffle my hair. I glanced over and saw a look of wonder on George’s face. I could almost taste a tall cold piña colada. We worked in shirt sleeves for the next several days before the weather changed back to winter temperatures. While the warm weather held, we were able to get the basement walls poured. This required all of us pouring the dry cement mix into the portable cement mixer, mixing in the water, then wheeling the heavy mixture over and feeding the wet cement into the forms we had built before Christmas. Why is everything so heavy? The weather held and we had the walls poured by the end of the third day. There was much celebrating when we got home that day. We still had the basement floor to pour but not right away. Now we could get the stringers attached, get out of the mud and start working on the main floor.

  My heart felt light finally working above the muck. We finished the stringers quickly and put down the plywood floor, and then we started on the walls. George and I had developed a system over our years of working on building projects together. We were able to argue while we knocked a wall of studs and headers together. Rick and Kris, on the other hand, would start to argue, slam down their hammers and not get anything done until they had either come to an agreement or shut up. George and I often disagreed. I had the habit of looking at the big picture and George often expected me to just do as he said. Often he wanted me to do one thing that I knew I would later have to undo or redo to set something up for the next stage. That afternoon we were able to frame an entire wall with a door and two windows and put braces in place while we argued. Meanwhile, Rick and Kris were still arguing about how they should nail the studs and “How exactly do you expect me to frame this window?” Ah, newlyweds!

  Once the walls were up, we started work on the roof. Buying lumber that had been milled in the inlet was one of the reasons that we won the contract. The lumber was a little green, but George made up for that by insisting we use more large nails than we really needed. This was in case the wood cracked or checked as it dried, so the structure would still have integrity. We finished pouring the cement slab in the basement, and finished the roof before Rick and Kris had to head back to Quadra Island. It was a sad day. I loved their company and appreciated all the work that they had done. I also knew that all the big jobs yet to be done would have to be finished by either George or me.

  One Sunday George went scuba diving with a Fisheries officer, Mike. Diving in the inlet in the winter is amazing. The water is gin clear and the sea life is varied, exciting and colourful. I waited above while George and Mike were in the water. There was no way that I would go down into the scary depths of the ocean. When they finally surfaced, Mike checked for his knife and it wasn’t on his belt, although he was sure he had slipped it into its sheath. They had already used up their dive time so they couldn’t go back down to look for it, and a few days later Mike left the inlet.

  George wanted to do another dive in the same spot. He had picked up a bag full of lead from commercial fishing nets and wanted more to melt down to make weights for our sport fishermen. We drove over to the same general area. There was a series of rocks that snagged the fishermen’s nets, tearing big chunks out of them and the lead line. George dove while I watched nervously from the boat. When he hauled himself out of the water and into the boat, he had a bag of weights and Mike’s knife. A week later I flew to Winnipeg to see my parents. I took the knife with me, pac
ked it up nicely and mailed it to Mike at Dawsons Landing from Winnipeg. We laughed for years about the look on Mike’s face when he walked into the Fisheries house at Dawsons with the package open in his hand and showed us his knife. He didn’t know that I had been to Winnipeg and couldn’t figure out how the knife could have possibly got there! It was definitely his knife—he knew the marks on it. He walked out with the same quizzical look on his face.

  George was working on finishing the inside of the house while I put the siding on the outside. For a very short time I could attach boards from the ground, but then I needed a small ladder. And then a really big ladder. One side of the house faced onto the south side of the very steep hill so as soon as I couldn’t reach to attach a board, I had to start climbing a ladder that was many times higher than the side of the building because the bottom of the ladder was way down the hill. I had to carry the board, which was usually at least three feet long, a hammer, nails and pieces of tin to attach behind any knots in the wood to keep the wall dry. Often I would get to the top only to drop the hammer or the tin, and sometimes I would lose my grip on the siding. Climb back down, climb back up, climb back down, climb back up to the full extension of the super-high-­extension ladder. From the top of the ladder I could only reach to nail one board at a time. Then I would climb back down, collect another board, more tin, make sure I had nails and my hammer and climb back up.

  I worked on that side of the house for days. At one point, I went down to the store to collect our mail. Lucky’s wife was doing a little dusting on the top shelves when I arrived, and she complained to me how tiring it was to climb up her two-step stool to reach the top shelf. I just nodded and agreed that it must indeed be tiring to do all that climbing.

  Once the siding was on, I worked with George to finish the inside, and the rest of the work went quite smoothly. The contract was only for the construction, so we didn’t have to do any painting. Once we had hung the doors and cupboards, the last job was to build proper steps up to the main entrance, and we were finally finished. What started out to be a simple one-level cabin ended up being a lovely two-storey, three-­bedroom house with a huge living room window looking out over the inlet and up to the snow-capped Coast Mountains. It was a tremendous feat to pull off without the aid of any heavy equipment. I still pat myself on the back for that one.