Grizzlies, Gales and Giant Salmon

by Pat Ardley

  This was the second blow of massive proportions to the sport-fishing industry. There were many disgruntled fishing guests who cancelled their bookings with resorts up and down the coast. Lodges and businesses that service those lodges including hotels, airlines, food companies, tackle companies, as well as the number of staff hired at the lodges took a complete nosedive.

  If conservation was the first consideration, the much more valuable sport-caught fish amounted to a small percentage of the total of fish caught by commercial boats. It just didn’t make economic or conservation sense. We felt strongly that we should be able to catch and retain coho. There were so many coho that summer in Rivers Inlet, they were practically jumping into our guest’s boats.

  George and I, along with many groups who were protesting the decision, worked tirelessly to bring about change. All the meetings, all the flow charts and all the data pointed to the fact that sport-caught fish was much more valuable to our economy, and the act of catching them was much less invasive. George went to every meeting, he pointed out the economics of the decision and he argued that our Rivers Inlet North Coast Salmon Enhancement Association (rincsea) had started our own hatchery for chinook salmon at the head of the inlet in the early eighties just so something like this would never happen. We ran a fishing derby and sold tickets to guests for various prizes to be won for the biggest coho and the largest chinook caught. Over the years our association contributed over 2.6 million dollars to salmon enhancement in Rivers Inlet from the hatchery, in man-hours, and in Derby sales. Our hatchery had also put three million chinook smolts back into the ocean. Our association also helped cover the cost of many Fisheries operations that they could no longer fund themselves due to government cutbacks.

  We managed to limp through that summer season, and George and I got back into fighting mode. At least he was able to do it in style in his beautiful and well-deserved very fast diesel-powered Monaro speedboat, our latest in a line of Sportspages. Our local association was strong, with many lodge owners involved. We kept emphasizing the worth of the sport-caught fish and worked toward getting priority for our industry. We finally succeeded. The dfo established the official catching priority for chinook and coho: the first priority would be conservation, then First Nations food fishing, then sport fishing and then, in years of high abundance, commercial fishing. There were several other types of salmon—sockeye, chum and pink—that the commercial boats could catch until we were back to high abundance of coho and chinook.

  Sportspage, George’s favourite very fast, diesel-fuelled boat (middle); Casey’s well-used fishmaster’s boat (background) and one of our custom-designed guest boats with sides high enough so guests would not topple out when netting that really big fish (foreground).

  Our fighting days were not over though. One of George’s worst nightmares was that the islands that surrounded us would be clear-cut. Individuals and small companies had selectively handlogged in the Rivers Inlet area for many years, and the hills were still covered with trees. But if a larger company were to clear-cut, build roads and create huge log dumps in a small area like Rivers Inlet, which was the proposal at the time, it would take many decades to recover the beautiful wilderness feeling.

  It was a chance comment by one of the nearby residents that got George really worried about the hills around us. He checked with the provincial Ministry of Forests office and, sure enough, a logging company had been given the go-ahead to log and build roads on the very island, Walbran, we were tied to and sheltered by. We called a meeting and invited everyone involved to come to the lodge one afternoon that summer. In attendance were people from the Ministry of Forests, local residents, the logging company, union reps for fallers and helicopter loggers, First Nations from the head of the inlet and other lodge owners.

  Some people say that it’s no use fighting against big business, but after a whole afternoon of listening to everyone’s arguments, we were hopeful that BC Forests would make a new decision. Our stand was not to stop logging, as some union workers thought. We listened, and understood, as these workers told stories about needing to put food on the table for their children. We were solely against clear-cutting. The hills here were blanketed with lush green trees, and when clear-cutting is used, all that is left is ravaged rocky slopes covered with carcasses of unwanted fallen trees, grey and bleak. Helicopter logging is more selective and doesn’t destroy the look of an area. We hoped the area could be helicopter-logged, which wouldn’t require roads and would leave the stunning viewscape intact for guests, enhancing their wilderness experience.

  Manfred Schauenburg, owner of Big Spring Sports Fishing Resort, was also in attendance at this meeting. Manfred loved coming to our lodge. He was amazed by all the planters full of flowers and, even though he was a lodge owner himself, he said that Rivers Lodge was the most beautiful lodge in the inlet. “You even have a babbling brook coming through the middle of your resort!” he said, speaking about the flowers that spilled down onto the float logs and continued to grow and spread there with salt water flowing between the separate floats.

  He said he would take his guests in a line of boats through Magee Channel and get them to turn off their engines so they could just drift and breathe in the beauty. He said this area was simply, “magical.” If it were to be clear-cut, it would never recover the magic in my lifetime or my children’s.

  Some of the First Nations people from the village at the head of the inlet made a formal proposal that our association could start a logging operation for them and clear-cut two hundred-acre blocks in one of the most beautiful, pristine side inlets between Magee Channel and Geetla Inlet off of Rivers Inlet. The logging company had paid the Ministry of Forests, Lands & Natural Resources for the rights to log the timber. The First Nations people were given the two hundred acres by the logging company in question in order for the First Nations to make money from clear-cutting the timber and therefore not interfere by staging protests against the company’s own logging. Our association, with no real background in logging, didn’t start the operation and the beautiful little inlet is still untouched tranquility.

  We listed the number of businesses that relied on our guests and also listed the number of staff we hire in the summer. We had put food on a lot of people’s tables over the past twenty-three years. We put hundreds of kids who worked for us through university. There were doctors, architects, nurses, pharmacists, bankers, artists, psychologists and more whose schooling we helped pay for.

  Forestry is the largest industry in BC, but sport fishing is also a huge industry. After several hours, the BC Forests personnel had listened to everyone’s comments and the meeting was adjourned. Later that week, the ministry announced that logging in the area would go ahead with helicopters, and we all breathed a sigh of relief. Sometimes it is worth fighting big business.

  Walbran Island was later selectively logged by helicopters, and when approaching Rivers Lodge in an airplane, you can’t see that the island has been logged. For now, this piece of wilderness is preserved for the future.

  A Day in the Life of George

  It was 1999 and we were getting ready for our first guests of another season. Our Vancouver charter company had told us ahead of time they would no longer be flying long-haul trips into Rivers Lodge. They were sending their Twin Otters to Antarctica to fly tourists there. We found another company with various airplanes that we could charter: a Short 360 that could carry up to thirty-two passengers from Vancouver to Port Hardy, and three amphibious Goose planes that would then carry them to Rivers Lodge. There would be lots of room on the planes for twenty-four guests as well as for our food and any other freight bound for the lodge. There would also be room for the guests’ loads of fish on their return trip to Vancouver.

  George had spent the better part of a day fixing the on-demand propane water heater in the lodge. We had a thousand-pound propane tank as well as a three-hundred-pound tank that we hooked onto when the big tank
needed to be disconnected and pushed out to the main bay for fuelling. We used a lot of propane. This meant that we didn’t have to run the diesel generator twenty-four hours a day for electricity and could have a quiet night after the generator was shut down. We used propane for stoves, water and drying-room heaters. The swim hot tub also sucked up propane at an alarming rate. George fixed the water heater and moved on to the burners on the stove in the kitchen. Three pilot lights were out and needed cleaning, and the fourth one was two inches high.

  Then he headed over to the boats that were getting waxed, washed inside and out and the bottoms painted. He spent several hours on his back rewiring a couple of the boats until I called him to relight the pilot lights on the stove. He cleaned them again and then they worked beautifully. He was back on his head in the boats until I had a dishwasher emergency. Over to the lodge again and he was able to poke and prod the machine to work once again.

  I love gardening, so we always kept the flower boxes full. The various freight-boat skippers got used to delivering—and watering en route—pallets full of annual plants to fill the outdoor wooden planters, and dozens of beautiful ferns to grace the high shelf dividing the lodge dining room from the lounge area.

  There was a call for George to be interviewed by CBC Radio about the helicopter-logging decision. On his way back, he turned off the generator so he could fuel the big tank shortly. Still on his way back to the boats, he walked through the lodge to see what our computer helper was doing and found that he had somehow messed up its battery. This would have to wait because George left to fix the wiring in the boats. Once again on his way, he saw a crack in the windshield on Casey’s bait-run boat and told him he had to remove it so it could be repaired before it got worse. Then George asked Jessy how she was doing in the tackle shop. Were there enough knives? Pliers? Apparently Casey had a stash of knives so we wouldn’t run out. It’s amazing how many got dropped overboard.

  The pilot light in a guesthouse water heater was out, so George lit it. It went out again, so he cleaned it and relit it. It stayed on. The hot tub was leaking so he drained it to just past where the connection is and left it to dry so he could fix it later. Back on his head in the boats with the wiring. He then heard a call on the VHF saying there were orcas outside our bay. He jumped up and called for anyone who wanted to see them to climb into Sportspage. Our electrician went with them and when he came back said, “Well, now I can go home happy.”

  George headed over to the hot-tub float and spent some time gluing the pipe connections that he thought were leaking. This required him to climb under the pool deck and spend fifteen minutes hunched over with one leg over a truss and the other knee bent over the top of a log—his shoe dipping into the salt water beneath him. When he could finally stand up, all of his joints creaked and groaned.

  And … George was back on his head in the boats while everyone else had dinner. We all discussed ways to keep tabs on him during the day. He was the only one who didn’t come running when the dinner horn was blasted. So much time was spent looking for him because he went from one job to the next, back and forth, and up and down, and there was always someone with a question for him which they brought to me eventually because I was easier to find. I was either in the kitchen or at the computer. The lodge was laid out in a long line so you could cover many miles in a day just trying to find him.

  Bonus: After we had dinner, I headed back to the lodge and found that the dryer that had been out of service was actually working now. Somewhere in the mix of the rest of his tasks, George had managed to fix the dryer as well. The generator was going again but things settled down for the rest of the crew after dinner, and a lovely peace settled around the docks.

  The crew and the kids would sometimes play badminton after dinner, or board games. Some went fishing or would exercise, read a book, take a paddleboat out or write letters. We hired crew based on their attitude and looked for people who could entertain themselves and not rely on big-city entertainments. Also, ever since our experience of having hired an alcoholic couple, we have had a strict non-drinking and non-smoking policy for our crew. Over the years, this has saved us a lot of trouble. Most of the lodges in the inlet followed our lead and the industry is much better and safer for it.

  A guest stands inside the lodge watching as other guests return from fishing. One of our dock crew waits outside to help tie up the boats.

  I would do paperwork or possibly write menus and consolidate the fridge and pantry. Then I’d organize grocery orders, check on the laundry, water the greenhouse and check on the progress the crew had made that day in the guestrooms. Then, because I would feel so organized, I could take the time to sit and read a book. George would continue working until I told him I was going to shut the generator off in ten minutes. Usually between 11 PM and midnight. Then with the generator off, we would stand at the front of our house and enjoy the evening, watch the myriad stars, while our minds stretched in an effort to even mildly comprehend their numbers—a gauzy net of brilliant light cast out over the sea of darkness. We could sense the bats flitting past, and listen to the little mysterious splashes in the bay that created ripples through the moon’s reflection on the water. It was comforting and exhilarating all at once. This was the only time in the summer that we could enjoy just being together before all hell broke loose. This was our own quiet communion with each other and this infinite universe.

  What’s Going On?

  In the fall of 2000, George and I had travelled through Ireland as a twenty-fifth wedding anniversary present to ourselves. We cracked up laughing at every turn while George dealt with the backwards gearshift and the rearview mirror on the “wrong” side of the car. Our adventures all the way around the south end of the country were epic but I missed half the road signs because I was drowning behind an enormous upside-down road map. We became stuck in a dead end while George fought with the gears, and my head would spin when confronted with multiple street signs with arrows pointing in a dozen directions with unpronounceable names, each written with at least twenty-six letters. We drove through breathtaking country, met wonderful people, drank gallons of beer and knocked back many a whiskey. Every night there was fabulous music in every pub we visited. I love that country and the people who live there! It was such a happy time. We didn’t want to leave.

  Now, we were back at the lodge and into another summer fishing season. We had a group of friends and family fishing with us. The weather was good, the fish were biting and everyone was pleased to be there. Almost all the boats came back in for lunch. One stayed out, and George was concerned because they were not answering him on the radio. By 1 PM they were still not back, so George started getting ropes and an extra lunch in the boat and told Casey to get a full day-tank of boat-gas into Sportspage, and to be ready to jump in when he started the engine.

  George had this work of art made for our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. It somewhat resembles a photo taken of us on our wedding day.

  There were three people in the errant boat. The husband of one of them hadn’t gone out with them. He jumped into Sportspage with George and Casey—it’s always good to have an extra pair of eyes when searching. Just as George was about to pull away from the dock, there was a call from the people at Dawsons Landing. They had received a call from one of the airlines that there were three people on the beach on the west side of Calvert Island and they had spelled out a message with logs that read, “help rivers lodge.” Now George knew where to head.

  No one fished on the west side of Calvert Island. You can immediately see how rough the weather gets when you round the south end of the island and suddenly the trees become stubby and gnarled and are bent sharply away from the prevailing winds. George would lead our boats over to the south end of Calvert in the fog, but they always turned around if they started to stray toward the west side, which is open to the ocean and where the swells heave higher and higher and block out the view around
them. How could our stray guests possibly not have noticed and then not turned back to find their bearings?

  Talking, that’s how. The three of them had not been together for a long time and they could not stop talking. They talked while they trolled from an area on the other side of the inlet known as “The Wall.” They talked while they trolled across Fitz Hugh Sound. They talked while they rounded the south end of Calvert, and they were still talking as they drove up the west side and ran out of gas, luckily right in front of a patch of sandy beach.

  They paddled the boat close to shore, ever minding the potential wrath of George if he caught them taking the boat onto the beach. After realizing that no one could hear them on the radio, they decided that it was best if they stayed where they were instead of trying to paddle back to where they had passed the south side of Calvert, which they now realized they had done. They anchored the boat quite close to the shore, jumped into the shallow water and slogged to the beach. Then they took stock of their supplies.

  They had eaten their morning snack hours ago and emptied their coffee thermoses. There was drinking water on the boat but none on the beach. One of the ladies had two hard candies, so they tried to figure out how to divide them into three pieces. That wasn’t going to ease their hunger.

  I must interject here and tell you that these were friends of ours, Barb and Des Bell and Erica Harris, who had been at the lodge many times over the years and did know their way around, but sometimes chatting overrides common sense.