by Pat Ardley
They could hear airplanes flying over the island but none of them flew above their heads. Our enterprising friend Erica decided they needed to make a sign in case a plane flew above them. They spent an hour dragging logs of varying lengths to create the message that eventually made its way, anonymously, to George. Thankfully, a plane passed over and noticed the sign, flew around in a circle, then tipped its wings to let them know that help would soon be on its way!
Other people in the inlet had heard that there were boaters stranded on the west side of Calvert. One report said that there was a boat overturned and three people were in the water. A fellow from another resort, who was fishing near Calvert, pulled in his fishing lines and bravely headed around to the outside of the island. When he found the people stranded on the beach, he called out to them from his rocking boat that he was there to save them. Des called back that they couldn’t leave George’s boat. The fellow insisted that they leave the boat and climb into his. All three of them called back to let him know that under no circumstances were they going anywhere without George’s boat!
The poor would-be rescuer floated around in the bay hoping someone else would soon arrive, until George, Casey and Nigel arrived an hour later, discharging the kind man from his rescue duty. They helped the stranded folk onto Sportspage, swapped gas day-tanks in the speedboat, and George slowly drove home through the rising swells, with Casey driving the guest’s speedboat behind them. The other brave boater who had come to save the trio was right behind him. In all the excitement of the rescue, no one thought to dismantle the help sign. George and Casey had to brave the swell two days later to pull the sign apart to stop other pilots reporting lost and stranded people.
A few days later, a new group of twenty-four guests arrived at our airplane dock. George was always there to greet new arrivals and usher them into his boat for the short drive to the lodge. As he was putting his hand out to help a guest into Sportspage, he introduced himself by saying, “Hi, I’m Jack!” There was a pause as he realized his mistake and said, “Wait a minute, no I’m not, I’m George!” All weekend, our guests who had been with us for many, many summers enjoyed calling him Jack. Late in the summer, George’s head would be swimming with guests’ names and mine would be swimming with the amount of food they would eat.
In 2002, we had a very, very dry summer. The driest we had ever experienced. We had a float with a couple of thousand-gallon emergency tanks that we filled with fresh water in early July when there was a good water supply. Once the tanks were filled, George towed the heavy float around the corner and tied it to shore, out of sight. We were saving a lot of fresh water because we had changed all of the toilets to flush with salt water, with two high-pressure tanks that pushed the salt water into the waste system. Late in August, our creek was just barely dripping water into our holding tanks. We encouraged staff to “shower” overboard and conserve laundry where they could. George towed the freshwater float back to the lodge, and pumped half of one container into our system up the hill. Then the next day—another half, then another half. By the fourth day, with only half a tank of emergency water left, and just as we were beginning to wring our hands nervously, rain started to fall and lasted just long enough to fill our reservoir.
It would be many years before those emergency tanks had to be filled a second time in the summer because of low rainfall. Just in case, there was a plan to tow the float with the tanks about a mile and a half away to a river that flowed from a large lake then hook up pipes to fill the tanks there and slowly and gently tow them home.
We were involved in another rescue later that summer. A couple had anchored their large pleasure boat in a bay near our fishing grounds. The woman went exploring in a kayak, and the man took their small inflatable boat over to The Wall. When he decided to head back, he turned the same way that our friends had turned, and accidentally headed over to Calvert Island. He got to a land mass and thought he needed to continue up the west side thinking he was just on the other side of the inlet. He had a gps with him but without his reading glasses, he could barely read it. After driving for another thirty minutes, he stopped and made more of an effort to read the gps and couldn’t believe when it said he was on the west side of Calvert. He disregarded the information.
Then he too ran out of gas. After another quick look at the gps, he decided that it was telling him the truth, and he started paddling hard. He paddled for five hours and finally could make out the light at Clarke Point on the south end of Calvert Island. He was worn to a frazzle, it was pitch black, and there were no boats to be seen as he pulled his dingy ashore and prepared for a very uncomfortable and long night.
Back in the inlet, after a mayday call to the Coast Guard from the woman who’d been kayaking, George, Casey and quite a few other lodge owners were on the water searching. George suggested to the fellows on the small Coast Guard boat that the man could be on the southern tip of Calvert Island just like our guests had ended up. It was too late for George or Casey to head over because it was now dark, but the Coast Guard boat could do it. They disagreed with George and said the lost man could not be that far away. After many hours of searching, everyone was told to stop until it was light again in the morning. They didn’t want other boats running into trouble.
The following day, three of our guest boats arrived for the early morning bite at the south end of Calvert and they saw the missing man, frantically waving to them! They passed him several bottles of water and their container of snacks and radioed back to the lodge. The two-hundred-foot Coast Guard ship Tanu arrived shortly after and scooped the man and his boat onto their deck. He had spent the night sitting on a rock exposed to the elements with his dinghy tied to his waist. The ship’s doctor checked him out and the Tanu delivered him back to his frantic wife. When they arrived at the Port Hardy dock in their sailboat a few days later, a commercial fisherman said to them, “In times of trouble, the whole coast comes together.”
It was the middle of September of 2002 and George and I were finally able to sit down together with a coffee and a muffin. We were talking about not retiring. We thought it might be fun to eventually get to the point where we catered to only eight fishing guests at a time. We couldn’t think of anything else we would rather be doing, but we thought we’d prefer doing it on a smaller scale. As we chatted, I noticed that George was having trouble swallowing. “What’s going on?” I said. “Why are you having trouble swallowing your muffin crumbs?” He sloughed it off and said he didn’t know why. I told him to phone our doctor in West Vancouver immediately, which he did, and made an appointment for the middle of October. I sent him back to the phone to make an appointment for the day after he would arrive back in town, two weeks hence.
I was wary of strange symptoms. My sister June was diagnosed with ovarian cancer after she thought she had a simple case of stomach flu.
When he finally got in to see the doctor, George was told that he probably had a hiatal hernia and that he could buy over-the-counter tablets to settle any acid reflux and make it easier for him to swallow. He took those for a month and went back to the doctor when the symptoms did not subside. He got a prescription for stronger medicine, still to help with the hiatal hernia. After a month of taking those pills, George’s shoulder started to hurt, and it hurt more and more every day. Like a chainsaw-was-cutting-his-arm-off kind of hurt. I finally parked myself on our doctor’s doorstep, and he sent us to meet a specialist that same morning in the emergency room of Lions Gate Hospital.
Then and only then did the ball get rolling. After tests and scans, we heard the dreaded word “cancer.” Esophageal cancer. Oh no you don’t! George was the most positive person I have ever known. He was always happy. We lived such a healthy life. No, this cannot be. More tests. I wheeled him around the hospital from one test to another; there were no orderlies to be found. Confirmation. Chemo started that day. Pain medication. Nausea medication. More pain medication. It was growing very fast. I did
Christmas shopping at London Drugs waiting for prescriptions to be filled.
The next several months are a fog. Our sport-fishing association rincsea sent us to the Wickaninnish Inn for a relaxing long weekend at the end of March. The chemo treatments had been brutal, and we truly appreciated this bit of respite. My sister June and brother-in-law Sandy were supposed to join us there, but my sister’s health had taken a bad turn with her own cancer treatments. We tried to enjoy the spectacular beach and the beautiful facilities, but George was noticeably weaker and could not walk far or savour the fine food.
We headed back to Vancouver for another round of chemo. Suddenly, my days were spent organizing drugs, blood tests, doctor appointments, chemo dates, slow walks by the ocean, and more drugs and chemo dates, and making special food that wasn’t hard to swallow and would keep weight on George. I barely had time to answer the office phone. I would only work on the lodge when George was sleeping. People were booking themselves. I tried to keep up. An endoscopy had been scheduled. A scope would be inserted into George’s throat to see what was happening now. We arrived for the test and the nurse, after consulting her paperwork, asked George to remove his trousers for the procedure. George, never one to lose his sense of humour, asked, “Isn’t that a long way to go for this test?” The nurse checked her information again and backed red-faced out of the room.
Casey graduated high school in 2000. By now, it was 2003 and Jessy would graduate. I was no help. I was floundering. The phone would ring and I could see that it was my friend. I didn’t pick it up. I couldn’t talk. When it rang again immediately, I took the receiver into the bedroom closet and closed the door so George couldn’t hear me talking/crying. My friends insisted on supporting me. I don’t know what I would have done without them.
Our friend Nigel brought a barber to the house, and after George had his hair and beard trimmed, he slowly and carefully dressed in his best outfit to attend Jessy’s graduation ceremony at the Orpheum Theatre. I rented a wheelchair. We wheeled in and proudly watched our dear Jess cross the stage. I was amazed that she was able to do the required work. Our kids were so strong.
Just a few days later we had yet another appointment with the oncologist.
Organizing the Lodge
It was early June 2003 and George was organizing the lodge and crew from a lounge chair on our deck in town. We figured that he would do the same at the lodge over the summer. We had just returned from the hospital. The doctor had shown us the scan of George’s liver and how the cancer had spread there and bluntly, savagely, said, “You won’t be going back up to your little cabin in the woods again.” We reeled out of the oncologist’s office and stumbled to the car. I turned to George and said, “Fuck the doctor, you will go back to the lodge!” I booked flights for us both, and we flew to Rivers Inlet two days later.
Our caretaker, Robin Cooper, Richard and Sheila’s son, and his family were still at the lodge. Normally they would have left by now because George was usually there in the late spring, working on new projects and getting water lines running and equipment ready for the summer. Nothing had been normal this year.
The weather was warm in the day and cool in the evening. I had brought two books with me to read aloud to George: Full Catastrophe Living by Jon Kabat-Zinn and The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle. The title of Kabat-Zinn’s book was inspired by a line from Zorba the Greek, in which the title character explains that to live “the full catastrophe” is to live life to the fullest, whether it is good or bad—embrace all of it. George’s attention span was not long, so I would read short passages from the books several times a day. We also listened to a meditation tape that came with the Full Catastrophe book. It led listeners through a body scan and would bring your whole being down to your breath and was completely relaxing. Something we both needed.
I helped George walk all over and around the lodge floats as he touched all of the things that we had created with such love and care: the house we had moved from one float to another, the planter boxes, the beautiful lodge building. We walked to the hot tub where our kids had played for hours in the sun, the rain and, at times, the snow. We walked to the tackle shop where most of the fishing gear was put away for the winter, then all the way to the boathouse where his woodworking shop was. We walked past the greenhouse, the big freezer, the woodshed, guestrooms and crew rooms. We went into the new generator shed and touched both generators and admired the ingenious fuel system he had designed, then into the metalworking shop to pick up and feel the motor parts and pipe fittings. George always loved to wander around the lodge when he first returned after spending the winter in town.
I set up a lounge chair in the shade at the side of the greenhouse so he could have a rest and hear our creek tumbling and splashing down the hill fifty feet away—the creek that he had tamed with pipes and pumps and huge holding tanks to ensure a steady supply of water over the summer. Our creek-and-water system was one of the most reliable in the inlet.
We went out in the boat the next afternoon. I drove into the middle of Klaquaek Channel, shut the engine off and we drifted and bobbed along with the sound of the water slap-slapping the sides of the boat as we gently rocked. The sky was a deep sea-blue with not a cloud in sight. We were in a cocoon of blue and green and the fresh salt air filled us with love and harmony. We floated along, just listening to the water and the seagulls. The tide started to push us a little too close to a rocky islet, so I had to break the peace and start the engine. George was getting tired as we headed back to the lodge, trolling slowly all the way. We could see Calvert Island with our beautiful snow-capped Mount Buxton towering over the surrounding miles of ocean and forest, and in the other direction we could see the snow-covered mountains toward the head of the inlet. George knew every rock, every sweeper, every tree and every craggy bay that we passed.
Later, we were sitting side by side on the porch chairs watching the kingfisher dive, the hummingbirds zoom and an eagle glide up above. I had just asked for information. I choked on the words and broke down gasping for breath unable to continue. I’m a terrible person. How can I ask this of him?
“Please,” I cried. “Please help me understand how all the equipment works. I have a recording device. Please, I’m scared. What if you are sleeping and something breaks down?”
I was positive that George would be directing the guests, equipment and crew from a lounge chair, but I was still feeling panic clawing its way up my throat.
I had the recorder in my hand. We both looked at it, the size of it, the weight of it, the agony of it. George slowly reached for the recorder, took it out of my hand, stood up and, slowly and carefully, walked toward the generator shed.
The float plane arrived the next day to take us back to town. The pilot and I helped George into the plane. As we taxied across the water, we were both in a place of peace, following each breath in and feeling it spread throughout our bodies. This was a place that I would have to go to many times over the next many months, just to keep my head from exploding into a million tiny pieces.
PART THREE
Dear George
What Just Happened?
Dear George:
Well, that took us all by surprise. Especially me. I believed in you and was so sure that you would beat this thing called cancer. Last night Casey and I tried but couldn’t keep you from falling as we walked together down the hall at home in West Vancouver. Then there was no way that we could lift you without hurting you. In panic, I ran to the phone and called Dr. Wilson. He said to call 911 and that he would be right over. He would help the ambulance attendants assess the situation, and help us make a decision whether we should just get help lifting you into bed or if it would be better for you to go to the hospital, where they could make you comfortable for the night.
The ambulance and the doctor arrived at the same time and before they lifted you, one of the fellows asked you to smile. You said, “Say something funny first.”
The tension that was crushing me turned to dust and drifted away. You would be all right. We just needed to get you up and moving again. The medics moved you into bed and our doctor spoke gently to you in a low murmur. Then he turned to me and said he thought he could make you more comfortable tonight at the hospital. My main concern at this moment was that you should be helped by someone who could do just that. That’s what they do at hospitals right? They make you comfortable, and they ease your pain.
We drove behind you in various cars. Jessy went with you in the ambulance and later told me of how the two of you were there in the hallway of Lions Gate Hospital, you on a stretcher, her clutching your hand. She was overwhelmed and scared and told you, “Please don’t leave me.” You, never being one to think of yourself but always thinking of the comfort of others, patted her hand and calmly said, “Don’t worry, I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.” It was only later that Jessy realized that you were worried about her. You were thinking that she was worried that your stretcher was going to be wheeled off, leaving her alone and scared in the hallway before the others arrived. You wanted to assure her that you wouldn’t let them take you away without her. You were so firmly planted in the moment and stoically trying to shield her and put her at ease, and not thinking of yourself at all.
I didn’t drive with you in the ambulance because of some perverse reasoning in my addled brain that if I didn’t acknowledge the ambulance, it couldn’t possibly be such an emergency.
Dr. Wilson reached the hospital before we did and already had a bed waiting for you. They hooked you up to a drip, morphine I think, and a heart monitor. Jessy and Casey, Gery, Erica and I gathered around your bed chatting about little things trying to keep the atmosphere light, but it wasn’t working. You answered our questions some of the time, and at one point, you looked around and said, “I am surrounded by so much love!”
