Camp 13: Working in the Lumber Woods

by Byron White

  That Saturday, too, the company scaler was in camp. The scalers, at Glenwood District, fulfilled several functions. One role was to measure, or scale, the wood that the men cut in late spring and summer. Cutters at Camp 13 were on contract. Stan paid them for each cord of wood they cut and piled. A cord of wood was equal to 128 cubic feet of wood. The pulpwood cut on the Southwest Gander was four feet in length. Thus, a pile four feet deep by four feet high by eight feet long constituted a cord of wood. By stacking their wood in this way, the men had a reasonable estimate of how much wood they were producing and how much money they were making. Each man marked his brows of wood, and Stan and Allan kept a written record.

  At regular intervals, the scalers visited each lumber camp. With their measuring rods, the scalers went over each brow and got an accurate measure of the amount of wood each man cut. Then, back at camp, the paperwork was done. The number of cords cut by each man was multiplied by the price that Stan was paying per cord. The amount was calculated and a cheque was written. Each man signed his name or put an X in the ledger book to verify receipt of payment. These cheques were issued from the company account and at the end of the season drawn down from Stan’s contract earnings.

  In the winter, too, the teamsters were on contract. Each man was paid a set amount for each cord of pulpwood taken off the land. For the highliners there were bonuses for extra effort. Again, the teamsters and Stan and Allan had written records of the amount of wood each individual hauled. This information was passed to the scalers and the cheques issued.

  Not all of the men working at Camp 13 were on contract. Those working at the campsite—the cookhouse crew, the bunkhouse man, the saw filer, the barn tender, the sled repair man, as well as the road maintenance crew and the dam builders—were all on wages. Stan kept time slips for these men and gave the information to the scaler so that the men could be paid.

  As with all the men, the scalers had their strengths and weaknesses. The cutters, certainly, had some scalers whom they preferred over others. On occasion, a scaler would refuse to scale a man’s wood if his brow was poorly stacked. Another scaler might refuse to scale if the piled wood had a piece with a percentage of rot in it. On such occasions, a man might have to walk miles back into the country to remove the offending piece. Still another scaler might refuse to measure a man’s wood if a tree was left uncut, even if it was small and at the edge of a bog. Again, the cutter would have to trudge back in and correct the perceived problem. All of these delays frustrated the cutter and cost him time and money.

  Over the years many scalers worked with Bowater’s Glenwood division. Men like Wes Oake, Gus Dicks, Bert Ball, Truman Maynard, Gar White, and Rex Greening. At first the men at camp were paid every month. Later the time was shortened to eighteen days, and finally the pay period was reduced to every two weeks.

  This Saturday evening in February, Bert Ball was the scaler in camp. Stan and Bert got along well. Both men were honest and hard-working. Both were solid citizens concerned with their community’s and society’s values, and both, when at home, did extensive volunteer work. In addition, both men were heavily involved in supporting their local churches and not given to swearing or vulgarity. To both, profanity was evidence of a feeble mind trying to express itself forcefully. Neither man had a feeble mind.

  But it was not only Stan who held Bert in high regard; the men at Camp 13 did as well. Bert was a fair and honest broker. Being fair and honest was not to be confused with weakness, however. Any cutter who tried to push the limits found himself held to account. If good wood was left uncut in a sector, the cutter would be sent back in to rectify the situation. Stan and Bert worked together to enforce this regulation. However, it was not only Bert’s integrity that made him a well-liked man. In addition, Bert had a winning personality. He had a jovial smile and a kind word for everyone he met.

  After supper, the men trooped into the cookhouse to receive their cheques. Stan and Bert sat at the long table to the left of the door. Stan had the paperwork: the ledger containing the number of cords of pulpwood hauled by each teamster and the time slips he had recorded for those not on contract. Bert took the information that Stan presented and wrote out cheques for each man.

  There was a buzz of excitement in the air as the men awaited their cheques. Here and there, around the cookhouse, the men sat in small groups. Some were chatting and making small talk. Others were sipping tea or munching on pastries, still others were having a bowl of prunes. Most men had given themselves a light wash and tidied themselves up a bit. All in all, the mood was comfortable, relaxed, and a little festive. Payday, like mail day, was always a special occasion. One by one, the men dodged up to the pay table.

  “Sign your name here,” Bert would say, and each man would sign by his printed name on the paper provided. Their signature served as a written verification that they had been paid. Those who could not write their name simply placed an X in the space indicated.

  When the verification was recorded, the issued cheque was handed over. As each man left the table, another came forward to receive his pay. By 9: 30 p.m. all the cheques were handed out and Stan and Bert retired to the forepeak. There they would join Allan for a chat and a final tidy-up and shave before retiring. No work would be done the next day, Sunday.

  As Stan lay in his sleeping bag that night, he reflected on the past evening. In his mind, he retraced the work he and Bert had done. Had anything been missed? No. Stan was satisfied that all the bases had been covered. The evening had gone smoothly and had been uneventful. Such had not been the case when Gus Dicks had been at camp before the Christmas break.

  Gus Dicks was a good scaler. He, too, worked with Bowater’s Glenwood Division. But Gus and Stan had different personalities, and they didn’t always get along. When it came to running Camp 13, Stan was in charge. His word was law. He didn’t appreciate anyone questioning his authority, not the men, not Bowater’s management, not the company walking boss, and not the scalers. When it came to time slips, the scaler’s job was to take the information Stan gave him and write out the cheques. It was simple and straightforward, no questions asked.

  Last fall, Stan and a few men were at camp preparing the winter roads, repairing dams, and in general getting ready for the winter and spring seasons. In a few weeks it would be time to go home for the Christmas break. The horses had been brought back from their feeding grounds at the mouth of the Southwest Gander River. Hedley Janes was going to remain in camp over Christmas break to feed and tend the animals. Stan had approached Hedley.

  “Hedley,” Stan said, “do you need a bit of time off now? It’s likely you won’t get a break once we begin teamin’ after Christmas.”

  “No,” Hedley had replied, “I understand that. I believe I’m pretty well set for the winter at home.”

  “Well, okay, then,” Stan said.

  “If it’s okay, though, perhaps I’ll take off this weekend and go home for a visit?” Hedley questioned.

  “Yes, b’y. You won’t get home till spring if you don’t go now,” Stan answered.

  So Hedley went home for the weekend. But when he had arrived, Bob Matthews, a local carpenter, was in the process of doing some kitchen renovations and building some cupboards in Hedley’s house. Bob wanted some help and Hedley ended up staying home for two weeks.

  When Hedley arrived back at Camp 13, Stan was not impressed.

  “Jingoes, Hedley! I didn’t think you wanted any time off!”

  Stan didn’t like surprises. If Hedley wanted time off, he should have said so. But, on reflection, Stan couldn’t remain upset with him. Hedley had done everything that Stan had ever asked him, and he had done it without grumbling. Now they were at the end of the fall preparation and work was winding down. Hedley was staying behind over Christmas to take care of things. It was only fair, Stan reasoned, that Hedley take some time off.

  Just before Camp 13 was to close for the Christmas break, Gus Dicks came to camp to do the final scale. Stan and Gus sat at the usua
l table in the cookhouse. Stan gave Gus the time slips to make out the cheques for the men. A half-dozen men were sitting around chatting as they waited for their pay. Stan handed Hedley’s slip to Gus.

  “What’s this?” Gus asked.

  “Hedley’s time slip,” Stan replied.

  “Stan,” Gus asked, “wasn’t Hedley out for a while?” Gus knew of Hedley’s absence. “I see you got full time marked in for him,” Gus added.

  Stan was furious. You could see the colour coming and going in his face. It was Stan’s money. He was contracting; it came out of his pocket! It was his business and he didn’t appreciate his decisions being second-guessed and broadcast to the whole world! Some of the men listening might think that Hedley was getting special treatment! When Stan spoke, he didn’t mince words.

  “Look here, Gus!” he began. “Whatever is put on that time slip, you make it up and ask no questions.”

  Gus flinched.

  “And,” Stan continued, “if you can’t do that, put the time slip to one side and I’ll get someone else to do it!”

  Gus wrote out the cheque and finished the settlement in silence. The scale over, Gus packed and left the camp without another word being said.

  Hedley had received full pay and he had stayed at camp looking after the horses over Christmas. It was now mid-February and he had not been home since. He would not get home again until the teamsters had hauled all the pulpwood off the land. Now, again, Hedley was proving his versatility. After Christmas he had started off teaming, but now he was back in the cookhouse feeding the men. In addition to cooking, Hedley had other duties as well.

  In the winter, every Friday was report day. This meant that all of the lumber camps under Bowater’s Glenwood Woods Division sent along a tally of the amount of pulpwood hauled each week. This report was sent down the line by telephone. Every Friday morning, Lester Shea, the regional superintendent, would call each of the woods camps on the southwestern side of Gander Lake. The camps would have their tally ready and Lester would receive their report.

  Thesereports from the lumber campswere importantinformation for the Glenwood Regional Office. It was their method of tracking the progress of the camps under their jurisdiction. These camps on the southern side of Gander Lake had opened in the late 1940s, and now, in the early 1950s, it was the first few years of operation. The start-up years had not gone smoothly. There had been mild winters and not all of the contracted wood had been delivered. This inability of Bowater’s Glenwood Division to deliver the pulpwood had led to a lack of raw material for the Bowater’s Pulp and Paper Mill in Corner Brook. A lack of raw material led to a reduction in paper production, and this in turn made it difficult for Bowater to meet their contractual obligations to their customers. The pressure was now on the Glenwood Division to deliver the contracted pulpwood!

  The telephone system in place in the lumber woods in the early 1950s was an interesting affair. The Bowater’s Regional Office could ring each of the camps, and the camps could call down the line to Glenwood. In addition, the individual camps could contact one another. An intriguing aspect of this phone system related to the fact that only one call could be placed over the entire system at any particular time.

  Each camp and the Regional Office all had their own distinctive call signal. For example, if someone wanted to contact Camp 13, they would crank the handle on the old wooden phone box: one long, one short, and one long. This signal rang on all the phones on the system, but it was intended for someone at Camp 13. Similarly, if a call was being sent to any of the other camps, the big wooden box phone at Camp 13 would signal that this call was being placed.

  At Camp 13, the big wooden wall phone was strategically placed in the kitchen area of the cookhouse adjacent to the cook’s sleeping quarters—now Hedley’s sleeping quarters. When a call came in to Camp 13, Hedley would take down the attached but movable hearing piece and place it to his ear. Then he would speak into the stationary mouthpiece attached to the mounted phone box. By this means a two-way conversation could ensue.

  The telephone system was a marvel of technological simplicity. It gave rise to the first of the “modern-day hackers,” namely Hedley! When Hedley had a spare moment, or sometimes when he didn’t, he would listen in on other calls. At such times, he would gently raise the earpiece from the wall phone and place it to his ear. Using his hand he would cover the mouthpiece to conceal the fact that he was listening. In this way, Hedley acquired information that rivalled that gleaned by the CIA or Britain’s MI5. The information was sifted through and strategic tidbits were passed along to Skipper Stan.

  On winter Friday mornings, it was Hedley who passed along Camp 13’s weekly haul-off reports to Lester Shea.

  The report from Camp 13 was not a complicated affair. On the first Friday that Hedley returned to the cookhouse, Stan gave him a number to report. The same number was given to Lester week in and week out, until the haul-off was over. The number never changed. It was a reasonable number, Stan thought. It was, more or less, an average of past weekly tallies. Good enough, Stan reasoned. He was a busy man and not inclined to spend time with extra reporting.

  So each Friday morning a familiar scene would play itself out. Lester would call each camp and ask for their report. Hedley would hack into the system and listen. When it came time for Camp 13’s report, Lester would not bother to call.

  “And you, Hedley,” Lester would say, “what is the report from Camp 13 today?”

  “Nine hundred cords this week, Lester,” Hedley would answer.

  “Exactly the same as last week,” Lester would reply.

  “Yes, exactly the same,” Hedley would repeat with a smile.

  “Pretty consistent!” Lester would offer.

  “Yes, we’re pretty consistent here at 13.”

  “Consistent, my ass!”

  “Anything else?”

  “No. Not today. But if I want to know the colour of the queen’s underwear, you’ll be the first person I’ll call, Hedley.”

  “Good day, Lester.”

  “Good day, Hedley.”

  And the weekly report from Camp 13 would be filed.

  CHAPTER 21

  MONDAY MORNING FOUND STAN and the men back on the small brook. Bert Ball had stayed at camp over Sunday. Scalers did not always remain in the camps on weekends. Often, they headed down Gander Lake in the company boat. Bert and Stan had read their Bibles and chatted, and dodged in the road for a look around. It was a day of rest.

  One Sunday, though, there had been an incident. It had occurred when Hedley and Mark had first brought up their new power saw. It was Sunday afternoon and Stan was relaxing on his bunk in the forepeak. Suddenly, the peaceful quietness was shattered by a raucous noise. Stan jumped to his feet and pulled on his boots. In a few seconds he was out the door. The offending noise, Stan determined, was coming from up behind the saw filing shack. With a few long strides and a dark countenance, Stan rounded the corner. Two men were there. One was giving the new power saw a try. With a fury and a wrath not seen since the days of the Old Testament prophets, Stan laid into the two offenders. The power saw was confiscated and the men retreated quickly to the bunkhouse.

  On another Sunday afternoon, Stan was sitting in the cookhouse peeling an orange. It was during the summer cutting season and over a hundred men were in camp. All was quiet except for a fly buzzing against the cookhouse window. Then another sound broke the silence. From outside there arose the sound of shouting, and cursing filled the air. Stan jumped to his feet and headed through the door.

  There on the gravel road in front of the bunkhouses, two men were squaring off! Others had gathered on the bunkhouse steps to watch the proceedings. Stan recognized the two combatants. One fellow was a Parsons from Gambo and the other was a Springer from out in Trinity Bay. Stan headed their way. The spectators on the bunkhouse steps fell quiet. Some retreated discreetly inside.

  “Jingoes!” Stan shouted. “What’s going on here?”

  The two men spun
around. Until now they had not noticed Stan’s approach. Neither man spoke.

  “You want to fight? Is that it? Is that it?” Stan asked, the anger showing in his voice.

  Still, neither man spoke. Stan’s face told them that they had crossed the line. He was in no mood for any nonsense.

  “If it’s a fightin’ you want,” Stan continued, “there’s a war going on over in Korea. Go over there!”

  The two would-be combatants were beginning to feel like little children who had been caught being naughty. Slight smiles creased the faces of the few men still watching from the bunkhouse steps.

  “If you’re going fighting, get your bags and get out of camp. There’s no room for that foolishness here!” Stan concluded. He stood there in the road, his legs spread and his fists clenched by his side.

  After a few moments, one man shuffled off into the bunkhouse, and the other dodged out the road toward the barn. Stan stood there a minute longer, then shook his head and headed back to the cookhouse to finish his orange. Before supper, the two men came to the forepeak and apologized for their behaviour. They had guessed, correctly, that their stay at Camp 13 was in great danger of being shortened by their actions.

  In by the small brook this Monday morning, the men and horses were busy moving the last of the 300 plus cords of wood out onto the frozen pond. The weather since last week had not been overly cold. Nighttime, the temperature dropped a little below freezing. Daytime, the thermometer crept higher and the snow became soft. In the morning and even into the afternoon the hauling was good. But, by mid-afternoon, the snow roads became slushy and considerable slob formed on the pond. Over 1,000 cords of pulpwood were now stacked in neat rows out on the ice surface. Out near the dam, where the wood was concentrated, the ice had settled somewhat and water had seeped through onto the pond’s surface. Today would be the last day pulling pulpwood on the pond. On Tuesday and Wednesday the remaining wood would be piled beside the small brook just outside the dam. Work had been done on the waterway there. It could handle a couple hundred cords of pulpwood spread out along the stream.