 Langara Point WWII |
1. Langara Island  1943 - 1945
Original interview from the Pine Tree Line website. Comments by Ren L'Ecuyer - The Kinnear family lived at the lighthouse complex on Langara Island in the 1943-1945 time period. I was fortunate to communicate with Norma Kinnear in February 2004. I had requested her assistance in trying to recreate what once existed at Langara Island. The following detail is a series of questions and answers - all of which provide additional information on what occurred at Langara Island during this period of time. Q#1 - Can you please provide the names of your parents, your sister and yourself? I assume there were just two children when you went to Langara Island. A#1 - Father: William Norman Kinnear. Mother: Doris May Kinnear. Sisters: Willa Margaret Kinnear and Norma Kathleen Kinnear. Q#2 - How old were you and your sister when you arrived at Langara Island? A#2 - My sister (Willa) was seven and I was eight. Q#3 - Was Langara Island the first location for your father as a light keeper? A#3 - Yes. Q#4 - Where was your family living/working prior to your time at Langara Island? A#4 - Burnaby, BC. Q#5 - What month and year did you and your family travel to and arrive at Langara Island? A#5 - Our father travelled to Langara Island early in 1943. Our mother, Willa, and I followed him there in July 1943, after school was out. Q#6 - What mode of travel was involved, or how did you get to Langara Island, and from where did you depart? A#6 - We departed from Vancouver BC and travelled by Union Steamships to Prince Rupert. A Department of Transport ship took us to Langara Island. I believe it was the Cassiar. My sister, Willa, celebrated her seventh birthday on the boat between Vancouver and Prince Rupert in July 1943. Q#7 - I am assuming that you travelled to Langara Island by boat of some kind. Was the disembarkment at the dock an easy task, or was it a dangerous situation? A#7 - The disembarkment from the ship to the dock was made by a rowboat. I think we climbed down a ladder of sorts to the rowboat. When we got to the dock, the rowboat was hoisted up out of the water by a pulley system. The weather determined exactly how dangerous this proceedure would be. We watched a Flying Officer who was a war hero drown when the rowboat capsized. He was coming to inspect the camp. Q#8 - What was the approximate distance from the dock to the lighthouse complex where you lived? A#8 - About a mile. Q#9 - Did you walk from the dock to the lighthouse complex, or was there a vehicle to drive you from the dock to the lighthouse area? A#9 - We usually walked. At that time there was no vehicle in running order for the lighthouse staff. The RCAF, however, had a truck. Q#10 - You mentioned, in our telephone conversation, that the lighhouse housing consisted of a duplex - and that there were others living in the other half of the duplex. Do you, perchance, recall their names, and their duties at the lighthouse? A#10 - When we first arrived at Langara Island there were two male radio operators living in the other side of the duplex. Their names were Bob ? and Larry ?. They were later replaced by Harvey ? and Jack Egan. In those days, there wasn't an assistant lighthouse keeper. I think that the radio operators more or less took the place of what would eventually become known as an assistance lighthouse keeper. We lived in the half of the duplex that was closest to the lighthouse. There was a building outside the back door which was used for storage. It also housed the one-hole outhouse. It wasn't long before dad installed an indoor toilet and put in a bathtub. He put a door off the kitchen to the new bathroom. He piped in cold water to the tub and toilet. When we bathed we heated the water in a reservoir on the large kitchen stove and carried kettles of hot water to the tub. We had a pump at the kitchen sink where we got our water for the kitchen. Q#11 - If, in effect, there were two families, did each light keeper have a different job, or were they both trained to do the same job - on a rotational shift basis? A#11 - I'm not sure. Q#12 - Can you explain the expectations of what your father did in his job? A#12 - My father went to Langara Island after the government took our house and land for back taxes. We had a chicken ranch and life had been difficult during the Depression. Lots of people stole the eggs and not many were buying them. While at the light station, he attended to the light, the fog horn, and sent messages about the weather in morse code. Q#13 - What was the approximate distance from the duplex, where you lived, to the lighthouse itself? A#13 - Between 100 and 150 metres - as can be seen in this photo. Q#14 - Was the complex strictly a lighthouse, or did it also have a "fog horn"? A#14 - It was strictly a lighthouse. We lived in the half of the duplex that was closest to the lighthouse. A short distance from the lighthouse was a building with two rooms. The smaller room was used for sending morse code and the larger room housed an antique fog horn. Q#15 - You mentioned how the government eventually painted the duplex and the lighthouse in a camouflage color. I would expect that this was done in an attempt to hide the fact that there was a lighthouse in the area. However, would this not have been somewhat futile - as, if the light was working, then people would see that there was a lighthouse in the area? A#15 - When we first arrived at Langara Island, the lighthouse and all of the other buildings were painted white and red. Soon after, everything was sprayed a drab camouflage "jungle green". It was later said that a lighthouse would stand out like a sore thumb, no matter what colour it was painted. Q#16 - How often were groceries, supplies, and mail brought in? A#16 - Twice a year for the light station. The RCAF had supplies brought in weekly. Q#17 - Was a boat the only way of getting supplies etc to the lighthouse personnel? A#17 - Yes. Q#18 - 1943-1945. We are talking long before telephone and television at remote locations. What did you and your sister do for entertainment? A#18 - We went to movies at the RCAF canteen. We also went on hikes, listened to records played on the jukebox at the canteen, played with our dolls, worked on jigsaw puzzles, listened to the Hit Parade on the radio, played on our swings, played Chinese checkers with some of the airmen when they came to visit, and we read many books. Q#19 - How was your education handled at Langara Island? A#19 - Our mother was a school teacher and we did correspondence lessons that came from Victoria. Q#20 - About how long did it take to walk from the duplex where you lived, to the base where the RCAF was set up? Q#20 - About 20 to 25 minutes. Q#21 - Was this a walk through the bush, or was there a path or wooden sidewalk joining the two groups? A#21 - There was a wooden plank road. Q#22 - Could you (as civilians) visit the military base camp on your own, or did you have to have an official or formal invitation to proceed to the RCAF camp? A#22 - We could come and go, pretty well on our own. Q#23 - I seem to recall that you said the duplex and the lighthouse were painted white when you arrived, but that these buildings were later painted a greenish colour after your arrival. Did the military personnel repaint things, or was this done by the lighthouse personnel? A#23 - I don't know who did the actual painting. It was not done by the lighthouse workers. Q#24 - When did you and your sister depart Langara Island? A#25 - We left on the fall boat of 1945. The military had gone prior to our departure. When the war ended, the RCAF pulled out. They took a lot of their equipment and supplies with them. The Mess Hall, however, burned to the ground the night before everything had to be moved. Dad left Langara Island on the spring boat of 1946. Q#26 - Where did you go to from Langara Island? A#26 - We returned to Burnaby, BC. - Norma (Kinnear) Money and Willa (Kinnear) Studiner (daughters of William Norman Kinnear, Senior Keeper on Langara 1943 - 1945) - Forward comments by Ren L'Ecuyer*, former editor of the Pine Tree Line Footnote #1* Ren L'Ecuyer passed over July 23, 2005 but his tireless work is being kept alive for now by his wife Margaret. We hope she finds support for this wonderful project. - JAC |
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 Airchime Horns |
2. Foghorns Were Cool Places to Sleep! c. 1980s Back in the early 1980's I was offered the job as a assistant lightkeeper at McInnes Island. I was told at the time that this offer was only for couples, not for singles (this turned out to be false information). I had just broken up with my long term girlfriend so assumed I would have to decline the offer.
At the last moment I happened to meet a girl named Liz Robertson, and she seemed like the outdoors kind of person that one would have to be to enjoy life at a lightstation. After hardly enough time to know her first we agreed to go to start life as lightkeepers at one of the more remote stations in British Columbia. Coast Guard took us there in one of their lighthouse tenders (ships) that also doubled as an icebreaker. After the ship refueled each and every station on the way up from Victoria , we finally arrived at McInnes Island, one of the most scenic places on the planet earth.
We were real busy the first day as you can imagine. Unpacking all of our belongings, opening up house windows that had been sealed for years with paint, trying to learn weather transmissions, and generaly getting to know how the station operated. One of Liz's prized possesions was this cat of hers that was as black as charcoal. John Coldwell the senior keeper was giving me the grand tour of the station and we were in the radio room teaching me how to test the foghorns. Now these foghorms were massive things designed to be heard at sea for several miles in heavy weather (banks of grey painted Airchime horns facing south into the sun and open sea - JAC.). At this time Liz came running up in a big panic and said that she had just witnessed something black shoot out of one of the foghorns at high speed. We went to investigate and found her cat maybe fifty meters away shaking like something out of a bad cartoon. The cat must have climbed inside one of the foghorns because they were a warm place to take a nap. We never saw the cat go within eyesite of those foghorns again. - Roger Mogg (Assistant keeper on McInnes Island 1983 - 1987) |
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Building on Race Point 
Virago Point 
Porlier Pass 
Automated beacon |
3. Porlier Pass 1949 - 1965
Please go to the Porlier Pass Lighthouse website, a project of Dennice Goudie, and read the rest of her account and recollections of life at Porlier Pass and a history of her grandfather. Grandfather of this researcher [Denice Goudie], Henry Edward Brown (November 29, 1899 - September 27, 1974) served as lighthouse keeper at Porlier Pass between 1949 and 1965 which was established 15 November 1902; automated April 1996. Every summer and most school holidays of my memory were spent at the north end of Galiano Island. At first in the house which stood further up the hill; lit by coal oil lamps, outhouse, water by bucket from the cistern and after that house burned down a 3 bedroom house that can be viewed from Virago Point Light, looking toward Race Point. The house was reached by either a long walk from the head of the bay by a pathway to match the physical requirements of "The Westcoast Trail" which was greatly eased by the addition of stairways and walkways in the 1960s or by row boat during our sojourns in all type of weather. Summers spent wandering in the woods, sometimes with purpose, mostly exploring, meandering along deer paths. Over the period of a year in the bay one over watching a First Nations man, whom I never knew the name of, slowly burn, soak, carve away the charred wood, brace the inside of what was to be a large canoe built from one tree. Rowing across the harbour to Virago Point to help with maintenance or watch my Grandfather light the lamp for another period of dusk to dawn. Times spent together walking through the woods to Race Point and up the stairway whose metal stairs drummed with each step. With side-trips during which he lifted me up to view the colour of fresh robin's eggs in their nest. Taking a moment to enjoy the scents of the ocean during different seasons or times of the day. The basement in which my cousins, sisters and I played "Red Rover" or skipped as we swigged on our home-made root beer or ginger beer from the cold room which also held Granddad's latest batch of home-brew. Memories are made of visuals, scents, textures, sounds which invoke emotional responses to a special times. Most of the good memories of my childhood originated from the surroundings and buildings of Porlier Pass from the few steps up to what would be considered by many to be the backdoor. Through that door was a small room which most would refer to as a mud-room where each of us on entry were greeted with hugs and kisses by Gran (Sissy to her nieces and nephews). Straight ahead was the entrance to the basement. To the right the pantry. The magic pantry which not only held the staples for all food produced in that house, it was also the treasure trove a special shelf, containing eleven jars; one for each grandchild which contained our own favourite type of cookie made from scratch as only Gran's hands could in the kitchen to the left of the entrance we used throughout all the visits of my lifetime. One of the mesmerizing sights of my childhood was wondering if that ash on the end of her one-at-a-time rolled cigarette would drop into whatever concoction she was working on. The portable ashtrays she would build out of a piece of tinfoil. The heat of the woodstove which dried our sodden coats, cooked all meals (no matter how hot the weather), kept meals warm for those still wandering in the woods. The pier we jigged for cod, the bay we swam in or as some timid souls who swore they saw monsters in the water sat and watched the others frolic, the vegetable garden we all ended up doing some weeding in, the patch where the grass was always green that I recall my youngest sister being very curious about what was down that pipe and a cousin lifting her up to take a peek dropping her adding to her bevy of childhood scars. For some the sound of a foghorn is sad and forlorn, to me that sound is one of safety as I recall waking and knowing ,no matter what, all was well as Granddad was taking care of everything as he pumped away on that ancient hand-driven foghorn. Henry Edward Brown's second wife Francis Togan Aliceson, Born Porlier Pass, Galiano Island, BC: February 17, 1910 - February 13, 1999 (daughter of "Sticks" Allison first lighthouse keeper at Porlier Pass) - Denice Goudie (grandaughter of Henry Edward Brown, Senior Keeper on Porlier Pass 1949 - 1965) |
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4. Memories of Boat Bluff
My wife Petra and myself and our dog Butch arrived on Boat Bluff Lightstation on the 2nd day of October, 1982 aboard the Canadian Coast Guard icebreaker "CCGS Wolfe", skippered by Captain Mellis. It had been a very nice, albeit long trip, as we were on the fall refuelling run. We had an opportunity to go ashore at a few of the stations which made it very interesting to a couple of greenhorns with stars in their eyes. We met Stan and Judy, and son Stanley Westhaver at Egg Island, Lyle and Velma Bigelow and assistants Bill and Gail Trafford at Pointer Island, Gorden and Judy Schweers at Ivory Island and John and Karen Coldwell at McInnes Island. It was an interesting and very pleasant introduction to "life on the lights". On the third day we arrived at the little patch of land that was going to be our home for the next two years. Oh my God! If we had had the luxury of seeing what the next two years were going to bring, we would have just stayed onboard the "Wolfe" to Prince Rupert, BC and waved goodbye to the opportunity forever!! In hindsight, I'm very happy we didn't. Now I have always maintained that with the right mixture of personalities on a lightstation, working together and complimenting each other's abilities, there is no more idyllic job anywhere in the workforce. On the other hand however, if there is a personality conflict or the chemistry is not right between the senior keeper and his new assistant, then the job certainly has the potential to be hell on earth!!! My senior was some fourteen years younger than me and exhibited from day one a degree of insecurity that could only be described as paranoia. Our life was neither tranquil nor pleasant to say the very least. However, we had vowed to give it at least a year and with the help and support from Captain Oliver Howard and the crew of the "MV Thomas Crosby V" (United Church mission boat) we were able to persevere until the following April when my tormentor and family left for a southern station. It was at this time that a degree of sanity slowly and surely began to re-enter our lives. Now we had time to do the station work and STILL have a few quiet moments to ourselves. Now if any of the readers are familiar with Boat Bluff Lightstation, you will know it is located on Sarah Island on the world famous "Inside Passage" of British Columbia and that the area where the actual station sits is on a miniscule piece of real estate that rises out of the waters of the channel at about a forty-five degree angle. Needless to say there is not very much room for recreation except on the helicopter pad. So one of our favorite pastimes was to walk up the shoreline rocks at low tide for about 300 meters, (which was as far as was physically possible), and then just sit and take in the absolute fantastic beauty, peace and serenity of the moment. On one particularly warm day we decided to take our stroll in the time between scheduled weather reports, me in my cutoffs and my beautiful little, shapely wife in her one piece short set. You know the kind - no sleeves, and just a band of elastic to hold the top up. Well, there we were approaching our favorite spot with my wife a few steps ahead of me when the B. C. ferry "MV Queen of the North" came around the bend and we started waving as we always did to the ferries and other vessels going close past our home. However on this day the captain came out on the wing of the ship waving his cap like crazy while someone else on the bridge was blowing the horn very enthusiastically. It also appeared that a number of the passengers out on deck were being unusually exuberant with their gestures! To make a long and momentarily embarrassing story short, my wife glanced down to discover that the elastic holding her top up had chosen that moment to let go. There she was, naked from the waist up with her breasts flapping in the breeze with every enthusiastic wave! Needless to say, we had many good laughs in later years reminising about that incident. We went on to have some good and some not so good times on Boat Bluff with the new senior, but later we went on to work on Bonilla Island with Jean and Lena Beaudet and family, which was a most rewarding and wonderful experience. We finished off with my serving alone on Triple Island with Jean-Paul (J. P.) Turcotte who was a joy to work with.
- Ray MacKenzie (Assistant Keeper on Boat Bluff 1982 - ) |
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Ernest J. Ferguson
c. 1942 photo courtesy of Ernest J. Ferguson _th.jpg)
Cape Scott RDF Station
c. 1942 photo courtesy of Ernest J. Ferguson |
5. Cape Scott before the lighthouse 1942 - 1943
In July 1942, 17 years before the present lighthouse at Cape Scott was lit, the Royal Canadian Air Force (RCAF) established a radio detection finding (RDF) transmitter and receiver. Work was started in July 1942 and the station was online in December 1942. It continued in operation until September 1945.(please see reference notes below). Late 2005 the lighthouse keeper at Cape Scott, Harvey Humchitt, received an inquiry from Ernest J. Ferguson who was reminiscing and wanted to visit his old haunts from 1942. He was a well-retired RCAF Pilot Officer who started on Cape Scott in July 1942 as a Leading Aircraftman (LAC). In his email he wished to visit the area once more but Coast Guard would not permit it because of his age (he was 85 years old this year [2006]). Since then he has written Harvey and myself and given us a few black and white photos and stories of his time setting up No. 10 Radio Detachment on Cape Scott. *******************************
He wrote: You were interested in my time span at the Cape. I was an LAC (RDF Tech) during my time at the Cape and rose to Pilot Officer. I arrived with the very first civilian construction workers who were building the barracks, mess hall, the plank road and operations building. Later perhaps eighteen months, the Air force allowed me to go Air Crew. During the contruction we lived under canvas.
Our job was to install the RDF equipment which was very secret during the war. Once we had the diesel electric going and the gantry operational we had to calibrate the equipment. Once everything seemed to be working well the next problem was communications. The Air Force gave us good equipment and directions. Personally I seemed to volunteer to do all the high wire work. The Air Force sent us short "telephone pole climbing spurs" instead of long "tree climbing spurs". For a period my days work was cleaning two suitable trees to string our antenanae. One day I was very very high up one of the trees and the short spurs failed to support my weight. I had a wonderful ride down and left two fifty foot long peelings where my short spurs took the bark off the tree. No injury - just a thrill! Another interesting story. The Air Force gave us emergency rations.Guess what? One cow! None of us knew a thing about animals. Suddenly one day we had a new born animal. This one was not on inventory! The cook just couldn't stand having all that wonderful meat available and not on inventory. One day he decided to butcher the poor wee thing. We did enjoy the meal, however the poor mother was very sad and she decided to run away. Suddently she was lost and our emergency rations were gone and our inventory destroyed. The cook worried about that and wondered what he would say. - Ernest J. Ferguson (RCAF LAC on Cape Scott 1942 - 1943) References: jfchalifoux.com No 2 RDF Maintenance Unit diary Radio Detachments on the West Coast of Canada World War II Ground Radar Canadian Archives - Acquisition of Lands - Cape Scott - No.10 Radio Detachment Notes below with permission of Department of National Defence - C&E Branch from the document "The History of Canadian Military Communications and Electronics" In 1942 construction of a chain of radar stations for surveillance of the Pacific Coast began. By November 1943 it was in place. Initially the stations were called "Radio Detachments" and in 1943 the title "Radio Unit" was adopted. The term "RADAR" was not adopted by Canadians until late 1943. The chain ceased operations with war's end in mid 1945. The units were: 7 Radio Unit (GCI) Patricia Bay (southern Vancouver Island)8 Radio Unit (GCI) Sea Island (near Vancouver)9 Radio Unit (CHL) Spider Island (near Bella Bella)10 Radio Unit (CHL) Cape Scott (northern tip Vancouver Island)11 Radio Unit (CHL) Ferrer Point (northern Vancouver Island)13 Radio Unit (CHL) Amphitrite Point (central Vancouver Island)26 Radio Unit (CHL) Langara Island (northern tip Queen Charlotte Islands)27 Radio Unit (CHL) Marble Island (central Queen Charlotte Islands)28 Radio Unit (CHL) Cape St. James (southern tip Queen Charlotte Islands)33 Radio Unit (MEW) Tofino (southern Vancouver Island)X-1 Detachment (CHL) Jordan River (southern Vancouver Island)
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 CCGS Sir James Douglas  CCGS Sir James Douglas  CCGS Sir James Douglas  CCGS Sir James Douglas |
6. A trip by workboat from Carmanah Point c. 1970s
To see what life was like in the workboats that delivered our groceries and took us off for holidays, check out Reg Gunn's article Life in the Canadian Coast Guard. I was talking with Reg Gunn and he told me "I remember when it [the story] was first published I received favourable comments from other Coast Guarders who also had enjoyed working the workboats on the west coast." His story follows - JAC Life in the Canadian Coast Guard
This story was originally three pages long. Unfortunately not everyone understands Coast Guard and the jargon of the sea. The following, rather long version is necessary, my girls insist, if one is to understand the circumstances and the significant parts leading to the reason why. This story is from a collection of personal memories that I jotted down when I had time. It starts during the most challenging year I had in the Coast Guard when I was chief officer of the [CCGS] "Sir James Douglas"* with Bill Exley as the captain. I had requested this opportunity and knew I would have to be at my best for the duration as Bill not only expected the best, he demanded it. I went to him with considerable experience after having been chief officer of the [CCGS] "Estevan"* for several years and several years as second officer before that. Being chief officer of the "Douglas" was a much easier task than the "Estevan" in that Bill ran a tighter ship. There were very few crew problems and it certainly was a happy ship. I had full rein from the start and within a few months he allowed once or twice a week that I get the ship underway in the mornings. If we were running after midnight I anchored and secured for the night. Whether he slept or not is another matter I suppose. In other words he gave me rope and I gladly took up the slack and thoroughly enjoyed my new experiences. This was great for my confidence and naturally I did more and more to justify his confidence in me. Thinking back, it must have been great for him to have such confidence in the mate. However life with Bill was not without its exciting moments. One such situation was the time we had to take Mr. & Mrs. Pearce off Carmanah Point Light[house] to Port Hardy. This was a trip to remember. It was perhaps my last great ride in the workboat. On the way up from Port Renfrew the ship was throwing a fit as usual as she pounded and rolled in the swells. The sounds from her engines were perhaps the noisiest on the coast. You have to have been on the "Douglas" to appreciate what it was really like. It was not going to be a good day. I was in my cabin trying to get through some paper work and later as the engines slowed I knew we were at Carmanah Point. I heard the derrick being lifted from its stowed position and I knew that Bob Hancock, the boson, was getting things ready for the landing. In my mind's eye I envisioned the deck crew under Bobs supervision going about the business of getting the workboat ready to launch. No helicopter in those days. Everything landed or loaded from workboats and barges operated by sailors who were highly skilled in their trade and who performed well for their generation of Coast Guarder. It was a great life and I am glad I was part of it. It can be very enjoyable running workboats when you have the necessary skills and confidence in yourself and the crew to achieve full potential of their operation. It takes many years of learning and training in every conceivable condition to reach this high standard. This combination, when faced with extreme conditions, allows the accomplishment of seemingly impossible tasks in the eyes of the less trained. As those in my generation started our training years earlier with Bill Exley, it follows then, that he was the dominant senior of our group. As such, he had great influence over our situation for quite a few years. You either joined in and enjoyed or you gave up and quit. I was fortunate in that I not only liked my job, I enjoyed life with Bill as well. My learning curve was continuous as well as being exciting. I feel that my generation of Coast Guarders took their learning to the limits, resulting in a great number of changes and improvements. We did things that no one had done before and our successes became the standards for the future. I witnessed many great changes ranging from rowed workboats, powered workboats and barges and into the helicopter period. It was quite an experience and for this farm kid life was great. The boson would be positioning the derrick over the boat and when he brought down the whip hook the crew would hook on the bridle. Bob would then tighten it. They would release the load binders that tighten the chains that hold the boat firm to the deck. Various lines attached to the boat would steady it during the launch procedure. I was just about to go topside when there was a knock at the door. In response I found the captain clad in duffel coat and hat on the back of his head. His flushed face was an indication that all was not well. He said, er, the second mate says it's too rough for him to make the landing. Er, I was wondering, if you would er, have a look at it. If we don't get the Pearces off for their charter flight to England, they will lose their money. And er, I don't er, want you to er, like if it is too rough, just say so and we will try later. I thought to myself, great! Here we go again! If the second mate did not have the confidence would I? This negative thought perhaps was the result of initial alarm. Like, it was rough out there. Old fears began creeping into my head as I remembered some of my earlier experiences in rough weather. It was a period when I too did not have confidence which is so necessary to overcome fear of the unknown. Being asked to confirm if a landing was possible is a good indication that the conditions were extreme. I knew that if I said there was a possibility then I would become the workboat driver for the occasion. I went up to the wheelhouse, and through the binoculars I looked at the old familiar landing that I had become quite used to over the years. The landing is a small exposed bay partially sheltered from the open seas by the surrounding rocks. One rather large rock about fifteen feet high or so at low water is where we drilled the rock bolts to fasten the chains that attach to the aerial at the water end. I had helped Ed Harris erect this aerial when he was second mate and I was third mate of the old "Estevan" many years ago. Its length is over one thousand feet over the mast at the top near the light station and was the longest aerial on the west coast. Joe Watt the blacksmith, helped by Tom Harper, made the carriage and attachments at the blacksmiths shop at the Victoria base. The loading area in the little bay then, although not the best, was the only one. The aerial crosses the bay and when the hook is down it is sort of in the middle. On the right of the bay a rather large low outcropping with a rock face that is very steep provides some shelter for that side and it is on this side that we embarked people. The swells run directly into the bay and parallel to the rock face towards a little sandy rocky beach. Landing conditions in the bay on a rough day then can only be described as being somewhat less rough than on the outside. What I saw then through the binoculars was huge seas breaking over the rocks and across the entrance. Driven by a wind from the southwest at about twenty-five plus knots. The whole area had water and spray leaping high into the air as some of the seas were going straight up when they hit the rocks. The whole area was white with scud (froth). On the positive side the tide was roughly two feet below high water and going down allowing part of the swell's energy to be expended over the outcropping. The landing looked grim but as I could not see all the way into the bay I really could not be sure what it would be like. With the tide going down and if the swell direction was straight into the bay, it could get worse with time as more energy would get into the landing area. Bill was looking through his binoculars too and he said, "Well, what do you think?" I said, "I really cannot see into the landing area from this angle. If there is a chance to make the landing it will have to be taken at the landing if there is an opportunity. I think if we are going to go we should go now as the tide is dropping and it may get worse. If the Boson can get us in the water, I will go and try it." I had learned many years ago, from Captain (father) Davidson of the "Estevan" during my second mate days that making a decision from the ship was not a good idea. Many seemingly impossible tasks became possible by just going there and having a look. He had pushed us so that we worked at the limits of our capabilities. We really grew up very fast. The more we did the more he knew we could do. On the "Douglas", getting the boat in the water was the problem. Returning to my cabin I pulled from my locker my old workboat gear. This was not a day to be wearing issue gear consisting of duffel coat, heavy-duty rubber long coat and sea boots. I found them far too cumbersome and restricting. My gear was a very light nylon top and bottom with a hood that I had bought up town. The jacket had enough room to fit over my work-vest that is like a comfortable lifejacket. I also wore a pair of light rubber boots and light eye protectors that I bought in the war surplus on Government Street. There is nothing worse than being hit in the eyes with drops of sea water that are driven by the wind from the bow. It can really hurt, especially during winter when the temperature is down to freezing. I went to the well deck to view the sea state from there. To say the least, it was a bit rough. Getting the boat in would be difficult. I thought to myself, did I really want to do this? Doubting thoughts began to creep in as I viewed the scene. I began thinking I really did not want to go. Unfortunately it was our job and I was the mate. My only hope was with the boson. If he felt he could not get the workboat in the water with any degree of safety, then that would be it. Reassured, I went forward to where Bob was standing. "Do you think you can get us in Bob?", I asked. He contemplated for a few moments while he completed manufacturing his cigarette, as the ship rolled first one way then the other. After a suitable period of thinking he said, "Yeah, I think we can put you in the water okay." His response was not what I had hoped for! What I had done I realised, was that by asking Bob if he thought he could put the boat in the water, was in a sense questioning his professional ability. I should have known better. As I moved back to the hatch and the boat I made a mental note to myself. Should there ever be a next time I would not put the question in the same way. I felt somewhat amused at the thought of a pre-arranged wink, or a clasping of the hands in prayer as a signal that I was having doubts. I realised of course I was only stalling and the decision was really mine. I knew the boats crew were great kids and would not falter. I buttoned up my jacket and tucked in the towel around my neck. I gave the captain a couple of quick nods as an indication it was a 'go'. This was it and like the many times I had been in similar situations before I said, "Okay guys, lets go!" The boat's crew and I jumped into the workboat as the captain started to manoeuver the ship. I started the engine and gave a quick look around. As everything looked okay I gave a nod to the captain to let him know I was ready. Looking up at the boson who now was in the winch house, I said, "At the captains word Bob". I had committed us to who knows what. Everyone would gain experience this day. We in the workboat would have to use every skill we had learned and by the looks of the landing we would gain more skills before this job was done. As my adrenaline began to flow I began feeling better and searched my mind for positive thoughts. It was too late for doubts now. You can only be successful if your mind is clear of negatives. People who are thrill seekers would pay considerable sums for a chance to go with us on this day. Just think of the experience! It was going to be a great day! The crew tensed at their stations as we all waited for the captain. Every one had a part to play in this operation and I knew that success in launching the boat was in their hands. There would be no room for errors. One mistake and we would be out of control. Everyone was in the trust of each other. It seemed to take forever for the captain to get the ship in the right spot where the ship would remain relatively still. Just long enough for the few moments it takes to get the boat from the deck, out over the side, and into the water. Finally, as the ship gave a slight roll to port, the captain gave the word. The boson lifted the workboat high enough to clear the rail. There is an awkward moment at this point when the ship stops its movement to port and starts back to starboard, as everything is so difficult to control. The boson works quickly, moving levers like an artist playing a fine instrument. He is a master at his trade. Winch motors stop, the brakes go on, clutches disengage, as he does what ever else he has to do to be ready in the moments that remain. The ship begins its starboard movement. I hear Bob say 'slack away.' This means he is ready and I brace as the workboat starts its swing out over the side. Each crewmember on a line is either slacking away or taking in the slack both on the deck and in the workboat. As the workboat starts its swing outwards, Bob starts his release of the brake on the whip drum allowing the boat to make a rather rapid descent to the water. Our insides and senses are suddenly floating somewhere above our ears. Just as you expect the boat to hit, the descent slows rapidly and Bob gently puts us in the water as slick as a whistle. Our insides are now as far down as they can possibly get and I think to myself, I knew I should have gone before we left. When the bridle slacks, the boat's crew pull the trip hooks and the deck crew pull the bridle and whip inboard as Bob slacks away on the whip. This is to prevent any injury to the boat's crew and to maintain control. By this time the ship is back to that hideous rolling again. The boat's crew let go the lines and we are on our way. I turned the workboat in the lee of the ship and headed for the landing. Glancing at the ship from the top of one swell I noted the "Douglas" on the side of another. She was doing a big roll. We could see about 90% of the well deck as the swell started to slip under her keel. It seemed so strange to see the crew standing vertical. Exhaust was coming out of the starboard funnel as the captain was giving her a slick to meet the swell. As we went down into the trough the only visible part of the ship was from the top of the funnels up to the top of the mast. Both vessels rose on the next swells, and as we cleared the stern I noted Harold Williams, one of our engineers, jigging for a cod and wondered if we would be having fish and chips for supper. I shouted to him to catch one for me. He waved back and shouted something that was lost in the noise of the engine and the wind. On the run towards the landing the swell was big enough to make it appear the boat was half out of the water at the bow as we surfed along. Closer to the landing the choppy confused area caused by the swell's encounter with the rocks was breaking about a quarter of a mile seaward. The height of the chop on the swell was about six to ten feet and confused. To traverse this area I eased the speed to prevent being swamped from the stern. Going with the breakers always seems easier as you are not pounding into them. I could see that the landing area was fairly full of water so it would be okay to safely enter. At the entrance I turned a little to port so as to put us square on for the approach. When the stern began to lift on an entering swell I cut the throttle allowing the boat to coast in, as the sea boiled at the stern. This manoeuver works well providing you do the right things at the right time. If you don't watch it, well, you could get wet. I think I was enjoying myself as I had not been in the workboat for quite a while. Just like a kid finding an old toy. It felt great to be back in my old job again. Mr. and Mrs. Pearce were waiting patiently with their suitcases at the embarkation area. We came alongside and I stopped the boat about four feet away from where they stood. As we went down the side of the rock face on the surge Mrs. Pearce was saying in that old familiar voice, "I didn't think you could have made the landing today because of the big swell." When we came up again she said, "I haven't seen you for a long time Reg. I'm certainly glad you were onboard to come and get us. I think if anybody can get us off it will be you." The only words I could get in were, "Good morning", as we went down again. The rise and fall must have been about eight feet and to them it must have been a little scary as they contemplated getting into the workboat. The boat came up again and she said, "Don't you good morning me, just as though everything is like a summer's day Reg Gunn. How can you expect me to get into the workboat on a day like this?" I think she was trying to talk herself out of it. It was not going to be easy for her. I explained as calmly as I could what I wanted them to do and what I would attempt to do with the boat. We gave them work vests and explained what to do in the event the swell pushed us away and they went into the water. As we came up again I smiled at Mrs. Pearce to make it appear that I was not as worried as she was. I said, "Mrs. Pearce, don't worry about getting into the boat. All you have to do is just pretend it's a lovely day". She said, "Don't you give me that smile of yours to kid me along, Reg Gunn! Its all right for you! You are in the boat". I said, "Mrs. Pearce. Think about it. If you are to make your flight to England you have to at least try once. Everything is going to be fine. We are going to get into position now and when the time is right we will come and get you, so trust us". She said, "I will do my best". We rode the surge up and down as I watched the swells and did my count to see when they filled and then emptied the little bay. The bay filled and then emptied and if you watch you notice the bay staying fuller longer and longer. It will do this to a point where it becomes relatively calm for a short period of time. Then all hell lets loose and the cycle starts again. It certainly was not a good day. I needed the bay as steady as possible for this job. The cycle was on the fill again and I felt the need to be ready. I positioned the boat bows on with the stern angled to meet the sea. About five feet from the rock wall I selected a suitable spot where the bow fender could slide up and down easily, without hanging up. I asked the Pearces to move themselves and their luggage just above this place. The idea was to put the bow to the rocks at this point when it was on the rise. This would hold the bow in place and steady for them to get in while the stern came up and then down. We all realised they would have but a few moments to get in the boat before the water in the bay went out against the incoming swell. Pulling the boat down as the serge went out to start a new cycle of filling and then emptying our small loading area. Finally, it looked as good as it was ever going to get. The bay was fairly full and steady and I thought to myself, now or never or some other dumb thing. I said to the crew, "I think this is it", and to the Pearces, "Are you ready?" Mrs. Pearce who was probably realising she was going to have to do some unlady-like things like sit on the wet slippery rocks, then slither into the workboat while trying to hold down her skirt, said, "Of course we are ready. We have only been waiting down here for an hour you know and I'm just about frozen!" I moved the boat quickly towards the rocks and locked the bow fender in the selected spot. As the luggage came in the stern went down and sideways towards the rock face. I corrected it with the tiller. The stern started to rise and I was becoming higher than they were. I eased the throttle a little to let the bow slide up to keep the bow as close to them as possible. As Mrs. Pearce seemed to be hesitating, I shouted to her to get in along with a few other choice sayings designed to speed up the process. The stern started to go down and I opened the throttle a little to hold the bow harder against the rock. She was saying, "I am! I am!" The boat was still level. They had to get into the boat now! Mrs. Pearce was sliding in on her seat over the bow while Mr. Pearce helped her from behind. The crew were helping at the front. She looked at me in the stern in my full out stretched position, Left hand on the tiller, steering the boat at the rocks to control the stern as it surged first one way and then the other. Right hand on the throttle to control the engine, my eyes fixed on the bow fender to see in advance any possible problem. To Mrs. Pearce I probably looked like everything except being in control. I could feel the stern going down further. I eased the throttle again to let the fender slip down a little. Time was getting short and I felt the need for them to hasten. It was then that I heard Mrs. Pearce shout, "Don't you dare look up my knickers Reg Gunn! I am old enough to be your mother!" I felt the sudden need to stop everything and roar with laughter. There we were at the most critical period and her concern was I seeing her knickers. I said, "Never mind your knickers Mrs. Pearce. Hang onto something. It's going to get a little rough in a few moments!" I glanced over the port side and noticed we were on the edge of the surge as it boiled to meet an incoming swell. It was like a six foot drop to the beach and within two feet from where we were. Although we had enough water under us we were getting too close to the shore. I noticed Mrs. Pearce being released by the crew as they grabbed at Mr. Pearce. He came scrambling in just as the boat started to slide and I had to back away. We had them! The bay was now empty and all hell was about to break loose on us. I saw a large swell coming in through the gap. It was breaking as it came towards us. We had to get away from where we were. I shouted, "Everyone aft!" This would keep the weight at the stern. I gave the boat a hard kick to port and then a full throttle astern with two hands on the tiller in order to be able to steer. We began backing away from the beach and up the side of the swell. It was a big one with a lot of energy. To slow down would have put us at risk of being carried forward up the shore. The stern went violently up and I felt my weight double. As I looked down the length of the boat, it was easy to see we were not in a very good position. I noted the crew were getting the pike poles ready for what ever came next. I thought to myself, this day has not improved. I knew the next thing would be the stern would go down just a fast and I would be floating in air. At the top I kicked in the throttle and braced with all my strength as we went down. The stern met the next swell and we shipped considerable water but not enough to kill the engine. I opened the throttle again and backed up and over the next swell. On the back of the next one I did a full powered one eighty degrees turn to get us clear. I slowed and moved over to the lee of the aerial anchor rock. We could assess our situation here and get ready to go out through the gap. I looked at our passengers. They were soaked. I said, "Are you all right there?" Mrs. Pearce said, Apart from being a bit wet, we are fine. Thought you were going to put us back ashore again their Reg. I was glad when you changed your mind!" As she went on, I tuned out as we had things to do. We had about four inches of water above the floorboards and the bilge pump would take care of that. The bow fender had pulled off on one side. The 1/4-inch wire rope that crosses the fender in the middle held it in place. The bowman said the bolts had pulled right out of the gunnal (gunwale). The crew started stowing all the gear that had become loose from their stowed places - bow anchor, line and trip float, both rock hooks and lines, and the fender. The oars had unshipped too. I remember wishing we had brought some blankets or something for the Pearces as they had dressed in their uptown clothes. I felt the need to get a few words in on Mrs. Pearce's chatter. I explained to them as best I could what I thought was going to happen and what the boat might do as we went out of the landing area. I suggested the best place for them would be to get under a sling and sit on the other slings which the crew were folding. At least they would be sitting above any water that came in. Mrs. Pearce was still getting in her two cents worth as she kept on about how great she thought we all were. "We knew you could do it Reg. If anyone could do it, we knew it would be you. I don't know how we ever will be able to repay you for getting us onboard to catch our flight." I broke into the seemingly endless chatter and said, "We had a lot of help you know. We have a great workboat. The boys and Mr. Pearce were just fantastic in helping you in. You had a great deal of courage yourself for just attempting to get in the boat on a day like this." Then for good measure and to give her something else to think about I added, "Captain Exley is on the bridge and for sure he is watching everything we are doing. What more could we wish for? As for paying us, you can make us a cake when you get back from England. By the way, when you were getting into the boat I didn't have time to look at your knickers because I was far too busy doing other things." Not to be out done, she said, "A fine story that is! When I glanced at you, you had a fixed stare on something. If it was not my knickers you were staring at what else could have fascinated you for all that time?" She added, About the captain watching us, I think we had someone else watching too. So don't forget to count Him in among the watchers. You will not have to wait till we get back for me to make you a cake. I have one in the suitcase in a biscuit tin. It is not iced so I will have to do that later when we get onto the ship. Mrs. Pearce, who would never to be outdone concerning one-upmanship, had brought a cake in a tin box just to be sure. Throughout all this Mr. Pearce (I think his name was Bert) had not said a word and I wondered if he was more than a little worried. I knew his eyesight was not very good. Perhaps it was this that made him quiet. Before getting under the sling he looked at me and said, "I don't think I will ever see anything like this again." I said to him, "I don't think you ever will either Bert. This is not a good day to be doing what we are doing if you don't enjoy it! Fortunately the worst is in the past." He nodded as he too took shelter under the slings. As things were just about squared away it was time to move. I think we all felt very relieved that we had the Pearces onboard. It felt good that we had lucked out so far and I felt boosted by our success. The crew were jostling each other as boys will do when all is well. I said, "Hey guys, that was great thinking back there when you were getting setup for the worst. I don't know what we would have done if the engine had quit on us. That sure was a big swell." The bowman said, "If you thought it was big from where you were, you should have seen it from where we were. It was breaking way higher than your head." The sternman added, "I thought for sure we were all going swimming. It was so close." Thinking about my non-swimming capability I said, "I think you guys did a great job back there and I'm certainly glad you were with me today. You are two of the best I have ever crewed with." I think this little bit of praise only served to confirm what they already knew. The bilge pump had the water below the floorboards. The boys had stowed the gear, it was time and with confidence I said, OK guys, if we are ready, lets have a go at getting out of here. As I moved the boat out into the middle, I began to think about what had brought us to this day. The years of training, so to speak, the number of times you go out and each time it is just a little more difficult. Are there any limits to this game? The gap was a bit of a mess. It seemed as though each swell was breaking across the entrance. There was a heavy chop too. We had no choice, conditions were getting worse and we had to do it. It was then that I heard the voice of Bill Exley inside my head and he said, "Tie the oars and pike poles down boys." I looked over at ours. We had forgotten to do that. I told the crew that We should tie down the oars and pike poles or we might lose them. I knew I should have seen them do it. What had brought this on I wondered? It did however add a sense of seriousness to the preparations for getting out of there. Bill Exley would have said that to us when I was crewing for him in the workboat years ago. It was the thing to do when it was going to become rough. In a sea like this the workboat may at times be at a very steep angle going up or down, depending on which side of the swell you were. Loose oars or pike poles fly about like javelins. If you lose them and the motor quits, you may find yourself with a problem. Was I becoming careless and over confidant or something? I waited till the bay was filling and when the time was right I moved out through the gap. Not direct at the sea but just a little off to port so that we did not drop like a rock when we went over the top. At the top of the first one I slowed and braced for the drop to the bottom. It always is a little alarming when you do this because the counter weight that holds the fall's trip hook in place always slams down against the stopper with a big bang. Remembering back, I think the chop on top of the swell could have been eight feet or so, maybe ten. It was certainly the worst conditions I remembered experiencing. I remember asking myself as we went over the next one, how do you really tell the height of the chop on the swell, or even the height of the swell for that matter? It is a difficult thing to do. At the top of the next one I glanced seaward and the breaking confused sea went for a long way. We would be in this forever. On the third or fourth swell I changed the tack and we headed for the "Douglas" which was rolling and bobbing quite close in order for them to watch us. I saw the exhaust coming out of the funnels as the engines started and the captain, knowing we had made it so far, moved the ship to gain sea room. Each time we went down from the top of the swell I could see our passengers under the slings rising a foot or so. It certainly was a rough one. Each time we hit the steep chop it seemed as though we shipped half the ocean as the wind helped the sea in from the bow. I called to our passengers, "Are you all right down there?" Mrs. Pearce shouted back, "You just watch what you are doing and where you are going, Reg Gunn. Don't you be worrying about us!" When we cleared the rough and were out in the open swell I asked the boys to uncover our passengers and the ride back to the ship was much easier. We enjoyed the feeling of being successful in beating the odds in rough weather. It's the feeling of calmness and peace, the freshness of the wind chilling the wet salt water on our faces and necks as we come down from the high. It lets you know what it is all about and makes you feel very good too. We removed our towels and wrung them out to get rid of the water they had prevented from going inside our shirts. I think the swell was a good fifteen feet but compared to what we had come through, the ride was now smooth. I glanced at the crew and I knew they were feeling the same. They had that smile of pride on their faces and were back at their teasing and jostling game. It is a great feeling. We had pulled off something that may never happen again. They had a right to be proud of what they had done. They were the best and we all knew that on their return to the ship, they would be recognised as such by the other crew. What a ride we had had. Thinking back to the question of what had brought us to that day. I think I can only say that it was the result of training, and the training I had provided to others, along with the continuous learning process. Bill Exley was a hard person, yet he had become an expert at his job and so had he taught us to be the same. When crewing for Bill there was only one way! That was his way and that was our way too. He taught us the things that worked. He once said, "Never try anything new unless you have a way that works first." He taught us how to kedge, how to handle the boat, how to use the kedge and the rock hooks to make landings that to most, would have been impossible. He taught us the things that the old timers had taught him. They too had done well for their generation. They too had done well for their generation. Years later when visiting him, when he was quite sick we were talking about his favourite subject of when men were men and life in the days of Bill's glory. That day when I had one of my greatest rides came up. The day we had to move off the Pearces for their trip. His old eyes cast back his memories and he remembered quite well. He said, "Did I ever tell you, you did good that day? I'm telling you, when I tell you, you have done good, that means, you really have done good, I'm not kidding you." I thought to myself, he hasn't changed one little bit. I remembered and mentioned to him about his voice being in my head on that day. I said, "Bill, it wasn't me in the boat, it was you! All your ranting about how things had to be done, your verbal bashing and your screaming and shouting if we did not do things right. All the good times as well as the bad, regardless of what you say, you were in there with us." He said, "yes, I know and like what you are trying to say, but it was you who was the driver in the workboat. I was in the wheelhouse sweating it out so I could not have been there, could I?" He closed the subject by saying, "You were just doing a mental check like you were supposed to do, like we all did, like they do today in order to survive. You have to do what you have to do. If you don't, you don't make it!" I mentioned to him that I clearly remembered everything about that landing except getting the boat back onboard. Even to this day I have no memories of how we got back onboard. He said, "That's because we didn't lift the boat back on board because it was too rough. Don't you remember? You drove all the way up to Pachena Bay in behind Seabird Rocks before we could lift you out. In all my years at sea, that was the worst weather I have ever seen anyone make a landing in. I think we had the best crew of any ship there was. I've regretted ever since that day, as I remember saying the things I said that caused you to have a go at it. It was the Pearce's trip to England that did it! Had anything gone wrong we could not have got to you in time with a lifeboat. It shatters me a bit in that for years I've worried about my judgement on that day and now you tell me you had the best boat ride of your life!" I said, "It's easy to have a great time in hindsight. While he thought about my words of wisdom it occurred to me that perhaps my need to be positive and successful had caused my mind to block out the things that were not great. Perhaps that day was far worse than I cared to remember and so horrific that my mind had blocked out the eight to ten miles in an open boat up to Pachena Bay. That's the way it was I suppose. I know from my own experiences I have sweated out many a landing in the wheelhouse while the younger generation did what it was they had to do to succeed. Bill used to say many years ago, "You can't do everything all the time. You just have to let go some of the things some of the time. By the way, Mrs. Pearce's cake survived and we all enjoyed it. Mrs. Pearce enjoyed the status of being one up on us all as a result of the cake's transit through some fairly abnormal conditions. They made their charter flight and by all accounts they had a nice time. A few months after this trip I moved on from the "Douglas" and I was off to Search and Rescue on the "Ready" and a new life started in the tin cans. Being part of the group that had always had a closeness to the lighthouse keepers I was always aware that I had to get one back at the Pearces someday. I often used to think of my workboat days and I suppose you might say we all gained a lot in understanding how to handle the larger vessels when our time came. My workboats days were always fun and exciting times although a little scary under the direction of 'father.' I have several other stories to tell someday about beating the elements and working in the face of adversity. A short while after my appointment to the "Ready" I accepted a short assignment to the "Camsell", a medium class ice breaker for several months while Captain John Strand went off to acquire his Master FG Certificate. For me this was great and a great opportunity too. I was back in the real world of Aids to Navigation. Back to a world where you could put into practice the arts learned so many years earlier. The pay increase was great too. My first chore was to test out the newly installed MacMullen Stabilisation System and shortly thereafter we had a west coast supply trip with passengers Larry Slaght, District Manager. Bill Exley, Inspector of Lights, and Ian Campbell, District Engineer. They were going to do some station visiting or as we used to say taking a little holiday. On the way out from Victoria old memories came to the surface and I remembered the Pearces at Carmanah Point. That day years ago when we took them off the Lightstation to go to England. What could I do to gain one on them? Mrs. Pearce had brought the cake out in a tin on that rough day. It was then that I got a somewhat silly idea. I went down to the lounge to see Reg Needham, an engineer whom I had known for years, who was on the 12 to 4 watch. I asked him if he could make me a Victoria Cross out of brass or something in the machine shop. That would have a big VC Stamped in the middle. Next I went to see Fred Leak who was the purser and asked him if he could scrounge up some cloth that would look like ribbons on a medal and a safety pin. I went back to my cabin and created a little presentation scroll and at lunch I asked the passengers if they would make the presentation when they went ashore the next day. The next morning Fred and I put the thing together. Heavy was not the word for it as it weighed a ton but what could we do? Reg had made it out of 1/8 inch brass. It looked great and just what I had in mind. Fred stitched the ribbons in place and we attached a huge safety pin. We put it in a small cardboard box along with my verse that said in brief: This VC is awarded to Mr. and Mrs. Pearce, For being Very Courageous On the occasion of their departure for England On that stormy day so long ago From one of the workboat crew, who remembers so well! Reg Gunn, Commanding Officer, Camsell. The helicopter flew our guests ashore to Carmanah Point from about ten miles back. On our arrival we flew in the supplies. As I waited, I felt great. Just like a little kid. I knew I was going to win. I was in the wheelhouse waiting for the passengers to return. The helicopter lifted off from the station and headed towards the ship. The wheelhouse radio squawked. It was Mrs. Pearce. "Carmanah Point to the Camsell, come in Reg I know you are there because Captain Exley said you were there." I responded with, "Good morning Mrs. Pearce." She said, "Don't you good morning me in that sweet tone Reg Gunn. Too big to come ashore yourself now that you are captain of the ship, eh? The tears are still running down my face. My dress is all wet and I'll never forget this presentation as long as I live. Fancy you remembering us. I hope you will keep on remembering us." I knew I had won. I said confidently, "But Mrs. Pearce, how could I ever forget you. I have known you as long as I have known my own mother. You will always be that very kind lady on the light station at Scarllet Point who provided first aid to my cut finger many years ago." She said, "Now don't start talking like that or I'll start crying again. Today you have brought back a lot of good memories for us to mull over. We thank you, good bye for now and have a good trip." After we were underway one of the crew brought a parcel to the bridge. Sort of like a special delivery. It contained some of my favourite chocolate chip cookies and another favourite, a slice of chocolate-iced double-layer chocolate cake. How could I ever win? I got on the radio and called the station. It was Mrs. Pearce who answered. I think she must have been waiting. I said, "Mrs. Pearce, just look at what you have gone and done. Just when I knew I had won one on you. I don't know what I can do about it or say right now except thank you very much." She chuckled and said, "Enjoy them and on your next trip come and see us now that you have a helicopter." As an after thought, perhaps resulting from her memories of that day so long ago, she said, "I'll bet you wish you had had a helicopter years ago, eh?" I said, "You can say that again Mrs. Pearce, although I think I feel safer in the workboat." She said, "You can say that again too Reg Gunn because they scare the daylights out of me every time I have to get in them. Don't forget to come and see us next trip." I said, "I will try my best." Many years later on a phone-call visit to Bill Exley when he was close to the end of his life, I reminded him of the day that they had presented Mrs. Pearce with the medal and their visiting trip. We talked some about people too. About who he thought were the good ones, and whom he thought were the dinks. I asked what he thought of the two farm kids, Fred Wedgwood and I. He answered with, "That was a good thing you did that day, I mean, about the medal and all that. They were good people. I really enjoyed that trip." To this day then, I don't know if I was a good one, or was I one of the dinks. One of Bill's sayings was, "Hoping for the best, while fearing the worst." I wonder if he did that on purpose. Hmm, oh well, it's too late now. It was a great life that we all had. ********************************************* Footnote #2* There is an excellent webpage on the "CCGS Sir James Douglas" by Fisheries and Oceans Canada Footnote #3* There are two excellent articles on "CCGS Estevan" on the Wayward Navigator webpage plus a nice photo of the beautiful brass engine room telegraph from the ship. - Reg Gunn (First Mate on the Canadian Coast Guard Ship "Sir James Douglas") |
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7. Radiotelephone Frustration on McInnes Island c. 1970s - 2000
What a convenience! What an expense! What a frustration! Anyone who has used a radio-telephone on the BC coast will agree with me. It was great to have semi-private communications rather than using the government-installed ALAN phone (Automated Lightstation Alarm Network). It was expensive to have a privately owned radio-telephone but so nice to be in contact with the rest of the world. But, sometimes this convenience just added a few more gray hairs to our head. Here's one example of a conversation! (there are probably many more if anyone wants to add one) [heard over the radio-telephone speaker, ringing sound of telephone as I keyed the microphone (pressed the press-to-talk button to get contact with an operator)] Operator: Swindle Island [our normal Telus stand-by channel to receive/place phone calls] Myself: Hello operator, this is McInnes Island. May I have privacy please. ["privacy" allowed us to have some modicum of secrecy on the radio-telephone line as it blanked out our side of the conversation to other listeners so they could not hear our registration number or other personal details e.g. bank account numbers, etc.] Operator: Privacy is on McInnes Myself: This is McInnes Island, N117459. I would like to place a call to area code 615-250-2172. [heard over the speaker, telephone dial tones; telephone ringing sound] Business: Welcome to XYZ Travel. At the tone press '1' for English, press '2' for French. [as we were talking into a microphone we had no touch-tone dial pad so could not reply] Business: Sorry, nothing heard. Have a nice day! [phone call disconnected] [heard over the radio-telephone speaker, ringing sound of telephone as I keyed the microphone] Operator: Swindle Island Myself: Hello operator, this is McInnes Island. May I have privacy please. Operator: Privacy is on McInnes Myself: This is McInnes Island, N117459. I just placed a call to area code 615-250-2172. Would you please stay on the line this time, operator. I had a problem just now when I was connected as I could not talk to anyone. Their answering machine needed a tone for English or French. Operator: OK, I can do that, but we are not allowed to enter any personal information. I will credit you for that last call. Myself: Thanks. That's OK. I just want to get connected to anything but the answering machine! Operator: OK, McInnes, you are connected. Please go ahead. [operator goes offline] Business: Hello. Welcome to XYZ Travel. If you wish to book a flight please press "1"; if you wish to check the status of your travel plans, please press "2", and on and on . . . Sorry, nothing heard. Have a nice day! [phone call disconnected] [heard over the radio-telephone speaker, ringing sound of telephone as I keyed the microphone] Operator: Swindle Island Myself: Hello operator, this is McInnes Island. May I have privacy please. Operator: Privacy is on, McInnes [we normally always got a different operator so had to explain it all again] Myself: This is McInnes Island, N117459. I just placed a call to area code 615-250-2172. Would you please stay on the line this time, operator. This is the second time I have tried to connect. In the first their answering machine needed a tone for English or French. The next time it needed to know what I wanted to do, again by pressing a number. Can you help please? I would like to book a flight. Operator: OK, I will do that, but we are not allowed to enter any personal information. I will credit you for that last call. Myself: Thanks, that's great. I just want to get connected somehow! Operator: OK, McInnes, you are connected. Please go ahead. [operator leaves the line] Business: Hello. Welcome to XYZ Travel. Thank you for booking through us. All of our operators are busy right now. Please stay on the line and we will get back to you as soon as an operator is free. [elevator music plays] [fifteen minutes passes with same message repeated every few minutes and music playing constantly] For your information, the radio-telephone worked this way. To prevent a customer from being charged extra minutes, the isolated mountain-top telephone repeater would disconnect automatically after about five minutes of extended silence. To prevent this we would key the microphone every few minutes to keep the line open) After fifteen minutes of standing and keying the mike, I let the mike button go and waited for the time-out. Ten minutes later it had not timed out and I am watching my wages disappear into the telephone company's pockets. Finally, after twelve minutes I switch channels and key the mike to ring another repeater. Operator: Bella Bella Myself: Hello operator, this is McInnes Island. May I have privacy please. Operator: Privacy is on McInnes Myself: Thank you. This is McInnes Island, N117459. I have tried two times in the last 15 minutes or so through the Swindle Island repeater to make a phone call to area code 615-250-2172. The first time I was stuck at their answering machine. The operator cancelled the call and I tried again. Again I was stalled at another answering machine. The operator finally got me through to another answering machine which held me offline for ten minutes as their operators were busy. When I finally got fed-up and waited for time-out, your Swindle Island repeater would not time out and is still open. Would you please cancel it and credit my account for the lost time. Operator: Yes it is open McInnes. This was your call on Swindle? Myself: Yes operator [I just explained it to you!]. Please cancel it as the repeater is not timing-out. Operator: OK, McInnes, call terminated. We will credit your account and also report the problem to our technical staff. Myself: Thanks operator. I will try again another time. The Telus operators were always great. They had their rules and helped us all they could but the system could be most frustrating, especially those darn answering machines! - John Coldwell - Retired Principal Keeper from McInnes (1977 - 2001) |
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 Fag Alarm Building Pachena Point  Station Dwellings  Healey Family |
8. A Posting to Isolation 1949 - 1955 D.O.T.'er Arthur Healey was officer-in-charge at Pachena Point Marine Radio Station from 1949 to 1955. With his wife Betty and three children, Ann, John and Michael who were then 12, 8 and 7 years of age respectively, he spent six years at this isolated post. He went from there to Alert Bay and last summer took over as officer-in-charge at Victoria Marine Radio.
Access to Pachena Radio, which was closed down in 1958 after 45 years of operation, was by lighthouse tender, or Bamfield lifeboat, and then by workboat through the surf to the bonnet-sling; then highline up the cliff. If one was a good hiker, it was possible to trek the nine miles from Bamfield to Pachena-and that was how the Healey's first got there. Today, living once again in a large urban community, Mrs. Healey recalls the rewarding experiences shared by the family during that six year period. The children are now young adults: Ann is married and the mother of four children; John received a Bachelor of Education degree last year and is now teaching at Burns Lake, B.C., and Michael, working towards a Master's degree in zoology at UBC, plans to go to Europe for Ph.D. studies. The following article first appeared in the December, 1965 issue of Tel-Talk, an interesting newsletter edited by Maintenance Supervisor R. H. M. Lobb for Vancouver region telecommunications personnel. On first hearing that we were going to live at Pachena Point, an isolated station on the west coast of Vancouver Island, I was most apprehensive. There were so many things to consider and provide for-schooling for the children, medical attention, lack of the amenities, separation from family and friends. The fear of not being able to cope with these new situations gave me many an anxious moment. Even the word isolation had an ominous sound. Being a gregarious type of person the thought of being thrown on my own resources was quite frightening. How would the children make out with their school work? What if one of them broke a leg or became desperately ill? How could I bear to be separated from family and friends? What if I didn't like the other people on the station? What if I couldn't get along with them? I was going to have to leave behind all my electrical appliances. How would I manage without them? There would be no theatre, no concerts, no movies. We are creatures of habit and change of environment from the hustle and bustle of city life to the awesome quiet of wilderness or lonely island shore seemed overwhelming. I needn't have been afraid. On the contrary, I found it a rich and rewarding experience. It is true that judging from the standpoint of mileage we would be far from a doctor and a hospital but in reality, my husband assured me, we would be no farther away than the radio communication at the station. If anything untoward occurred we could get medical aid and assistance by word of mouth. Outside stations are equipped with first aid kits. We provided ourselves with one of our own, too, asking advice of our doctor. He also gave us a prescription for a sedative to be used only in an emergency. Fortunately we never had need of more than a 292 to ease the pain of an infected tooth. There are times when evacuation from an outside station is impossible because of weather conditions but these are rare. We discovered that the correspondence school in British Columbia is the finest of its kind. With a little help and encouragement from us our children received the best education available, perhaps even better than in the average public school. In what other classroom could they have received individual attention from the teacher? What better experience could I myself have had than to review my early education so as to keep one jump ahead of my pupils? I think the most important part of our sojourn on an isolated station as far as the children were concerned was the fact that they were free from outside influence-we were able to bend the twigs the way we wanted the trees to grow. They didn't really miss companions of their own age. We believe they grew up more independent and self-reliant than if they had remained in the city. When the time came for us to return they made the transition from country life to the classroom with less trouble than we had anticipated. They did have difficulties to overcome but they were able to face up to them in an adult manner that impressed both their teachers and classmates. learned a vast number of things about life and living and the country around us that we would never have had the opportunity to discover if we had not undertaken the great adventure. We learned to walk, from our first meanderings on the trails and tentative explorations of the beaches, to the day when with a pack on our backs we could strike out on an 18-mile hike with no trepidation whatsoever. We learned to observe nature at first hand, to scramble up and down cliffs, to explore the woods and the beaches. We examined the myriad shells and sea life. We relaxed in quiet corners. We listened to the never ceasing murmur of the sea; gazed in awe when winter waves thundered and crashed on the rock ledges. We studied the flora and fauna, the migration of birds. We discovered that the forest and the seashore have a special attraction. Here we had time to think, to wonder and assess. We learned why glorious music is composed; why great books are written. Music was as near to us as our radio. We put our powers of concentration to work and studied the classics as well as we could within the circle of our limited knowledge. We trained ourselves to listen for recurrent themes, to identify different instruments. We provided the children with some musical instruments and taught them the little we knew and persuaded anyone with any musical ability to help us out. It was our experience that we did not find ourselves lonely and shut off from congenial company. There were other operators, some with wives and families, some bachelors. Counting the two lightkeepers, there were 17 people, including children, on the station. The personnel changed considerably over the years we spent at this outpost and we were constantly adjusting to new faces and personalities. This was a test of our ability to get along with other people no matter what their opposing ideas and ideals. In the city we had been free to pick and choose our companions and naturally selected those who were compatible. Here we met all kinds of different people. We learned to have patience with their foibles, for as sure as little apples are green we had plenty of our own. We felt then, and still feel, that learning tolerance for the other person's point of view is a trait well worth cultivating. For our own peace of mind and for the good of the group as a whole we tried to adjust to and harmonize with these conflicting nuances of character and behaviour. Whatever we felt about misfits, and there were misfits, we kept to ourselves. We tried to be friendly with everyone and not invade anyone's privacy. We enjoyed our privacy too; hours, days kept to ourselves to do all those things we had never had time for before. How would you fill those hours? Would you like to further your education? Correspondence courses and university extension courses almost unlimited are at your disposal. You want to write a book? Now is your chance. All you need is a corner with a desk and a typewriter, stacks of paper, and the Open Shelf Library will supply you with reference books. Are you a nature lover? The study of the flora and fauna, not to mention bird life, is fascinating. Are you a photographer? Here you have unlimited opportunity to pursue your hobby. Is your need to paint or draw or fashion a collage? All your materials are at hand-grass seeds, shells, fungi, pebbles or whatever. Once we became interested in the infinite possibilities that lay before us, we welcomed the chances that came our way. We realized that learning is a very important part of living. If we had remained in the city would we ever have taught the boys the correct care and use of firearms? Would our daughter have been taught household economy, not through having to be careful of the pennies so much, as through the lack of convenience of the ever-ready corner grocery. We learned to live amicably in a limited community. We shared some of our leisure time with the group and welcomed them all in our home one evening a week in a kind of community social. We needed their company. We needed to get to know them. We needed to listen to what they had to say; some of it trivial nonsense; some of pithy import. We encouraged their talents. We encouraged our own. We felt that we might never have another opportunity. When we had left the city to travel this unknown path we had made up our minds to make it a happy experience. I think we succeeded and our time on an outside station proved to be a joyful interlude in our lives. We knew from our own experience the difficulties our neighbours were facing and we tried to make it agreeable for them. In doing so we helped ourselves. My years of isolated experience are a long time behind me now, but I feel from the vantage point of years that living there taught me many things that I otherwise might not have learned. Such things as coping with emergencies (even if only in the larder); getting along with people (many strangers walked in and out of my life-hikers, researchers, frauds, dedicated and sincere men, bewildered young people, sages, countless simple human beings who left some small part of themselves in my hands for which I am extremely grateful); finding out for myself my own capabilities and limitations, for which I am very thankful. Life is mostly what you make it wherever you are, whatever you are doing. A posting to isolation can be a grand episode in your life if you will let it be. - Betty Healey (Wife of Arthur Healey - Officer-in-Charge (OIC) Pachena Point Radio station 1949 - 1955) - forward by editor Tom Racine (from his website History of Spectrum Management in Canada) |
 Melville Island - looking NW from Triple  Triple Island at dusk |
9. Do you have a photo of me mid-1978? With reference to the photo at right, Rand writes: The large Island is Melville. Prince Rupert lies just beyond this. The tanker is on it's way into Prince Rupert Port. One of the deepest and busiest on the west coast of British Columbia. One evening back in '78 [while stationed on Triple Island], I noticed an Alaskan Cruise ship on it's way by. I walked up to the roof; it was a beautiful summer evening; I was curious, so started waving my arms over my head, back and forth. I actually witnessed that ship light-up with so many flash-bulbs that it made me laugh. So, if there is anyone out there who took an Alaskan Cruise back in the summer of 1978, and has a photo of a lonely lighthouse keeper waving his arms, I'd really be interested in seeing a copy of it. Editor's note - If someone actually has a photo of this lightkeeper on the roof of Triple Island off Prince Rupert, please contact me  for Rand's address. I would like a copy too! - J.A.C.
- Rand Grant (relief keeper on Triple Island June - July 1978) |
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10. The Passing of a Lot of Memories |
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- In Memorium posted in the Victoria Times-Colonist October 24, 2007 If any members of the family have photos or stories of the life on Sheringham Point lighthouse, I would be pleased to present them here. I am sorry for your loss, but she really did live an adventurous life. |
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 #1 Quatsino Lightstation Map  #2 Quatsino Lightstation  HAM radio cards  Qualifications for 2nd Class Fog Alarm Engineer  Kains Island landing  Garden and storage shed  Clarence Carver and dog "Mickey"c. 1933  Evelyn Carter c. 1933  Clarence Carver with Roy and his sister c. 1938  Boardwals and railings  Engine Room at Quatsino c. 1930s scan courtesy of Sandra Vigna & Roy Carver  Station boat  Browning Inlet,  Clarence Carver  The goat up the cliff.  Quatsino lighthouse today |
12. Life on Kains Island 1933 - 1944.
Roy Carver told me he "was born at the Bancroft Nursing Home at 705 Cook Street in Victoria, BC in mid 1930s. This nursing home was set up for expectant mothers that lived in out of the way places with no doctors, like his mother Evelyn Carver. They could come to the home a month before the due date and stay a few days or a week before returning home."
And Roy definitely did live in an "out of the way place" with his parents, and later his sister. His father was Clarence Edgar Carver who was the principal lightkeeper, fog alarm operator and radio beacon operator on Quatsino Lighthouse (aka Kains Island) during the period 1933 to 1944. Kains Island is located far up the western side of Vancouver Island on Quatsino sound. Nearest neighbours were six (6) miles (9.7 kilometers) away at the small fishing village of Winter Harbour .
He also said "My sister Joan was born in the mill hospital in Port Alice near the end of the 1930s. I'm told mother was taken to Port Alice and returned on a fish boat. The fishermen out of Winter Harbour were the most friendly and helpfull people you could ever want to know! I can relate stories about how they risked getting dumped into the sea and injury to get something important to us, or to remove a sick assistant, or us on our way down south on our holidays."
According to Roy, his father C. E. Carver "was well qualified for the position of light keeper. He was one of the first Ham radio operators in Victoria, BC. His call sign was VE5EL in Victoria, and later on Kains Island VE5RN. He had also worked on the Empress cruise ships as a radio operator going to the Orient in the 1920s. His hobby was building radios of all types. Also he and his father built a couple of houses in the Victoria area. He was also very handy in fixing electric motors and gasoline engines. On nice days some times a fisherman would bring his boat and anchor off the island and father would row out and make the needed repairs and would receive a nice salmon or a few crabs for his trouble."
I asked what his life was like at the time and he replied "We had no electricity except in dry cell batteries to run the radios. We had a pressure gasoline lamp (pump up with a fragile mantle) that hung on a hook in the middle of the ceiling of the living room at night and we would listen to the World War II news and the Lux Theater and Fibber Magee & Molly, and other shows on our large radio that stood on the floor which required a very long antenna strung between two poles out front of the main building." "We also had kerosene lamps that were carried around the house as needed. When I was small I would be tucked in upstairs at bed time with a kerosene lamp and later on likewise with my sister. We had kerosene lamps for outside use, similar to what the railroads used. Our bed rooms were facing south - that's how I remember falling asleep during winter storms, hearing the rain and wind pounding on the side of the building and the small bedroom window during southeast storms." "On the main floor was a kitchen with a cast iron stove and a cast iron hand pump on the counter by the sink which pumped water up from the reservoir in the basement, which was filled with rain off the roofs. There was a living room, and a bed room (my parent's) , also a small covered deck outside in front of the kitchen window, with a high wall around, mother would sit me in a high chair on the deck so she could keep an eye on me while she was making a meal. There was stairs that went up the east wall inside the building and made a right turn going up the south wall to the second floor." "On the second floor there was two bed rooms which I and my sister slept in. There was three large storage areas opposite the bedrooms where sacks of flour, sugar and other goods were kept. Between the bedrooms was the stairs to the next level, being the light house floor proper." "The only heat in the house was the cook stove in the kitchen. I can remember well when I was very young that when I was put to bed the load of blankets and a quilt was quite enough to keep me from falling out of bed, and we all wore heavy flannel pajamas." "The station lamp and it's apparatus was housed in a glass (3/8" thick) and steel building on top of the main building. The station lamp was kerosene. The lamp sat on a bowl that was floating in a slightly larger bowl with mercury so that the lamp was floating on mercury and level at all times. Around the outside edge of the smaller bowl with the lamp on it was a ring gear which was driven by a smaller gear powered through gears with a large spring that father wound up every night." "I can remember father being very fussy about the lamp wick being trimmed just right so as not to not smoke up the lamp glass. One could open a small steel door and climb outside the steel and glass building and walk around on a walkway with a steel railing and enjoy the view." "The basement I remember as being always damp and cold, a large portion of the basement was a reservoir - our water supply; the remaining area was used for storage of vegetables that we grew in the garden during the summer." At the back of the island there was a landing and a tramway up from the ocean. The winch was housed in a winch/warehouse building and "there was a vegetable garden on a flat area next to the warehouse. It was one of the only fairly level spot on the island large enough for a garden. " This landing/warehouse area was over one-quarter (1/4) mile (400 metres) away from the main lighthouse building. "The boat was kept on the landing platform and lowered and raised with the derrick fixed on the platform. The boat was only brought up the tram way from the landing for repairs, painting etc. The derrick mast was supported by cables to the rocks and a tree or two if I remember correctly. I would think that if one looked closely one could still see the eyebolts and steel works that kept the landing and derrick in place on the rock." "There was a lot of goods lost and people injured (almost drowned) below that landing over the years. All one had to do was miss-judge the in coming wave and a boat is smashed against the rocks dumping goods and men into the water. It was a very dangerous and scary place to land on the island at times. I often thought a diver would find some interesting stuff on the bottom below the landing. Father lost a large tool box full of mechanics tools one time, and fishing gear, even an outboard motor (a visitor) and of course numerous boats were damaged some beyond repair." "The sidewalks [to the warehouse] were three 2 X 12"s laid lengthwise. They could get very slippery during the winter rains. A few hand carts of coal went over the side over the years. The carts were made of oak (very heavy) with iron reinforcing and with iron wheels. The most difficult and dangerous work was wheeling the drums of gasoline, kerosene and lube oil to the engine building area where they were stored on racks horizontally with taps. All of our supplies were temporarily stored in the warehouse and the coal (for heating the house) was stored in bins in front of the warehouse and had to be moved to the main building." "I notice in some pictures that there are railings on the sidewalks now, and the sidewalks look wider. Nice! We never had railings except around the L-shaped area where the main building joined the engine/radio building. Father may have built those railings for I and my sister's benefit as we used to play in that are and had strict orders to stay in that area!" "On the kitchen side of the main building there was a door. Going through the door you would be in another building about the size of a small garage. Father built that building when I was very young as there was no place for my sister and I to play during the winter months. There was a swing and other toys for us to play with. Immediately upon going through the kitchen door, on your left and right, the were two doors; one facing the ocean, the other facing trees that were behind the main building." "The latter door was were one went through turned right and there was the one hole outhouse ! It was modern too. There was always last years Eaton's and Woodward's catalogs. I don't know if toilet paper was expensive, hard to get, or what, but I don't remember seeing much of it. Only when we went to the big city. Mother did the laundry in the building. The clothes line was just outside the door on the ocean side of the building; used in good weather, otherwise laundry was hung in the building." "There were two water-cooled Fairbanks Morse engines and two compressors in the engine building on Kains that I remember, used to operate the air powered fog horns. I don't remember any other engines in the engine building. The exception was an engine in the warehouse to pull the tram to the warehouse from the landing. I'm pretty sure the one cylinder horizontal Fairbanks engines at Kains Island that powered the compressors used gasoline as fuel, as did a similar but smaller engine powering the winch used to pull the supplies up the track and into the warehouse from the landing." "The engines at Kains Island . . . were started by bringing the piston to the bottom of the intake stroke, with a gasoline filled oil can gasoline was put into a small brass bowl with a valve below that was screwed into the cylinder head. After the bowl was filled to a pre-determined level the valve was opened allowing the gasoline into the cylinder. The ignition (magneto) timing was retarded slightly. One would then hop up onto the flywheel rung, turning the flywheel and moving the piston over top dead center, then the brass valve was quickly closed and away the engine would go. Then the ignition timing would be advanced to it's normal running position. The important thing was knowing when to hop off the flywheel. Any time that I saw the engines started it never seemed a problem to start them, they always started easily." "I remember the 45 gallon (205 liter) drums of gasoline had a red band around the middle of the drums, kerosene had a white band, and the lube oil had a blue band. I'm pretty sure there were more red drums around than the others. The drums were built much heavier than today and were galvanized on the outside." "When we moved to Active Pass Light Station (Mayne Island) there were similar engines doing the same job, except they were one cylinder vertical engines, also burning gasoline. These engines could be air started if there was air in the tanks. Not so for the engines at Kains island; not sure why." "If one looks closely at the larger picture of the lighthouse "Quatsino Lightstation c. 1930s" one can see the covered deck on the upper left side of the main building that faced more or less east. The building on the right, in line with the chimney was the building my father built. On the left it appears there is a door open on the engine building. Actually there were two doors that opened like barn doors and were usually left open when an engine was running, as the engines produced quite a bit of heat." "If one looks at the photo "Engine Room At Quatsino" one can clearly see one set of engine/compressor, and just to the left see the compressor of the second (spare) set, the two sets sat side by side. When I, and later my sister were old enough, one of our Saturday chores was to polish engine room brass! Father was very fussy about keeping things clean and organized everywhere; not only the engine room, so we learned the fine art of cleaning very early! "The boat issued to the station was a very heavy constructed double-ended boat with heavy oak oars. No way anyone could row such a heavy boat safely anywhere around the island except during the calmest of weather without the danger of being swept out to sea. So of course father purchased an out board motor. It was a Johnson out board motor. Father had two or three over the years; very large, bulky, and awkward to carry as I remember. Father liked Johnson motors because he could connect a dry cell to the ignition system some how to make the engine start (rope pull!) easier, as they could be difficult to start some times. Especially if you were in a situation on the water that you needed the motor to start now!!" "By the time I was old enough to remember anything, that boat in the photo was sitting beside the warehouse rotting, and a new, slightly shorter boat was issued. Same construction but with a transom. Father would take me and later my sister and I to Browning Inlet, a bay on the left side going to Winter Harbour, where we would catch crabs on the grassy bottom. I remember the beach was very shallow and if we landed on the beach and the tide was going out one had to continually keep the boat in the water as the tide went out or we would get stuck on the beach, as the boat was too heavy to move off the beach into the water. "We often came home with three or four gunny sacks full of crabs. The next day or so, father and mother would cook the crabs in a large copper boiler, remove the meat from the shells and can the meat with a canning machine. During the summer there was lots of canning going on." "Father would go out fishing a few times every summer and in a few hours come home with a wheel barrow full of salmon all to be put in cans. A lot of the garden produce was also canned. I can remember my sister and I (bored!!) sitting in the back shed shelling peas and broad beans and cutting up string beans by the bucketfull, all to be canned. Carrots, parsnips, squash, pumpkins etc. were all kept in the cool basement." "The engine/radio building and the main building are joined in an L shape. On the ocean side of this area was a fence from the outside end of the engine/radio building (top of the L) to the outside corner of the main house (bottom end of the L) making a triangle area to play in. Beside this fence was one of two board walks from the main building to the engine/radio building. The other walkway was along the side of the main building passing the basement door. Every winter storms would damage the fence, more than once some winters; some winters only a few boards would go missing; sometimes the whole section would end up down on the rocks." "When I was born the doctors mentioned that a baby should have fresh milk after the nursing was over. So father and mother being good parents, brought a goat to the island thinking that goats eat most anything, require little care and that I would have fresh milk to drink. What they didn't realize was that goats don't come when they are called to be milked and they tend to like to climb over the rock cliffs where one can't go and round it up whenever milk was needed. So the one goat milk farm was a bust! So it was back to Pacific condensed canned milk for me! "It was a lot of work for my parents. Some times one reads a story by someone mentioning how nice and easy and romantic life must be on a light station. My parents never had time to be bored, that I remember!" - Roy Carver (son of C. E. Carver on Kains Island November 1933 - July 1944) For additional information on Roy's father, Clarence Edgar Carver, please see this page. |
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Nootka Light Picture courtesy of Bill Maximick Maximick Originals  Permission to shut off main light in case of  Transcript of Interview  Binoculars finally approved! |
13. Howard Frazer Chamberlin Family Adventures c.1930s My grandfather was Howard Frazer Chamberlin who was lightkeeper at a few lighthouses around Vancouver Island (Nootka , Pine Island , Quatsino , Trial Island come to mind - my Mom knows them all). His brother, Charles Benjamin Chamberlin was also assistant at Nootka. My Mom, Mina Peet (née Chamberlin) was born in Oct 1933 while her Dad was a lightkeeper. He originally did various jobs such as farming, prospecting, trapping, and logging with horses. Her father had a sawmill at Coombs, BC . He was injured while logging with horses on Vancouver Island and was put into hospital, where he met my grandmother Dora Anna Wordsell, who was a nurse.
They married December 12, 1928 in Nanaimo, B.C.
They had three daughters: Connie (who died in 1985), Pearl, and Mina. The first child, a son, died up near Prince Rupert right after birth, so my grandmother was sent the next time to New Westminster, BC to give birth (at a real hospital) where her parents lived, and the second two times to Victoria, BC .
The births were about a year apart and after the last birth she went in a coma due to a type of sleeping sickness (encephalitis), a lot like polio which saw her into a wheelchair. About a year later she was sent home, but the next time she went to be checked at the hospital my grandfather was sent a letter that stated the government felt he had enough to do on the lighthouse, plus caring for three infant daughters, so they sent his wife to a full time care home in Marpole, BC , near Vancouver, and were deducting the cost of her care from his pay cheque. The family would visit when they could.
So my grandfather was a single father who saw all his daughters safely married before he passed away. Each daughter gave birth to a baby girl just months after his death. He became a lightkeeper as it did not require him to use his back to the same extent logging did. My grandfather raised the three girls on his own. At some periods he had no assistant so the girls had to man the lighthouse for the day shift while my grandfather grabbed a few hours sleep. My grandfather retired to Langley, BC , when Connie was about 12 years old (well, retired as much as you did in those days). He bought a modest place with a mortgage, planted strawberries and sold the plants for a living.
My Mom has so many interesting stories - seeing the Japanese bomb Estevan Point wireless station during WWII; seeing a Japanese plane (a small one from the submarine) fly around the lighthouse when they were in the light. Connie and Aunt Pearl say it happened as written in the official record of the Canadian Government - that it was a submarine which had a little plane. My mother, Connie, said Grandfather hid them in the rocks down by the ocean because he was afraid they would bomb Nootka light next, so he moved them out of harms way.
I do have a letter in the logbook where he explains how he knows the difference between mining or logging explosions, to gun blasts from say a submarine or boat, and in fact he called over to Estevan Point to make sure they weren't being "plastered" again. (see "Transcript of Interview July 19, 1942" in photo at left) My Aunt Pearl told me the story about the day the military came to get the paperwork from the logbook. The Navy visited father after the bombing and removed pages from his logbook. She said that a group of men arrived and they were sent outside to play. They put men as guards at the door with rifles - one on each side of the door, and they were there for hours. It scared the girls badly because they were not sure what was going on. From what I have read on the subject it would seem the Japanese were trying to knock out communication between the US to Alaska (Estevan Point at the time was a radio communications center - JAC) but their aim was not very good. Most of the shells missed the lighthouse and wireless station and in fact hit nearer to the Indian village behind it. The Indians feared the "gods were angry" and headed way back into the bush. They finally sent men to coax them back home because they feared that many children would be exposed to the elements, and would suffer negative health problems because of it. There are various stories about Nootka such as the girls visiting the native village on their own; accidents the girls had such as her sister falling off a cliff and going into a coma, and how difficult it was to get her to a hospital. The girls saw the Ogopogo sea serpent twice at Nootka, if I remember right. Both times my grandfather, who was up in the light, yelled for them to get away from the water. One time it grabbed a baby deer right off the shore. Mina drew us a picture of it, and later hand-drawn pictures of it matched hers. Dora even saw the serpent at Trial Island. My Mom isn't taken to making up tales - this is what she believes it was. She also has tales such as a native couple helping her Dad pull up a boat and how the native woman couldn't hold on any longer, and a part of the rope sheared off the top of the woman's head. Her husband just took her home and she died. Things were different in those days - we would have had a rescue helicopter on the way in this era. She also has stories of her Dad rescuing people, and also stories of how they could only stand and watch someone go under, as the waves were too fierce. Definitely a different life. - Narrated by Sharlene Macintosh with help from her cousin Zellie Chamberlin Sale (granddaughters of Howard Frazer Chamberlin, lighthouse keeper c. 1930 - 1941) |
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| John Coldwell (retired BC lighthouse keeper) Galvanistrasse 8 A-4040 Linz, Austria Tel: +43 (732) 750515 |
11. Return to Kains Island after 48 Years