| Storms
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1. Hurricane on Langara Island2. Tropical Storm of October 19843. The True Story of Egg Island Nov. 2, 19484. Storm preparation on the lighthouse5. Another lighthouse destroyed by the sea |
 Langara Point |
1. Hurricane on Langara Island 
I had gone by myself to the cabin for a weekend, and in the evening of the second day I was sitting in front of an open campfire watching the sun set. As the sun sank in the sky, a fast moving band of black cloud moved in. By midnight that night, the wind was screaming, and the sound of the ocean was ferocious. I could see nothing in the black night, and shone my flashlight toward the bay. All I could see was spray and white water. I watched anxiously for any sign of water coming in under the cabin walls, as the cabin was not far from high tide mark. And from the sound of the ocean, it was wild out there. I was scared. I laid awake all night listening to the sounds of crashing branches, and just hoped that one of the giant trees around the cabin wouldn’t come down. It would have been foolhardy to try to go home in the dark, so all I could do was wait it out. In the morning my dad appeared at the door to see if I was okay. He said the storm was actually a hurricane, and hit winds at over 105 mph. A barge was driven aground on the Queen Charlottes . I learned later that the storm actually had a name, Hurricane Freda (October 12 - 13 1962). As far as I know it is the only west coast storm that rated it’s own name! It was a night I will never forget.
- Jeannie (Hartt) Nielsen (daughter of Ed Hartt, Senior Keeper on Langara 1957 - 1963) |
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2. The Tropical Storm of October 1984 On Thursday October 12, 1984 Roger Mogg (my assistant) and I were up at the helicopter pad at McInnes Island enjoying the clear Fall weather after lunch. We had been shooting clay pigeons with our shotguns and a newly acquired launcher. The wind was light and it made a perfect day for target practice in between weather reports.
Just then Karen called up that Stan at Egg Island had just notified the Coast Guard radio station in Bull Harbour that he had unexpected high winds and seas. Roger and I looked at each other and joked that Stan must have been into his home-made wine again! Looking down towards Calvert Island from our location on the helo (helicopter) pad we could see only clear sky with a trace of cirrus cloud. Calvert was over forty miles (64 kms) away and we could just see the top of it on the horizon. Egg Island was further south still.
We were still shooting about a half hour later when we noticed the cirrus clouds streaming across the sky. Looking down towards Calvert we could see the sky darkening, but the the sea was rippled and we still paid no attention. Then the sh_t hit the fan as they say! The wind picked up so rapidly that we ran to the boatshed and left our shotguns and equipment inside. The wind rapidly climbed from 30 knots to 60 knots and higher (see the wind reading for that day on the top of this chart). The sea turned white with foam and spray and waves roared in from the southeast. We raced down for the houses, picking up things blowing around and headed for the engine room to also report this unexpected wind. By now the sky was grey, the ceiling was very low and the wind was howling in the guy wires of the beacon tower. It seemed weird reporting this wind as no one else was on the air. Now I knew how Stan felt at Egg. At this time [1984] it was not a requirement to report anything unusual except at our weather reporting times and we still had an hour to go before that time. This was so dangerous that we had to pass it on. Within an hour, just as fast as it arrived, the winds dropped, the sky cleared and we were back in sunshine! Later we found out that it was part of a tropical storm* called Ogden which had formed unexpectedly down off the western side of Vancouver Island, sped up the BC coast to just south of Prince Rupert and then passed inland.
Later, when flying in the Coast Guard helicopter I was amazed to see the whole side of a one mountain with all the trees laid flat like from an explosion. The pilot mentioned that it was a leftover from that tropical storm. It was amazing - every tree had been flattened on one side of the mountain and the other side was perfectly fine. We also learned that several mobile homes had been rolled in Bella Bella and several fishboats had been overturned and a few lives lost.
After the enquiry, the government decided that the lighthouses could now officially report unusual weather to the nearest Coast Guard station in a special weather format. Footnote #1*Tropical storm - A tropical cyclone in which the maximum sustained surface wind speed (using a one minute average) ranges from 34 kt - 63 kt (39 mph - 73 mph) or (63 km/h - 118 km/h). See the Beaufort Wind Force Scale to see what effects this has on the sea condition. **********************************
Harvey Humchitt (now princial keeper on Cape Scott lighthouse ) was a teenager in Bella Bella that day and sent me this report of the storm as it hit the town.
"I remember that storm. I was 14 or 15 then. We had just finished painting our kitchen. It was the end of summer. Dad wanted to do some renovations on the kitchen but waited until summer to do it. He built shelves and stuff and then we painted it. I also remember looking up at the clouds and seeing them flying by faster than I had ever seen and brought it to my Dad's attention. He saw the clouds and seeing them began gathering us together to head to our grans. He wanted to make sure everything was okay with the boat." "My grandfather and great uncle Jasper were in their boat just outside McCloughlin Bay (where the ferry docks now) when everyone heard them talk about smoke on the water in Lama Pass. By the time they got in front of the village it was too late. The winds hit and caused a lot of chaos. My grandfather couldn't turn into Martins Landing as the waves and winds were too high. He went into a bay called Gaff Hook bay." "The waves were at least 8 to 9 feet. There was quite a swell. I remember running to my grans with my dad carrying me becasue the wind was blowing us all over and I couldn't get any footing. One of the government docks broke loose and lots of boats got damaged." "The principal of the High School was on his boat in Deer Pass for crab. He tried to keep his boat from getting crushed on the rocks and instead crushed his leg. For Halloween he used his leg as part of his costume. As well, some construction crew had just finished the new roof on the Heiltsuk Hotel (they too were taking advantage of the warm weather) and had just packed up and left the site after completeing the roof. When the wind hit it tore all the work they did right off as if it were glued on with white glue." "Over in Shearwater one of the waitresses that was a family friend died in her trailer. It rolled over at least 15 to 20 times. This was told by some people who were in the trailer park. It was a terrible wind. Every one else who remembers that day calls it the October Storm of '84. It was in the afternoon sometime, around mid-afternoon." - John Coldwell (Principal lighthkeeper on McInnes Island 1997 - 2001) - Harvey Humchitt - (Principal Keeper on Cape Scott 2006 - present) |
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 Green Island Lighthouse - 1948  Dennis at Green island - 1947  "Porky" at Green Island  Egg Island Spring 1948  The SW corner:  Damage after the  1898 Fairbanks Morse Kerosene-fueled  Kitchen view of Egg Island after the storm  View from what was the kitchen window to the Fog Alarm building  Collapsed bridge, with the clearing and chicken coop in the background. Lighthouse wreckage in the foreground  What was left after the storm. Lighthouse wreckage left of the bridge, which ends halfway to the small island.  Hospital at Bella Bella 1948  The lighthouse tender "Alberni"  The new lighthouse under construction  The lighthouse foundation - note the clean header board on top of the concrete  The Fog Alarm building after the storm  Bob and Marie Wilkins - 1959  Current Egg Island lighthouse - keeper's house is located near where the chicken coop was situated. The light tower can be found in the upper right hand corner. The location of the "old" lighthouse is now the helicopter pad |
3. The True Story of Egg Island November 2, 1948
There have been many reports, newspaper articles, books, etc. written about the disaster that occurred at Egg Island Lighthouse station November 2nd, 1948 - none of which tell the true story. A few of the newspaper reporters of that time interviewed my father, many more got their stories second, third and fourth hand. None of the authors of the books written since have ever interviewed or talked directly to my father, Robert Laurence Wilkins, my mother, Ada Marie Wilkins or myself, Dennis Edward Wilkins. I mention the names in full to finally get the characters of the story straight. Many of the stories in print are, in themselves, very interesting and intriguing - lacking only in the fact that that is not what or how it all happened. The fault may not lie with the various authors; the Government of Canada did much to avoid the truth from being heard then and later. Now that both my mother and father are dead, and most of the other players in the story are long since past, I feel reasonably safe in documenting the story. The purpose of this record is primarily for my family and friends, who have always shown a greater fascination for the story than myself (perhaps since I was there). Secondly, there may be the odd other person who has heard the story before and would appreciate knowing just what really happened that day. To start the story, some background is required to set the scene. I will start just before the move to Egg Island early in 1948. My parents had been keepers of the light for some years at Green Island Lighthouse Station and had transferred to Egg Island when a vacancy came up. Egg Island, being more remote, paid a better salary. As part of the bargain, my Mom received a few new luxuries; a kerosene-driven refrigerator, a gas-powered washing machine and a blond oak bedroom suite. I did not fare as well.
My dog, "Porky", did not make the move from Green Island and my parents bought a new dog, "Boots". The new dog was a cocker spaniel with the brains of a box of hammers, and I did not take to the dog at all. This may seem like a minor thing except that "Porky" was my only companion, friend and buddy. At the age of nine this was like loosing a brother. My father had believed "Porky", being raised on Green Island, would fare better there with the new keepers. Unfortunately, I learned a few months later "Porky" had pined away and died. This did not sit well with me, left with the mutt “Boots”. The family cat, "Smoky", did make the trip so I did have one friend. But being an adult cat, she wasn’t much fun. The lighthouse supply ship "Alberni" made her run to Egg Island every two months (with luck), and Mom having dealt with the iffy one month service of Green Island brought enough supplies to last at least four months. As the "Alberni" and the previous keepers sailed off back to Prince Rupert , we settled into the new home and duties.
Egg Island consisted of three islands, the main island, about a city block wide and two city blocks long humped up in the centre and covered with an old growth forest of hemlock, spruce, and fir. At the back (east-end) there was a small harbour with a boathouse. The boathouse had the usual 16-foot lifeboat. A motor of, course, was out of the question since the Dept of Transport was very frugal. A series of a couple of hundred stairs ran from the boathouse up to the back of the island and a trail ran through the woods to a large clearing at the west-end. The clearing had been used long past to raise chickens, and the wooden fence for the run, the coop and a small brooding coop still existed. From the clearing a wooden footbridge spanned the 100-foot ravine to the smaller rock island with the lighthouse and its auxiliary buildings. And, in front of this island was a smaller reef-like island that acted as a breakwater and offered protection to the lighthouse tender "Alberni" as she off-loaded the supplies. The lighthouse itself sat about 100 feet south of the footbridge. It was a wooden building, built originally in about 1896, down closer to the water and a few feet further south on the island and later moved. At the back (east side) of the building was a large porch-like area built on pilings, this was used for laundry and my schooling. From there you entered the kitchen (there was no ‘front door’ as such in the building.). South of the kitchen was the pantry, which stored all the supplies and could be used for food preparation. West of the kitchen was the front room with the radio equipment tucked in a corner (I use the term radio loosely, even in 1948 the equipment was long past its prime). By the front room door, a hallway ran south to my parent’s bedroom and the stairs to the second floor. My bedroom was at the top of the stairs in the northeast corner, a hall ran south with one bedroom on the west and one more on the east side. At the west-end of the hall stairs ran up to the third floor with the workshop for the light, and from there a spiral stair to the light itself. It was in the west bedroom that I found the log that told of the moving of the lighthouse (and what was to prove the final downfall of Egg Island Lighthouse). Lighthouses, like ships, keep a daily log. Usually, these are as boring as watching grass grow, but in one entry in about 1912 (the log of course is long gone) the entry told of a severe storm that flooded the first floor and caused considerable damage to the outside of the building. To avoid this from happening again, a new foundation was built further up the island and closer to the fog alarm building. This was the situation we had inherited. The fog alarm building was still in its original location, equipped with two Fairbanks Morse kerosene-fueled single cylinder engines, which had belts that drove an idler pulley and then onto a compressor. At the end of the building stood two large tanks for the compressed air. The grandeur of this is lost until you understand that these two sets of devices completely filled a building that would make an excellent barn for the average prairie farm. The engines themselves towered over my father, and their flywheels over me. Watching them run was impressive for a nine year old boy, and watching the belts fly and wheels spin I gave them the due respect. But, not without a cost. Everyone works on a lighthouse, and my job (when there was fog, and the engines ran) was to climb the stairs past the BRRRRUUUURRR of the horn, into the attic, along 2x12 planks to fill the maze of oil cups that lubricated the two engines. Those engines drank the oil like a two year-old with Kool-Aid in the summer. It wasn’t all work, and in the summer of 1948 I discovered an old shed made of hand-cut cedar shakes in the ravine that had been destroyed by some storm. With a little work, a few of my Dad’s nails and an old hammer and saw I had enough material to build myself a shack in the clearing of the main island, complete with a bunk, a lantern and some old blankets. Next I found there were wild rabbits on the island, and with the help of my Dad I built traps to catch some of the rabbits. Within a few days I had two adult black rabbits, and a young gray. I used the old chicken coop and run for my rabbit pen, and finally I was feeling at home. It wasn’t always lonely on the island; often fishermen would stop over at night, sometimes with their families. On one occasion, a fisherman left his son on the island for the day. Two young boys left to their own judgment are likely to do crazy things. We lived up to those expectations. After a few minutes, seeking some thrills, we decided to circumnavigate the main island. The trip was full of risk, most of the shoreline dropped steeply into the water, parts of the trip were made clinging to a shear rock face with a six inch ledge for a path. Finally, halfway around the island we came upon a small cemetery with a large cross and three names. It is common knowledge that three men on a lighthouse will lead to trouble, common except to the DOT (Department of Transport). After allowing three men to work the light, the tender arrived to find the boat and all three men gone, no one sure why. Nearby, there were stairs from the boathouse - however, in-between was three-foot crevice in the rock which dropped out of sight to the sea below. Three feet is not much, until someone tells you "You must make the jump!". The other boy was older and taller, and made the jump easily, I looked for a long time and then made my try - there was no choice. We were both safe, but decided to abort the rest of the trip in favour of getting something to eat. The summer passed and my parents started to work on getting the lighthouse to look like a home. My Mom had prided herself on her front room. It was her piece of civilization in the wilderness of the seascape. But, in this old building the room was a challenge. The walls consisted of three-inch vertical Vee-board. Very hard to do anything with. After much thought, she advised my Dad that he would be painting every other board a different colour - one a light pink, the next a dark dusty rose. And, after much labour the room took on a classic look, almost like it had been wall-papered. It was the end of October, 1948. The weather was typical for early November, a moderate sea, rain, and wind. It was election time in the USA, and this was something to occupy the minds of my parents. November 1st, the election results were stunning. Truman was beating Dewy. It was so engrossing that my Dad forgot to make the nightly report by 2-way radio to Bull Harbour . But, this wasn’t a big deal, the radio seldom worked anyway - so that is how it would be logged. And, I went to bed.
About 2 AM my Mom woke me and told be to get dressed NOW and get down stairs. I am not sure why I responded so quickly - whether I thought it was morning or if I understood the fear in her voice. In any case I did as I was told. I soon found out why. A sea had broken my parent’s bedroom window, washed both of them, their bedding and mattress onto a soggy sea soaked floor. There was no need to analyze the situation, they knew there was serious trouble so my Mom threw on a coat and came for me while my Dad surveyed the damage. A sun-room was located off their bedroom, so he went to go out there to get a better look. It was gone. It was a shear drop twenty feet to the rocks below, and he could see the seas had swept the island clean of vegetation and equipment. We gathered in the kitchen, and got ready to go out through the laundry room to the walkway behind the lighthouse. It was also gone. The laundry room did not exist, and there was a shear drop down to the ravine below. My Dad said not to worry, we would go out the kitchen window and over to the fog alarm building. The kitchen window wouldn’t budge - it had long since been painted shut. No problem, my Dad pulled the table back from the window, picked up one of the wooden kitchen chairs and gave the window a powerful whack. The chair broke into a dozen pieces, my Mom screamed bloody murder! "You’re breaking my chairs!", she cried. "I’ll buy you new ones" my Dad replied in frustration as he finally smashed out the window with the second chair (which didn’t survive the ordeal either). My Dad jumped out the window to the ground below, and my Mom passed me out the window into his arms. Everything had changed. The grass, flowers, even the earth was gone - down to barren rock. The various sheds for paint and fuel were gone. The small engine for the hoist was gone. And, the sea was a continuous roar, like a raging waterfall. My Dad, worried about when the next sea would strike - rushed me over to the fog alarm building. My Mom, expecting to be helped out of the window next, screamed with fear that she had been forgotten. I was given orders to stay put, and he rushed back for my Mom. He gathered her up, with "Boots" tucked safely under her arm, and made the dash back to where I was waiting ("Smoky", the cat, remained sleeping on a chair). Once together we headed into the building, only to find that the seas had filled the room up over the height of the engines, about twelve feet (3.7 meters). Clearly, this was not a refuge. The next plan was to go over to the main island, which was higher and therefore now the safest place. But, when we approached the bridge we found it damaged. For the first fifty feet many of the planks were missing, leaving the three 4 x 12 inch stringers to walk on. Dark, wet, nails and pieces of broken planks sticking up here and there, with the sound of raging waters below, the bridge seemed nearly impossible to cross, and yet equally impossible to remain where we were. We made the crossing, and my parents decided the boathouse at the back of the island may be a safe refuge. But, once again the seas had been there - the boat had been washed off its trolley and sat on its side against the boathouse wall. Back up the hundreds of stairs to make a cold vigil in the main island forest. Then the storm changed. Until then there had only been a heavy sea, no wind, no rain. But that changed, with a vengeance. The wind raged, and we could hear trees snapping and falling in the distance, the hail started with stones like marbles which stung like bees through my clothes, it was worse for my parents - they only had their night clothes with a coat. With the change, my Dad thought it was time to see what was happening back at the lighthouse. So we made our way back to the clearing. My Mom and I waited while my Dad went to the bridge to look over to the small island. In a second he was back, a frantic look on his face and he said "RUN!". Later I found out that he had gone to the bridge and saw the light turning like normal in the night. Then, it moved. It tilted, and moved closer as the entire lighthouse rode up on a wave towards the bridge. In a deafening roar it crashed down on the bridge and on into the ravine. We spent the rest of the night at the high point of the main island in the wind and rain, afraid that the seas might increase again and wash the main island clean. My Mom refused to believe what had happened until she could see it with her own eyes in the morning, and even then the seas continued to sweep over the smaller island; the bridge half-collapsed. With the few items in my shack, we moved into the chicken coop, the largest of the buildings in the clearing. We sat cold, hungry and scared for two days and nights in the early November weather. By then the seas had subsided, and my Dad made his way back to the smaller island. He crossed the remaining half of the bridge, down the collapsed half into the ravine (at low tide) and crawled up the bank. On one of his attempts up the bank he slipped and fell onto the rocks, smashing the bones in both elbows. Although he managed to get up the bank, that injury would disable him for life. One of the major items Dad brought back from the fog alarm building was the stove, a 45 gallon drum modified to be a wood burning stove. It gave us warmth, and later the ability to cook food. It made life in the coop more bearable. Later that day, my parents decided that one of the rabbits would have to be sacrificed for food. Dad killed one of the males. Skinned, cleaned and cooked it on a stick in the stove. While that was cooking, water was taken from a small stream that ran through the clearing. Things might have looked up, but it wasn’t that easy. The water was contaminated with the salt-laden spray that hung in the air, and either the thought of eating my pet rabbit, or the water, or both, made me violently ill. I lay in a miserable state all that day. The next day my Dad went down to the ravine to see if anything could be salvaged from the wreckage. He found a tin of consommé soup, a tin of Prem, and an egg (unbroken, without a single crack). It was the first real food in five days, and it was all that he could find. Although in pain from his elbows, Dad decide that he would try to row eastward to Bella Bella or possibly meet some ship at sea. We wrestled the boat back onto its trolley, launched it and he rowed off into the heavy seas. But it was no good, even with good arms he couldn’t have made any distance in the seas. He gave up and turned back. He then tried to signal a passing ship with the last of the compressed air in the fog alarm station tanks. But, the seas were still heavy, and passing ships cleared the island at great distance. Things did not look good. On the sixth day, Dad noticed a fishing boat circling the island. We rushed down to the boat-house, launched the boat with all of us on board (including "Boots") and rowed out to try and catch it. The crew of the fishing boat, the "Sunny Boy", was more than surprised to see us rowing out to meet them. They had come by to see if there was anything worth picking up on the island. They had heard that the light was gone, and "all hands lost". We were all given clean clothes, a warm bunk and lots of food by the friendliest bunch of guys I had ever seen. The food smelled great; bacon, fried eggs, hash browns and toast, but after a bite or two none of us could eat any more. It was as if our stomachs had shrunk. The "Sunny Boy" headed for the nearest port for help, the hospital at Bella Bella . There we were all checked into the hospital, under the care of Dr. Darby. I was in good shape, other than being dehydrated. My Dad had bone fragments in both elbows, which prevented him from fully straightening his arms (a condition he would live with
for the rest of his life). My Mom was in the worst shape. She had recently recovered from a mild bout of Tuberculosis (TB), and was suffering from the stress of the experience. She would succumb to a "nervous breakdown", and never fully recovered her health.
The people of Bella Bella treated us royally, until the lighthouse tender Alberni arrived and “rescued us”. She had been sent down from Prince Rupert when word that the station had been washed away. Steaming at her 10 knots for 8 hours a day (she never sailed at night), she had just reached Bella Bella nearly nine days later. Apparently, there was no need to rush if we were all dead. A few days later we arrived back in Prince Rupert, the press happy to see us, the government a little embarrassed that we were alive. But we were a family that just had the clothes on our backs. No home, no possessions, no job, no income. The community helped at first. The government offered my Dad a job shoveling coal - with two smashed elbows. They then offered him a job as a relief keeper back at Green Island, my Mom said "NO WAY!". Dad went, but even he could not stand it any more. Finally, they offered him a job on the construction crew rebuilding Egg Island. It was there that he discovered why the lighthouse had washed away, and the fog alarm building, although damaged, had remained. Back when the building was moved the lighthouse was lifted and placed on its new foundation much like you would move a house today. The building was just placed on the foundation, without any attempt to fasten it in place - not even a single nail. As the seas swept the island, the building simply floated off its foundation like the boat had floated off its trolley. The fog alarm building, built back in 1896, remained fixed to its original foundation and survived the storm with minor damage. My parents were trying to reach a settlement with the government, but it was no match. Dad had been warned earlier when offered a radio interview with the CBC, "Don’t discuss Egg Island." Now they tried to hire a lawyer, but after finally finding one who would take the case he shortly called back saying he had to drop it as he had been made KC (King’s Counsel). Finally, the government offered them $5,000 for all back pay, possessions, (home insurance was not available for lighthouses), injuries and damages. That finished the relationship with the government and my family. Almost, that is. In 1949, Revenue Canada demanded income tax for 1948, and my Dad had had enough. He wrote back that he had lost everything - they had lost everything and were even. They disagreed. He wrote his former bosses in the DOT. Revenue Canada backed off. And then again, nearly six years later when Dad decided he should write this story for Reader’s Digest. Weeks later, a knock at my parent’s door and two large plain-clothes men from the RCMP advised my parents strongly that it would not be wise for them to do anything like that again. Dad destroyed the article, and only told the story to his friends, grandchildren and great grandchildren. Now, nearly sixty years after it happened, it is time for the true story to be told. - All photos courtesy of Dennis Wilkins (son of the keeper Bob Wilkins - Egg Island 1948 - 1948) |
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 #1 Highline Pylon  #2 Triple Island"  #3 Front room window |
4. Storm preparation on the lighthouse This is what we heard from the radio: Marine forecasts issued by the Pacific Weather Centre of Environment Canada at 4 AM PDT Saturday 9 September for the period ending 4 AM Sunday with an outlook for the following 24 hours. The next scheduled forecast will be issued at 10:30 AM PDT. Synopsis A trough of low pressure over Queen Charlotte Sound will slide Over Vancouver Island later today. A cold front just west of Bowie will approach the Charlottes this afternoon. Over northern and central waters strong winds near the trough will rise to strong to gale force southeasterlies as the front approaches. Over southern waters light to moderate northwest winds will shift to moderate to heavy southeast later today as the trough moves to the south. As the front approaches from the west forecast sea state values are combined wind wave and swell height. Central coast from McInnes Island to Pine Island. Storm warning issued. Winds southeast 30 to 40 knots this morning then rising to southeasterly 40 to 50 this afternoon. Winds rising to south 50 to 60 this evening then to southeast storm force winds overnight. Overcast. Heavy rain. Seas 1 to 2 metres building to 2 to 3 tonight. Outlook. Winds continuing southeast storm force winds. See the Beaufort Wind Force Scale to see what effects this has on the sea condition. This is what we did: With a forecast like the above, we always went out and "battened down the hatches" on the lighthouse. We checked for any loose boards, forgotten garden tools, unclosed doors, or any other thing that could be sailing around in the winds during the night. I don't know why, but it always seemed that these storms hit in the night. I really can't remember one in the day - just the morning aftermath which usually involved a lot of cleanup. A good southeaster always brought lots of rain as well so we made sure all the gutters were cleared of debris and all downspout filters were also free. This was our drinking water, although sometimes a bit salt-flavoured from the breaking seas. In a good storm the swell* could rise to 10 metres (30 feet) or more and the winds could add a bit more height to that. We used to watch the tugs and barges motoring past McInnes in a storm. They would completely disappear from sight in the trough of a swell and we were viewing from seventy-five feet (twenty-five metres) above the mean sea level on our island. All windows and doors in all buildings were closed and/or locked so that the wind would do minimal damage. All loose materials (wood, shingles, paper or other "moveable" material) was picked up or nailed down. I remember one storm picked up full 4 x 8 sheets of 1/2" plywood from a bundle of 25 that had been banded together for slinging. The metal bands had rusted through and the wind blew the sheets right off the top of the pile one after the other. If we had boats outside we usually tied them down to the wood decking. The highline hook was tied off so it would not bang around, or it was also lowered and tied to the decking. The carriage would even be tied back to the mast in a heavy blow. If the main highline cable broke the carriage could disappear into the ocean, so tying off all equipment made us feel more secure. In my early years on McInnes the winter storms drove a log into the highline pylon [see photo #1 left] and broke it off, thereby downing the highline. If it hadn't been tied off we could have lost all. On Triple Island the logs wreck havoc all the time on the cement building. [see photo #2 left] See more photos of Triple Island here. Beforehand, usually as part of summer maintenance, all roofs were inspected for loose shingles which had to be nailed down and then tarred over (salt spray would eat through a galvanized shingle nail in less than a year!). The tar kept the salt off. These were mostly inter-locked asphalt shingles which could be ripped off in sheets of ten to twenty-five or more in one large sheet. Next morning we would find the bare patches of wood on the roofs. In the old days we had cedar shakes or shingles that would tear off one at a time resulting in much less damage. Also part of summer maintenance was to grease or silicone up any moving parts such as hinges, door handles, window slides, locks and access covers. The salt could get into everything! When the wind rose to certain speeds (30 and 45 knots) then we had to give a "Special Weather Report" to alert the mariners so a constant watch was kept on the anemometer* dial or chart. We either remained in the office or made frequent trips back and forth depending on the sound of the wind outside the house. We got to know the speed pretty well depending on how the wind whistled or rattled the stove pipe damper. Once the required special weather reports were given and all was tied down on station, then we could settle back and "weather the storm" as they say at sea. A last check on the main light and then we would close the drapes in the house to cut down on some of the noise from the wind, rain and occassional tree branches, spruce cones and other debris hitting the house or windows. The windows were the worst as they would bend inwards I would swear one inch or more! They were in later years double-glazed thermal windows and because of the constant flexing from the wind, the seals were all broken and salt spray, rain and spruce needles would work their way bewteen the panes. We had our own miniature aquarium in some instances. Later, when the salty water between the panes had evaporated in the sun, we had a nice salt pattern obscuring our view out the windows [see photo #3 left] If the storm continued throught the night we tried to get some sleep, hoping the windows wouldn't break and also hoping that some mariner would not require our assistance that stormy night. Radios and alarms were always on so we were prepared to be awakened. If the storm was still blowing first thing in the morning (usually 03:00 or 3 AM) our first weather was usually very lengthy. You could see nothing in the dark sky. You could feel and hear the rain and wind blowing on the house and once outside you could hear the wind in the antennas and guy wires. Inside the office where we had our weather recorders we checked all instruments, entered the starting information for the first weather of the day (date, time, signature, etc.) and then after a brief wait we would head back outside to do our observation. The ceiling projector* would indicate a very low layer of clouds moving rapidly across the beam in the dark. We read the height of the clouds from the alidade.* Temperatures (wet bulb, dry bulb, maximum, minimum), rainfall, visibility and any other unusual phenomenon were recorded on our notepads and back into the office, strip off the rain gear, dry the eyeglasses and start to record and code the weather observation. On McInnes this involved three weather reports from the combined observations - local weather for mariners, aviation weather for aircraft, and synoptic weather for world-wide weather forecasters. Once completed we waited by the radiotelephone for our station name to be called by the nearest Coast Guard Radio (CGR) Station (now Marine Communications and Traffic Sevices MCTS) which in the case of McInnes in later years was Prince Rupert MCTS . (earlier it was Bull Harbour CGR until that was discontinued in December 1988). When called we would transmit our weathers, do a double check on the instruments, engines and light and then return home for a fresh coffee and to await daylight.
In the early daylight hours we toured the station looking for storm damage, collected all the downed tree branches, searched for missing equipment and generally made a thorough inspection of all buildings for damage, leaks, or other things out of order. Once the winds had died down to a workable level, we could then inspect the rain gutters again and clean out all the debris from the trees. On the west coast of Canada in winter this routine could happen once a week in a bad year. Part of the job! Footnote #2*swell - Large smooth waves that do not crest. Swells are formed by wind action over a long distance. (from http://www.terrax.org/sailing/glossary/gs.aspx) Footnote #3* anemometer - wind speed measuring device which reported in kilometres per hour Footnote #4* ceiling projector - a cloud height measuring device which uses a searchlight to project vertically a narrow beam of light onto the cloud base. The height of the cloud is determined using an alidade (see below) located at a known distance from the ceiling projector, to measure the angle included by the illuminated spot on the cloud, the observer, and the ceiling projector. Footnote #5* alidade - stationary instrument, mounted on a stand, that measures the angle subtended at the stand by the horizon and an object in space and used with a ceiling projector (see above) to determine the height of clouds. - John Coldwell (Principal lighthkeeper on McInnes Island 1997 - 2001) |
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 Pine Island Then"  Pine Island Today" |
5. Another lighthouse destroyed by the sea! (Pine Island
February 18, 1967)On February 18, 1967 at 00:30 hours, a giant wall of water slammed into Pine Island, destroying buildings and washing away equipment and personal possessions. [B&W photo left] The following article describes it well. (If anyone knows the author, or or where this article came from, please let me know so I can give credit. It appeared with two photos on the right of the page and the page was numbered 13. Thanks.- JAC) ************************************************************
Fury . . . and British Columbia
Pine Island, B.C. - The worst damage in the history of British Columbia's coastal lighthouses was inflicted here recently when a 50 foot wall of water slammed into this tiny island during a raging storm. Lightkeeper Rex Brown, 43, was reported to have credited a premonition of disaster with saving his life and that of his 49-year old assistant, J. P. Lewis, as the two men were inspecting the station's powerhouse during the storm. "It was like an earthquake," recalled Mr. Brown, who said he turned to his partner and shouted "let's get out of here" just before the wall of water struck the building. The giant wave, which slammd the island as 100-mile-an-hour winds howled, flattened the powerhouse seconds later, carried away three 2,000-gallon fuel tanks, smashed a radio beacon, deposited a shed on the front porch of Mr. Lewis' home, washed away a boathouse and punched holes in the concrete base of the light beacon. The wave hit early Feb. 18, but no word was heard from the station until late in the day when a Dutch freighter radioed that the lightkeepers and their families had escaped injury in the storm. The six residents of the lightstation, located on an island off the northern tip of Vancouver Island 3/4 of a mile long by 1/2 a mile wide, included Mr. and Mrs. Brown and their two children and Mr. Lewis and his wife. Coast Guard officials dispatched CCGS Camsel to the scene with building supplies, food, a pre-fabricated shed, diesel generator, fuel, fog alarm equipment, an aerial hoist and winch, and a shore party of 15 men to help put the station back in operation. In a report [Page 1, Page 2] on the storm to L. E. Slaght, district marine agent at Victoria, Mr. Brown, said: "My severest personal loss, apart from tools which can be replaced and are only worth money, was two boxes that were down in the building in the process of being packed. One contained about a dozen volumes of rare B.C. historical books with a market value of $250, duplicates from my collection. These were individually wrapped in thick newspaper and would have survived water damage but were carried away. The other, a good-sized wooden box contained all my photograph albums, part of a fine stamp colIection that was my father's, and a lot of old family items." In letters to the lightkeepers and their families, Mr. Slaght said, in part: "You have gone through the most trying and nerve-wracking experience I hope you will ever encounter. The stoic calm and capable manner that you displayed in handling the hazardous experience and encountering the full fury of the storm-tossed sea, shows considerable personal strength." Mr. Slaght said that the Department was planning to undertake the construction of two new buildings, a fog alarm building and a storage building later this year. The worst damage inflicted on a station prior to this occured at Egg Island lighthouse, 25 miles northwest of Pine Island, when a storm levelled both installation and buildings on November 2, 1948.
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Both houses were later rebuilt farther up the island away from the sea. The only thing left at Pine from the storm is the old helicopter pad. They built the new tower on top of the old foundation of the house. "Apparently they used it as a swimming pool for awhile then they filled it up for the new tower to go on." (Leslie Williamson, former assistant on Pine Island) - Pen Brown (Principal keeper - Pine Island 1957 - 1967) Two articles from the old Victoria Daily Colonist
and the Victoria Daily Times describing the events. |
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| John Coldwell (retired BC lighthouse keeper) Galvanistrasse 8 A-4040 Linz, Austria Tel: +43 (732) 750515  |
