HAS DONALD TRUMP RESURRECTED (UNLEASHED) NAWAPA?

September 26th, 2024

Has Donald Trump Resurrected Nawawpa ?

Recently Donald Trump boasted how he would bring Canadian water to drought stricken areas of California and the US South West. “Good gravy” I said to myself, I am sure I have heard all this before. And sure enough, I have. Back in the 1960’s at about the same time the Columbia River Treaty was being considered between Canada and the US, another scheme far more outlandish came to the surface. An engineering company in Pasadena called Parsons proposed the North American Water and Power Alliance. It was truly a grand scheme that would have affected every watershed in North America. A series of Dams, tunnels, diversions massive pumps and canals would redistribute water from the moister parts of the continent to places where it is needed more. Places where rivers go to die like Southern California and Arizona. People will be skeptical but hold on – a lot of Nawapa has already been built Think of Mica and Revelstoke Dams as well as the Duncan and Libby Dams. Flooding of the Rocky Mountain Trench is a major part of the plan. What is truly frightening is that the plan will likely happen because it is sorely needed. All the swimming pools in Phoenix and LA have to be filled. But seriously there is an endless need for water in food producing lands which seem to be drying out as we speak. Much more conservation and management should be applied but will it? Will the Columbia River the greatest fish stream on earth ever be restored or will it end up as a ditch like the Colorado where people fight over the last drop of muddy water. Parson is quick to point out that NAWAPA is continental scale undertaking and should not be deterred by local concerns. I wonder if this means tat Canadians will, for example, have input to land use decisions in the San Juaquin Valley or Texas. That would be interesting but if Kootenay Lake is going to end up in a bean field, Canada should at least have some input – indeed. I once lived in the Santa Clara V and watched in horror as some of the most productive land I will ever see was just pissed away for freeways, malls and endless housing development. Nobody said a word, if you mentioned planning you were classed as a communist conspirator who should be taken out and shot. They couldn’t get the bulldozers smashing the orchards down fast enough

What I suppose will happen is that the US, Canada and Mexico will become one country Start the party!

Ted Burns

Eugenie Marie

August 8th, 2024

Notes on the History of the Burns Family

Jean Burns Moore

1993

John Burns and my mother, Rose were married about 1909 and went to Victoria on their honeymoon. My father’s family were Scotch Presbyterian and my mother’s were French Catholic (Rose probably had some Indian ancestors as did the Bill Desjardin’s family). There were very strong religious prejudices at that time and mother was not made to feel welcome by the Burns’ tribe. She never forgave them.

Nelson is rather off the beaten track, so of necessity he and his father accumulated their own lumber yard, sash and door factory- where they did all the necessary manufacturing and assembling of windows, doors, cupboards and all millwork. Also owned their own marble and granite quarries and a brick yard.

Dad’s brother Harry and wife Mildred and two sons, Gordon and Bill later moved to Nelson. Harry had a lumber mill at Taghum five miles west of Nelson and a retail store in Nelson. He held the first Forest Management licence in the interior. It was a very successful operation which they eventually sold.

Harry and dad were very close and he was a frequent visitor. Mildred tried to warm up to mother. She would invite for Thanksgiving, Christmas or whatever but my mother never accepted. My cousin Bill and I were close in age and friendly. Harry and Mildred were very kind to me and I was fond of all of them but my mother’s cold remoteness made us all uncomfortable.

I had three brothers: Robert John, John Wallace and Edward James. I was number three in appearance and my mother wanted to get away from the Scottish names. She wanted me to be called Marie Eugenie. They considered naming me Ypres since I was born on the eve of that World War I battle in France. When it came time to register me at the court house, dad couldn’t spell Eugenie let alone pronounce it so he registered me Mary Jean. Everyone called me Jean so I had it changed to Jean Marie when I was 18. I was born in our first home on Carbonate Street. It was a two story house with a full basement. Our homes were heated by a central furnace which burned wood and coal. Every house had a coal shed or a coal bin in the basement. The coal was delivered from the outside via a coal chute then broken up in the basement. This created a lot of black, sooty dust and each delivery necessitated extra housecleaning.

Had a barn entered from an alley behind the house. The barn housed our horse and his carriage and winter sleigh. Also a cow and some chickens. Even in the city one was awakened by the rooster’s crow.

My paternal grandparents were three doors from us and I was a frequent visitor mainly fore the cookies and ginger ale. Grandfather was big man at 6 feet, four inches, he died in 1916. I spent a lot of time at grandma’s and when I was about 3 to 4 years old, I stole her little metal pig which held the wind up key to her clock In my haste to make a quick getaway, I fell and broke piggie’s curl tail off. I was duly caught and scolded. Since I was the only girl in both families, I was petted and spoiled and made the best of it.

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Burns family: Left to right. Father John, Jean, Robert with Ted in front, jack and mother Rose

I was born in our first home on Carbonate Street. It was a two story house with a full basement. Our homes were heated by a central furnace which burned wood and coal. Every house had a coal shed or a coal bin in the basement. The coal was delivered from the outside via a coal chute then broken up in the basement. This created a lot of black, sooty dust and each delivery necessitated extra housecleaning.

Had a barn entered from an alley behind the house. The barn housed our horse and his carriage and winter sleigh. Also a cow and some chickens. Even in the city one was awakened by the rooster’s crow.

My paternal grandparents were three doors from us and I was a frequent visitor mainly fore the cookies and ginger ale. Grandfather was big man at 6 feet, four inches, he died in 1916. I spent a lot of time at grandma’s and when I was about 3 to 4 years old, I stole her little metal pig which held the wind up key to her clock In my haste to make a quick getaway, I fell and broke piggy’s curl tail off. I was duly caught and scolded. Since I was the only girl in both families, I was petted and spoiled and made the best of it.

I don’t have too many memories of our Carbonate Street house. The toilet was in a separate room from the rest of the bathroom. On occasion. I locked myself in and couldn’t open the lock and became panic stricken. He whole tribe assembled outside the door shouting instructions to no avail. My father finally up a ladder and climbed to the second story window which was fortunately unlocked. I was in there quite awhile because he was at work.

A neighbour boy named Beverly Caverhill threw a rock and hit me on the forehead at the hair line – I bled profusely. His mother was mortified and gave me a big consolation box of chocolates. I still have the scar. I played with two little girls a couple of doors away named Hazel and Stella. We nicknamed them Oggin and Woggin for reasons unknown. We played the usual kids’ games like hop scotch, skipping rope, run sheep run, sledding and double runner skating on the steep and icy streets. Our horse was named Buster – a sturdy maintain pony but not too speedy.

About the time I was two, my parents bought a vacation home across the lake near where the Murphy’s later lived. Naturally I fell off the wharf first thing. We spent most of our summers there and later bought the present North Shore home – about 40 acres. It was formerly a fruit ranch, originally called the Hoover Ranch. \we acquired it from a Captain McClain, a widower with two grown daughters. These homes could only be reached by boat. There was no power or telephone. Plumbing was an outhouse and we used coal oil lamps.

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Burns summer home across the lake from Nelson

The original brick house was one large room plus a kitchen. A screened sleeping porch was added also a two room screened sleeping shack. There was a trap door in the kitchen and stairs going down to the basement where we kept a cooler and screened cupboard for semi perishables. In the main room we had an ice box and dad hauled ice over in big chunks. If the weather was nice we stayed on in September and rowed back and forth to school. Dad built the big porch across the front himself.

Sometimes at night, I could hear the forest animals behind our shack. I hid under the covers sure that they would drop in any minute through that flimsy screen and devour me. Many animals came down to the lake for a drink in the evening. There were lynx, cougar, bear, deer and bobcat.

A recluse named Coal Oil Johnny (since that’s what he sold to make a bare living) built a cabin on the mountain near our water spring. We did not charge him rent for squatting there. After he died, dad gave Jack the cabin. They were into cigarettes by that time and managed to burn it down one night. He forestry department and the volunteer fire brigade were not pleased. It made a spectacular fire plainly visible from the town side of the lake.

To keep the younger children from the water, my father built a fence about a block long. This was a waste of time. We were forbidden to go down there unless accompanied by an adult or our older brothers. Ted and I were past masters of getting over, under or around that fence. One day we were playing on the wharf and Ted’s little sail boat got away. When he tried to retrieve it with an oar, he fell in. The water was about 6-7 feet deep, Ted was 4. He managed to get out by himself. I kept trying to get him to grab the oar. When we went up to the house, he was soaking wet – my mother almost fainted. When she asked him how he got out, he said he said that he just kept walking along the bottom until his head came up – took a breath and then back down to continue walking his way up the beach. We were water wise.

Most of my friends went to public schools but we all went to the convent. Bob took me the first day. Mother was busy with baby Ted. It was only a couple of blocks away from our town home so after that, I went to and from by myself.

I don’t remember when dad bought our first car, a McLaughlin Buick. I can still remember our horse and carriage and the sleigh in winter. I can still smell those buffalo skin lap robes which we also used in the car in the winter since they only had those izon glass windows which we fastened on. There were few cars – the winter roads were mainly impassable for those skinny tires.

We all learned to swim when we were quite young. Mother learned when I was about six; she did a slow breast stroke. Not sure if she could have rescued us if needed. Dad was a strict teacher – we were safety conscience.

Mother did not learn to drive a car until her late 40’s. She usually proceeded cautiously at 5-10 mph. Since dad was in town during the week, he did most of the shopping. We usually came in Saturday to shop also.

My mother was fond of clothes and usually well dressed. She bought a lot of our clothes in Spokane. She sewed very well, she even made hats. I had a black sateen dress embroider with ducks, flowers and such with matching panties that I loved. She copied it in taffeta and I wore that for good occasions like Sundays, teas or other social events. I was 8-9.

In a small town, you make your own fun. There were lots of parties, teas and dances. My mother loved to dance – my father was less enthused.

Our winters were long and cold. I wore long under wear to school. Girls did not wear slacks. We folded the underwear and tucked into the stockings and the high top, laced or buttoned shoes with a button hook. The rooms were steam heated but one side was always cold.

Shortly after I started school, we moved into a big house at 820 Stanley Street – The Madden House after the hotel people. My mother had a lot of fun doing it over although it was fine as it was. Dad was also an architect so worked out a design that suited her. Now the entry is at the side in the front and the stairway goes up from the den with two turns and landings. Original entry was center front and the stairway went straight up from the entry hall. She added a bath downstairs.

At Christmas time, everyone had a live tree. You could cut one any place, there were zillions of them. We used little candles in holders that clipped onto the branches. Ted leaned too close once and caught his hair on fire. He was a tow head and mother, wanting another girl, kept him in a buster brown haircut with bangs.

The sisters were big on drama. We had a parish hall with a stage and each year we put on a play. All ages participated. I was once a fairy queen and wore a long yellow organdie dress with a train and had to sing a solo. Another time I was airiest, an Indian Maid and an Irish milk maid. The boys only attended the convent until the eighth grade and then went on to the public high school. One of the high school girls was a good looking red head named Josephine who was playing the part of Father Marquette who had a mission and mainly his time trying to convert the Indians. In this scene “he” he was supposed to be landing the canoe at their village. Josephine forgot to button her cassock all the way and she brought the house down when a lot of leg and thigh were revealed when she tried to step out of the canoe.

Each spring we prepared to move across the lake for the summer. Our place was directly across from town – about a quarter mile. The move included daisy our cow. The first time dad rented a barge and towed her over. She didn’t like that at all. So thereafter dad and the boys took her through town to the ferry (some two miles) crossed her then bush wacked another two miles over some rough country to our place

We had two black water spaniels Mutt and Jeff. We towed them and some supplies in a rowboat pulled by our launch. One year the lake was very stormy while we were crossing and the row boat overturned. Dad set it loose then took us to shore. He then returned for the boat. We children were all crying because we knew our dogs had drowned. These smart rascals knew there was an air space and sat quietly on the underside of the upturned seat. They knew somebody would pick them up. We also had some chickens and rabbits which also had to be transported. Ted had a pet bantam rooster that followed him everywhere. He carried it around in a bucket. The rooster finally drowned in the cow’s water trough.

Water was always a problem. Our source was a spring by the path that goes up to Pulpit Rock above our first lakeside house. The pipes were above ground or buried shallow so they froze each winter. Every spring we went along the line replacing joints and connectors that burst or were leaking. We had a wooden storage tank near the orchard and it too had occasional leaks.Some years there was a water shortage and we couldn’t have a garden. WE had lots of fruit trees: apples, cherries, peaches and plums as well as berries like strawberries, raspberries, currants and gooseberries. There were huckleberries in the woods. Mother usually had flowers. We rowed over to The Chinese vegetable garden directly opposite us on the CPR Flats. So named because it is one of the non-hilly areas of Nelson – most of which is steep, rising abruptly from the lake. The CPR had a round house and repair shop there. We could safely roam anywhere on our 45 acres. Lots to do – hunting, fishing, hiking, swimming and boating. The older boy’s friends were often at our place. They came by boat. But I had no one to play with so I attached myself to them and they were eternally trying to ditch me. On one occasion I invited myself to go mountain climbing. Crossing a steep cliff they were going to climb down to a narrow ledge. “Ladies first” and they carefully lowered me. They left me there and went up to the top of the mountain. I was forced to wait until they decided to come back and haul me back up.

We dressed up and came to church on Sundays. We had a motor launch, an outboard, a rowboat and a rowing canoe and spent most of our time in or around the lake. In the fall we returned home and the lake house was shuttered and closed. It was strictly a summer house – no central heat. A few times when the lake froze, we skated across and brought a lunch. Our kitchen stove was a wood burning range. When the lake was frozen we sometimes went ice boating. The boat was equipped with skate- like runners and a sail. It ran very fast and was difficult to navigate on the slick ice – really dangerous. My dad would ordinarily not let me do it but his long time bachelor clerk built a really neat one and I went many times – very fast. Lawrence was good looking, shy and spoke with a lisp but very trustworthy.

Living in such a wild environment we became familiar with death at an early age. My best friend Veronica, age 7, died of pneumonia. Victoria – same age- drowned in the creek that ran by their house. All were laid out in coffins for us to view and they looked terrible. Someone was always drowning in the summer or falling off a cliff or going through the ice on the frozen ponds. Ours were not man- made but natural hazards.

One day when Jack was picking huckleberries, he came upon a young bear cub in the forest and brought it home much to the consternation of Mac, our collie. Dad made him take it back to where he had picked it up; saying mother could be along any minute. From then on Jack acquired the nickname of ‘cub’.

We all skied. Our skis were turned out in dad’s factory. The bindings were a simple strap across the top of the foot and one around the heel. There were no ski hills or rope tows. We often hiked up to the old Silver King mine, and then skied down the road which was a series of switch-backs and horseshoe turns. We used one pole – which was just that – a sturdy branch.

There was a community of Doukobours not far from Nelson. These were Russians who rebelled against Lenin’s tyranny. They lived on communal farms with multi-family housing. Whatever produce they produced wheat, cattle, whatever – everything was shared. They came into town every Saturday and had produce stalls on Vernon St.

They objected to sending their children to school and would stage protest parades – naked. They tended to be obese, and had their own language and religion. They would occasionally blow up a rail-road bridge as a form of protest.

When their leader died, they wrapped his body in hundreds of yards of blue silk. They posted 24 hour guards at this tomb, so that the devil couldn’t come and steal the body.

I played soft-ball and basketball, the latter at the Parish hall during our gym period. We were bloomers for gym, which are like full cut pedal pushers gathered below the knee. We played badminton all winter and tennis in the summer. The boys played hockey, rugby, basketball and hunted and fished. I was the only one who played golf, which seemed a sissy game to them.

A lady barber used to cut my hair. There was one beauty shop in town where they did permanents etc. and I didn’t need that. This lady was a confirmed gossip and I grew to dislike her so I asked mom if I could cut my own. She laughed and told me to try it – nothing to it.

The main part of Kootenay Lake was about 100 miles long; Nelson was on the West Arm about 20 miles from the Min Lake. Just below our house the channel narrowed and the lake became a river. We could feel the current flowing past our point. The main beach, boathouse and dock were in a protected bay and we were not much affected by the current except at high water. Wind could generate huge waves on the Main Lake. Even at Nelson, a small vessel had better make for shore in a storm. My father was very strict about safety procedures around boats and docks.

One does not remember events sequentially so this whole narrative is rather disjointed. An Indian family came to our shore in a birch bark canoe and asked permission to camp on our land when they picked huckleberries. Mother gave them permission to use the site later sold to Dan and Dee (Desjardins) McKay. I was 5 or 6 and watched them from a distance, put off by their strange garb and appearance. But the boys helped tem cut the poles and erect their tepee. They were friendly and spoke English.

Indians must have resided on this property in the past. Bob showed them his flint collection. He also found a stone mortar. They used a mortar and pestle to grind their grain into flour. Bob was fascinated at an early age by the earth’s geology and was eternally searching and collecting rocks, shells and such along the shore. Forgot to mention how religious differences affected our lives. Dad went along with we children being raised Catholic and contributed a great deal to the school and parish – he built the convent. The nuns used our place across the lake for a retreat and our cars were often at their disposal. However, mother never ceased trying to convert him and it really was a constant source of friction in our house. Non-Catholics are not supposed to be buried in Catholic consecrated ground but my dad is buried there.

Dinty has a similar experience in his upbringing – two opposing religions to content with. So when we got married we wished to present a united front and chose a neutral religion – Episcopal. Our church was not too far and the children went to Sunday school for whatever benefit they derived from that. None are very religious but that may change as they see the end looking up.

My dad’s mother was Anne Buchan. Her brother’s son, John Buchan was appointed Governor General of Canada by the British Crown in 1935. I was training in Denver at the time I think it was extremely odd that I was not informed that father’s cousin was the Governor General until Uncle Harry wrote me. John was also an author and wrote “The 39 Steps” from which Alfred Hitchcock produced a movie. John was called Lord Tweedsmuir and Tweedsmuir Park in BC’s Chilcotin country was named for him.

The park was established in 1936 with approximately 3.5 million acres or 5400 square miles. National Geographic April 1938 issue has a 26 page article about the park written by Lady Tweedsmuir. There are many pictures. She states that the park is for the most part a high table land with an average elevation between two and three thousand feet most of it is a mosaic of noble lakes. I have that National Geographic issue if anyone would like copies.

Dad built a little rustic cedar summer house at the point and we frequently built a fire and had our dinners there. At night the reflection of the lights of Nelson on the water was beautiful. The CPR ran along the lake on the town side and the main highway was above it. All of us on the North Shore kept our boats in boathouse reached by wooden floats. Dad bought an old house near the waterfront on the Nelson side and used it for a garage and storage space.

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The little cedar shelter at the point often used for sleeping and tea parties

As we got older, we could row or take the outboard over town to go to the movies, a ball game or play tennis. Sometimes we took the street car to Lakeside Park. By age 14, I was on the tennis team and by 15; I was driving to nearby towns for tournaments.

Like most teenagers we were restless and dissatisfied with the status quo. My father sold his construction business in 1929. He and mother decided to build a summer resort at Ainsworth Hot Springs. Ainsworth is on the Main Lake some 28 miles from Nelson. They built a hotel and swimming pool and cottages. In order to prevent others from tapping into the hot springs, they had to buy up quite a bit f the town. Since it is only open in the summer, it wasn’t a very lucrative investment. There was a silver – lead ore vein under the property so they eventually sold it to a mining company.

I was 14-15 at the time. They did not spend much time across the lake that summer but we teens did. One night Gerry Dennison and I decided to we would go tom the rowing club dance. The clubhouse is a floating building. Everyone wore formals and we smuggled our across the lake. We are now 16-17 and the club members are all adults. We had a great time. About 11 PM, a fire broke out on Baker Street so we didn’t want to miss that so a group of us walked up. We sort of stood out in that crowd in our long formal dresses and who did we run into but Geryl’s parents. Disaster!

We had quite a few parties there. The glass tray on mother’s tea table was broken. I took it over to Angus McKenzie who ran dad’s millworks shop and he fixed it – no questions asked. Then my brother’s friends started snooping around and we decided to lock them out. In doing so the double hung window broke and dropped on Geryl’s hand cutting it badly. WE had to take her over town to have it stitched. Back to Angus to have the window glass replaced. He never squealed on us.

Started playing golf. My father owned a share in Country Club (helped build it) so I got to play free. None of my friends played so I played with the caddies who were kids I went to school with. By 15 I had a favourite boy friend. Very handsome with the very shiny, slicked down hair which was in vogue then a la Rudolph Valentino – the current movie idol. There was only one movie in town and it didn’t change shows too frequently so we were limited there. But lots of parties. My older brother and his friends had a band and played at dances and parties. Bob played the violin, Jack the saxophone and Ted the piano and trumpet.

In my earlier years there were few roads. What roads there were narrow and rough. They were mostly one-car wide. Whenever you met another car, one of the other would have to back up to the nearest turn out. The rugged winters were very rough on these dirt roads. The country spent all summer grading, repairing and filling pot holes. Then the winter came and tore them up again. Come spring back to the road repairs, detours, etc.

The Main Lake and West Arm were serviced by three paddle wheelers, the Nasookin, the Kuskanook and the Moyie. They handled all of the mail and freight and passengers that the trains didn’t.

I went to Cranbrook to visit friends. Ted drove me to Balfour where I took the Kuskanook to cross the Main Lake and my friends would meet me on the other side. My hat blew off the dock and the post-man retrieved it. He wore the standard mailman’s uniform, but went bare-foot all summer. Nobody cared!

Around town all of the freight, coal and wood were delivered by heavy drag-horses. The steep hills were very slippery and it was a long time before they were replaced by trucks. One winter a group of teenagers came speeding down the hill on a bob-sled about the time a horse and sleigh were crossing a lower street. They went under the horse and sleigh and all made it safely, except the last person – a girl- and the horse lost balance3 and fell on her. Instant death. Actually, one steep street was set aside for sledders, where a patrolman handled traffic. So they were sledding illegally. One of my older brothers’ friends came home drunk one night. Forgot his key so he settled down on the front porch – froze to death. It was not a forgiving climate.

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We had funny papers then. The Katzenjammer Kids – were always in trouble. And their father was always spanking them and the mother standing by and saying “What did dey done?”Then there was Happy Hooligan, Maggie and Jiggs, Moon Mullins. Grandma took the Glasgow Herald and always saved it for me for the cartoons.

Bob went away to Gonzaga University in Spokane. He was there at the same time as Bing Crosby, then unknown. Next year he went to Santa Clara, a university in California where he became interested in Geology. He switched to the Colorado School of Mines at Golden, Colorado – about 12 miles from Denver. Jack decided he wanted to be a Mining Engineer, so he also went to the Mining School Ted went to a private school in Vancouver and then to Santa Clara.

In the meantime, I wanted to go somewhere to school but dad wanted me to stay home and get married and he would build me a house on one of his lots, but I was not ready for domestic life.

In June 1933, the year I graduated from High School, Bob graduated as a Geologist and came home with two of his friends from Mines: Sal Cavello from Seattle and Bubbles from New York. Radium had been discovered in the pitch blend at Lake Athabasca in Northern Canada. Radium was then worth $5000.00 an ounce. They decided to take a prospecting survey and possibly stake some claims. All three of them were geologists. They bought their supplies, including a seventeen foot canoe, in Edmonton, Alberta. They took the train north of there as far as it went – about 400 miles – into the North West Territories – which is North of Canada between there and the Arctic Ocean. There are three big lakes. Lake Athabasca, Great Slave and Great Bear. The land is flat and full of lakes and swamps. They planned to canoe on the water areas and portage in between.

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Bob Burns. Colorado School of Mines Photo

When one enters the North West Territory which is bleak and sparsely populated, you register with the RCMP giving your approximate destination and expected time of arrival. The small villages are few and far between. If you don’t turn up according to your schedule, they start looking for you. Those big lakes are treacherous and when the wind blows up in that flat country, the waves can e as high and turbulent as ocean waves. Mother made them promise not to cross the lake but to skirt the shore. They left Fort McMurray and when they did not turn up at Fort Chipewyan on schedule. The police initiated a search and notified my parents.

There was an island mid way toward the lower part of the lake. Apparently they decided to take that route instead of going all the way around the lower end. They were caught in a big storm and never made it.

My Parents chartered a plane and searched that vast country but no sign of them. Sometime later, an Indian named peter Blue found Bob’s body. His fingernails were badly torn. Apparently there are steep cliffs along the shore and he could not get a handhold to pull himself up. He was buried at Fort Chippawyan.

At this tragic time, I was ready to graduate from high school –June 1933. There were four of us in our class. We all had to take a government exam which was required by all schools to maintain a certain standard of education. We always had more than enough units to enter any American university.

I applied for and was accepted by St. Vincent’s School of nursing in Portland OR. First the tonsils had to go and we were required to take a pre- nursing course at the University of Oregon’s medical school. I boarded with the school’s artist’s family on the north east side and back and forth to school with her.

Jack was still at Mines and lonesome without Bob. At that time, a Canadian could only attend an American school that was on a preferred list St. Joseph’s Nursing School went through whatever procedure required and then I discovered that their schedule differed from St.Vincent’s and I would have to repeat part of my probationary period. His wasn’t much of a deterrent so I proceeded to Denver

A Canadian, in order to obtain a student visa or a work permit was required to have a banker’s certification of my father’s ability to support me. A letter from the Chief of Police and a health certificate from a doctor. How did all those Mexicans and Asians get in here so easily? Jack belonged to the Kappa Sigma fraternity so I was invited to lots of Mines parties and dances and often had meals at the house. Jack was a good student – belonged to Tau Beta the honorary engineering society.

Jean wrote this in 1993 and died in 1998.

After she graduated from St. Joseph’s School of Nursing in Denver, she married C. A. ( Dinty) Moore who was in the newspaper business in Sacramento. She spent the rest of her life there. The last time she came to Nelson was in 1984 when she visited with her daughters Molly and Celia and two of her grandchildren – Meaghan and Katie.

Notes on the History of the Burns Family

Jean Burns Moore

1993

John Burns and my mother, Rose were married about 1909 and went to Victoria on their honeymoon. My father’s family were Scotch Presbyterian and my mother’s were French Catholic (Rose probably had some Indian ancestors as did the Bill Desjardin’s family). There were very strong religious prejudices at that time and mother was not made to feel welcome by the Burns’ tribe. She never forgave them.

Nelson is rather off the beaten track, so of necessity he and his father accumulated their own lumber yard, sash and door factory- where they did all the necessary manufacturing and assembling of windows, doors, cupboards and all millwork. Also owned their own marble and granite quarries and a brick yard.

Dad’s brother Harry and wife Mildred and two sons, Gordon and Bill later moved to Nelson. Harry had a lumber mill at Taghum five miles west of Nelson and a retail store in Nelson. He held the first Forest Management licence in the interior. It was a very successful operation which they eventually sold.

Harry and dad were very close and he was a frequent visitor. Mildred tried to warm up to mother. She would invite for Thanksgiving, Christmas or whatever but my mother never accepted. My cousin Bill and I were close in age and friendly. Harry and Mildred were very kind to me and I was fond of all of them but my mother’s cold remoteness made us all uncomfortable.

I had three brothers: Robert John, John Wallace and Edward James. I was number three in appearance and my mother wanted to get away from the Scottish names. She wanted me to be called Marie Eugenie. They considered naming me Ypres since I was born on the eve of that World War I battle in France. When it came time to register me at the court house, dad couldn’t spell Eugenie let alone pronounce it so he registered me Mary Jean. Everyone called me Jean so I had it changed to Jean Marie when I was 18. I was born in our first home on Carbonate Street. It was a two story house with a full basement. Our homes were heated by a central furnace which burned wood and coal. Every house had a coal shed or a coal bin in the basement. The coal was delivered from the outside via a coal chute then broken up in the basement. This created a lot of black, sooty dust and each delivery necessitated extra housecleaning.

Had a barn entered from an alley behind the house. The barn housed our horse and his carriage and winter sleigh. Also a cow and some chickens. Even in the city one was awakened by the rooster’s crow.

My paternal grandparents were three doors from us and I was a frequent visitor mainly fore the cookies and ginger ale. Grandfather was big man at 6 feet, four inches, he died in 1916. I spent a lot of time at grandma’s and when I was about 3 to 4 years old, I stole her little metal pig which held the wind up key to her clock In my haste to make a quick getaway, I fell and broke piggie’s curl tail off. I was duly caught and scolded. Since I was the only girl in both families, I was petted and spoiled and made the best of it.

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Burns family: Left to right. Father John, Jean, Robert with Ted in front, jack and mother Rose

I was born in our first home on Carbonate Street. It was a two story house with a full basement. Our homes were heated by a central furnace which burned wood and coal. Every house had a coal shed or a coal bin in the basement. The coal was delivered from the outside via a coal chute then broken up in the basement. This created a lot of black, sooty dust and each delivery necessitated extra housecleaning.

Had a barn entered from an alley behind the house. The barn housed our horse and his carriage and winter sleigh. Also a cow and some chickens. Even in the city one was awakened by the rooster’s crow.

My paternal grandparents were three doors from us and I was a frequent visitor mainly fore the cookies and ginger ale. Grandfather was big man at 6 feet, four inches, he died in 1916. I spent a lot of time at grandma’s and when I was about 3 to 4 years old, I stole her little metal pig which held the wind up key to her clock In my haste to make a quick getaway, I fell and broke piggy’s curl tail off. I was duly caught and scolded. Since I was the only girl in both families, I was petted and spoiled and made the best of it.

I don’t have too many memories of our Carbonate Street house. The toilet was in a separate room from the rest of the bathroom. On occasion. I locked myself in and couldn’t open the lock and became panic stricken. He whole tribe assembled outside the door shouting instructions to no avail. My father finally up a ladder and climbed to the second story window which was fortunately unlocked. I was in there quite awhile because he was at work.

A neighbour boy named Beverly Caverhill threw a rock and hit me on the forehead at the hair line – I bled profusely. His mother was mortified and gave me a big consolation box of chocolates. I still have the scar. I played with two little girls a couple of doors away named Hazel and Stella. We nicknamed them Oggin and Woggin for reasons unknown. We played the usual kids’ games like hop scotch, skipping rope, run sheep run, sledding and double runner skating on the steep and icy streets. Our horse was named Buster – a sturdy maintain pony but not too speedy.

About the time I was two, my parents bought a vacation home across the lake near where the Murphy’s later lived. Naturally I fell off the wharf first thing. We spent most of our summers there and later bought the present North Shore home – about 40 acres. It was formerly a fruit ranch, originally called the Hoover Ranch. \we acquired it from a Captain McClain, a widower with two grown daughters. These homes could only be reached by boat. There was no power or telephone. Plumbing was an outhouse and we used coal oil lamps.

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Burns summer home across the lake from Nelson

The original brick house was one large room plus a kitchen. A screened sleeping porch was added also a two room screened sleeping shack. There was a trap door in the kitchen and stairs going down to the basement where we kept a cooler and screened cupboard for semi perishables. In the main room we had an ice box and dad hauled ice over in big chunks. If the weather was nice we stayed on in September and rowed back and forth to school. Dad built the big porch across the front himself.

Sometimes at night, I could hear the forest animals behind our shack. I hid under the covers sure that they would drop in any minute through that flimsy screen and devour me. Many animals came down to the lake for a drink in the evening. There were lynx, cougar, bear, deer and bobcat.

A recluse named Coal Oil Johnny (since that’s what he sold to make a bare living) built a cabin on the mountain near our water spring. We did not charge him rent for squatting there. After he died, dad gave Jack the cabin. They were into cigarettes by that time and managed to burn it down one night. He forestry department and the volunteer fire brigade were not pleased. It made a spectacular fire plainly visible from the town side of the lake.

To keep the younger children from the water, my father built a fence about a block long. This was a waste of time. We were forbidden to go down there unless accompanied by an adult or our older brothers. Ted and I were past masters of getting over, under or around that fence. One day we were playing on the wharf and Ted’s little sail boat got away. When he tried to retrieve it with an oar, he fell in. The water was about 6-7 feet deep, Ted was 4. He managed to get out by himself. I kept trying to get him to grab the oar. When we went up to the house, he was soaking wet – my mother almost fainted. When she asked him how he got out, he said he said that he just kept walking along the bottom until his head came up – took a breath and then back down to continue walking his way up the beach. We were water wise.

Most of my friends went to public schools but we all went to the convent. Bob took me the first day. Mother was busy with baby Ted. It was only a couple of blocks away from our town home so after that, I went to and from by myself.

I don’t remember when dad bought our first car, a McLaughlin Buick. I can still remember our horse and carriage and the sleigh in winter. I can still smell those buffalo skin lap robes which we also used in the car in the winter since they only had those izon glass windows which we fastened on. There were few cars – the winter roads were mainly impassable for those skinny tires.

We all learned to swim when we were quite young. Mother learned when I was about six; she did a slow breast stroke. Not sure if she could have rescued us if needed. Dad was a strict teacher – we were safety conscience.

Mother did not learn to drive a car until her late 40’s. She usually proceeded cautiously at 5-10 mph. Since dad was in town during the week, he did most of the shopping. We usually came in Saturday to shop also.

My mother was fond of clothes and usually well dressed. She bought a lot of our clothes in Spokane. She sewed very well, she even made hats. I had a black sateen dress embroider with ducks, flowers and such with matching panties that I loved. She copied it in taffeta and I wore that for good occasions like Sundays, teas or other social events. I was 8-9.

In a small town, you make your own fun. There were lots of parties, teas and dances. My mother loved to dance – my father was less enthused.

Our winters were long and cold. I wore long under wear to school. Girls did not wear slacks. We folded the underwear and tucked into the stockings and the high top, laced or buttoned shoes with a button hook. The rooms were steam heated but one side was always cold.

Shortly after I started school, we moved into a big house at 820 Stanley Street – The Madden House after the hotel people. My mother had a lot of fun doing it over although it was fine as it was. Dad was also an architect so worked out a design that suited her. Now the entry is at the side in the front and the stairway goes up from the den with two turns and landings. Original entry was center front and the stairway went straight up from the entry hall. She added a bath downstairs.

At Christmas time, everyone had a live tree. You could cut one any place, there were zillions of them. We used little candles in holders that clipped onto the branches. Ted leaned too close once and caught his hair on fire. He was a tow head and mother, wanting another girl, kept him in a buster brown haircut with bangs.

The sisters were big on drama. We had a parish hall with a stage and each year we put on a play. All ages participated. I was once a fairy queen and wore a long yellow organdie dress with a train and had to sing a solo. Another time I was airiest, an Indian Maid and an Irish milk maid. The boys only attended the convent until the eighth grade and then went on to the public high school. One of the high school girls was a good looking red head named Josephine who was playing the part of Father Marquette who had a mission and mainly his time trying to convert the Indians. In this scene “he” he was supposed to be landing the canoe at their village. Josephine forgot to button her cassock all the way and she brought the house down when a lot of leg and thigh were revealed when she tried to step out of the canoe.

Each spring we prepared to move across the lake for the summer. Our place was directly across from town – about a quarter mile. The move included daisy our cow. The first time dad rented a barge and towed her over. She didn’t like that at all. So thereafter dad and the boys took her through town to the ferry (some two miles) crossed her then bush wacked another two miles over some rough country to our place

We had two black water spaniels Mutt and Jeff. We towed them and some supplies in a rowboat pulled by our launch. One year the lake was very stormy while we were crossing and the row boat overturned. Dad set it loose then took us to shore. He then returned for the boat. We children were all crying because we knew our dogs had drowned. These smart rascals knew there was an air space and sat quietly on the underside of the upturned seat. They knew somebody would pick them up. We also had some chickens and rabbits which also had to be transported. Ted had a pet bantam rooster that followed him everywhere. He carried it around in a bucket. The rooster finally drowned in the cow’s water trough.

Water was always a problem. Our source was a spring by the path that goes up to Pulpit Rock above our first lakeside house. The pipes were above ground or buried shallow so they froze each winter. Every spring we went along the line replacing joints and connectors that burst or were leaking. We had a wooden storage tank near the orchard and it too had occasional leaks.Some years there was a water shortage and we couldn’t have a garden. WE had lots of fruit trees: apples, cherries, peaches and plums as well as berries like strawberries, raspberries, currants and gooseberries. There were huckleberries in the woods. Mother usually had flowers. We rowed over to The Chinese vegetable garden directly opposite us on the CPR Flats. So named because it is one of the non-hilly areas of Nelson – most of which is steep, rising abruptly from the lake. The CPR had a round house and repair shop there. We could safely roam anywhere on our 45 acres. Lots to do – hunting, fishing, hiking, swimming and boating. The older boy’s friends were often at our place. They came by boat. But I had no one to play with so I attached myself to them and they were eternally trying to ditch me. On one occasion I invited myself to go mountain climbing. Crossing a steep cliff they were going to climb down to a narrow ledge. “Ladies first” and they carefully lowered me. They left me there and went up to the top of the mountain. I was forced to wait until they decided to come back and haul me back up.

We dressed up and came to church on Sundays. We had a motor launch, an outboard, a rowboat and a rowing canoe and spent most of our time in or around the lake. In the fall we returned home and the lake house was shuttered and closed. It was strictly a summer house – no central heat. A few times when the lake froze, we skated across and brought a lunch. Our kitchen stove was a wood burning range. When the lake was frozen we sometimes went ice boating. The boat was equipped with skate- like runners and a sail. It ran very fast and was difficult to navigate on the slick ice – really dangerous. My dad would ordinarily not let me do it but his long time bachelor clerk built a really neat one and I went many times – very fast. Lawrence was good looking, shy and spoke with a lisp but very trustworthy.

Living in such a wild environment we became familiar with death at an early age. My best friend Veronica, age 7, died of pneumonia. Victoria – same age- drowned in the creek that ran by their house. All were laid out in coffins for us to view and they looked terrible. Someone was always drowning in the summer or falling off a cliff or going through the ice on the frozen ponds. Ours were not man- made but natural hazards.

One day when Jack was picking huckleberries, he came upon a young bear cub in the forest and brought it home much to the consternation of Mac, our collie. Dad made him take it back to where he had picked it up; saying mother could be along any minute. From then on Jack acquired the nickname of ‘cub’.

We all skied. Our skis were turned out in dad’s factory. The bindings were a simple strap across the top of the foot and one around the heel. There were no ski hills or rope tows. We often hiked up to the old Silver King mine, and then skied down the road which was a series of switch-backs and horseshoe turns. We used one pole – which was just that – a sturdy branch.

There was a community of Doukobours not far from Nelson. These were Russians who rebelled against Lenin’s tyranny. They lived on communal farms with multi-family housing. Whatever produce they produced wheat, cattle, whatever – everything was shared. They came into town every Saturday and had produce stalls on Vernon St.

They objected to sending their children to school and would stage protest parades – naked. They tended to be obese, and had their own language and religion. They would occasionally blow up a rail-road bridge as a form of protest.

When their leader died, they wrapped his body in hundreds of yards of blue silk. They posted 24 hour guards at this tomb, so that the devil couldn’t come and steal the body.

I played soft-ball and basketball, the latter at the Parish hall during our gym period. We were bloomers for gym, which are like full cut pedal pushers gathered below the knee. We played badminton all winter and tennis in the summer. The boys played hockey, rugby, basketball and hunted and fished. I was the only one who played golf, which seemed a sissy game to them.

A lady barber used to cut my hair. There was one beauty shop in town where they did permanents etc. and I didn’t need that. This lady was a confirmed gossip and I grew to dislike her so I asked mom if I could cut my own. She laughed and told me to try it – nothing to it.

The main part of Kootenay Lake was about 100 miles long; Nelson was on the West Arm about 20 miles from the Min Lake. Just below our house the channel narrowed and the lake became a river. We could feel the current flowing past our point. The main beach, boathouse and dock were in a protected bay and we were not much affected by the current except at high water. Wind could generate huge waves on the Main Lake. Even at Nelson, a small vessel had better make for shore in a storm. My father was very strict about safety procedures around boats and docks.

One does not remember events sequentially so this whole narrative is rather disjointed. An Indian family came to our shore in a birch bark canoe and asked permission to camp on our land when they picked huckleberries. Mother gave them permission to use the site later sold to Dan and Dee (Desjardins) McKay. I was 5 or 6 and watched them from a distance, put off by their strange garb and appearance. But the boys helped tem cut the poles and erect their tepee. They were friendly and spoke English.

Indians must have resided on this property in the past. Bob showed them his flint collection. He also found a stone mortar. They used a mortar and pestle to grind their grain into flour. Bob was fascinated at an early age by the earth’s geology and was eternally searching and collecting rocks, shells and such along the shore. Forgot to mention how religious differences affected our lives. Dad went along with we children being raised Catholic and contributed a great deal to the school and parish – he built the convent. The nuns used our place across the lake for a retreat and our cars were often at their disposal. However, mother never ceased trying to convert him and it really was a constant source of friction in our house. Non-Catholics are not supposed to be buried in Catholic consecrated ground but my dad is buried there.

Dinty has a similar experience in his upbringing – two opposing religions to content with. So when we got married we wished to present a united front and chose a neutral religion – Episcopal. Our church was not too far and the children went to Sunday school for whatever benefit they derived from that. None are very religious but that may change as they see the end looking up.

My dad’s mother was Anne Buchan. Her brother’s son, John Buchan was appointed Governor General of Canada by the British Crown in 1935. I was training in Denver at the time I think it was extremely odd that I was not informed that father’s cousin was the Governor General until Uncle Harry wrote me. John was also an author and wrote “The 39 Steps” from which Alfred Hitchcock produced a movie. John was called Lord Tweedsmuir and Tweedsmuir Park in BC’s Chilcotin country was named for him.

The park was established in 1936 with approximately 3.5 million acres or 5400 square miles. National Geographic April 1938 issue has a 26 page article about the park written by Lady Tweedsmuir. There are many pictures. She states that the park is for the most part a high table land with an average elevation between two and three thousand feet most of it is a mosaic of noble lakes. I have that National Geographic issue if anyone would like copies.

Dad built a little rustic cedar summer house at the point and we frequently built a fire and had our dinners there. At night the reflection of the lights of Nelson on the water was beautiful. The CPR ran along the lake on the town side and the main highway was above it. All of us on the North Shore kept our boats in boathouse reached by wooden floats. Dad bought an old house near the waterfront on the Nelson side and used it for a garage and storage space.

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The little cedar shelter at the point often used for sleeping and tea parties

As we got older, we could row or take the outboard over town to go to the movies, a ball game or play tennis. Sometimes we took the street car to Lakeside Park. By age 14, I was on the tennis team and by 15; I was driving to nearby towns for tournaments.

Like most teenagers we were restless and dissatisfied with the status quo. My father sold his construction business in 1929. He and mother decided to build a summer resort at Ainsworth Hot Springs. Ainsworth is on the Main Lake some 28 miles from Nelson. They built a hotel and swimming pool and cottages. In order to prevent others from tapping into the hot springs, they had to buy up quite a bit f the town. Since it is only open in the summer, it wasn’t a very lucrative investment. There was a silver – lead ore vein under the property so they eventually sold it to a mining company.

I was 14-15 at the time. They did not spend much time across the lake that summer but we teens did. One night Gerry Dennison and I decided to we would go tom the rowing club dance. The clubhouse is a floating building. Everyone wore formals and we smuggled our across the lake. We are now 16-17 and the club members are all adults. We had a great time. About 11 PM, a fire broke out on Baker Street so we didn’t want to miss that so a group of us walked up. We sort of stood out in that crowd in our long formal dresses and who did we run into but Geryl’s parents. Disaster!

We had quite a few parties there. The glass tray on mother’s tea table was broken. I took it over to Angus McKenzie who ran dad’s millworks shop and he fixed it – no questions asked. Then my brother’s friends started snooping around and we decided to lock them out. In doing so the double hung window broke and dropped on Geryl’s hand cutting it badly. WE had to take her over town to have it stitched. Back to Angus to have the window glass replaced. He never squealed on us.

Started playing golf. My father owned a share in Country Club (helped build it) so I got to play free. None of my friends played so I played with the caddies who were kids I went to school with. By 15 I had a favourite boy friend. Very handsome with the very shiny, slicked down hair which was in vogue then a la Rudolph Valentino – the current movie idol. There was only one movie in town and it didn’t change shows too frequently so we were limited there. But lots of parties. My older brother and his friends had a band and played at dances and parties. Bob played the violin, Jack the saxophone and Ted the piano and trumpet.

In my earlier years there were few roads. What roads there were narrow and rough. They were mostly one-car wide. Whenever you met another car, one of the other would have to back up to the nearest turn out. The rugged winters were very rough on these dirt roads. The country spent all summer grading, repairing and filling pot holes. Then the winter came and tore them up again. Come spring back to the road repairs, detours, etc.

The Main Lake and West Arm were serviced by three paddle wheelers, the Nasookin, the Kuskanook and the Moyie. They handled all of the mail and freight and passengers that the trains didn’t.

I went to Cranbrook to visit friends. Ted drove me to Balfour where I took the Kuskanook to cross the Main Lake and my friends would meet me on the other side. My hat blew off the dock and the post-man retrieved it. He wore the standard mailman’s uniform, but went bare-foot all summer. Nobody cared!

Around town all of the freight, coal and wood were delivered by heavy drag-horses. The steep hills were very slippery and it was a long time before they were replaced by trucks. One winter a group of teenagers came speeding down the hill on a bob-sled about the time a horse and sleigh were crossing a lower street. They went under the horse and sleigh and all made it safely, except the last person – a girl- and the horse lost balance3 and fell on her. Instant death. Actually, one steep street was set aside for sledders, where a patrolman handled traffic. So they were sledding illegally. One of my older brothers’ friends came home drunk one night. Forgot his key so he settled down on the front porch – froze to death. It was not a forgiving climate.

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We had funny papers then. The Katzenjammer Kids – were always in trouble. And their father was always spanking them and the mother standing by and saying “What did dey done?”Then there was Happy Hooligan, Maggie and Jiggs, Moon Mullins. Grandma took the Glasgow Herald and always saved it for me for the cartoons.

Bob went away to Gonzaga University in Spokane. He was there at the same time as Bing Crosby, then unknown. Next year he went to Santa Clara, a university in California where he became interested in Geology. He switched to the Colorado School of Mines at Golden, Colorado – about 12 miles from Denver. Jack decided he wanted to be a Mining Engineer, so he also went to the Mining School Ted went to a private school in Vancouver and then to Santa Clara.

In the meantime, I wanted to go somewhere to school but dad wanted me to stay home and get married and he would build me a house on one of his lots, but I was not ready for domestic life.

In June 1933, the year I graduated from High School, Bob graduated as a Geologist and came home with two of his friends from Mines: Sal Cavello from Seattle and Bubbles from New York. Radium had been discovered in the pitch blend at Lake Athabasca in Northern Canada. Radium was then worth $5000.00 an ounce. They decided to take a prospecting survey and possibly stake some claims. All three of them were geologists. They bought their supplies, including a seventeen foot canoe, in Edmonton, Alberta. They took the train north of there as far as it went – about 400 miles – into the North West Territories – which is North of Canada between there and the Arctic Ocean. There are three big lakes. Lake Athabasca, Great Slave and Great Bear. The land is flat and full of lakes and swamps. They planned to canoe on the water areas and portage in between.

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Bob Burns. Colorado School of Mines Photo

When one enters the North West Territory which is bleak and sparsely populated, you register with the RCMP giving your approximate destination and expected time of arrival. The small villages are few and far between. If you don’t turn up according to your schedule, they start looking for you. Those big lakes are treacherous and when the wind blows up in that flat country, the waves can e as high and turbulent as ocean waves. Mother made them promise not to cross the lake but to skirt the shore. They left Fort McMurray and when they did not turn up at Fort Chipewyan on schedule. The police initiated a search and notified my parents.

There was an island mid way toward the lower part of the lake. Apparently they decided to take that route instead of going all the way around the lower end. They were caught in a big storm and never made it.

My Parents chartered a plane and searched that vast country but no sign of them. Sometime later, an Indian named peter Blue found Bob’s body. His fingernails were badly torn. Apparently there are steep cliffs along the shore and he could not get a handhold to pull himself up. He was buried at Fort Chippawyan.

At this tragic time, I was ready to graduate from high school –June 1933. There were four of us in our class. We all had to take a government exam which was required by all schools to maintain a certain standard of education. We always had more than enough units to enter any American university.

I applied for and was accepted by St. Vincent’s School of nursing in Portland OR. First the tonsils had to go and we were required to take a pre- nursing course at the University of Oregon’s medical school. I boarded with the school’s artist’s family on the north east side and back and forth to school with her.

Jack was still at Mines and lonesome without Bob. At that time, a Canadian could only attend an American school that was on a preferred list St. Joseph’s Nursing School went through whatever procedure required and then I discovered that their schedule differed from St.Vincent’s and I would have to repeat part of my probationary period. His wasn’t much of a deterrent so I proceeded to Denver

A Canadian, in order to obtain a student visa or a work permit was required to have a banker’s certification of my father’s ability to support me. A letter from the Chief of Police and a health certificate from a doctor. How did all those Mexicans and Asians get in here so easily? Jack belonged to the Kappa Sigma fraternity so I was invited to lots of Mines parties and dances and often had meals at the house. Jack was a good student – belonged to Tau Beta the honorary engineering society.

Jean wrote this in 1993 and died in 1998.

After she graduated from St. Joseph’s School of Nursing in Denver, she married C. A. ( Dinty) Moore who was in the newspaper business in Sacramento. She spent the rest of her life there. The last time she came to Nelson was in 1984 when she visited with her daughters Molly and Celia and two of her grandchildren – Meaghan and Katie.

 

Skiing at the Golf Course

January 17th, 2024

Skiing at The Golf Course

Skiing in Nelson has a surprisingly long history. I am not totally aware of all of it but I do know large parts of it especially the years when our hill was located above the golf course partly up the slope of Morning Mountain. Those were in the 1950’s – the years I started to ski. My first skis were a Christmas gift in about 1953. I dug them out a few years ago and was surprised they were still serviceable. Small and skinny but usable. Of course skiing is as much about looking hip and up to date with the latest and most expensive gear as it is how fast you can get down. So I just couldn’t use the old beat up boards. They were so old that you had to paint a base on them and apply wax. No steel edges and the harnesses were of the bear trap variety. The boots were old rubber gum boots.

The next year brought safety harnesses that snapped your foot right down and leather boots that did not wander but were hard and clunky to walk in. Indeed.

My uphill friends were among the first kids to use the new hill: Tom Ramsay, Gary Kilpatrick, Gary Higgs and Clare Palmer were in the first bunch. We would get up early and ski to the hill. Before it opened we were so ready to go that we sometimes skid up to the Silver King Mine so we could ski down the winding and super narrow road. We stopped for lunch and to feed the Camp Robbers half way up. One time we went into the cook house and I found a big jar of frozen peanut butter on a shelf above the stove. I tried to edge it down but misjudged and it fell on the stove top. The jar did not break but the stove top did

the stove I wiggled it to the edge and it fell on the stove. I cringed thinking of the mess it would make when it broke. It did not break or crack, the stove lid did.

We cleared out after that and braved the road down. The early skis were not so easy to turn so we simply crashed into most of the corners as we scooted down the hill. The best skiing was in the farm fields of Rosemont. In those years that’s largely what Rosemont was along with frequent patches of forest.

The ski hill was small but very interesting for young learners. The lift was a rope strung around the rim of a model A which sat on blocks at the bottom of the hill. The rope ran up to another rim in a tree some 500 m up the hill. From the tree, there was a narrow track that led to the main hill which featured a steep downhill pitch that climbed up to a flat where the Model A was situated. If you were fast enough on the downhill, you breezed up to the flat and right into the lineup

Since my pals and I were often the first skiers to arrive we sometimes had the hill to ourselves early in the day. We would ski down to a barn where the gas was stored, fill up the Model A then fire it up.

Next came a wild ride to the top. It was sometimes a more exciting ski up the rope than it was down the hill. If Gary Kilpatrick was running the Model A it was all one could do to hang on because he floored it. Eventually John Fink got hung up on the tree rim and we had a hard time getting him loose. That pretty well ended our manning the tow.

We started exploring around the golf course buildings poking our noses into places that were off limits. Eventually we found the beer.

If you reached into a crack in the building door you could feel open cases of beer. You couldn’t drag anything out or grab bottles but you could get a tenuous finger grip on the tops of some bottles. So we fished a few out from time to time and drank them in the woods on the way home. Gary Higgs drank a bunch one time and started doing flips off stumps. He was celebrating with vigor but no harm was done except perhaps to a few thirsty golfers in the summer

Skiing in Nelson has always been a quest for more reliable snow. It started in the Fairview Gravel Pit operated by my grandfather and great grandfather. This was OK for a few years but the club moved to the golf course and the lower slopes of Morning Mountain next. This was great fun but could not last as the weather became more unstable. By the late 1950s, it started to rain in the winter. I was shocked but it was by n means a common occurrence happening perhaps once or twice a year. But it was enough to spook the ski club into seeking higher ground. We started clearing Silver King, a densely forested slope off Ymir road. The forest was thicker than hair on a dog’s back and there was little merchantable timber in the mix. Most of the wood was stacked and burned.

I remember the first day we started. How discouraging it was to work in the thick cover of small hemlocks and Douglas fir with lodge pole pine. It seemed an impossible task but the stalwart skiers of Nelson soldiered on. Danny and Dee McKay, Fred and Edna Whitely, Walt and Naida Palmer, Bill Murphy, Bill and Buddy Ramsay and their kids. What seemed impossible happened in a couple of years there was a cleared hill and a T Bar.

I remember hauling up a part for the lift . It was a large square part that I hung around my neck. I walked up one of the old California Mine Roads and dropped the part at the top of the lift. To walk or ski down was the next question? It was getting dark and a long haul back down the road. I knew I would not be able to maintain control on the very steep and unpacked hill but went down anyway. The first idiot to schuss the Silver King. I fell about a third of the way down. It was a real tumble but no damage was done.

I skied at Silver King a fair bit more but we moved to California in 1958 there was excellent skiing there at places like Squaw Valley, Heavenly Valley and Mount Rose. I was not to ski in Nelson again until Whitewater came on. It was a crown land project and Al Raine (Provincial ski co-coordinator), myself (biologist) and Ross Lake (Nelson Ski Club) went up to finalize the Crown Agreement.

Finally Nelson had an alpine hill with enough elevation to stay above the mild, rainy days that now plague all the ski hills on this warming planet.

 

,,

 

Chester

January 17th, 2024

CHESTER

As I read thru Alex Kershaw’s Jack London – a Life it occurs to me that two of London’s most popular and acclaimed stories were about dogs. I was also a strong fan of dog stories and was almost always reading a Jack O Brien story like Silver Chief Dog of the North or something by James Oliver Curwood . Then I reasoned why read about them? We had a dog that was every bit as colourful and interesting as any dog of story: Chester was a big, brawling Chesapeake Bay Retriever that was our beloved family dog for about 15 years. We got him as a pup from the McQuarrie family who lived on the North Shore of Nelson near Gordon and Ramona Burn’s summer house off what is now Johnstone Road.

Little did we know that this innocent puppy would bring a rollicking life of good times and high adventure that had to be lived to be believed? Even now, I still marvel at the memories.

Chester became a large curly fellow who lived life to the fullest no matter where we lived. Life with Chess was one of constant surprise. One of the first was the realization that he hated cats. He didn’t just chase them, he killed them. When we lived on Kootenay Street, the old street car barns were next door. Feral cats hung out there and they occasionally wandered through our backyard. Chess was in vigilante mode and attacked when a cat showed. One day a smallish cat showed up and Chess chased him up small maple. As the cat paused to gloat, he forgot his tail was hanging down. Chess jumped up and grabbed it. Game over.

Chester also felt obliged to fight any dog he considered a challenge, so we had some wild brawls.

Chess.jpg

Chess was serious about these fights and some lasted a long time. A neighbour across the lake (Barbara Lang) had a large boxer who also didn’t mind a scrap. They tangled near Gram’s flower bed until they were absolutely spent. Beau (a white dog) was pink with spilled blood. I think Chess got the worst of it. He usually won the first parts of brawls from surprise. H e would charge his opponent bowling them over then go to work but when dogs survived the first hit, Chess could be in for a battle. In the end of this one Beau had Chess by the throat and would not let go. But Beau was holding on to the loose fur of Chester’s ruff doing no harm. Dad finally took the hose to the boneheads before they ran off to lick their wounds.

Chess also liked to eat and required a lot of food. Not long after we had Chess, a new Safeway store opened in Fairview. To mark the occasion, they had a dog food eating contest. Tommy took Chess to the contest that was no contest. They opened the cans of meat above the bowels and were going to spoon out the content. Chester’s meat came out in a one piece blob the shape of the can. Before it landed in the bowel, Chess has snapped it out of the air and swallowed it. He won hands down. Tommy was so proud.

beachboys.jpg

Chess at the beach with Tom and Ross and Rod McKay

Chesapeake’s are one of the best water dogs and Chester was true to form. He was always in or around the water whether there was someone to play with or not. He would fetch his own sticks and rocks and dive for bottles or cans from the boathouse. The dog was interested in everything to do with water. He would swim across the lake and follow us to school even if Mom locked him in the house for an hour or so. When we lived at Kootenay Street he often followed us to church On one occasion on a snowy day around Christmas we just settled our seats near the front of the church when there was a ruckus back by the door I felt a stab of panic. Could it be? He was not around when we left in a second or two there he was, Racing down the aisle. Covered with an inch of wet now. Deliriously happy to find his family. He climbed over everyone in the row shaking and wagging his tail as he passed and licking the faces of people he knew. When he reached us he would sit quietly and pretend to be listening to the sermon until the service ended, then he would charge outside and look for a dog to fight.

Another winter pastime was hockey. He would play with us all day and never seem to tire. On one occasion, he noticed a small flock of mallards keeping a patch of water open by swimming around and around so it would not freeze

Chess charged and launched himself after the ducks. He swam around chasing them for a long time. We thought he might freeze. But he climbed and shook like it was a summer day then resumed chasing the puck as he turned white with frost and his feet bled on the ice.

When I took him fishing he would sit by the rod tip waiting for a bite then launch himself into the water to grab the fish which was usually swimming to freedom by then, Chess would swim in circles looking for it for the longest time. I should have left him home but didn’t have the

Heart for it besides he would eventually show up anyway chesschamp.JPG

Tommy left ad Chess at Safeway openingin t 195? when Chess won a dog food eating cpntest

Chess was a dog with low impulse control. He was also a glutton.

In the spring I would take him walking along the west part of the beach where there were salt licks. We would get spring water Gram liked for her tea then cut up to the orchard and circle back home. The snow was melting and we found a dead coyote by the spring. I had a quick look and carried on. The carcass was in a state of decomposition. Indeed. I was almost home when I noticed Chess wasn’t with me. I

circled back and sure enough he had devoured the coyote maggots and all!

In summers we often had supper on the porch and food would sometimes sit for awhile unattended. This was too much for Chess. He grabbed both a turkey and a ham and ran for cover. Both times dad hacked him pretty good with a hockey stick but it hardly fazed him. Food was never left to sit again.

Another revelation was his hatred of squirrels. They seemed to know and relish in taunting him. There was a giant fir beside our driveway and a little red squirrel would dash out on the trunk and scold Chester to the edge of madness. He never got within reach of Chester but came pretty close.

In 1958 it was off to California and a new set of adventures. First we lived in Sunnyvale where Chester indulged himself with neighbourhood females. A poodle next door was the first victim so Chess-a-poos added diversity to the local fauna. He could not be contained there either even by a high fence. I watched him leap it one time. He ran at it and leaped high getting his front feet a bit over it. Then he pulled himself up and over.

Next stop was Los Altos where there was a ravine with a seasonal creek and some large oak trees with squirrels! Large California Grey Squirrels who delighted in taunting Chester. They knew where he rested beside a sliding glass door looking over the back yard. The squirrels would sneak right up to the door and chatter at the dog that was usually not asleep. He was waiting for his chance.

One day I left the door open and Chess got his chance. The pair of squirrel’s had a last taunt then headed for the oaks. Chester roared like a Lion but could not do any damage. One squirrel ran out on a limb above Chess lifted his leg then pissed on the enraged dog. I have never seen an animal go as Crazy. The squirrel panicked and ran further out. Chess leaped onto the branch ran right behind the rodent and almost caught him. The squirrel jumped on to the nearby fence and kept going. Chess was hot on his tail. but could not quite connect. One last lunge and the dog fell off the two by four fence top landing on his tail and breaking it.

That was more or less the end of the adventure. He got in one more battle with a big chow. He ran right into the dog’s garage where a lady was hanging clothes on one those collapsible wooden holders. The lady and the rack got knocked over and the chow got roughed up but it was a good scrap and the chow did well. I guess that’s when I realized that Chess was not indestructible. We went back to Nelson after that and he took up his old place sleeping by the fridge with one eye opened in case someone tossed him a wiener. Or he would go for walks with us but he wasn’t quite up to it. He would get too far then cry out in pain. We had to pack him back to the ranch. By then he was a real heavy weight and no one could carry him safely. It wasn’t long then,

good bye old partner I hope you are by a good lake in squirrel country where they are not too quick. I think of you often and miss every moment we were together. Sometimes I look for your tracks on the beach. They are never there anymore.

CHESTER

As I read thru Alex Kershaw’s Jack London – a Life it occurs to me that two of London’s most popular and acclaimed stories were about dogs. I was also a strong fan of dog stories and was almost always reading a Jack O Brien story like Silver Chief Dog of the North or something by James Oliver Curwood . Then I reasoned why read about them? We had a dog that was every bit as colourful and interesting as any dog of story: Chester was a big, brawling Chesapeake Bay Retriever that was our beloved family dog for about 15 years. We got him as a pup from the McQuarrie family who lived on the North Shore of Nelson near Gordon and Ramona Burn’s summer house off what is now Johnstone Road.

Little did we know that this innocent puppy would bring a rollicking life of good times and high adventure that had to be lived to be believed? Even now, I still marvel at the memories.

Chester became a large curly fellow who lived life to the fullest no matter where we lived. Life with Chess was one of constant surprise. One of the first was the realization that he hated cats. He didn’t just chase them, he killed them. When we lived on Kootenay Street, the old street car barns were next door. Feral cats hung out there and they occasionally wandered through our backyard. Chess was in vigilante mode and attacked when a cat showed. One day a smallish cat showed up and Chess chased him up small maple. As the cat paused to gloat, he forgot his tail was hanging down. Chess jumped up and grabbed it. Game over.

Chester also felt obliged to fight any dog he considered a challenge, so we had some wild brawls.

Chess.jpg

Chess was serious about these fights and some lasted a long time. A neighbour across the lake (Barbara Lang) had a large boxer who also didn’t mind a scrap. They tangled near Gram’s flower bed until they were absolutely spent. Beau (a white dog) was pink with spilled blood. I think Chess got the worst of it. He usually won the first parts of brawls from surprise. H e would charge his opponent bowling them over then go to work but when dogs survived the first hit, Chess could be in for a battle. In the end of this one Beau had Chess by the throat and would not let go. But Beau was holding on to the loose fur of Chester’s ruff doing no harm. Dad finally took the hose to the boneheads before they ran off to lick their wounds.

Chess also liked to eat and required a lot of food. Not long after we had Chess, a new Safeway store opened in Fairview. To mark the occasion, they had a dog food eating contest. Tommy took Chess to the contest that was no contest. They opened the cans of meat above the bowels and were going to spoon out the content. Chester’s meat came out in a one piece blob the shape of the can. Before it landed in the bowel, Chess has snapped it out of the air and swallowed it. He won hands down. Tommy was so proud.

beachboys.jpg

Chess at the beach with Tom and Ross and Rod McKay

Chesapeake’s are one of the best water dogs and Chester was true to form. He was always in or around the water whether there was someone to play with or not. He would fetch his own sticks and rocks and dive for bottles or cans from the boathouse. The dog was interested in everything to do with water. He would swim across the lake and follow us to school even if Mom locked him in the house for an hour or so. When we lived at Kootenay Street he often followed us to church On one occasion on a snowy day around Christmas we just settled our seats near the front of the church when there was a ruckus back by the door I felt a stab of panic. Could it be? He was not around when we left in a second or two there he was, Racing down the aisle. Covered with an inch of wet now. Deliriously happy to find his family. He climbed over everyone in the row shaking and wagging his tail as he passed and licking the faces of people he knew. When he reached us he would sit quietly and pretend to be listening to the sermon until the service ended, then he would charge outside and look for a dog to fight.

Another winter pastime was hockey. He would play with us all day and never seem to tire. On one occasion, he noticed a small flock of mallards keeping a patch of water open by swimming around and around so it would not freeze

Chess charged and launched himself after the ducks. He swam around chasing them for a long time. We thought he might freeze. But he climbed and shook like it was a summer day then resumed chasing the puck as he turned white with frost and his feet bled on the ice.

When I took him fishing he would sit by the rod tip waiting for a bite then launch himself into the water to grab the fish which was usually swimming to freedom by then, Chess would swim in circles looking for it for the longest time. I should have left him home but didn’t have the

Heart for it besides he would eventually show up anyway chesschamp.JPG

Tommy left ad Chess at Safeway openingin t 195? when Chess won a dog food eating cpntest

Chess was a dog with low impulse control. He was also a glutton.

In the spring I would take him walking along the west part of the beach where there were salt licks. We would get spring water Gram liked for her tea then cut up to the orchard and circle back home. The snow was melting and we found a dead coyote by the spring. I had a quick look and carried on. The carcass was in a state of decomposition. Indeed. I was almost home when I noticed Chess wasn’t with me. I

circled back and sure enough he had devoured the coyote maggots and all!

In summers we often had supper on the porch and food would sometimes sit for awhile unattended. This was too much for Chess. He grabbed both a turkey and a ham and ran for cover. Both times dad hacked him pretty good with a hockey stick but it hardly fazed him. Food was never left to sit again.

Another revelation was his hatred of squirrels. They seemed to know and relish in taunting him. There was a giant fir beside our driveway and a little red squirrel would dash out on the trunk and scold Chester to the edge of madness. He never got within reach of Chester but came pretty close.

In 1958 it was off to California and a new set of adventures. First we lived in Sunnyvale where Chester indulged himself with neighbourhood females. A poodle next door was the first victim so Chess-a-poos added diversity to the local fauna. He could not be contained there either even by a high fence. I watched him leap it one time. He ran at it and leaped high getting his front feet a bit over it. Then he pulled himself up and over.

Next stop was Los Altos where there was a ravine with a seasonal creek and some large oak trees with squirrels! Large California Grey Squirrels who delighted in taunting Chester. They knew where he rested beside a sliding glass door looking over the back yard. The squirrels would sneak right up to the door and chatter at the dog that was usually not asleep. He was waiting for his chance.

One day I left the door open and Chess got his chance. The pair of squirrel’s had a last taunt then headed for the oaks. Chester roared like a Lion but could not do any damage. One squirrel ran out on a limb above Chess lifted his leg then pissed on the enraged dog. I have never seen an animal go as Crazy. The squirrel panicked and ran further out. Chess leaped onto the branch ran right behind the rodent and almost caught him. The squirrel jumped on to the nearby fence and kept going. Chess was hot on his tail. but could not quite connect. One last lunge and the dog fell off the two by four fence top landing on his tail and breaking it.

That was more or less the end of the adventure. He got in one more battle with a big chow. He ran right into the dog’s garage where a lady was hanging clothes on one those collapsible wooden holders. The lady and the rack got knocked over and the chow got roughed up but it was a good scrap and the chow did well. I guess that’s when I realized that Chess was not indestructible. We went back to Nelson after that and he took up his old place sleeping by the fridge with one eye opened in case someone tossed him a wiener. Or he would go for walks with us but he wasn’t quite up to it. He would get too far then cry out in pain. We had to pack him back to the ranch. By then he was a real heavy weight and no one could carry him safely. It wasn’t long then,

good bye old partner I hope you are by a good lake in squirrel country where they are not too quick. I think of you often and miss every moment we were together. Sometimes I look for your tracks on the beach. They are never there anymore.

CHESTER

As I read thru Alex Kershaw’s Jack London – a Life it occurs to me that two of London’s most popular and acclaimed stories were about dogs. I was also a strong fan of dog stories and was almost always reading a Jack O Brien story like Silver Chief Dog of the North or something by James Oliver Curwood . Then I reasoned why read about them? We had a dog that was every bit as colourful and interesting as any dog of story: Chester was a big, brawling Chesapeake Bay Retriever that was our beloved family dog for about 15 years. We got him as a pup from the McQuarrie family who lived on the North Shore of Nelson near Gordon and Ramona Burn’s summer house off what is now Johnstone Road.

Little did we know that this innocent puppy would bring a rollicking life of good times and high adventure that had to be lived to be believed? Even now, I still marvel at the memories.

Chester became a large curly fellow who lived life to the fullest no matter where we lived. Life with Chess was one of constant surprise. One of the first was the realization that he hated cats. He didn’t just chase them, he killed them. When we lived on Kootenay Street, the old street car barns were next door. Feral cats hung out there and they occasionally wandered through our backyard. Chess was in vigilante mode and attacked when a cat showed. One day a smallish cat showed up and Chess chased him up small maple. As the cat paused to gloat, he forgot his tail was hanging down. Chess jumped up and grabbed it. Game over.

Chester also felt obliged to fight any dog he considered a challenge, so we had some wild brawls.

Chess.jpg

Chess was serious about these fights and some lasted a long time. A neighbour across the lake (Barbara Lang) had a large boxer who also didn’t mind a scrap. They tangled near Gram’s flower bed until they were absolutely spent. Beau (a white dog) was pink with spilled blood. I think Chess got the worst of it. He usually won the first parts of brawls from surprise. H e would charge his opponent bowling them over then go to work but when dogs survived the first hit, Chess could be in for a battle. In the end of this one Beau had Chess by the throat and would not let go. But Beau was holding on to the loose fur of Chester’s ruff doing no harm. Dad finally took the hose to the boneheads before they ran off to lick their wounds.

Chess also liked to eat and required a lot of food. Not long after we had Chess, a new Safeway store opened in Fairview. To mark the occasion, they had a dog food eating contest. Tommy took Chess to the contest that was no contest. They opened the cans of meat above the bowels and were going to spoon out the content. Chester’s meat came out in a one piece blob the shape of the can. Before it landed in the bowel, Chess has snapped it out of the air and swallowed it. He won hands down. Tommy was so proud.

beachboys.jpg

Chess at the beach with Tom and Ross and Rod McKay

Chesapeake’s are one of the best water dogs and Chester was true to form. He was always in or around the water whether there was someone to play with or not. He would fetch his own sticks and rocks and dive for bottles or cans from the boathouse. The dog was interested in everything to do with water. He would swim across the lake and follow us to school even if Mom locked him in the house for an hour or so. When we lived at Kootenay Street he often followed us to church On one occasion on a snowy day around Christmas we just settled our seats near the front of the church when there was a ruckus back by the door I felt a stab of panic. Could it be? He was not around when we left in a second or two there he was, Racing down the aisle. Covered with an inch of wet now. Deliriously happy to find his family. He climbed over everyone in the row shaking and wagging his tail as he passed and licking the faces of people he knew. When he reached us he would sit quietly and pretend to be listening to the sermon until the service ended, then he would charge outside and look for a dog to fight.

Another winter pastime was hockey. He would play with us all day and never seem to tire. On one occasion, he noticed a small flock of mallards keeping a patch of water open by swimming around and around so it would not freeze

Chess charged and launched himself after the ducks. He swam around chasing them for a long time. We thought he might freeze. But he climbed and shook like it was a summer day then resumed chasing the puck as he turned white with frost and his feet bled on the ice.

When I took him fishing he would sit by the rod tip waiting for a bite then launch himself into the water to grab the fish which was usually swimming to freedom by then, Chess would swim in circles looking for it for the longest time. I should have left him home but didn’t have the

Heart for it besides he would eventually show up anyway chesschamp.JPG

Tommy left ad Chess at Safeway openingin t 195? when Chess won a dog food eating cpntest

Chess was a dog with low impulse control. He was also a glutton.

In the spring I would take him walking along the west part of the beach where there were salt licks. We would get spring water Gram liked for her tea then cut up to the orchard and circle back home. The snow was melting and we found a dead coyote by the spring. I had a quick look and carried on. The carcass was in a state of decomposition. Indeed. I was almost home when I noticed Chess wasn’t with me. I

circled back and sure enough he had devoured the coyote maggots and all!

In summers we often had supper on the porch and food would sometimes sit for awhile unattended. This was too much for Chess. He grabbed both a turkey and a ham and ran for cover. Both times dad hacked him pretty good with a hockey stick but it hardly fazed him. Food was never left to sit again.

Another revelation was his hatred of squirrels. They seemed to know and relish in taunting him. There was a giant fir beside our driveway and a little red squirrel would dash out on the trunk and scold Chester to the edge of madness. He never got within reach of Chester but came pretty close.

In 1958 it was off to California and a new set of adventures. First we lived in Sunnyvale where Chester indulged himself with neighbourhood females. A poodle next door was the first victim so Chess-a-poos added diversity to the local fauna. He could not be contained there either even by a high fence. I watched him leap it one time. He ran at it and leaped high getting his front feet a bit over it. Then he pulled himself up and over.

Next stop was Los Altos where there was a ravine with a seasonal creek and some large oak trees with squirrels! Large California Grey Squirrels who delighted in taunting Chester. They knew where he rested beside a sliding glass door looking over the back yard. The squirrels would sneak right up to the door and chatter at the dog that was usually not asleep. He was waiting for his chance.

One day I left the door open and Chess got his chance. The pair of squirrel’s had a last taunt then headed for the oaks. Chester roared like a Lion but could not do any damage. One squirrel ran out on a limb above Chess lifted his leg then pissed on the enraged dog. I have never seen an animal go as Crazy. The squirrel panicked and ran further out. Chess leaped onto the branch ran right behind the rodent and almost caught him. The squirrel jumped on to the nearby fence and kept going. Chess was hot on his tail. but could not quite connect. One last lunge and the dog fell off the two by four fence top landing on his tail and breaking it.

That was more or less the end of the adventure. He got in one more battle with a big chow. He ran right into the dog’s garage where a lady was hanging clothes on one those collapsible wooden holders. The lady and the rack got knocked over and the chow got roughed up but it was a good scrap and the chow did well. I guess that’s when I realized that Chess was not indestructible. We went back to Nelson after that and he took up his old place sleeping by the fridge with one eye opened in case someone tossed him a wiener. Or he would go for walks with us but he wasn’t quite up to it. He would get too far then cry out in pain. We had to pack him back to the ranch. By then he was a real heavy weight and no one could carry him safely. It wasn’t long then,

good bye old partner I hope you are by a good lake in squirrel country where they are not too quick. I think of you often and miss every moment we were together. Sometimes I look for your tracks on the beach. They are never there anymore.

 

GRINGO TRAIL

January 16th, 2024

Gringo Trail

About the time winter starts to rear its head on the South Coast of BC, is when I start to yearn for the sun and some warmth and think about heading south on the Gringo Trail.

It starts slowly with a few vehicles leaking out of Vancouver and Vancouver Island spots like Hornby and Denman Islands. Then gradually picks up to the point where you think you may be part of a migration to the light. You start to see more campers, vans and old school busses filled with happy faces.

You are approaching Everett now almost in the shadow of Seattle. Seattle is one of the large Cascadian cities that seem to have retained some of its hippie flavor. I am not completely sure about this. It is more of a feeling than something you can weigh and measure. Vancouver once had a thriving counter community in Kitsalano but it has since been gentrified. Of the once strong BC Hippie Community there is little left. Nelson and the Slocan Valley are trying to hang on but the new people with money are closing in tearing down lovely older Nelson homes, putting in boxes and apartments and clogging the streets with cars.

In the southward stream, there will likely be some denizens of the Comet Tavern up on Pike Street and some from Pike Place Market Area.

South of Seattle, there are a number of small to medium sized towns that are much the same. They are usually set back from the I-5 and surrounded by used car lots, malls and gas stations with a few Big Box stores. Some of the downtowns are interesting. Think of Linden, WA but there isn’t much to them. Not enough to delay gringos hunting for the sun.

Portland is the next big town. My sister and her husband live out in Hillsboro, a suburb to the west that I always have trouble finding in a maze of freeways – no hippies here just Mexican families seeking the good life. But there are some interesting towns in the area. Some of my Bay Area friends from the old days spent summers in Seaside when it was an endless party. Eugene is another spot that attracts counter culture folk. People from the East Shore of Kootenay Lake go down for Rainbow Family gatherings. There are other towns where the Granola Gang holds sway but they are off the Trail. Like Hood River and Fairview.

The Trail follows the beautiful Willamette Valley south through some very productive land. I always wonder if some coastal BC birds that disappear for the worst parts of winter when the ground is frozen and snow covered, sneak down there until things warm up a bit. But I have seen robins in Nelson where there is frozen ground and snow for five months. The birds huddle together in a bushy tree and somehow tough it out. There is no mild valley for them to escape to

The Trail still follows Highway I-5 which is not the most interesting. Indeed. But as you approach Southern Oregon, there is another highway branching off at Grants Pass. In fact, there are several other routes you can follow to cut over to the coast. Highway 199 is the one I usually take. The Americans have classified it as a dangerous highway but the only thing I have experienced is someone yelling at me and delivering the one finger salute. I could not figure out why until I turned on the radio and heard a raging right wing radio broadcaster who told his lisisteners that Canada was a pinko country with a gay Prime Minister. Evidently Canada had not joined the fight against Iraq or made enough menacing noise about “weapons of mass destruction” I later learned that right wing radio ranters were quite common in the US and were not always held to the truth. I had always thought a Canadian license plate or flag was a kind of protection. Obviously not always.

Highway 199 comes out to the coast at Crescent City, CA. A not bad town and the start of a spectacular stretch of coast that goes on for most of California. This stretch is one I know well because I was a student at Humboldt State University from 1964 to 1968 and lived along this coast for many years from the Oregon Border to San Diego including Arcata, the home of Humboldt State. Life for students was very different then. Rent was minimal because I always lived with four or five roommates and we rented old houses or inexpensive student apartments. Tuition was around fifty dollars per semester and beer was about three bucks a dozen. I always had a job and a bank account. The football coach started a janitorial service so his players could have work. Few of them took the jobs but I and my roommates were happy to work them. I also worked for Coast Oyster Company and The Keg, a little hole in the wall pub but the best one I have ever been associated with. Every night was a feast of excitement and memorable adventure.

My first night at Humboldt was a good example. The party was rolling along pretty good when the staff pulled the curtains and locked the doors at 2 AM the legal closing time. We howled on. The Keg was owned by a character we called Junior. Sometime after three he snuck into a back room and stuffed a large hammer down his pants. “The girls will love this “he explained. Not long after he was cheek to cheek with a very young girl when a scream pierced the smoke-filled air and Junior ducked out the back door. The party was over.

There was a small pool table at The Keg. It was more trouble than it was worth. A small group of hippies often played there nursing their beer and not bothering anyone. Once in awhile they would play jukebox songs like Societies Child by Janis Ian. One night a bunch of Green Berets came sailing in and demanded the hippies give up the table.” We will be done in a few minutes” they said. The Green Berets were large and not in the best of moods, the Hipsters were skinny and underfed. “Your shrubs give up this table or get your clocks cleaned.” The big boys moved in and the battle was on. The Hippies whipped the big lads with ease. They were lightening fast and the Muscle Heads were way over confident.

Just another night at The Keg. I heard it has been sold and replaced by a fancy restaurant with table cloths, flowers and wine. It has been said that Junior has moved to Bellingham.

Not far from The Keg was an apartment building where my roommates and I lived. It overlooked the parking area of a hamburger stand. One afternoon Tom Spencer, our roommate got in line for some food. One us called down to tell the girl “There is a robber in your line up”. We carefully described Spencer and warned her to be careful because “he has been known to be dangerous. “I see him, I see him” she yelled”. Soon after a squad of Gestapo pulled in and logged Spencer into the Crowbar Hotel. We congratulated ourselves but before long the cops were back for me. Spencer had talked himself out of trouble and shifted the blame to us. I had an outstanding traffic warrant so I spent the night in jail and had to take a traffic safety course. Another roommate just dodged the bullet because he had scrapped with the Sherriff about a month before. Evidently the sheriff had forgotten and Spencer had the last laugh.

After Arcata and Eureka, Highway 101 becomes a very scenic by way. Spectacular groves of redwoods line the road. They surely are wonders of the world­ ­- the best of them is in the Avenue of the Giants. The redwoods exist in quite a narrow zone in southern Oregon and coastal California down to the southern part of Big Sur. They stick to the fog zone to dodge the heat and dryness of inland regions. There are some great coastal beaches and fern lined ravines where Roosevelt Elk are seen.

We are now nearing the Napa -Sonoma wine country. This is another beautiful area where the great writer Jack London once lived. I find it somewhat odd that he wrote about the harsh and deadly qualities of the Yukon when he lived in such a calm bucolic area. London was dogged by accusations of socialism which he freely admitted. He also drank his share of spirits which dragged him down eventually. I wonder if drinking also inspired him when he was at his best. Imagine the great story teller sitting by the fire sipping a drink and thinking of the northern trails and wolves howling at the shimmering northern lights

Then it’s across the Golden Gate to the towers of The City. Californians have only one city – San Francisco. No Californian will ever call Los Angeles, San Diego or some other pretender “The City”. San Francisco is the main city of California and the main city of the counter culture and many other movements. It is a beautiful city beyond interesting. However, when I last went out to Height Ashbury you couldn’t help feel it was somehow not real but staged by people who knew how to dress it up as the heart of Hippie Land. When I lived down The Peninsula in Sunnyvale, my high school friends and I would don suits and go up to strip clubs in The City. We would sometimes cross Broadway to the upper reaches of Grant Avenue to hear Beatniks beat their bongos and read poetry. We could have been seeing Kerouac and Ginsburg for all I knew. This is where it all started, where the Beatniks spawned the Flower Children. The terms Beatnik and Hippie were coined by Herb Caen who chronicled life in the city for more than sixty years. His column was termed a love letter to the city he called Baghdad by the Bay.

Just down the Peninsula is San Mateo. I was born there in St. Matthews Hospital in 1942. My Mom and I lived with Nana and Pappy Flynn and Nana’s sister Auntie Sanderson. Dad was away in the Canadian Army. Until he returned from the war, we would live in a wealthy district of San Mateo called Bay Wood. The house was located at 373 Parrot Drive and it was a beauty. “Pure redwood lumber” Pappy would say. Tom Flynn had made lots of money in the Nevada mines and was the President of The San Francisco Stock Exchange then. I sometimes rode in with him on the train. The house is still there as fine as ever. It is probably owned by a dot com millionaire now because it is in one of the most expensive neighbor hoods on earth. Pappy would be disgusted. He was very poor in his youth and remained frugal all his days.

After experiencing Sunnyvale and American Graffiti days where we cruised Fourth Street in San Jose just the way it was done in Graffiti, I signed on to Foothill College for a couple of years and worked at Bill Steffen’s Chevron, a garage out on Stevens Creek Boulevard. Foothill was one of the first community colleges. The Americans called them Junior Colleges and most students took advantage of them to get though the general education requirements: courses like English, Math and Social Sciences. You could graduate with an Associate Arts degree if you had enough credits. My folks were living in Los Altos then but myself and a few pals were living in an old house in Monte Vista we called the Sugar Shack. That was near the peak of the sixties. Watching our old TV one day we saw two of our roommates marching at Berkeley. Maggie had shaved herself bald and Mike was naked except for a Superman cape.

Bill Steffen’s was a neighbood gas station and we also did small repairs. We had a good mechanic but he was almost never sober. He kept a Mickey of WolfSchmits Vodka in his back pocket which he swigged from every few minutes. He would then take a swig of Squirt (a popular soft drink in the States) and mix it in his mouth. I tried it and was not quite up to it. Despite the steady input of strong drink, I never saw Jerry drunk. The rest of us at the garage imbibed at a nearby pizza house called Pagliachi’s. This became a solid neighborhood pub

Back down the Peninsula, we are still on the El Camino south of San Jose and edging into Steinbeck Country. The great writer once lived near Los Gatos at the edge of the Santa Cruz Mountains. Los Gatos is now part of Greater San Jose. And it is part of the Bay Area mega tropolis. You do not get the feel of Steinbeck until you get further south. He was born in Salinas and his best work is in his stories of his friends around Cannery Row including his pal Ed Rickets the great biologist who wrote Between Pacific Tides, a classic manual of inter tidal ecology. Steinbeck was plagued by various school boards and commissions that banned his books for reasons to do with socialism and suggestive content. He also favored strong drink.

Bob Ross and L went down on a hot late summer night after the onions were harvested and mounded up beside the fields. Their smell permeated the dusty air. The doors of the Gilroy cantinas were wide open and campesinos and their happy music spilled out onto the street.

Ross was from Salinas and knew it well. We had an ongoing debate as to where one could see the most deer. I argued for some of the east Kootenay hot spots like TaTa Creek where sometimes a vehicle would be held up for an hour or so while deer crossed the highway. Ross said the lettuce fields of Salinas Valley were beyond argument. I think he may be correct after we gazed at what seemed to be an endless herd of small coast black tails in the fields These deer live in a climate paradise (it might snow once or twice every thirty or so years but it will just be a flurry or two and no accumulation). There is no serious predation and ample food. On top of that, hunters often lobby for bucks only seasons. After the Salinas Valley, we are still in Steinbeck Country of low hills with grass lands and live oak there are some Digger Pine stands up higher. Many of the grasses are invasive weeds like brome, cheat grass, fennel and other junk that displaces native vegetation and is very flammable. Towns like San Luis Obispo, King City and Paso Robles come up. I like these towns. I am especially fond of Avila a small beach town of great beauty where I would often camp for a week or more when I was on the Trail. It is close to San Luis Obispo. We are now getting close to Southern California and Warmer Ocean water along with far too many people

I know almost nothing about this part of the state. We lived in Los Angeles for while in 1958 but all I can remember is the awful smog and wiping the car windows with a rag soaked in cleaning solvent to clean off the grease. I also remember Beer Can Beach and what a mess it was. A lovely beach littered with thousands of cans and other junk. I am sure it has been cleaned up by now some

The next thing I remember of Southern Cal is Pacific Beach. I guess it was part of San Diego or maybe La Jolla. We lived there in a small apartment just steps away from a great beach. My siblings and I would hit the beach early each day to watch old guys with metal detectors probe the sand for rings, coins and watches. Pacific Beach is a wonderful place. Mexico is just a few jumps away. Remember to pick up Mexican vehicle insurance in San Ysidro. Do not forget this!

I usually head down the Baja to the Mulege area on the Sea of Cortez. After a few days I take the ferry over to Mazatlan then go to San Blas and Puerto Vallarta. But you are on your own now – Enjoy.

Gringo Trail

About the time winter starts to rear its head on the South Coast of BC, is when I start to yearn for the sun and some warmth and think about heading south on the Gringo Trail.

It starts slowly with a few vehicles leaking out of Vancouver and Vancouver Island spots like Hornby and Denman Islands. Then gradually picks up to the point where you think you may be part of a migration to the light. You start to see more campers, vans and old school busses filled with happy faces.

You are approaching Everett now almost in the shadow of Seattle. Seattle is one of the large Cascadian cities that seem to have retained some of its hippie flavor. I am not completely sure about this. It is more of a feeling than something you can weigh and measure. Vancouver once had a thriving counter community in Kitsalano but it has since been gentrified. Of the once strong BC Hippie Community there is little left. Nelson and the Slocan Valley are trying to hang on but the new people with money are closing in tearing down lovely older Nelson homes, putting in boxes and apartments and clogging the streets with cars.

In the southward stream, there will likely be some denizens of the Comet Tavern up on Pike Street and some from Pike Place Market Area.

South of Seattle, there are a number of small to medium sized towns that are much the same. They are usually set back from the I-5 and surrounded by used car lots, malls and gas stations with a few Big Box stores. Some of the downtowns are interesting. Think of Linden, WA but there isn’t much to them. Not enough to delay gringos hunting for the sun.

Portland is the next big town. My sister and her husband live out in Hillsboro, a suburb to the west that I always have trouble finding in a maze of freeways – no hippies here just Mexican families seeking the good life. But there are some interesting towns in the area. Some of my Bay Area friends from the old days spent summers in Seaside when it was an endless party. Eugene is another spot that attracts counter culture folk. People from the East Shore of Kootenay Lake go down for Rainbow Family gatherings. There are other towns where the Granola Gang holds sway but they are off the Trail. Like Hood River and Fairview.

The Trail follows the beautiful Willamette Valley south through some very productive land. I always wonder if some coastal BC birds that disappear for the worst parts of winter when the ground is frozen and snow covered, sneak down there until things warm up a bit. But I have seen robins in Nelson where there is frozen ground and snow for five months. The birds huddle together in a bushy tree and somehow tough it out. There is no mild valley for them to escape to

The Trail still follows Highway I-5 which is not the most interesting. Indeed. But as you approach Southern Oregon, there is another highway branching off at Grants Pass. In fact, there are several other routes you can follow to cut over to the coast. Highway 199 is the one I usually take. The Americans have classified it as a dangerous highway but the only thing I have experienced is someone yelling at me and delivering the one finger salute. I could not figure out why until I turned on the radio and heard a raging right wing radio broadcaster who told his lisisteners that Canada was a pinko country with a gay Prime Minister. Evidently Canada had not joined the fight against Iraq or made enough menacing noise about “weapons of mass destruction” I later learned that right wing radio renters were quite common in the US and were not always held to the truth. I had always thought a Canadian license plate or flag was a kind of protection. Obviously not always.

Highway 199 comes out to the coast at Crescent City, CA. A not bad town and the start of a spectacular stretch of coast that goes on for most of California. This stretch is one I know well because I was a student at Humboldt State University from 1964 to 1968 and lived along this coast for many years from the Oregon Border to San Diego including Arcata, the home of Humboldt State. Life for students was very different then. Rent was minimal because I always lived with four or five roommates and we rented old houses or inexpensive student apartments. Tuition was around fifty dollars per semester and beer was about three bucks a dozen. I always had a job and a bank account. The football coach started a janitorial service so his players could have work. Few of them took the jobs but I and my roommates were happy to work them. I also worked for Coast Oyster Company and The Keg, a little hole in the wall pub but the best one I have ever been associated with. Every night was a feast of excitement and memorable adventure.

My first night at Humboldt was a good example. The party was rolling along pretty good when the staff pulled the curtains and locked the doors at 2 AM the legal closing time. We howled on. The Keg was owned by a character we called Junior. Sometime after three he snuck into a back room and stuffed a large hammer down his pants. “The girls will love this “he explained. Not long after he was cheek to cheek with a very young girl when a scream pierced the smoke-filled air and Junior ducked out the back door. The party was over.

There was a small pool table at The Keg. It was more trouble than it was worth. A small group of hippies often played there nursing their beer and not bothering anyone. Once in awhile they would play jukebox songs like Societies Child by Janis Ian. One night a bunch of Green Berets came sailing in and demanded the hippies give up the table.” We will be done in a few minutes” they said. The Green Berets were large and not in the best of moods, the Hipsters were skinny and underfed. “Your shrubs give up this table or get your clocks cleaned.” The big boys moved in and the battle was on. The Hippies whipped the big lads with ease. They were lightening fast and the Muscle Heads were way over confident.

Just another night at The Keg. I heard it has been sold and replaced by a fancy restaurant with table cloths, flowers and wine. It has been said that Junior has moved to Bellingham.

Not far from The Keg was an apartment building where my roommates and I lived. It overlooked the parking area of a hamburger stand. One afternoon Tom Spencer, our roommate got in line for some food. One us called down to tell the girl “There is a robber in your line up”. We carefully described Spencer and warned her to be careful because “he has been known to be dangerous. “I see him, I see him” she yelled”. Soon after a squad of Gestapo pulled in and logged Spencer into the Crowbar Hotel. We congratulated ourselves but before long the cops were back for me. Spencer had talked himself out of trouble and shifted the blame to us. I had an outstanding traffic warrant so I spent the night in jail and had to take a traffic safety course. Another roommate just dodged the bullet because he had scrapped with the Sherriff about a month before. Evidently the sheriff had forgotten and Spencer had the last laugh.

After Arcata and Eureka, Highway 101 becomes a very scenic by way. Spectacular groves of redwoods line the road. They surely are wonders of the world­ ­- the best of them is in the Avenue of the Giants. The redwoods exist in quite a narrow zone in southern Oregon and coastal California down to the southern part of Big Sur. They stick to the fog zone to dodge the heat and dryness of inland regions. There are some great coastal beaches and fern lined ravines where Roosevelt Elk are seen.

We are now nearing the Napa -Sonoma wine country. This is another beautiful area where the great writer Jack London once lived. I find it somewhat odd that he wrote about the harsh and deadly qualities of the Yukon when he lived in such a calm bucolic area. London was dogged by accusations of socialism which he freely admitted. He also drank his share of spirits which dragged him down eventually. I wonder if drinking also inspired him when he was at his best. Imagine the great story teller sitting by the fire sipping a drink and thinking of the northern trails and wolves howling at the shimmering northern lights

Then it’s across the Golden Gate to the towers of The City. Californians have only one city – San Francisco. No Californian will ever call Los Angeles, San Diego or some other pretender “The City”. San Francisco is the main city of California and the main city of the counter culture and many other movements. It is a beautiful city beyond interesting. However, when I last went out to Height Ashbury you couldn’t help feel it was somehow not real but staged by people who knew how to dress it up as the heart of Hippie Land. When I lived down The Peninsula in Sunnyvale, my high school friends and I would don suits and go up to strip clubs in The City. We would sometimes cross Broadway to the upper reaches of Grant Avenue to hear Beatniks beat their bongos and read poetry. We could have been seeing Kerouac and Ginsburg for all I knew. This is where it all started, where the Beatniks spawned the Flower Children. The terms Beatnik and Hippie were coined by Herb Caen who chronicled life in the city for more than sixty years. His column was termed a love letter to the city he called Baghdad by the Bay.

Just down the Peninsula is San Mateo. I was born there in St. Matthews Hospital in 1942. My Mom and I lived with Nana and Pappy Flynn and Nana’s sister Auntie Sanderson. Dad was away in the Canadian Army. Until he returned from the war, we would live in a wealthy district of San Mateo called Bay Wood. The house was located at 373 Parrot Drive and it was a beauty. “Pure redwood lumber” Pappy would say. Tom Flynn had made lots of money in the Nevada mines and was the President of The San Francisco Stock Exchange then. I sometimes rode in with him on the train. The house is still there as fine as ever. It is probably owned by a dot com millionaire now because it is in one of the most expensive neighbor hoods on earth. Pappy would be disgusted. He was very poor in his youth and remained frugal all his days.

After experiencing Sunnyvale and American Graffiti days where we cruised Fourth Street in San Jose just the way it was done in Graffiti, I signed on to Foothill College for a couple of years and worked at Bill Steffen’s Chevron, a garage out on Stevens Creek Boulevard. Foothill was one of the first community colleges. The Americans called them Junior Colleges and most students took advantage of them to get though the general education requirements: courses like English, Math and Social Sciences. You could graduate with an Associate Arts degree if you had enough credits. My folks were living in Los Altos then but myself and a few pals were living in an old house in Monte Vista we called the Sugar Shack. That was near the peak of the sixties. Watching our old TV one day we saw two of our roommates marching at Berkeley. Maggie had shaved herself bald and Mike was naked except for a Superman cape.

Bill Steffen’s was a neighbood gas station and we also did small repairs. We had a good mechanic but he was almost never sober. He kept a Mickey of WolfSchmits Vodka in his back pocket which he swigged from every few minutes. He would then take a swig of Squirt (a popular soft drink in the States) and mix it in his mouth. I tried it and was not quite up to it. Despite the steady input of strong drink, I never saw Jerry drunk. The rest of us at the garage imbibed at a nearby pizza house called Pagliachi’s. This became a solid neighborhood pub

Back down the Peninsula, we are still on the El Camino south of San Jose and edging into Steinbeck Country. The great writer once lived near Los Gatos at the edge of the Santa Cruz Mountains. Los Gatos is now part of Greater San Jose. And it is part of the Bay Area mega tropolis. You do not get the feel of Steinbeck until you get further south. He was born in Salinas and his best work is in his stories of his friends around Cannery Row including his pal Ed Rickets the great biologist who wrote Between Pacific Tides, a classic manual of inter tidal ecology. Steinbeck was plagued by various school boards and commissions that banned his books for reasons to do with socialism and suggestive content. He also favored strong drink.

Bob Ross and L went down on a hot late summer night after the onions were harvested and mounded up beside the fields. Their smell permeated the dusty air. The doors of the Gilroy cantinas were wide open and campesinos and their happy music spilled out onto the street.

Ross was from Salinas and knew it well. We had an ongoing debate as to where one could see the most deer. I argued for some of the east Kootenay hot spots like TaTa Creek where sometimes a vehicle would be held up for an hour or so while deer crossed the highway. Ross said the lettuce fields of Salinas Valley were beyond argument. I think he may be correct after we gazed at what seemed to be an endless herd of small coast black tails in the fields These deer live in a climate paradise (it might snow once or twice every thirty or so years but it will just be a flurry or two and no accumulation). There is no serious predation and ample food. On top of that, hunters often lobby for bucks only seasons. After the Salinas Valley, we are still in Steinbeck Country of low hills with grass lands and live oak there are some Digger Pine stands up higher. Many of the grasses are invasive weeds like brome, cheat grass, fennel and other junk that displaces native vegetation and is very flammable. Towns like San Luis Obispo, King City and Paso Robles come up. I like these towns. I am especially fond of Avila a small beach town of great beauty where I would often camp for a week or more when I was on the Trail. It is close to San Luis Obispo. We are now getting close to Southern California and Warmer Ocean water along with far too many people

I know almost nothing about this part of the state. We lived in Los Angeles for while in 1958 but all I can remember is the awful smog and wiping the car windows with a rag soaked in cleaning solvent to clean off the grease. I also remember Beer Can Beach and what a mess it was. A lovely beach littered with thousands of cans and other junk. I am sure it has been cleaned up by now some

The next thing I remember of Southern Cal is Pacific Beach. I guess it was part of San Diego or maybe La Jolla. We lived there in a small apartment just steps away from a great beach. My siblings and I would hit the beach early each day to watch old guys with metal detectors probe the sand for rings, coins and watches. Pacific Beach is a wonderful place. Mexico is just a few jumps away. Remember to pick up Mexican vehicle insurance in San Ysidro. Do not forget this!

I usually head down the Baja to the Mulege area on the Sea of Cortez. After a few days I take the ferry over to Mazatlan then go to San Blas and Puerto Vallarta. But you are on your own now – Enjoy.

 

Rock and Roll Comes to Nelson

December 29th, 2023

ROCK AND ROLL COMES TO NELSON

I’ve been thinking about it for years and remembering how very exciting it was when rock and roll music started seeping into the Kootenays. The music may have come in a wild rush in other places but in the mountain girt fortresses of Kootenay towns like Nelson and Trail it just kind of edged its way into the collective consciousness. There was just one radio program that played popular music. It was called “the hit parade” and was on CBC on Saturdays. I recall that it wasn’t very popular and played mostly soft pre rock tunes by Teresa Brewer, Patty Page, Sonny James and the Four Lads. Nelson had a radio station but it wasn’t much for the teenage crowd either. It catered more to Sunday church goers but you might hear ‘How Much is that Doggy in the Window’ or some nice Christmas tunes if you were lucky. Nelson was not one of those towns where preachers warned against“the devils” music and ranted about sin and damnation from the pulpit. I sometimes wonder why this was so. Like most places in Canada, Nelson was not a place for hell fire preachers and the most popular rockers in these parts were not the sinister hide your daughters- ­in –the- closet boys like Elvis or Eddie Cochran but a pleasant middle aged fellow with a kiss curl – Bill Haley and his Comets. They played innocent songs like Rock Around the Clock, See You Later Alligator and Shake Rattle and Roll. There was only a few other ‘acceptable’ musicians around. Pat Boone was a favorite of my cousin Peggy and I even liked some of his songs. He was no threat to anyone and would probably take your daughters to church.

It wasn’t long before the next wave hit the Kootenays and it rammed hard and

loud. The second wave brought the likes of Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry, the Everly Brothers, Fats Domino, Little Richard and Jerry Lee Lewis ­ Gangs of leapers and screamers. Sam Phillips once said that if someone came along that sung black music but was white, that music would take over. For several years, I thought Elvis was a black man. And then I saw one of his album covers. His music certainly did take over the airwaves as he pumped out an endless load of hits. Some local guys jumped on and were quite talented Muggsy Holmes did well by doing Elvis and Buddy Holly tunes. Muggs went on to become an Elvis Impersonator. He was very good.

This second wave was very strong in some ways the strongest and most durable but it was not strong enough to fend off the next or third wave which featured the Beatles and the Rolling Stones along with a host of other British bands: the Animals, Dave Clark Five and the Yard birds which would morph into Led Zeppelin

Never mind the great American groups that quickly came on stream. Jefferson Airplane, Neil Young, Beach Boys and the like.

After that the music headed off in many different directions , some of it was very good but is was not the same and never will be again. It is old hat now. The excitement of new young music that could make you jump out of your wheel chair and race around the living room or dance floor has faded into a kind of quick sand of sameness and what has tried to edge into the void left by the great rockers is a horrid mess of non music called hip hop or rap. Nothing but a racket

Good for pulling teeth or drowning out the sounds of war.

But that is likely what our parents thought of rock and roll so perhaps a kind of acceptance will eventually come. It will take a long time for me.

Ted Burns

December 2022

ROCK AND ROLL COMES TO NELSON

I’ve been thinking about it for years and remembering how very exciting it was when rock and roll music started seeping into the Kootenays. The music may have come in a wild rush in other places but in the mountain girt fortresses of Kootenay towns like Nelson and Trail it just kind of edged its way into the collective consciousness. There was just one radio program that played popular music. It was called “the hit parade” and was on CBC on Saturdays. I recall that it wasn’t very popular and played mostly soft pre rock tunes by Teresa Brewer, Patty Page, Sonny James and the Four Lads. Nelson had a radio station but it wasn’t much for the teenage crowd either. It catered more to Sunday church goers but you might hear ‘How Much is that Doggy in the Window’ or some nice Christmas tunes if you were lucky. Nelson was not one of those towns where preachers warned against“the devils” music and ranted about sin and damnation from the pulpit. I sometimes wonder why this was so. Like most places in Canada, Nelson was not a place for hell fire preachers and the most popular rockers in these parts were not the sinister hide your daughters- ­in –the- closet boys like Elvis or Eddie Cochran but a pleasant middle aged fellow with a kiss curl – Bill Haley and his Comets. They played innocent songs like Rock Around the Clock, See You Later Alligator and Shake Rattle and Roll. There was only a few other ‘acceptable’ musicians around. Pat Boone was a favorite of my cousin Peggy and I even liked some of his songs. He was no threat to anyone and would probably take your daughters to church.

It wasn’t long before the next wave hit the Kootenays and it rammed hard and

loud. The second wave brought the likes of Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry, the Everly Brothers, Fats Domino, Little Richard and Jerry Lee Lewis ­ Gangs of leapers and screamers. Sam Phillips once said that if someone came along that sung black music but was white, that music would take over. For several years, I thought Elvis was a black man. And then I saw one of his album covers. His music certainly did take over the airwaves as he pumped out an endless load of hits. Some local guys jumped on and were quite talented Muggsy Holmes did well by doing Elvis and Buddy Holly tunes. Muggs went on to become an Elvis Impersonator. He was very good.

This second wave was very strong in some ways the strongest and most durable but it was not strong enough to fend off the next or third wave which featured the Beatles and the Rolling Stones along with a host of other British bands: the Animals, Dave Clark Five and the Yard birds which would morph into Led Zeppelin

Never mind the great American groups that quickly came on stream. Jefferson Airplane, Neil Young, Beach Boys and the like.

After that the music headed off in many different directions , some of it was very good but is was not the same and never will be again. It is old hat now. The excitement of new young music that could make you jump out of your wheel chair and race around the living room or dance floor has faded into a kind of quick sand of sameness and what has tried to edge into the void left by the great rockers is a horrid mess of non music called hip hop or rap. Nothing but a racket

Good for pulling teeth or drowning out the sounds of war.

But that is likely what our parents thought of rock and roll so perhaps a kind of acceptance will eventually come. It will take a long time for me.

Ted Burns

December 2022

 

THE GIANTS OF GERRARD

December 29th, 2023

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The Giants of Gerrard

Under ordinary circumstances, the ghost village of Gerrard might have easily been long forgotten like so many others of its kind including some of its neighbours like Poplar Creek and Gold Hill. But this place is famous, not only in British Columbia but in many other parts of the world because it is here in the first few hundred meters of Lardeau River where it leaves Trout Lake, that the world’s largest form of rainbow trout returns to spawn each spring.

Historical Background

From about 1902 until the Second World War, Gerrard was the terminus of the Kootenay and Arrowhead Line of the Canadian Pacific Railway. Western Canada Timber moved an old mill down from Trout Lake City, refurbished it and built a new mill, camp and town site at Gerrard. My great Uncle  Harry Burns  was the logging boss. There was even a post office. A steamer ran from Gerrard to Trout Lake City but the line was never extended to Arrowhead. The tracks on this unique railroad which featured truck trains that could be turned by hand at a turntable at Gerrard were pulled in 1942. The rail bed has been used as a road since then. Even in its heyday, Gerrard was a quite village  unlike some of the roaring mining camps of the Lardeau District. A fish hatchery

and egg taking station operated off and on from 1912 to 1952 and eggs were shipped around the world

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Truck train on the way to Gerrard (Arrow Lakes Historical Society)

When early residents first noticed the big trout, they naturally assumed the fish dropped down from Trout Lake. So did the Dept. of Fisheries and a fence and trapping facilities were built facing upstream. Imagine the fishery officers’ surprise in the spring of 1914 when they saw fish accumulating below the fence

The fish were coming from Kootenay Lake. Realizing their mistake the officers developed an elaborate method to catch the fish. A large seine net was attached to the Gerrard Bridge then thrown into the river to float past a number of fish. It was then quickly drawn in and the spawners were transferred to holding pens to ripen. They were then spawned by hand and released. The eggs were reared at Gerrard or nearby hatcheries at Lardo, Argenta, Kaslo or Nelson. Some were even shipped to more distant hatcheries in BC or the US. After 1939, shipments were increased with the hope of starting populations elsewhere. Success was negligible and, by the 1940’s, The Gerrard run started to decline. By the mid 1950’s, the run had been reduced to 40-50 fish. There were other reasons for the decline, it was more than the generous gifts of eggs and fry to other states and countries Fishing pressure was increasing in Kootenay Lake aided by the Nelson Gyro Derby and the increasing size and comfort of boats and especially the reliability of outboard motors. Kootenay is a large and dangerous lake where violent storms can kick up quickly. It was an anglers’ worst nightmare to be caught out in the middle of Kootenay Lake with a storm on the horizon yanking on the starting rope in of one of those old outboards. The massive Handy Creek log jam was also problematical in hindering the fish from reaching Gerrard. In the early 1950’s the egg station closed, the log jam cleared and the derby discontinued. A nutrification program was also instituted to increase the plankton supply for kokanee and some Gerrard rainbows were reared at Meadow Creek. The returns gradually improved until the peak returns were around 1000 in 2011. Biologists believe that peak spawner counts only represent a half to one third of the actual population size This is fortunate because these fish are a world class resource and one of the regions greatest assets and they spawn nowhere else, A small but unknown number spawned in the Duncan River below Duncan Lake but they were eliminated by Duncan Dam (as were many Bull Trout and kokanee). A few also spawned on a gravel bar near Balfour and may still do.

The Gerrard Spawning Site

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A beautiful female rainbow on the spawning site at Gerrard

Other, smaller forms of Kootenay Lake rainbow spawn in other places, it is almost certain that the large fish spawn nowhere else now. Why? There are many other large creeks with what looks like suitable spawning gravel and many miles of the Lardeau River below Gerrard. Why don’t some of the fish spawn there?

The eggs of trout and salmon require a clean and relatively stable gravel environment for optimal survival. Trout Lake acts as a huge settling basin for mountain creek sediment and stabilizes flow. As a result, much of the 400m section of the Lardeau between the lake and Mobbs Creek, the first unstable and sediment laden tributary, is ideal spawning habitat. The gravel is very clean, flow fluctuation is minimal and temperature is a little warmer and more conducive to egg development. Water is drawn from a large warming surface instead of melting from snow and glaciers most other Kootenay Lake tributaries and the Lardeau below Mobbs Creek become galloping torrents of cold and dirty melt water during the rainbow egg incubation period. Any eggs deposited in these places would be crushed or washed away Kokanee, Bull Trout and whitefish spawn in many of these non-buffered streams but they do so in the fall before the creeks run wild. Egg to fry survival at Gerrard is estimated to be at least 50 per cent. This is about five times greater than most other rainbow spawning runs.

Other features of the site that are conducive to the perpetuation of the big rainbows are its large gravel and relatively swift flow. The riverbed is composed of large gravel and small boulders under flows that are heavier than most other rainbow spawning streams. Therefore larger individuals are favoured because they are more able to hold a position and excavate redds in the substrate. It’s a matter of natural selection.

Life History

In spring when most low elevation snow is gone and streamside leaf buds are swelling, big Kootenay Lake rainbows begin to make their way up the Lardeau. The migration begins late in April and is generally over by late May. Most of the fish move by night and reach Gerrard in about 13 days. Peak spawning is early May.

When the trout are ready to spawn, the females selects a site digs a nest (red) with strong flexes of her tail and lower body, When her work is complete, both sexes settle into the red and release eggs and sperm. The female moves upstream to cover the red and the pair move to a nearby location to repeat the process until most of the eggs are deposited. The average female carries about 8000 eggs but not all of them can be released. About 10 per cent are retained and absorbed.

Several thousand whitefish are also hanging around Gerrard in the rainbow spawning period. These opportunists drop down from Trout Lake hoping to pick up a few loose eggs. They get a few but are no threat to the trout. A few suckers also spawn at Gerrard. They are no threat.

After about six weeks in the gravel, the eggs hatch and the fry struggle up to the stream. They hide in the stones of the red for a few days then work their way over to the calmer water of the stream margins and begin feeding on zooplankton that drift down from Trout Lake and larval forms of river insects. After a few weeks of growth in the excellent rearing conditions provided by the warmer, clear water and zooplankton provided by Trout Lake, many rainbow fry move down to Kootenay Lake under the cover of night. Those that survive the perils of 65 km of sometimes raging river make the lake in late summer. Larger portions of the little trout remain in the river until the following spring. They move down more gradually and feed along the way.

When the young rainbows reach Kootenay Lake they are from seven to fifteen centimetres long. They spend most of their first years feeding hard and after two or three years he fish are about 40 cm long begin to attack kokanee and grow rapidly. After a couple of more years, the Gerrard rainbows are trophy fish that weigh as much as 16 kilos their average weight is closer to 8 kilos. The largest Gerrard rainbow ever caught was 23.6 kilograms or 52 pounds. It was taken from Jewel Lake near Greenwood. Its remarkable size resulted from the fact that it was one of a few fish introduced to a lake with lots of forage fish. Kootenay Lake was 35.5 pounds taken in 1975 by George Hill of Grey Creek. Unlike many form of rainbow, the Gerrard are voracious fish eaters. It is because of this habit that they grow much larger than average rainbows. I was once employed by the BC Fish and Wildlife Branch to examine the gut content of big rainbow guts turned into Kaslo Marine Service or Fred Jones. Almost every gut was stuffed with kokanee save the

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A trophy Kootenay Lake rainbow

very odd one that was full of Carpenter ants.

After 4 -6 years of life in Kootenay Lake, the rainbows begin to mature and feel the pull of their natal stream. In the autumns and winter of their maturity, they lose the bright vitality of youth and take on a more e sombre appearance. Their backs, heads, flanks and fins darken and their bellies have a dishwater coloration. The pink flush on their sides becomes a more vivid red stripe and males jaws become hooked and elongated; they will be heading for Gerrard soon where many will end their lives. Few die immediately after spawning but only 5 to 10 per cent will survive to spawn again. Rainbow trout are aggressive on their spawning grounds. The males battle frequently. Spawning is a stressful event. If the fish survive the rigours of spawning, they still have to contend with 65 kilometres of icy, turbulent and almost foodless water between mobs Creek and Kootenay Lake. The fish that make the lake are quite susceptible to angling –they are very hungry, A few very strong fish are able to cope with all this and some even survive a second spawning. One really remarkable fish lived 14 years and spawned at least three times. An angler found it floundering on the surface near Lardo and brought the skinny, beat up fish into the Fisheries Research Station in Nelson. Normal rainbow trout are fortunate to live much be yond 3 or 4 years. Their long life is another reason Gerrards can attain such large size.

Management

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A West Arm kokanee

Stock protection is the foremost priority. Catch regulations have been appropriately conservative and habitat protection has been strong.

There have been problems with logging in the Lardeau Region but as far as I know, it has been controlled. The Forest Service is now a more active player in habitat protection. The Lardeau River and associated lateral waters have been closed for decades to protect adult migrants and young fish. An occasional Bull Trout is poached from the Lardeau but this is becoming rare, the north end of Kootenay Lake has long been closed.

Despite these efforts, Kootenay Lake has been experiencing fisheries and ecological woes. In the 1960’s, eutrophication caused by input of fertilizer from a Cominco (now Teck) Plant in the East Kootenay caused havoc in the West Arm. Then came the opposite: after Libby Reservoir became operational. The reservoir caught the nutrients and processed them in the basin leaving little for Kootenay Lake. There was a kokanee crash due to the nutrient loss and greedy fishermen. Nutrients were added and recovery was well underway but as of 2013, there has been another kokanee decline. Some think the build up of rainbows may have played a role by cropping the silvers too much. The rainbows themselves are said to still be strong just not as large.

Aside from nutrient restoration, a lot of effort has been expended to shore up kokanee. The Meadow Creek spawning channel was constructed to compensate for Duncan Dan cutting off huge numbers. Other spawning channels at Kokanee and Redfish Creeks have been added. Catch has been highly reduced. But Kootenay kokanee numbers remain low and the population has proven quite fragile despite huge numbers at some points.

I am confident that biologists will eventually get it right and attention can be directed to other Kootenay Lake fisheries like the long neglected West Arm

Rainbow fishery which was once far more popular than the Main Lake troll fishery for the Gerrard Giants and Bull Trout. The West Arm rainbows were usually much smaller than the Gerarrd fish but they are right in the lap of Nelson and supported a strong local fishery with occasional big fish and nice average size of some 40 plus cm. With some god fortune and perseverance, all of the spectacular Kootenay Lake fisheries will be restored to their full glory and the Gerrard Giants will continue on as the world’s finest specimen of rainbow trout.

This is an update of a 1981 brochure prepared for the BC Fish and Wildlife Branch by Ted Burns. Art Work by Jack Grundle.

Ted Burns

August 20/2020

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A lovely West Arm rainbow

 

DOWNHILL DEER – OR NOT?

December 22nd, 2023

THE LAKE NEWS, Lake Cowichan, B.C. Wednesday November 30, 1988

Deer on decline? Or Not?

By Ted Burns

I’ve forgotten the year but it wasn’t more than 10 or 12 years ago. I was searching for a waterfall on the east fork of the Robertson River when I came across a large rut in the ground, almost a trench. I scratched my head for a while before realizing what I’d found: an old deer runway (trail) from the days when the Cowichan Lake area had one of the largest deer populations on Vancouver Island. Those times are long gone. Deer have declined remarkably here and all over the island in the last few decades. The main reason …the tight canopy of second growth forests.

Early logging and accompanying fires created a bonanza for deer. Thousands of hectares of new slash and nutritious browse. And there was still lots of old growth to provide food and shelter in harsh winters. Deer became as numer­ous as grasshoppers in the dry fields of August. In the Nimpkish Valley, the last area in the Douglas fir zone to experience ideal habitat conditions, I counted more than 800 deer along a two-mile stretch of road. The year was 1972.

But the rapid progressive clear cutting that caused deer pop­ulations to climb is also the main reason for their fall. As the new forest returned, its canopy cut off sun­light and the deer food supply. Because logging was so rapid, large areas of relatively even-aged second growth now cover much of the east slope of Vancouver Island and deer are the worse for it. Deer were never abundant on the West Coast of the Island except in scattered pockets.

There are now more deer in old growth forests than in second growth. The stands are not as dense, there are more natural open­ings and the lichens that grow on old trees provide a good deal of food when branches are brought down by winds or decay. Tree lichens are the major food source of deer in winter.

Should a severe winter occur in the near future, there could be a catastrophic deer die-off because the winter habitat value of second growth is low. The last really hard winter on the South Coast was 1968-69. 20 years ago.

It’s not likely that there will ever be very large numbers of deer on Vancouver Island again in my life time. The old growth forests are still being opened on the West Slope but soil nutrients are low in cedar-hemlock forests and there are few deer even in ideal habitat. Deer will always be present however and there will be pockets of abundance as there are now, particularly in mountain herds and in the lowland resident deer around farm land.

There could be reasonable num­bers of deer again if the rate of future logging is not so rapid and it is spaced over larger areas; a more patchwork pattern instead of progressive clear cutting. And if selected stands of timber are left to reach old age and provide winter range, deer numbers could someday approach those of years ago. There may still be a few stands of what I call core habitat – scruffy old growth on rocky south and west facing slopes with lots of lichens. These places must be absolutely protected. I don’t think it will happen but the choice is there.

Update – July 20, 2020

It is now 2020 and deer have become urbanized. There are more than a few places in BC where deer are now almost pests. I moved to Port Alberni in 2018 and, on the first trip downtown, we saw a four point buck marching down Third Avenue which is the main street. It was a quiet Sunday morn and Port Alberni is by no means an expanding metropolis. It has lost population since the 1970’s. But I was still surprised. I shouldn’t have been. The lady we bought our house from kept a paint ball gun handy to protect her flowers. We took no action and now have several deer that are part of the family. We are kind of on the edge of town and deer love the place. Important stuff is fenced but the deer are constantly on the lookout for something that over tops or pokes thru the

fences,

Other island communities are similar. Even parts of Victoria have deer. Some of these places are quite urban – to developed for deer but they are there, Never mind Grand Forks or Cranbrook which have lots of deer.

As surprising at it may be to see a deer family in your yard, you still do not see many out in the bush. Some people think that deer have adapted to the urban life for protection from predators. I think they are simply taking advantage of the superior habitat conditions provide by the favorable mix of openings, forest patches at variable seral stages along with gardens and fruit trees.

I should say that overall logging practices have improved greatly since the early seventies. Smaller, openings, less roads and improved streamside and riparian treatment but the rush to replenish harvestable stands is not going to change and most of the working forest will be tree farms of questionable habitat value for deer.

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A nice buck feasting on plums near my Lake Cowichan driveway

THE LAKE NEWS, Lake Cowichan, B.C. Wednesday November 30, 1988

Deer on decline? Or Not?

By Ted Burns

I’ve forgotten the year but it wasn’t more than 10 or 12 years ago. I was searching for a waterfall on the east fork of the Robertson River when I came across a large rut in the ground, almost a trench. I scratched my head for a while before realizing what I’d found: an old deer runway (trail) from the days when the Cowichan Lake area had one of the largest deer populations on Vancouver Island. Those times are long gone. Deer have declined remarkably here and all over the island in the last few decades. The main reason …the tight canopy of second growth forests.

Early logging and accompanying fires created a bonanza for deer. Thousands of hectares of new slash and nutritious browse. And there was still lots of old growth to provide food and shelter in harsh winters. Deer became as numer­ous as grasshoppers in the dry fields of August. In the Nimpkish Valley, the last area in the Douglas fir zone to experience ideal habitat conditions, I counted more than 800 deer along a two-mile stretch of road. The year was 1972.

But the rapid progressive clear cutting that caused deer pop­ulations to climb is also the main reason for their fall. As the new forest returned, its canopy cut off sun­light and the deer food supply. Because logging was so rapid, large areas of relatively even-aged second growth now cover much of the east slope of Vancouver Island and deer are the worse for it. Deer were never abundant on the West Coast of the Island except in scattered pockets.

There are now more deer in old growth forests than in second growth. The stands are not as dense, there are more natural open­ings and the lichens that grow on old trees provide a good deal of food when branches are brought down by winds or decay. Tree lichens are the major food source of deer in winter.

Should a severe winter occur in the near future, there could be a catastrophic deer die-off because the winter habitat value of second growth is low. The last really hard winter on the South Coast was 1968-69. 20 years ago.

It’s not likely that there will ever be very large numbers of deer on Vancouver Island again in my life time. The old growth forests are still being opened on the West Slope but soil nutrients are low in cedar-hemlock forests and there are few deer even in ideal habitat. Deer will always be present however and there will be pockets of abundance as there are now, particularly in mountain herds and in the lowland resident deer around farm land.

There could be reasonable num­bers of deer again if the rate of future logging is not so rapid and it is spaced over larger areas; a more patchwork pattern instead of progressive clear cutting. And if selected stands of timber are left to reach old age and provide winter range, deer numbers could someday approach those of years ago. There may still be a few stands of what I call core habitat – scruffy old growth on rocky south and west facing slopes with lots of lichens. These places must be absolutely protected. I don’t think it will happen but the choice is there.

Update – July 20, 2020

It is now 2020 and deer have become urbanized. There are more than a few places in BC where deer are now almost pests. I moved to Port Alberni in 2018 and, on the first trip downtown, we saw a four point buck marching down Third Avenue which is the main street. It was a quiet Sunday morn and Port Alberni is by no means an expanding metropolis. It has lost population since the 1970’s. But I was still surprised. I shouldn’t have been. The lady we bought our house from kept a paint ball gun handy to protect her flowers. We took no action and now have several deer that are part of the family. We are kind of on the edge of town and deer love the place. Important stuff is fenced but the deer are constantly on the lookout for something that over tops or pokes thru the

fences,

Other island communities are similar. Even parts of Victoria have deer. Some of these places are quite urban – to developed for deer but they are there, Never mind Grand Forks or Cranbrook which have lots of deer.

As surprising at it may be to see a deer family in your yard, you still do not see many out in the bush. Some people think that deer have adapted to the urban life for protection from predators. I think they are simply taking advantage of the superior habitat conditions provide by the favorable mix of openings, forest patches at variable seral stages along with gardens and fruit trees.

I should say that overall logging practices have improved greatly since the early seventies. Smaller, openings, less roads and improved streamside and riparian treatment but the rush to replenish harvestable stands is not going to change and most of the working forest will be tree farms of questionable habitat value for deer.

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A nice buck feasting on plums near my Lake Cowichan driveway

 

DISTURBING TREND ALONG SHORES

December 20th, 2023

DISTURBING TREND ALONG LAKE SHORES

There is a disturbing trend underway along the shores of many BC lakes and its called urbanization. It wasn’t too long ago that people were content with low impact, small scale development: a small cottage and float with minimal clearing. If you had to access the property by boat, so much the better. Many people of today seem to require more. Much more. It seems that today’s shore dwellers have forgotten how to live in the country because they insist on dragging their city comforts along with them. Power, pavement and houses and lawns that would not look out of place in the Hollywood Hills.

The thought is, if the shore is swampy or brushy or if trees mar the view, bring in machines to create a beach and remove the offending vegetation so trucks can be driven to the water’s edge to haul away any driftwood that dares to land on the property.

If erosion occurs because the shore zones natural defenses have been stripped, bring back the machines to build retaining walls or line the shore with shot rock.

It’s a depressing scene that seems to occur almost everywhere people choose to live by lakes. The Cowichan Lake Salmonid Enhancement Society, a stewardship group in Lake Cowichan recently found that nearly 70% of lake shore properties on Cowichan Lake had moderate to high impacts on the shores. In travelling around the province, I would say as much or more degradation has happened on numerous lakes like Christina, Okanagan, Shuswap, Kootenay Lake’s West Arm – the list goes on.

Shore zones are the most productive parts of our lakes, especially the larger lakes like those I have cited here. The same things that help provide production on natural shores, also attract human activity. Things like protection from wave attack and gentle slopes. These are among the first areas to go.

Is it possible to live on a lake shore without degrading its natural values too much?

I think it is but it requires a dedicated commitment to living light. First off there are parts of lakes that should simply never be developed. They need to remain as nature reserves, parks or rec sites. The portions of lakes that can be in the real estate market place should be subject to constraints like a protected setback from the high water level. Natural vegetation would be retained and a small dock for swimming or sunning would take the place of a beach or lawn. Access would be in the form of narrow gravelled paths.

Perhaps the most attractive feature of BC is its number and variety of lakes. Because of our glacial history and ample water, we have an abundance of beautiful, clean lakes that support excellent fish populations. These lakes are the envy of the world and a priceless gift that must be carefully stewarded . Indeed.

 

A Brief History of Cathedral Grove

December 20th, 2023

A BRIEF HISTORY OF CATHEDRAL GROVE

By

TED BURNS

(adapted from a BC Forest History Newsletter article by Kerry Joy BC Parks Forester and former resident of Alberni Valley)

In 1886 a wagon road was punched from Nanaimo to Port Alberni. It was located on the north side of Cameron Lake. By 1911 the road was moved to the south shore and the railroad was located on the north side. These routes enabled the transfer of people and commerce and allowed people to experience the magnificence of a rich part of the Island Forest. At this time, commercial logging was just beginning to get underway on the coast.

HR MacMillan, BC’s first Chief Forester was highly aware of the value of old growth forest. As an entrapanuial opportunist, he staked claims on some of the best timber on the coast by obtaining rights to entire river valleys including the Cameron.

When the road improved, the forest industry in the Alberni Valley began to flourish and the population swelled with the increasing number of jobs in the woods and the mills. Travel over the Hump also picked up and it became traditional to stop at The Grove for a picnic or short stroll though the giants. It was said the Cathedral Grove was given its name by Governor General Viscount Willington during a 1928 visit.

For the next fifteen years, pressure was applied to HR MacMIllan by different groups including the Vancouver Island Tourist Association to donate Cathedral Grove as a park. HR stood fast citing the high timber value and its importance to his company’s growth.

Finally at a meeting with the Vancouver Island Tourist Association in 1944, HR relented and stormed out of the hall yelling “alright you can have the G.D. Grove”! The public victory resulted in park protection for 136 ha of old growth in the Lower Cameron Valley. Although The Grove trees are not the tallest or largest in the province there are heights over 50-69 m and girths up to 4.5 m. Most importantly over 300, 00 people visit each year and The Grove is the only highway accessible stand of old growth Douglas fir in BC.

Although H.R.(Harvey Reginald) gave up the grove to the delight of many, his company slammed his decision for many years after ranting that the decadent old trees were past their prime and would blow down. They should be logged before that happened they asserted. They did their best to hasten windfall by logging the rest of the upstream valley right up to The Grove. Sure enough, serious blow down has occurred and will likely continue as the forest thins out.

In 1990, a punchy pineapple express storm roared through The Grove blowing down 6 ha of forest and causing some major channel shifts and bank erosion on the Cameron River. Another 1996 storm slammed into the Grove with considerable damage.

Hopefully, The Grove will persist for much longer and people will continue to marvel. What I find ironic is that Cathedral Grove is by far the most outstanding legacy of HR MacMIllan and his company: MacMillan Bloedel.

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Clear cutting the Cameron Valley up to The Grove aided blow down.

 

WHEN I WAS A COWBOY AT THE S HALF DIAMOND

December 9th, 2023

When I Was a Cowboy at the S Half Diamond  (All my Heroes are Cowboys)

The year was 1960. I was in Grade eleven at Sunnyvale High and hated it. My friend Victor (Sonny) Simon was also a disgruntled student and his Uncle Merle Simon was buying a ranch in B C and offered Sonny and I jobs. He also offered a job to his girlfriend’s brother: Gordie Duke. Sonny and I were marginal cowboys at best but Gordie was a top hand : wiry, smart and tough.

Before we got near the ranch we had to sell a carload of Christmas trees that were cut on the ranch. We secured a lot beside the El Camino in Mountain View and set up a large tepee advertising “Royal Canadian “Christmas Trees. We bunked in the tepee and sold all of the trees at a dollar a foot. They averaged about six feet long and were beautiful. They came out of the rail cars still frozen and snow covered. People loved them.

After we cleaned out the trees, we headed north in Merle’s big Oldsmobile with summer tires. It was a cold rain when we left the Bay Area and by Shasta Lake, you could see flecks of snow on the windshield. By Southern Oregon it had switched to heavy snow and you could feel the Big Olds start to slip. At one point we spun doughnuts for half a mile or so and almost hit the ditch. This was near the small town of Chemult which is in a snow belt. Thankfully the snow let up before Spokane and it was clear to the ranch.

When we finally arrived there was a surprise. A big bull elk had fallen onto the ice of Premier Lake and could not get up. He had been walking on snow covered old ice where he got traction then moved out to fresh ice with light snow cover where he slipped and fell. We took a rope down to the far end of the lake where we looped it lightly around his neck and dragged him over to the old ice. He got up right away then charged me. I ran back to the new ice. As he followed, he fell again in the same spot. The ice had melted a bit where he had lain and he and I almost went through this time. We dragged him off again but this time he was too exhausted to get up so we left him. Later on he was able to get up and stagger into the woods.

Another revelation. The ranch had several cats that “sort of” lived there fending for themselves. They had a hard stretch when the boys were in California. They were huddled around the ranch chimneys probably hoping for a ghost of heat. They’re ears had frozen off !

It was very cold at the ranch in those days. The only heat was what we could muster from scrap lumber we salvaged from a little mill on the property. We had a fireplace and two wood stoves of ancient vintage. There was no insulation. One morning it was minus 52F at Bill Bush’s ranch just north of us and minus 11F in our frost covered bedroom.

The place was kind of a Dude Ranch that boarded horses for the winter. Technically we were not cowboys because there were no cows on the place. Just 40 or more horses. We were wranglers.

Apart from myself, Sonny and Gordie, there was another top hand on the ranch: Rad Hartwell a very experienced cowboy/ wrangler from down in the states. Rad and Merle were not around much that winter so we were on our own. We kept the horses in feed and water and rode them about two or three times a week. We had some great horses including a race horse named Prevail. She could run but wasn’t very sure footed and spilled occasionally. Only Gordie rode her and even he got dumped once or twice. My favorite horse was a little chestnut mare we called Square Dance. She loved to run and was very reliable.-an excellent dude horse.

We also had a big stud horse called Tom – a palomino with a white mane and a lot of spunk. He would try to kick and bite you. A horse bite can do a lot of damage. And Tom was very sneaky about it. Aside from horse duties there was not a great deal to keep us busy. Ron Kuppenbender would sometimes bring a group of Kimberley girls out to do some riding and help make supper. There were some grand girls in Kimberley in those days.

Once we found a stash of fancy liqueurs. Things like Creme de Minth, Creme De Cocao and Bailys Irish Cream. Of course we had to sample them even though we knew they were “dude “ drinks for the rich and famous and not for poor cowpokes. As the night progressed Things got a bit out of hand and someone decided that our hair was too long for hard riding bush cowboys. So out come some clippers and the massacre proceeds. We woke up in horror with pounding heads afraid to look in a mirror.

Sometime in February, it was time to get our animals off the range. The East Kootenay is often called the Serengeti of the north because of the abundant herds of big game. Deer, elk, Big Horn Sheep, Moose and grizzlies are hunted along with a few Mountain Goats. These animals depend on healthy winter ranges for survival. Horses, cattle and sheep graze out the-preferred plants and place a heavy burden on wildlife. Therefore domestic stock must skedaddle to free up the range which is often quite damaged from over grazing by the time wildlife get to it in late winter.

I think the situation is better now. Biologists like Ray DeMarchi and Glen Smith worked with the cattlemen’s groups to improve the range and more closely manage the animals.

Our horses were from two groups: Wasa and Canal Flats. This was invariably where they ended up and is was quite easy to herd them back to the ranch by following the old Stagecoach Road that ran from Cranbrook to Canal Flats There was a wild card however: the owner’s kids horses. Roddy Simon had a. large mare he called Wonder. She and her colt were hanging around Skookumchuck. We rounded them up and I volunteered to take them back to the ranch. Merle was trying out his video camera watching Wonder make a leap over a snow bank. She then galloped into the woods and bucked me off. I tried to catch her and get back on but she kept kicking and bucking. The colt was following along so a caught him and used my coat as a halter to get the two of them back close to the ranch which was several miles away through knee deep snow. Temperature was 15 below Fahrenheit degrees. Wonder got the whip when we limped back to the barn. She had been spoiled and would need a lot of riding before the dudes showed up.

After our adventures in the great Rocky Mountain Trench, I lived in Kimberley for awhile then back to Nelson and eventually we all ended up in California for a new round of adventure. I even ended up at another ranch at Mad River in the hills of Humboldt County. I never saw Sonny again but did see Gordie on occasion He ended up working on the tow boats (tugs) where he became very well known.

 

December 1st, 2023

Forest Land: Resource or Real Estate?

Although Vancouver Island environmentalists have been voicing a good deal of concern about logging practices and forest conservation for years, there is something that concerns many of them even more: that is that the forest companies will stop logging!

In the coming years, companies like Fletcher Challenge, Canadian Pacific Forest Products and MacMillan Bloedel will be highly tempted to turn some of their private forest land into real estate. How they deal with that temptation will be of critical importance to the future of communities like Lake Cowichan.

A large percentage of land along both Cowichan Lake and River is the property of forest companies. Through a series of land grants between 1884 and 1925, the Esquimalt and Nanaimo Railway acquired almost two million acres on the east slope of Vancouver Island between Sooke and Campbell River. Huge blocks of this area were subsequently sold to logging companies. Most of it has been logged and now supports advanced stages of second growth. This is Canada’s best forest land and has provided the industry with immense profits. It has also provided the employment base for Vancouver Island communities. But for how long?

People continue to pour through the Rockies like Lethbridge Pale Ale. Many of them are headed for Vancouver Island. Land prices continue to rise. A third ferry crossing of Georgia Strait is in the wings and many people who work in Vancouver will live on the east coast of Vancouver Island. Land price and demand will sky rocket, especially prime shore lands like those along Cowichan Lake and river. Will the companies go for windfall real estate profits or bite the bullet, take the long view and continue to manage these lands as resource: working forest.

Although some may think it strange, environmentalists would much prefer that industry maintain the long view. As rough as logging can be on the environment, recovery is usually fairly rapid. But, once forest land is converted to real estate, there is no going back and a new set of irreversible impacts emerge as suburbia sprawls across the land in the form of housing tracts, roads, malls and so on. British Columbia is a province that is highly dependent upon a functional resource base, especially high class forest land. How the province and the forest industry deal with the resource versus real estate question will be a major issue in the near future.

Some companies have already indicated how they may handle it. MacMillan Bloedel is selling its extensive holdings on Galiano Island and a block of land just east of Youbou at Miracle Creek. As far as I know, opposition has been limited to environmentalists on Galiano Island; the same people who have hassled MacMillan Bloedel about logging methods for years. One would suppose the I.W.A. and Share Our Forests groups would have something to say.

When environmentalists lobby for withdrawal of public land from industrial forests for park purposes, these groups and the companies take strong stands on loss of the resource base, (even though it would still be resource but in a different form) . So does the Forest Minister. In a May 14th letter to the Times Colonist he wrote, “if more land is removed from the working forest, there must be compensation”. I hope he applies the same standards to private forests.

It is imperative that everyone concerned with the future of areas like the Cowichan Valley should be prepared to consider how the forest industry will deal with the pressures of urbanization. Will they turn resource land into real estate and hasten the valley’s demise into suburbia or will they maintain the working forest and present lifestyle that so many cherish?

Lake News Column 1988 by Ted Burns

 

Tom Burns One Tough Hombre

November 30th, 2023

TOM BURNS – ONE TOUGH H0MBRE

Tom was born in the old Victorian hospital in Kaslo on December 27, 1949. The late 1940’s featured some very hard winters and 1949 was one. Rough enough to freeze both Okanagan and Kootenay Lakes. We no longer see such winters in BC .The last one was 53 years ago. We lived in Ainsworth the winter Tom was born. I think it was spring before he came home. Mom, Betty Olsen and I went to get him. He was very premature two pounds and change. The nuns kept him in a chick incubator until he was healthy enough to come home. I remember Mom and Betty laying him out on the dining room table and fawning over him. He was so small and we all realized it was a miracle he was here. His doctor told mother not to have high hopes for Tommy. Aside from surviving birth and early development he was born with cerebral palsy. CP is a group of disorders that affect movement muscle tone and balance. There is no cure victorian.jpg The old Victorian Hospital in Kaslo.

After Ainsworth, we moved to Hillsdale, California for awhile when Nid was still very young. I don’t remember much except that the apartments covered a huge area and that one of the first malls was built nearby

backincal.jpg

Tom, Mom and Kath at Hilllsdale.

We went back to Nelson in the early 1950’s where Tom thrived. He, Kath and I went to St. Joseph’s school. Tom and I would sometimes cut class to go on walkabouts. A favourite target was Hood’s bakery near the bottom end of Stanley Street. We hiked down from Latimer by taking the trail from Cottonwood Canyon, past the Hatchery , then up to Kootenay Street where we carried on to Hoods. There were dozens of fresh loaves arranged on drying racks near the street. Tom and I would hollow out a couple of ends and fill them with peanut butter and strawberry jam. We then headed down to the hobo jungle at the mouth of Cottonwood Creek where we devoured the bounty with the help of the bums. The hobos told us wild tales of riding the rails all across North America where they were hard pressed to dodge the railroad cops. They said the bulls were quite dangerous and one guy relayed how he was dispatched one winter night on the frozen prairie where he was clubbed then tossed out to skid on his face until he skidded to a stop minus some skin.

After a great stint in Nelson, we moved to Hillsdale, CA. It was an ugly place and Tommy was very young. I doubt if h ever remembered very much.

California developers built a huge mall nearby that turned into a demolition derby. People were not used to parking in close quarters. They opened their car doors into the sides of adjacent vehicles until they got used to the new style of parking.

We were soon on the road again. This time it was the Nelson shuttle. We lived at 1002 Kootenay Street a small non-descript house that still stands. Dad and Grandpa added a bedroom for Nid (my nickname for Tom) and I. and the house survived the big highway upheaval of the 1970’s that took out some really fine places but our little hovel still sits there looking exactly like it did in the 1950’s

bucky.jpg

Our travels were not over. The parents announced that we were headed to California again. Dad was starting a lighting company where the streets were paved with gold. I was disappointed to leave but Mom was ecstatic and started singing California Here I Come before we left Nelson. We got a motel in Spokane and mother got herself several quarts of Lucky Lager beer to celebrate. We settled in a San Diego suburb called Pacific Beach, which was a great spot. We lived in a small apartment above a lovely California beach that stretched for miles.

Tom, Kath, Sue and I went down to the beach at first light to watch old men with metal detectors search the beach for watches, rings and coins. They found a surprising amount. Sometimes we would go down to Belmont Park for the rides. Other times we would go out on the pier to hang out or fish. We caught small fish, croakers and shiner perch. Once I hooked a small halibut and another time we saw a large manta ray leap free and fall back into the gleaming sea. Pacific Beach was a great place.

Our stint in Paradise was soon over however. We trekked north to the Bay Area and Sunnyvale. It was then a small agricultural community but just edging into the high tech era which would increase the population from about 5000 to 150,000 in a few years. It went from fields and orchards to malls, subdivisions and car dealerships seemingly overnight. It shocked me to see such a productive valley just flushed away without protest. It was hard to believe. In those days, Californians thought land use planning was a communist conspiracy or worse so the demise of the Santa Clara Valley was not a surprise.

Tom hardly noticed. He was busy playing Little League baseball, Pop Warner football or whatever was going on the streets. He was just a happy go lucky boy, glad to be playing sports and laughing all the way.

After a couple of years, we moved a few miles west to Los Altos a beautiful town at the edge of the Santa Cruz Mountains. Tom and Sue went to Homestead Elementary School while Kath was at Fremont High and I was at Foothill College. We had a big house with oak trees and Stevens Creek in the backyard.

Dad had a swimming pool installed. Tom dove in right away and hardly left as long as the sun was shining. He became quite the physical specimen adding lots of muscle and co-ordination.

He continued his love of sport, Dad often took him up to The City to watch professional teams. Dad was a football fan so they saw the 49ers which featured Y A Tittle and fans that would rain down whiskey bottles if things were not going well. It was dangerous to sit in the Lower Rows at Kezar. The Giants had good teams in those days with the great sluggers Willie Mc Covey and Orlando Cepeda. We often went up to the Cow Place to watch the Seals of the old Western Hockey League play the Vancouver Canucks or Seattle Totems. There were some great Players in the old WHL. Which was very close to the NHL The great Guyle Fielder played for Seattle. Phil Maloney led the Canucks and the Seals had Orland Kurtenbach, Moe Mantha and Eddie Panagabco. Tom would go down to the players’ bench before the games to get autographs. He listened to all the games he didn’t get to on the radio including those of the San Francisco Warriors where Wilt Chamberlin played.

In Los Altos, we were introduced to pool parties where neighbourhood and church groups would have backyard gatherings with food and a keg of beer.

The parties would flame out in the early evening and the half full kegs would sit outside for awhile. Tom and his rascal friends would find out where the parties were and dispose of the contents of the keg in a secluded area. No one ever caught the boys so they went about their business. Aside from the pool, we often swam in Stevens Creek reservoir which had a spill way that would flow in the spring months when it picked up a coating of filamentous green algae which was very slippery so we slid down the spillway to land in a big pool at the bottom.

In about 1965, the California Dream was over and it was back to Nelson for Tom and Sue. Kath went on to Gonzaga in Spokane while I hustled up to Humboldt State University in the redwoods of Northern California. Tom readapted to life in Nelson and was glad to see his old friends like Ross and Roddy McKay, Dale Jefferies and Dick Murphy. They moved into the old house at Burns Point which was about 100 years old. It was a summer home and not insulated so it as hard to heat in winter. Dad built a new house in 1967. Sister Sue still lives in it. People were starting to live across the lake now that a bridge had replaced the Nelson Ferry and a road had come down almost to the house. The McKays built a house nearby and many street hockey games were played near the end of the road. The Clum boys usually joined in and some real lively games resulted. Summers were consumed by swimming and water skiing at the beach or up at Jorgie’s where there was a store and small marina. Such luminaries as Blake Allen and Steve Ward were also part of Jorgies gang. Tom and the boys also built small forts and cabins in the bush and stocked them with essentials like chips and comics. There were many hikes up to Pulpit Rock and down to Grohman Creek.

pondhockey.jpg

Tom was now in high school and enjoyed playing on the` LV Rogers basketball team : The Bombers. He no longer had the option of watching big league sports like the Bay Area teams but we had some great hockey teams nearby in the Western International League. Tom and I watched countless games between the Trail Smoke Eaters, Kimberley Dynamiters and our Nelson Maple Leafs.

When Tom finished at LVR, he Ross and Rod McKay and Jack Carpenter worked for CPR in the East Kootenay. `Big time coal mining was starting up so the boys had lot of work and adventure.

After the CPR days, Tom went to Mt. Royal College in Calgary where he did remarkably well for a boy ‘not to have high hope for’. Then a rougher road came up. Tom transferred to UBC where they would not axcept many of his Mt. Royal courses and credits. Tom was completely unprepared for this and was devastated. He had some good friends in Vancouver so he partied for awhile then managed to graduate as a teacher.

He taught in Burns Lake, Fort St John, Bella Bella and in the Fraser Valley and Kootenays. He started teaching in Asia in the 90’s and had stints in China, Japan and Korea where he would travel when he did not teach. He was especially fond of Thailand and knew its beaches well. When he stayed with me in Lake Cowichan, he was known as Thailand Tom. In the early twenty thousands, Tom scaled back his travels and settled back in Nelson where his health issues began to slow him down big time. Eventually he booked into Mountain Lakes care home. He still got around a bit and enjoyed the friends he made there but his health was still sliding. Parkinson’s disease came into his life as did arthritis to the point where he needed a hip replacement. That was done in the spring of 2021. Tom never fully recovered from the operation and in mid June of 2021, he made his final trip.

Tom was loved in Nelson. Over 300 people posted their condolences on Facebook. Most of them spoke of Tom’s easy smile and how easy he was to talk to

 

 

The Little Stores of Nelson+

November 30th, 2023

The little stores of Nelson

Updated: 6 days ago

A guest post from Ted Burns

When I think of the Nelson of the 1950s, one of the first things I think about are the neighbourhood stores. I also think about the early days of rock and roll — Bill Haley, Elvis, Chuck Berry, Buddy Holly — the sock hops at L.V. Rogers where I was a first time student transferring over from St. Joseph’s when they closed the high school, the beginnings of skiing and how few people lived across the lake then before the bridge and Johnstone Road were built. Most people just lived there in the summer and went over to town by rowboat.

We lived at 1002 Kootenay Street then and my pals were Tom Ramsay, Gary Kilpatrick, the Goldsbury brothers, Dick Gelinas, Harry Cox, Muggsy Holmes and Clare Palmer. The neighbor hood was pretty well gutted by highway construction in the 1970s but our little house remains.

So does Tremain’s Store at Hall Mines and Kootenay (aka Cross Roads Store, 1103 Hall Mines, T. Davison, prop. in 1955 and later Andrew Tremain, prop.) where many of the kids went to stock up on Kik Cola and McIntosh Toffee.

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1103 Hall Mines Road was once the Cross Roads Store.

Another local store was Herron’s Grocery on Stanley between Latimer and Mill (aka the Maple Leaf Grocery, Joe Herron prop. until 1950, followed by Hugh Horswill – still standing). That was the best place for popsicles and was adjacent to both Central and St. Joseph’s schools.

Even more fortunately located for sugar hounds was the very popular Sugar Bowl which definitely had a large supply of candy — bins of jaw breakers and penny candy (902 Josephine, H.E. Mannings proprietor in 1955). Then there was the Uphill 0r Hilltop Store which was more of a legitimate grocery store in those days.  It later became Burrell’s

Some of the other stores had more basic supplies as well. Scott’s Grocery (823 Nelson Ave., George Scott, prop. in 1955 – demolished) was a more or less full service store and also featured a popular hamburger stand called the Totem Burger which was a very well attended hangout for teens with cars.

One of my favourite stores was the Green Door which was across from Queen Elizabeth Park which had just opened as had Little League baseball in Nelson. It was proximal to the high school and had a jukebox with tunes like, yes, the Green door.

Johnstone’s was another Fairview store popular with high school kids and there were often crowds of cola guzzlers on hand. It was also called Vi’s (921 Davies, prop. Mrs. V.E. Graves in 1955). Down in Lower Fairview was the Ringrose Store which I don’t believe I ever visited (Avenue Service Station, 802 Nelson Ave., James Ringrose, prop. – demolished 1957) Back along Front Street was Bennie’s Grocery, another store that I seldom visited but was popular (1117 Front, B.F. Schneider prop. in 1953 – still standing).

I also include Jorgenson’s as a neighborhood store for North Shore residents. It was a very good store and had a good selection of meat. When the meat cars came in from Calgary, Pop Jorgenson was right on the spot at the truck terminus to get his meat in the cooler before the day warmed up. He also

had a small marina near the store where Al Jorgenson sold Hewes Craft boats and the North Shore boys kept their beer in a boathouse well. Jorgy’s was at the ferry landing.

Further up the hill there was a store at Brad’s Motel and heading out the lake there was the Willow Point Store where Howie and Lowly Jefferies held sway and many people will fondly remember the Question Mark at Six Mile.

Now there are big warehouse stores and the mall but in those days, the little stores were where most people shopped. Safeway and the Overwaitea were on Baker Street but even they were relatively small stores in those times and it was easier to just walk a few blocks to your friendly Mom and Pop store than to hike down to Baker Street.

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Nelson Daily News clipping about Avenue Service Station, date unknown, but ca. 1930s. Courtesy Joe Ringrose

Further up the hill there was a store at Brad’s Motel and heading out the lake there was the Willow Point Store where Howie and Lowly Jefferies held sway and many people will fondly remember the Question Mark at Six Mile.

Now there are big warehouse stores and the mall but in those days, the little stores were where most people shopped. Safeway and the Overwaitea were on Baker Street but even they were relatively small stores in those times and it was easier to just walk a few blocks to your friendly Mom and Pop store than to hike down to Baker Street.

https://static.wixstatic.com/media/5b91d8_ee8955fa0138448c8c5733991b059c6d~mv2_d_3279_2096_s_2.jpg/v1/fill/w_940,h_601,al_c,q_90,usm_0.66_1.00_0.01/5b91d8_ee8955fa0138448c8c5733991b059c6d~mv2_d_3279_2096_s_2.jpg

The 500 block of Baker Street in Nelson, 1950s, showing Safeway on the left before it moved to a new standalone store in Fairview. (Greg Nesteroff collection)

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Gringo Trail

November 28th, 2023

TOM BURNS – ONE TOUGH H0MBRE

Tom was born in the old Victorian hospital in Kaslo on December 27, 1949. The late 1940’s featured some very hard winters and 1949 was one. Rough enough to freeze both Okanagan and Kootenay Lakes. We no longer see such winters in BC .The last one was 53 years ago. We lived in Ainsworth the winter Tom was born. I think it was spring before he came home. Mom, Betty Olsen and I went to get him. He was very premature two pounds and change. The nuns kept him in a chick incubator until he was healthy enough to come home. I remember Mom and Betty laying him out on the dining room table and fawning over him. He was so small and we all realized it was a miracle he was here. His doctor told mother not to have high hopes for Tommy. Aside from surviving birth and early development he was born with cerebral palsy. CP is a group of disorders that affect movement muscle tone and balance. There is no cure victorian.jpg The old Victorian Hospital in Kaslo.

After Ainsworth, we moved to Hillsdale, California for awhile when Nid was still very young. I don’t remember much except that the apartments covered a huge area and that one of the first malls was built. nearby

backincal.jpg

Tom, Mom and Kath at Hilllsdale.

We went back to Nelson in the early 1950’s where Tom thrived. He, Kath and I went to St. Joseph’s school. Tom and I would sometimes cut class to go on walkabouts. A favourite target was Hood’s bakery near the bottom end of Kootenay Street. We hiked down from Latimer by taking the trail from Cottonwood Canyon, past the Hatchery , then up to Kootenay Street where we carried on to Hoods. There were dozens of fresh loaves arranged on drying racks near the street. Tom and I would hollow out a couple of ends and fill them with peanut butter and strawberry jam. We then headed down to the hobo jungle at the mouth of Cottonwood Creek where we devoured the bounty with the help of the bums. The hobos told us wild tales of riding the rails all across North America where they were hard pressed to dodge the railroad cops. They said the bulls were quite dangerous and one guy relayed how he was dispatched one winter night on the frozen prairie where he was clubbed then tossed out to skid on his face until he skidded to a stop minus some skin.

After a great stint in Ainsworth, we moved to Hillsdale, CA. It was an ugly place and Tommy was very young. I doubt if h ever remembered very much.

California developers built a huge mall nearby that turned into a demolition derby. People were not used to parking in close quarters. They opened their car doors into the sides of adjacent vehicles until they got used to the new style of parking.

We were soon on the road again. This time it was the Nelson shuttle. We lived at 1002 Kootenay Street a small non-descript house that still stands. Dad and Grandpa added a bedroom for Nid (my nickname for Tom) and I. and the house survived the big highway upheaval of the 1970’s that took out some really fine places but our little hovel still sits there looking exactly like it did in the 1950’s

bucky.jpg

Our travels were not over. The parents announced that we were headed to California again. Dad was starting a lighting company where the streets were paved with gold. I was disappointed to leave but Mom was ecstatic and started singing California Here I Come before we left Nelson. We got a motel in Spokane and mother got herself several quarts of Lucky Lager beer to celebrate. We settled in a San Diego suburb called Pacific Beach, which was a great spot. We lived in a small apartment above a lovely California beach that stretched for miles.

Tom, Kath, Sue and I went down to the beach at first light to watch old men with metal detectors search the beach for watches, rings and coins. They found a surprising amount. Sometimes we would go down to Belmont Park for the rides. Other times we would go out on the pier to hang out or fish. We caught small fish, croakers and shiner perch. Once I hooked a small halibut and another time we saw a large manta ray leap free and fall back into the gleaming sea. Pacific Beach was a great place.

Our stint in Paradise was soon over however. We trekked north to the Bay Area and Sunnyvale. It was then a small agricultural community but just edging into the high tech era which would increase the population from about 5000 to 150,000 in a few years. It went from fields and orchards to malls, subdivisions and car dealerships seemingly overnight. It shocked me to see such a productive valley just flushed away without protest. It was hard to believe. In those days, Californians thought land use planning was a communist conspiracy or worse so the demise of the Santa Clara Valley was not a surprise.

Tom hardly noticed. He was busy playing Little League baseball, Pop Warner football or whatever was going on the streets. He was just a happy go lucky boy, glad to be playing sports and laughing all the way.

After a couple of years, we moved a few miles west to Los Altos a beautiful town at the edge of the Santa Cruz Mountains. Tom and Sue went to Homestead Elementary School while Kath was at Fremont High and I was at Foothill College. We had a big house with oak trees and Stevens Creek in the backyard.

Dad had a swimming pool installed. Tom dove in right away and hardly left as long as the sun was shining. He became quite the physical specimen adding lots of muscle and co-ordination.

He continued his love of sport, Dad often took him up to The City to watch professional teams. Dad was a football fan so they saw the 49ers which featured Y A Tittle and fans that would rain down whiskey bottles if things were not going well. It was dangerous to sit in the Lower Rows at Kezar. The Giants had good teams in those days with the great sluggers Willie Mc Covey and Orlando Cepeda. We often went up to the Cow Place to watch the Seals of the old Western Hockey League play the Vancouver Canucks or Seattle Totems. There were some great Players in the old WHL. Which was very close to the NHL The great Guyle Fielder played for Seattle. Phil Maloney led the Canucks and the Seals had Orland Kurtenbach, Moe Mantha and Eddie Panagabco. Tom would go down to the players’ bench before the games to get autographs. He listened to all the games he didn’t get to on the radio including those of the San Francisco Warriors where Wilt Chamberlin played.

In Los Altos, we were introduced to pool parties where neighbourhood and church groups would have backyard gatherings with food and a keg of beer.

The parties would flame out in the early evening and the half full kegs would sit outside for awhile. Tom and his rascal friends would find out where the parties were and dispose of the contents of the keg in a secluded area. No one ever caught the boys so they went about their business. Aside from the pool, we often swam in Stevens Creek reservoir which had a spill way that would flow in the spring months when it picked up a coating of filamentous green algae which was very slippery so we slid down the spillway to land in a big pool at the bottom.

In about 1965, the California Dream was over and it was back to Nelson for Tom and Sue. Kath went on to Gonzaga in Spokane while I hustled up to Humboldt State University in the redwoods of Northern California. Tom readapted to life in Nelson and was glad to see his old friends like Ross and Roddy McKay, Dale Jefferies and Dick Murphy. They moved into the old house at Burns Point which was about 100 years old. It was a summer home and not insulated so it as hard to heat in winter. Dad built a new house in 1967. Sister Sue still lives in it. People were starting to live across the lake now that a bridge had replaced the Nelson Ferry and a road had come down almost to the house. The McKays built a house nearby and many street hockey games were played near the end of the road. The Clum boys usually joined in and some real lively games resulted. Summers were consumed by swimming and water skiing at the beach or up at Jorgie’s where there was a store and small marina. Such luminaries as Blake Allen and Steve Ward were also part of Jorgies gang. Tom and the boys also built small forts and cabins in the bush and stocked them with essentials like chips and comics. There were many hikes up to Pulpit Rock and down to Grohman Creek.

pondhockey.jpg

Tom was now in high school and enjoyed playing on the` LV Rogers basketball team : The Bombers. He no longer had the option of watching big league sports like the Bay Area teams but we had some great hockey teams nearby in the Western International League. Tom and I watched countless games between the Trail Smoke Eaters, Kimberley Dynamiters and our Nelson Maple Leafs.

When Tom finished at LVR, he Ross and Rod McKay and Jack Carpenter worked for CPR in the East Kootenay. `Big time coal mining was starting up so the boys had lot of work and adventure.

After the CPR days, Tom went to Mt. Royal College in Calgary where he did remarkably well for a boy ‘not to have high hope for’. Then a rougher road came up. Tom transferred to UBC where they would not accept many of his Mt. Royal courses and credits. Tom was completely unprepared for this and was devastated. He had some good friends in Vancouver so he partied for awhile then managed to graduate as a teacher.

He taught in Burns Lake, Fort St John, Bella Bella and in the Fraser Valley and Kootenays. He started teaching in Asia in the 90’s and had stints in China, Japan and Korea where he would travel when he did not teach. He was especially fond of Thailand and knew its beaches well. When he stayed with me in Lake Cowichan, he was known as Thailand Tom. He returned to Nelson n the early  2000’s and eventually booked into mountain lakes care home. His CP was now complicated by Parkinson’s and the after effects of a hip replacement. He tried his best to cope but his body was not up to it. In June of 2021 he made his final trip.

 

 

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June 20th, 2022

GREEN CHAIN STANLEY

June 16th, 2022

GREEN CHAIN STANLEY

It started with my father’s generosity. He worked at a Ford dealer ship in Mountain View California. When a really good trade in vehicle came in, he brought it home for my sister Kathleen and I to look at. One year he brought a sweet little 55 Ford home. It had been owned by a local teacher, had around 40,000 miles and was very “clean”. In the parlance of car people, this was a good deal. I bought the car for about 50 bucks then took it up to Humboldt. The car ran great. For some reason, about a year later as the Viet Nam War started to heat up, Tom Spencer (a fellow Canadian) and I decided to head for Vancouver. We only got a few miles north when we hit a patch of oily road. I have neglected to mention that the car was not quite perfect: the tires were pretty well bald. Who cares in California we thought until we hit an oily spot where logging trucks were coming on to the highway, it was on a downhill grade. We went into a spin, clipped an oncoming car than flipped on to the roof. We crawled out the windshield, then stood numb beside the road. Before long, a single traveller arrived and gave us a lift to Crescent City, the nearest town. The man (Tom and I figured he was gay) owned a Redwood Mill north of town and offered us jobs. We did not want to crawl home with our tails between our legs so we took the jobs.

The mill was in a very small Village known as Smith River not far from the Oregon border. We rented a room in an old hotel and carried on to work. The work was hard and tedious. We pulled lumber off the green chain and stacked it for loaders to pick up. You couldn’t let up for a second or the chain would jam and a big tangle of boards would pile up at your site. It was mostly old fellows on the chain and you wondered how they would drag their banged up bodies to the job day after day. Spencer lasted about a week. Not even Viet Nam could be this bad. It rained hard every day and once it even snowed. A couple of inches of slush just enough for snowballs but remember this was California and no one knew how to make proper snowballs. That’s when I met Stanley. He roared out of the mill and started scooping hand full’s of slush and throwing them at every one. Most of his missiles just fell apart before they reached anyone but it got me going. I packed about three solid snowballs and launched them at Stanley. He was laughing in triumph when one of my snowballs smacked him right in his big, green teeth. That was the end of it and people just skulked back to the job. I had a feeling that this incident might continue in one form or another. Sure enough, about two weeks later Stanley wondered if I would go fishing with him

I said I would even though I knew I might pay a price. Stanley said I would catch fish I had never seen before and was very optimistic. We motered north to the rocky Oregon Coast and set up our “rods” – a couple of stout pole you could land a Great White Shark with.

We tumbled down to the foaming coast and wedged the poles in between boulders. I could not imagine we would catch anything but we did. On nearly every Poke we caught eel like creatures called blennies. We gleefully hauled them out of their hidey holes by the dozen. We didn’t keep any but it was grand fun+

As we drove back south, Stanley got his revenge by driving hiss giant old barely hung together Buick or Oldsmobile junker sled like a wild man. Screeching the ties and almost flying off high cliffs while screaming with glee. I was scared alright but I had seen the good in Stanley and knew I would be OK…

I Stayed at the mill for another month or so then said goodbye and went back to school. Never saw Stanley again.

pokepolefihin.jpg

Poke Pole fishing country – West Coast of Vancouver Island.

Ted Burns

February 2022

 

Rainbow Trout in British Columbia

February 8th, 2021

RAINBOW TROUT IN BRITISH COLUMBIA

Rainbow trout are a premier sport fish – perhaps the greatest of them all. They inhabit a very large percentage of BC lakes and streams, are fished for almost year round and exhibit a wide array of features and forms all of which are of great beauty. On a global scale they range from Northern Mexico where relic populations are found as far south as the Rio Del Presidio to the Kuskokwim River in Western Alaska and again on the Asian side. The rainbow trout is so popular that it has been introduced to all parts of the globe where it might possibly survive and has done extremely well in places like Chile and New Zealand.

Pennaskrainbow.jpg

A lovely Pennask rainbow

Taxonomists generally agree that there are two main races of rainbows: coastal and red band. The main difference is scale counts. Both races are highly attractive. Steelhead is the major player of the coastal form but there are many resident coastal rainbows that do not enter the sea and live out their lives in lakes and small creeks. Some steelhead that run well into interior rivers (like the Thompson) could be red band trout.

Our common domestic variety used in major hatchery programs is termed the Fraser Valley strain which is sometimes termed the McCleary strain to recognize its developer who worked at a Tacoma hatchery as the rainbow was being cultured. Other fisheries historians claim this rainbow originated in San Leandro Creek in the San Francisco Bay Area; still others attribute it to Livingston Stone who developed it from a McCloud River rainbow native to the Upper Sacramento River system in about 1870.

The Fraser Valley rainbow is heavily spotted above the lateral line, grows fast and is fairly easy to catch. It is most commonly stocked in urban area lakes that are fished hard. The brood stock now resides at the Duncan Hatchery.

The other strains of BC rainbows are likely all red bands which have a great deal more variety than their coastal form. Some red bands are important in the BC Lake stocking program which is now operated by the Freshwater Fisheries Society, a spinoff of the BC Fish and Wildlife Branch. Over 800 lakes are part of the program which stocks a huge number of rainbows along with some kokanee, eastern brook trout and cutthroats from the six hatcheries it operates. Aside from the Fraser Strain, most of the stock is from wild fish. Eggs and sperm are collected from natural runs that are abundant enough to contribute without diminishing their numbers and reared in hatcheries then released at various sizes, usually quite small.

The Pennask Strain has been a stalwart of the program for decades. A large spawning run into Pennask Creek has been tapped since 1927. The Pennask race is well known for its light spotting and lovely slim and silvery form. It is also renowned for its leaping abilities and a good fight when hooked.

The Blackwater Race is becoming more common as a stocked fish. The Blackwater River is a large watershed west of Quesnel. It features numerous lakes and small rivers that are often loaded with shiners, pike minnows and chub which the Blackwater strain takes full advantage of. It is therefore an ideal target for lakes that feature these forage fish. Pennask rainbows are dainty insect eaters and turn up their noses at lesser fish. When these lesser fishes get into a Pennask stocked lake, they can quickly ruin it by outcompeting the trout for the available food. The Blackwaters will gorge on forage fish.

They are generally rather heavily spotted. In my limited experience with this fish, I have noticed that they are very strong in their first run. They can really burn the line off. I imagine a big one could easily tow a float tube or pontoon boat around.

The Blackwater brood stock is taken from a small inlet of Dragon Lake which is located in the south part of Quesnel.

Gerrard strain Rainbows are the ultimate rainbow growing to massive size. Years ago I was on the deck of the Kootenay Lake ferry the Anscombe talking with a tourist from England. He asked “ is it true about the big trout” I was about to answer when a school of kokanee flashed by ahead of a large arrow shaped wake that suddenly exploded as a big rainbow launched out in a blast of spray and scattered the little silvers . The big Gerrard must have weighed at least 20 pounds.

Gerrard rainbows have been stocked in other BC lakes but they only seem to do well in lakes like Kootenay which is one of our largest. Kokanee must also be present because the Gerrards can be picky as well. I once had a job examining the gut contents of the big Kootenay rainbows. It was invariably kokanee including some surprisingly large ones. There was wild card however. Every so often a gut would be jam packed with carpenter ants and nothing else. Of course, the smaller Kootenay rainbows will take flies at will. Some of my best days were spent fly fishing at Kootenay Lake creek mouths. Indeed. Fly fishermen from the South Arm communities like Boswell or Grey Creek and old time Nelson fly fishers like Danny McKay and Walt Palmer made great catches of smaller rainbows (up to four pounds) casting off the rocks. On some summer evenings there would be a huge rise of rainbows feeding on insects. The lake surface would boil at times.

So why haven’t the Gerrards done better in smaller lakes? Or were these South Arm rainbows a race other than Gerrards? There are other strains of rainbows in the West Arm and I was once told that Kootenay Lake rainbows spawn in an Idaho tributary of the Kootenay River called Deep Creek and that some also spawned in Kaslo River.

One smaller lake where they have done well is Premier but no one can be certain that the Premier fish were Gerrards. I worked there as a wrangler on the S Half Diamond Ranch in 1960. The lake had been poisoned just before then and had no fish but the cowboys raved about the huge trout that they said spawned in a small creek that flowed near the horse pasture. I think this creek even dried at times.

I wondered if it could be true but a couple of weeks later we went to the Bing Hotel in Cranbrook and one of Premier Lake’s giants was hanging on the wall! Could these fish been Gerrards or perhaps another pisciverous race that thrived on the lesser fishes that plagued the lake prior to rotenone treatment?

There are rainbows in Premier Lake again and some people say they are sometimes used as brood stock. They are nice fish but smallish. There is a small spawning channel at the south end of the lake and some eggs and sperm could be tapped there but I suspect these rainbows are Pennask fish and while it is nice to have another source of good rainbows, Pennask Creek still does well and we need more fish eating cannibals not more finicky gourmet diners.

Another strain of rainbows that is said to be stocked at times is the Tzenzaicut. This lake is also located near Quesnel and these fish feed on other fish. They are also said to be great fighters. I have never caught or seen one but they could also be a good brood fish for the stocking program.

Horsefly

Horsefly Rainbows are from Quesnel Lake and the Horsefly River. In the lake they get very large and feed on kokanee. They are very opportunistic feeders following spawning salmon into rivers like the Mitchell and Horsefly to gorge on eggs. They are not averse to feeding on minnows like shiners and chub so they can do well in smaller lakes where these fishes are abundant. The Horsefly strain is heavily spotted above the lateral line especially toward the tail and are said to have a yellowish tone to their skin. They are said to fight well and are aggressive feeders that survive well where they are released. They are the newest rainbow to be utilized in the stocking program and will undoubtedly become very popular.

The Freshwater Fisheries Society always has an eye open for new strains that will improve fishing in our province. Carp Lake rainbows were being considered awhile back and may make the list for northern lakes. In addition the society has modified the program to insure that stocked rainbows are either sterile or all females. These modified fish can put all their energy into growth and survival and will not hybridize with other strains

The people of BC can be very proud of their hatchery program which has provided thousands of anglers the opportunity to catch the best of the best by matching the various strains of rainbows to the places they are best suited for. I know of no other place so blessed with an abundance of wealth for anglers.

For more information check the Freshwater Fisheries Society web site which will lead to detailed stoking data and great articles on fish and fishing. There is even a guide to Forest Service Rec Sites on good fishing lakes. Some of these lakes even have fishing wharves waiting for anglers without boats. What could be better?

Paradise Lost

January 31st, 2021

PARADISE LOST?

The lack of concern over the present highly reduced access into the woods in the Cowichan Lake area puzzles me greatly. Island outdoorsmen fought long and hard for public access to forest lands and now that it’s slipped away, there seems to be hardly a whimper of protest. The present situation reminds me of how things were in the 1960’s when gates were everywhere and access was only available to fish and game club members on a limited basis. Even though that arrangement amounted to some fine hunting and fishing preserves for club members, the clubs battled for full public access.

It was a tough go. The clubs pressured the government and the forest companies for a number of years before the door opened a crack. In 1962 public access hearings were held during the legislative session. Forest company executives attended and argued against full access while the Island fish and wildlife clubs – especially Nanaimo and Victoria – carried the ball for recreationists. Company opposition was very stiff until a letter from a company official broke the hearings wide open. Challenged by the Forest Minister, Ray Williston, to show where they were being kept from forest land, the Victoria Club produced the letter. It explained that the company could not provide access because there were just enough fish, deer and grouse in the area to satisfy company employees.

That was enough for Williston, who, in the main was a friend to the forest industry and had little sympathy for the environment and outdoor recreation. The minister said he would introduce a Public Access Act unless the companies and the outdoor recreation community worked out an access agreement. The companies were quick to agree and the clubs came aboard because they were worried that public access legislation could probably not fully apply to the private lands of the E&N Land grant area which covers about a third of the Island and most of our area. To their credit, the companies worked out a very reasonable access policy whereby there was full access unless crews and equipment were working or there was an element of danger. This condition lasted about twenty years and things were good. The companies produced recreation maps and many of them established fine campsites. Companies like BCFP and Canfor were especially proactive.

Sometime in the early 1980’s, a subtle change began. In this area, lesser roads to rough campsites and other recreation spots not widely known began to be dug out and barrier berms were humped up. Then gates started to appear where none had been present for years. This went on without significant protest and now public access is now very highly curtailed in the E&N Land Grant area. It’s at least as bad as it was in the 1960’s.

What happened? Why have we let it slip away? The most common answer I get is that there is simply no appetite for another fight with the companies particularly at a time when they themselves seem to be on the ropes. It also appears that this is not a government that would provide much help. They have dumped the Forest Land Reserve and allowed a TFL to convert resource land to real estate. This is a government (BC Liberals) that was even prepared to dump the BC Forest Service recreational site program. Imagine where Cowichan Lake access would be without Pine Point, Maple Grove, Nixon Creek, Springs Beach and Pineapple Bay! In addition, traditional outdoor pursuits on forest land seem to be fading as more people are urban oriented and would seemingly rather shop and jog rather than hunt and fish. And there is a good deal of sympathy for the companies in this era where horrible garbage dumping, bush parties, human caused fires and general vandalism are a plague upon the land. In addition, theft is quite common. Companies report lots of stolen saws, shake blocks and good timber. Gates are either ripped out and destroyed or quads and motor bikes go around the gates and pose a risk. Edna Slater wrote an article in Lake News in 1987 that provided a good summary of the issues and some possible solutions. There must be away to resolve this if someone is willing to work at it. After all, some of the finest recreational lands on earth are right here in our backyards just beyond the gates. There is a considerable history of multiple use where problems were few. Surely it’s worth an attempt to re-establish a reasonable degree of public access. Indeed. Perhaps groups like Wilderness Watch could be beefed up to a greater degree. Company security personnel could make more patrols. And maybe more locations could be designated as recreational sites with small fees to cover costs for maintenance and security as is the present case for places like Heather, Kissinger and Caycuse Campsites. Now is the time to get something going because the E&N land area forest companies could be selling off many of their prime recreational lands to real estate developers. If that happens, there isn’t much chance of the average person setting foot on them again.

Ted Burns

July 29, 2009

Lake Cowichan Gazette

July 30 003

Company gate on Beech and Trace Road – TimberWest.

accessFC

Old (1980’s) Fletcher Challenge road sign near Misery Creek. Color coded signs indicated whether roads were open or closed.

Gordon River Falls Blasted

January 31st, 2021

Gordon River Falls Blasted

Lake News, January 27, 1988.

A significant barrier to summer steelhead on the Gordon River has been improved to a point where the fish should be able to pass it with little difficulty.

325 kilograms of explosives were required to lower the western falls channel by 1.2 metres. This will provide more summer flow to ease steelhead passage over the long time barrier. Prior to improvement, summer steelhead were often backed up below the obstruction waiting for favorable flow conditions. They were susceptible to snaggers and suffered periodic mortality when they became trapped in a pool beneath the falls that sometimes dried. In some years, few were able to navigate the barrier.

The work guarantees access to approximately 370,000 square metres of spawning and rearing habitat in Loup Creek and the Upper Gordon for 200 – 400 steelhead according to Lake Cowichan biologist Ted Burns. The project was initiated by Ted Harding, a Victoria biologist who accomplished the work with Burns and Don Hjorth, a Kamloops engineer with specialized blasting skills. The project was funded by a Habitat Conservation Fund grant and aided by B.C. Forest Products.

“Don Hjorth has developed some very creative techniques for down cutting rock with explosives and employed them with excellent results on the project” said Harding.

BC Forest Products with advice from company biologist Dave Lindsay, provided access and some equipment. “ This is a good example of what can be accomplished when government and the private sector work together for the common good” said Lindsay.

The project may not be completely finished however. “It looks good but we can’t be totally satisfied until we see how the fish use it” said Burns. “There may be some fine tuning required. I sure hope not because just getting down and back from the canyon is a tough scramble. I hate to think about doing it again because I’m still feeling the effects of the last time”.