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Skiing at the Golf Course

Wednesday, 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.

 

,,

 

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Chester

Wednesday, 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.

 

Posted in family, friends, Old Nelson | No Comments »

GRINGO TRAIL

Tuesday, 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.

 

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WHEN I WAS A COWBOY AT THE S HALF DIAMOND

Saturday, 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.

 

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Friday, 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

 

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Tom Burns One Tough Hombre

Thursday, 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

 

 

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The Little Stores of Nelson+

Thursday, 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.

https://static.wixstatic.com/media/5b91d8_10d13ec498bf45068a596c8440ef91ec~mv2_d_4160_3120_s_4_2.jpg/v1/fill/w_940,h_705,al_c,q_90,usm_0.66_1.00_0.01/5b91d8_10d13ec498bf45068a596c8440ef91ec~mv2_d_4160_3120_s_4_2.jpg

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.

https://static.wixstatic.com/media/5b91d8_79088207243d4f32b71dc9d6d7fd4e2f~mv2_d_1289_1288_s_2.jpg/v1/fill/w_740,h_739,al_c,q_90,usm_0.66_1.00_0.01/5b91d8_79088207243d4f32b71dc9d6d7fd4e2f~mv2_d_1289_1288_s_2.jpg

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

Tuesday, 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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Monday, June 20th, 2022

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GREEN CHAIN STANLEY

Thursday, 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

 

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Billy Clark

Monday, January 18th, 2021

BILLY CLARK

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I have long been amazed at the spirit of adventure displayed by English settlers in areas far from their natural habitat. The chronicles of our province are laced with stories of bachelor characters from the old country that happily settled into some of the wildest lands on earth. Some of these places are still pretty wild and far from the beaten path of contemporary Canadians.

One of these characters was Billy Clark. He left his home in Guildford, Surrey in 1907 at age twenty to journey to the Lardeau region of southeastern BC. This area is located just north of Kootenay Lake and to this day is still remote and wild with settlement just beginning to return and edge in as other areas in the province become too highly settled for some people. But first he stopped in Saskatchewan to visit his sister where he might have stayed until he learned that she had wires out to the outhouse, barn and chicken house. The  were installed to keep people from getting lost in blizzards and freezing solid in minus 64 temperatures.

What drew Billy to Duncan Lake is uncertain but I suspect the glowing accounts of the fruit growing potential had something to do with it. These accounts were available in UK publications and the US. There had been a storm of mining activity in the 1890’s. Most of the activity was in the Lardeau Valley where several towns sprung up. Ferguson, Trout Lake City, Poplar Creek and Goldhill boomed for awhile as did Howser (Duncan City) and Healy’s Landing in the Duncan Valley. Howser was said to have 4000 people with a store, school and steamer landing. By 1904, the boom was pretty well over but more serious folk had settled in. These included Billy and fellow Englishmen like Charlie Malloch, Tim Ainsworth and others who attempted to farm and grow fruit. One of the first places they tried was near the outlet of Duncan Lake. They were able to grow apples and supply the miners

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Billy’s cabin at Howser

still working in the Lardeau.  They also trapped, logged and did whatever they could to keep themselves going. The fruit business didn’t last long and when I worked in the Lardeau for the Fish and Wildlife Branch in the 1960’s we used to hunt grouse on the big riparian flat where the farms were. An old railroad grade ran from near Argenta to the bottom of Duncan Lake provided access. This was an old Great Northern Grade but it was abandoned and left to the grouse and deer.

Another ranch was developed by the Hincks Brothers further up the lake. They raised cattle and built two large houses surrounded by flower beds and rock gardens. When the Great War broke out the Brothers returned to England and left the property in the care of Billy Clark. The widow of Tom Hincks returned after the war with her sons but the life didn’t suit them and they left the place to the bush. Several miles above the Hincks Ranch, the Matthews Brothers tried their luck. A bear killed one of the brothers and the other died from blood poisoning. Later on, Doctor Besecker of Woodbury Creek raised sheep on the east side of Duncan Lake. My cousin John Burns worked there and reports that the sheep had to be in the barn at night because of possible grizzly predation.

Because of the decline after the war, Billy Clark moved into Howser which was now almost deserted. His companions had gone off to the war never to return. He built a trim log house and a boat house and settled in. He worked at various mines and logged at times. In the winter, he trapped. He always was a prospector and he and his friend, Joe Gallo discovered a vein of lead and zinc which they sold to Cominco (now Teck) which became their Duncan Lake Mine. When he grew older Billy began making snowshoes for trappers and outdoorsmen in the region which was famous for very heavy snow. My father and I visited Billy at Howser in the 1950’s shortly after the road between Kaslo and Lardo was improved. He was glad to have company and took us down to his boathouse where he fed his breakfast porridge to the fish that frequented the boathouse. It was like feeding time in a hatchery and he was very proud to show us how he got along with his neighbours.

But all great things must come to an end (or so we are told). The Columbia River Treaty and power and flood control demands in the US ended it for Billy. “I will be drowned out like a gopher” he said. The Duncan Dam was completed in 1967 and his place was flooded out along with the creatures and forests around him. The government of the day bragged how they had tamed the wilderness, created a beautiful lake and hoodwinked the Americans in the process.

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This is the way Duncan Reservoir looks today. But the basin was left uncleared for a number of years

I am so sorry Billy.

Ted Burns. With input from an Elsie Turnbull story in BC Digest, April 1965.

January 20/2021

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Goodbye Lorenzo

Monday, October 26th, 2020

Remembering Larry Macknicky

It was a warm early summer night in June 1975 when I first encountered Lorenzo. We were having a party at the Beaver Mansion (1837 Fern Street, Victoria). I had invited Ken Lambertsen and his girlfriend Melanie. They showed up for awhile but were soon replaced by their friend Larry. A group of us were sitting on the porch when we saw him dancing down Fern Street with a case of beer. He danced up to the house, boogied up the stairs, placed his beer on the living room floor then danced until the party wound down about five AM. I don’t think he ever touched his beer nor had a dance partner. After that, we called him the Boogie King. Larry was a superb dancer and often attended dance performances like Martha Graham or the Royal Winnipeg Ballet

He lived over on Vining Street and worked on construction jobs in those days and he and I became solid friends drinking in the wild bistros of Victoria, riding our bikes or walking the urban wilds and just hanging out.

I learned that he had a most interesting life but I was never too clear about the days of his youth. He came from the Edmonton area and had also lived in Wetaskawin. I think his dad had remarried an evangelical lady who was somewhat hard on Larry and he became child of the sixties living in a large hippie house he called “Westrold”. His friend Jim Slater called it “ a home for aging children”.

He and some members of the group went to London then pooled their funds to allow one member of their group to travel as far as they could into the Middle East and Asia. Larry was chosen so he took a bus to Lahore, Pakistan. He was a little short of the details of that trip except that it was really hot and dusty. On the way back to England, the bus pulled into a gas station in a little Iran town. Across the road on a similar bus was a friend from Edmonton that Larry hadn’t seen for years. He always marvelled over that.

At about that point, he came to the coast. He lived on Denman Island for awhile and then came to Victoria where he was to spend the rest of his days. This was about 1973. In Victoria, he took about any job he could get. One time, he worked for a logging outfit in the Queen Charlottes (Haida Gwi) as a choker man – one of the hardest jobs in the woods. He was up there for about a week and was unable to set even one choker. The block he was working on was composed of large Sitka spruce that was landing on soft, mossy ground. The crashing logs dug in and were hard to choke. After tossing the choker cables over the big logs, he had to dig under them to pull the choker through and hook it up. Larry was pretty big but was not in shape for that kind of work. After returning from the Charlottes, he worked mainly on construction jobs. I can’t remember even one of them even one of them but I know he didn’t care for construction work. But he sure loved to read and the ideal job for him came along in the 1990’s: the UVIC bookstore. It entitled him to a UVIC Library Card and liberal access to a wonderful expanse of fine reading material. The job also allowed him to buy a small apartment is the Shelbourne- Cedar Hill area.

I was living in Lake Cowichan then but occasionally visited. His apartment was stacked with books floor to ceiling. He favoured history and biographies and was fascinated with Russian history. He claimed that if Trotsky had prevailed instead of Stalin, we would all be drinking socialist beer now. His politics were left leaning but he was a careful student of capitalism. When he was at UVIC, he became the last hippie on the campus. The school had become quite conservative and many students looked like members of the Young Republican Club. Naturally Larry took the opportunity to make a statement with his long hair and old farmer coveralls.

He came up to Lake Cowichan fairly often in the 1980’s. He would ride the E&N dayliner to Duncan then I would take him up to the lake. We mostly drank beer but would sometimes drive the logging roads to Nitinat or Renfrew. After Barbara and I married in the early 90’s then moved to Chilliwack from 1998 until 2018, I didn’t see much of Lorenzo. His sister moved to Victoria and arranged for him to live in an assisted care home and his health started to wane. He didn’t often go out and I don’t think he had many friends besides those in the home. He passed away in May of 2020.

Goodbye old friend. I’ll miss you immensely.

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Peden Lake in the Sooke Hills

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Remembering Muggs

Friday, October 9th, 2020

Remembering Muggsy Holmes

Monral Boyd Holmes died on November 10, 2018 – he was 75. My old Nelson gang is getting very sparse these days -not many left. Like many of us, Mugs hadn’t lived in Nelson for years. He was living in Olalla, a conglomeration of trailer parks and small farms near Keremeos, when he passed away. Before that he had been on the coast mainly working in sawmills. Tahsis, Victoria, Shawnigan Lake, Port Alberni and Ladysmith. He tired of the rain and went to Olalla to get away from it.

It must have been around 1953 when Mugs and I first met as Nelson boys. Fishing was what interested us the most and we spent lots of time prowling the local spots like the City Wharf, the City and Walton’s boathouses and the mouth of Cottonwood Creek. I can especially recall the good days we had at Cottonwood. It’s so different now that the dump, landfill and air strip have overtaken it and messed up the area around it where there was once Chinese Gardens, a sawmill, skating ponds and a hobo jungle.

We started fishing at low water in the early spring where the drop off to deep water was right at the creek mouth. We used worms or stonefly nymphs that we carefully threaded on small bait hooks. We attached one or two small split shot sinkers and fished “ Muggsy style” letting the bait out as natural as possible. Mugs was truly an expert in thinking like a fish. He imagined that the Cottonwood rainbows were poised just over the drop off waiting to sample any thing that came along in the creek outwash. But it had to look right or they would pass up. So we cast upstream a few meters into the creek and let our bait kind of roll down the drop off in a most natural way. Mugs was right. We caught fish and some real good ones – hard charging rainbows to four pounds. But boy were they fussy. We would feel frequent electric taps as the bait worked down the drop off face. The temptation to set the hook was strong but by the time you jerked, the fish was gone. You had to wait until the fish hooked themselves or swallowed the bait. It was hard to resist the bites but eventually we landed a few.

Later on in the spring and summer, we fished from my granddad’s little boat around the Nelson waterfront and caught lots of silvers in June when the water was up. I remember how Mugs used to piss me off by repeatedly spitting in the boat. “You have the whole lake to spit in so why spit in the boat”? Grandpa Burns was a stickler for cleanliness and I was sure we would lose the use of the boat. But he helped me wash it out and no one was the wiser.

The other thing Mugs and I shared was music. I had just been given a guitar and was taking lessons. Mugs was a natural musician and scoffed at my lessons. He had an older guitar and could play it well. He knew all the popular songs of the day: Elvis, Bill Haley, Eddy Cochrane and could imitate Elvis to the tee. In later years he performed as an Elvis imitator and played in a band that did all the old tunes. I used to have an LP of Mugs and his band but lost it.

Mugs dad died in 1954. He was hit by lightning near Kaslo. So his Mom was left with Mugs and his older brother Don – two lively and rambunctious boys to feed and nurture. She worked two jobs to keep the lads going and it must have been tough. She was a maid at the Hume Hotel and a ticket agent at the Civic Arena. She was very protective of her boys and if Mugs and I were late getting home she was on the phone immediately “Burns, where’s my boy”? Mugs could look after himself and if he ran into something or someone he could not handle there was his brother Don who was feared around Nelson.

I left Nelson in 1958 and Mugs and Don left not long after – Mugs to work and Don to play hockey. It was quite a few years before I saw Mugs again. I had written a fishing story for BC Outdoors. Mugs saw it and called the magazine to get my address in Lake Cowichan. From then on we resumed our adventures but this time on t he Island. We fished at Cheewhat and Sprise Lakes and the Nitinat River where we dodged black bears to land some big Chinooks. We also fished some lakes around Port Alberni when you could still get into the woods around there. We were looking forward to fishing some of the productive small lakes in the Okanagan Hills but left it too late.

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Mugs at Cheewhat Lake.

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Mugs at Toy Lake

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The World’s Greatest Hockey Player

Monday, June 15th, 2020

The World’s Greatest Hockey Player

The world’s greatest hockey player has yet to be invented but the following are the conditions that I believe will be required to produce such a creature.

I believe the best player of all will be a person of colour other than white. The finest athletes in other sports are generally non-white. This person is also likely to be a Canadian because Canada is the greatest hockey country and encourages diversity. It is also likely that the player will come from an average economic background and not be a child of privilege trained in an elite program. However, it is also probable that the person will be from a city and reared on public rinks and programs. Of course, it would be more interesting and romantic if the player came from a small town like Trail or Sudbury and their ice time came more from a natural pond or slough rather than the town rink. I also think that the player will be from a four on four system that allows more space for creativity than do the standard five on five system where the crowded ice surface makes it much easier to play defensive hockey by simply getting in the way of offensive thrusts. One could also envisage larger ice surfaces producing more creativity in the five on five game but that would require reducing the number of spectators which is an undesirable outcome in a game so dependent on crowd revenue. Of course, this scenario is just the musings of a long-time fan who has never spent a day coaching or otherwise contributing to the game. I don’t even have any kids in Hockey so I am certain that my musings will not carry much weight in the hockey establishment.

However, if I did have kids in the game or was coaching kids, I would be very concerned that the conditions are unlikely to foster the player I imagine. How are people of average or lower income to afford the game with its remarkable expenses. Skates and sticks are like a week’s wages and no kid likes to have anything less than the best. And how can the average training program compete with the elite club programs with their coaches, nutrition specialists and so on.

A few years ago, I attended a BC Hockey League event in Chilliwack called “The Showcase”. Each team played the other and the idea was to provide fans and scouts with a preview of the league for that season. I had the chance to speak with a number of the player’s parents. I was amazed to discover that nearly all the kids had come from special elite programs and many of the parents were top business executives, lawyers and such and were based in places like Calgary or Toronto. The BCHL is Junior A hockey and few of the players will earn professional contracts. Many will gain scholarships to NCAA schools in the states but that’s about it. It is excellent hockey for sure. Maybe the best deal for hockey fans in BC but when you see what people go through to get their kids even to this level, you wonder about my player who is likely a New Canadian with parents of limited resources who will be fortunate to play in a public league with a coach who is the parent of one of his teammates in a system that has yet to be accepted.

I won’t be holding my breath but it is nice to dream.

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Dee Notes

Saturday, April 18th, 2020

NOTES FROM DEE McKay circa 1988

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Shore ladies: Dee McKay, Jean Burns and Helen Burns (Helen is one of the Denison girls in the story)

I have thought about what you wanted to know about your family background. So here goes: many times spent on the beach at your point from the time I was about ten years old on holidays and during the summer when we found flint arrowheads that were used by Indians.

Your grandma would live in the old brick powder house which has now been torn down for the new house that Sue and Norm built.

I remember when your grandfather would come home from the sash and door factory hot and tired from working all day and get into his old fashioned bathing suit and take a long swim in the cold water. He was always in a good humour then. He built a shed behind the house where your uncles Bob and Jack and your father slept. There was a separate section where your Aunt Jean and her friends could sleep. One time my sister Ella and I slept over and during the night we heard scratching noises on the wall. We discovered it was Jack and Bob scaring us with bear noises. The bears were close because of the apple orchard behind the house. One time Ted had a new kitten. It was smoky black and was rushing around the kitchen. The Denison girls, who had come over to swim, were getting lunch ready and one of them stepped on the kitten and broke its back. The uproar terrified Ted who was broken up about it. We all planned a funeral and the kitten was buried below the birch trees at the far end of the field.

There were deer trails along the shore down to the bluffs near Ross’s Point and we often hiked along the bluffs. There were Lady Slippers growing near the cliffs. It was a beautiful place to explore the rock formation below Pulpit Rock. There were shallow caves where we found some animal bones that had fed bears or cougars.

When we got married in 1940, I approached your Grandma Rose and asked to buy a lot from her that had a small cabin that had been Bobby’s and after had been used by the mayor to entertain his girlfriends. She agreed to sell it to me so it became our summer home on the lakeshore. It was wonderful to have access to the deer trails and the bluffs.

Your Grandma Rose Yvonne Burns was something special. They went on trips to Spokane quite often. She would buy special hats and come home and not wear them for almost a year. She seemed to have to get used to them on her own before showing them I guess. She would buy new socks for Jean and the boys. She played badminton at the catholic hall with Mrs. Gelinas, Mrs. Perrier, Mrs. McDougal and my Mom. They had many laughs and fun together.

Your granddad built a punt for Ted and each morning in the summer, he would paddle it across the lake to get the newspaper and milk for the family. He didn’t use a regular paddle; he just leaned over the bow and paddled by hand.

Your Uncle Bob graduated from the Colorado School of Mines and came home and prepared for a trip to Lake Athabasca up north to prospect. He and his companions were drowned in a canoe accident. The friend’s bodies were recovered but Bob was not found. Your grandparents spent thousands of dollars for air searches. When he was finally found, his fingers were worn down to the first knuckles. He had tried to get out on the shore which was composed of steep rock and sheer cliffs. It was very sad for the families.

This is about all I can remember except for the 24th of May when we paddled around the bay in laundry tubs your grandpa had made for your gram. We often tipped and got soaked for our effort.

The McKays were such close long time friends and neighbours that one thought of them as part of the family. Danny McKay was fine gentleman very instrumental in the establishment of skiing in Nelson and a pioneer fly fisherman during the glory days of West Arm angling. He was once named Nelson’s Citizen of the year. He died in 1990.

Dee McKay was an outdoor woman with a great sense of humour and an infectious laugh. She was a good swimmer and canoeist and a hunter. She would grab her rifle and boots and take off up the mountain in pursuit of deer or grouse. She died in 1994.

Transcribed by Ted Burns

April 10, 2020

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My Friend Clare

Tuesday, November 13th, 2018

Remembering Clare Palmer

I’m thinking the year was about 1953 when I met Clare. I was staying across the lake with Grandma Rose when Clare came over in his little boat. He was a small blond fellow full of life and adventure.

We fished from the floats leading out to the boathouse and caught several rainbows and a big squawfish. It was a warm spring day so we took the fish up to Grandma’s sink. A few minutes later we heard her yelling. The squawfish had revived and was skittering around the kitchen floor. We dispatched it and continued fishing.

The adventure would go on for six more decades. It was about all things Kootenay boys of the day loved: fishing, exploring the country, hockey, skiing and just being very good friends.

There could not have been a better friend than Clare Palmer.

We started fishing in the early spring when the snow was still hanging on. It was the city wharf for whitefish at first then silvers at the wharf and rainbows at the boathouses, Grohman or Burns Point. Later in the summer, we fished the creeks and mountain lakes. Our Dad’s would take us to the trailheads and we would hike into the high lakes to camp and fish. Sometimes we would hitchhike to Cottonwood Lake, Apex or Hall Siding or even to Balfour to fish. The mouth of Grohman Creek was one of our favorite spots. We would boat down to the old landing then hike across the lodge pole flat to the creek, wade across and fish the mouth with flies, grasshoppers or caddis larvae – we called them “ periwinkles”. We usually caught five or six good rainbows then picked huckleberries on the way back. Once we made a pie . We forgot to add something to thicken the juice so the pie was very runny – we devoured it anyway.

In the fall, we played hockey or raided gardens. As the fifties progressed, we started to ski: the old golf course hill first then Silver King. Clare and I were among the first group to start clearing for Silver King along with such stalwarts as Clare’s parents, Danny McKay and Tom Ramsay.

We moved to California in 1958. Clare and I wrote each other a fair bit. We were back in Nelson in 1966 but I was mostly away at school so I wasn’t around much. I worked with Clare at Star Transfer for a couple of summers and we continued to fish as much as possible.

We both got married late in the sixties and my wife and I moved to the Island in 1969. I didn’t see Clare so much after that. We still fished when we could and went to hockey games when I was around in the winter months. One of my fondest memories of those times is going over to Trail for a Leafs-Smokies game in his red Comet. After the game, we drank beer at the Terra Nova and listened to Kitty Wells on the Comet’s eight track on the way back to Nelson. I think the year was 1970.

In the 70’s, Clare re-married and raised four beautiful daughters with his wife Patti. I saw less and less of him as his duties as a husband and father increased. We kept in contact though and usually managed a few visits when I was in Nelson.

Clare died September 19, 2014. I will forever miss him dearly. Words alone will never express what a wonderful friend he was.

Ted Burns

October 8/14

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Clare and Jimmy Rogers, 1968

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Clare at Pilot Bay

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At 1024 Hoover

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At Krao Lake

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George Bing – West Arm Great Angler

Tuesday, November 13th, 2018

Remembering George Bing – A Fisherman

By

Ted Burns

George Bing died on October 31st, 2010 – he was 79. I hadn’t seen George for the better part of forty years and knew almost nothing of his life since about 1970 I’m very sad to say. I left Nelson in 1969 and seldom came back for long. But I sure knew him in the 1960’s – indeed. Nearly everyone who fished the West Arm then knew George because he was almost certainly the Arm’s most successful angler.

George generally fished with bait and he usually caught lots of fish. Special regulations like catch and release and fly fishing only were more or less unknown then and catch quotas (limits) were very liberal or non-existent. On one occasion in the latter part of the sixties, two boat loads of anglers ran up the Arm to Proctor to fish for kokanee at the outlet of the Main Lake. George Bing, Frank Hufty and Dick Parker were in one boat while Gary Kilpatrick, Ken Cook and I were in the other. Someone in my boat suggested we have a “fishing contest”. George agreed and after a few hours our boat had 165 silvers on board. George Bing caught 205. Parker and Hufty got bored after a few minutes so George caught nearly all the fish himself. Everyone fished in our boat. We thought there was no way we could loose but George easily out fished three pretty fair anglers. Today’s fishers will cringe at stories like this but that’s the way it was then not all that long ago. The Upper West Arm kokanee population crashed not too many years after our bonehead contest and I can’t help but think we were partly responsible.

George also fished a lot at Grohman Narrows. He found a way to catch the large rainbows that held just where the current started to draw at the head of the narrows under the power lines. These fish had tantalized anglers for many years. People had fished at Grohman for decades but most fished downstream at the creek mouth and around the Island. They knew about the power line lunkers because they rolled and splashed like spring salmon a couple of times a day but had little success catching them. George anchored his boat above the power lines and, against all logic, sunk a grasshopper down to the bottom. I hate to imagine how many beautiful rainbows George caught at Grohman. He supplied many a summer barbecue with fine trout in those years. George was such an accomplished angler that you got the feeling that he could have sunk a hockey puck down to those Grohman rainbows and still caught a few.

Goodbye old friend. I hope there are lots of fine lakes and streams filled with big rainbows where you are – save a few for your old fishing pals.

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From left: Ken Cook, George Bing with a five pound kokanee, Dick Parker and Frank Hufty

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Frank Hufty, Gary Kilpatrick, George Bing and Ted Burns

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George Bing and George Longden with Grohman rainbows

Nelson Daily News

2010

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GARY KILPATRICK

Tuesday, November 13th, 2018

Remembering Gary Kilpatrick

It must have been about 1950. We had moved back to Nelson after a stint in California and were living in the little white house at 1002 Kootenay St. My first friend there was Tom Ramsay who lived in a big house at the end of the street. One afternoon he brought Gary over and the three of us became fast friends. After an initial wrestling match to determine who was the toughest, Gary took me fishing to “his pool”, a lovely spot in Cottonwood Canyon at the top of the falls near his grandparent’s house. The adventure had begun.

It was an idyllic life for Nelson boys in those days. We fished Cottonwood Creek and around the City Boathouses, raided gardens and fruit trees, skied at the old golf course hill and later at Silver King, tobogganed in the gully behind Tom’s house, played hockey at Powell’s Ponds or on the lake, had shinny games on Latimer Street and swam at the boat houses and City Wharf. When the family moved across the lake for the summers, we moved the adventure over there. Tom and Gary would sometimes amaze me by swimming over from the boat houses. Other members of the uphill gang included Fred and Vernon Goldsbury, Dick Gelinas, Clare Palmer, Gary Higgs and my old friend Harry Cox.

Gary was always a ring leader and the first to try new things – the first try ski jumping, the first to dive off high cliffs and the new Nelson Bridge, the first to get kicked out of school, the first to smoke and drink beer, the first to have a girlfriend and the first to go off and play hockey professionally. He left at 15 to play junior B in Lethbridge, played Junior A in Moose Jaw then moved up to minor pro and was drafted by the NHL. Tom, Gary and I played bantam together, Mack Macadam was our coach. Gary was big and strong by then and no one would fight him. He got me to start trouble so he could step in but players soon caught on.

In the late 1950’s we moved back to California but I usually saw Gary in the summers. I especially remember the summer of 1959. Dennis Miller had a small car and we rode around all night looking for parties and drinking beer. We swam and fished during the day. This pattern continued until well into the 1960s. The Queens Hotel was our main haunt and our gang at that time included such luminaries as Buddy Mayer, Luigi Del Pauppo and Jimmy Rogers. It often included hockey player pals of Gary`s like Jack Stanfield and Bob Plager. After a night at the Queens we would often hit beach parties at Red Sands or Taghum Beach or head over to the Purple Lantern for Chinese food. My job was to hold Gary’s teeth if a fight started which sometimes happened because drunks often challenged Gary.

Gary taught at the hockey school run by Metro Prestai where some of the players also worked. One of Gary`s students was the late Brian Spencer who had a career in the NHL. I worked on construction jobs like the Mary Ann apartments and for Clare Palmer moving furniture. In 1966 I began a lifelong career in fisheries biology as a summer student on the Kootenay Lake Project. After that, Gary often called me “ the ichthyologist. “

By 1965, my family had moved back to Nelson. I stayed in school in California until 1969 when I returned to Nelson. Pat McKim and I got married in 1968 and I didn`t see as much of Gary after that. He and his brother Allan along with Kenny Dewar and Blair Olson had purchased the Savoy Hotel and Gary married Pam Ferguson. Pat and I moved to Vancouver Island in 1969 and my visits to Nelson became less and less. Gary’s hockey career wound down in the 70’s and eventually the Savoy was sold and Gary got involved with other enterprises.

I last saw Gary in the spring of 2012. We met briefly at the Nelson Mall and swapped a few tales. He had cancer by then but seemed to be doing well. By early summer 2013, he was gone.

Gary Kilpatrick was a hero of mine and one of the best friends I ever had. It was a shock to lose him because as far as I knew he was indestructible. Here was a person who, as far as I knew, had never had as much as a cold. A person who could stay up and party all night then hike to a mountain lake the next day and never break a sweat. Rest in peace old friend……

Ted Burns

April 2014.

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Gary as a Seattle Totem – 1971.

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Frank Hufty, Gary, George Bing and I at Proctor, 1965

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Gary at Vimy Park in Kaslo, 1967

 

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A Long Time Ago

Sunday, June 12th, 2011


“Ted Burns Hanging with a Black Bear after a good wrestle”

A long time ago and not far from here a small boy was born.  He was born with a fishing pole,  a full set of teeth, gumboots and a love for the great outdoors.  Ted Burns was six feet and 9 inches tall.  He could wrestle a  big ol bear for his supper, a good plate of fried chicken legs and steamed broccoli which of course is often a bear’s natural diet.

Salmon, Ted loved Salmon.  Not to eat of course. He watched Salmon grow from tiny little eggs to full grown fish.  He studied the Salmon and he raised them like they were his own flesh and blood.  He gave every Salmon its own name, just like a child.  If it was a female Salmon than it recieved a little girl’s name and if it was a male Salmon, well, it recieved a little boy’s name too.

“Ted Burns hugging an old friendly fish”

Everywhere Ted Burns travelled the Salmon all knew him.  They would let him stay at their little Salmon houses where he would help them raise their little ones.  The Salmon loved Ted Burns and Ted Burns loved the Salmon.  Ted Burns was the best man at nearly all of the Salmon weddings and many Salmon schools were named after him.

“Rare pic of Ted Burns hugging a White Tiger”

Signed
A Silly Salmon

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