133 Help! My Boat’s Sinking!

Normally we would have our heating oil and fuel dropped off by a tanker from town. But as we had run out of heating oil before the tanker was due to arrive my dad sent me to the store to pick up a barrel of stove oil.

The old flat bottomed clinker built was more then adequate to hall a barrel of fuel oil, it however had seen better days and one of the side planks had split and was now held together with iron rods that did not completely prevent it from taking on water.

It was only a couple of miles if that far to the store so I fired up the small Wisconsin engine, tossed in an empty forty-five gallon barrel and off I went to the Read Island Store and Post Office. I arrived about a half hour later at the Read Island wharf and went up and got Mr. Hill where he was working at the store. He came back with me to the wharf and filled my barrel with heating oil.

After thanking him, I immediately took off for home, but noticed quickly that with the added weight of the full barrel of heating oil, the boat seemed to be taking on water at an alarming rate. I didn’t have a decent bucket to bail with and was doing the best I could with what I had. The bottom line was that I was not keeping up and the boat was slowly sinking. This sent shivers of fear up and down my spine as I realized I did not have a life jacket and the water was very cold.

I was not far from shore and I realized that my only hope was to beach the boat. The nearest place to beach the boat and prevent it from sinking altogether was a beach in front of my friend Ron Lambert’s house. So without any hesitation I made straight for his beach with the throttle wide open and the boat now seemingly filling up with water faster then ever. The timing was miraculous as just as the boat was about to go under, it scraped to a stop on the bottom, and boy did I give a sigh of relief.

My friend Ron, who had seen what was happening from the shore came running down to the beach and gave me a hand. We were able to bail the skiff out and with much effort roll the barrel of oil out of the boat and into the water. As oil is much lighter then sea water the barrel floated so I was able to tie a rope around it and tow it the rest of the way home.

It is fun to look back on the happenings of yesterday and it was only recently that Ron and I were laughing about my efforts to get that barrel of oil home. At the time however, it did not seem like a laughing matter, but the passing of time gives us the freedom to see things in a different light.

132 Memories of a Loved One

It was August 26, 2004 and just another day on the road for my nephew, Dean Ganson, as he climbed into the big Peterbuilt at Terrace, to take over for a spell from his friend Dick Brown who had just come in from Prince Rupert with his trailer loaded with live crab bound for San Francisco. This was to be a quick trip, at least for Dean as he was fitting it in between his regular scheduled runs, and time was of the essence.

It could have been his father, in the sleeper, but as he was unable to find the time needed to make this extra run he had passed the opportunity on to Dean who jumped at the chance to make a few more bucks.

Both Dean and Dick were quite used to the monotony of such a run and it was now just shortly before 4:50 am on Friday, August 27, and Dick was once again at the wheel. After talking with his wife Dean decided to get a little shuteye so was back in the sleeper resting up for his next turn at the wheel.

It was turning into just another routine run and they were well on their way just twenty five kilometers north of Williams Lake near McLeese Lake and keeping well to their schedule.

Farther south things were not going so well for David Hart, the driver of a semi loaded with inflammables and headed for Prince George. Even as early as 2:10 am that Friday morning, he was seen flying through Cache Creek doing ninety kilometers an hour. This was just the beginning of a scenario that was to end in disaster as David Hart, who was now high on both cocaine and methamphetamine, crossed the centerline and forced a police cruiser, and then a series of vehicles onto the shoulder of the road, to escape a head on collision with his semi.

Constable Jensen stated that David Hart stayed on his side of the road between approaching vehicles but as soon as one would appear he would cross the centerline and force it off the road. The dilemma was how to get David Hart off the highway without anyone getting killed as his semi was now traveling at one hundred and twenty kilometers per hour and by this time he had forced at least twenty vehicles off the road.

It was now 4:50 that Friday morning, when the inevitable happened as David Hart who on rounding a corner swung abruptly into the oncoming path of the big Peterbuilt driven by Dick Brown with Dean Ganson now sound asleep in the cab.

The resulting inferno that erupted from the collision closed the road that Friday morning for hours as the two trucks were literally incinerated with everything in them. They burned until there was nothing left but the metal.

The pain of such a tragedy and the resulting effects it has had on the people left behind was profound and was at least partly responsible for the early admittance of his mother, Dawna, into a care home.

The memorial service in the little church at Terrace left memories that I have never forgotten to this day. It was obvious that the small town of Terrace was moved by the tragedy. The Terrace Church was packed, not only with family and aquaintenances, but also by many from the surrounding community.

I still feel the pain of that moment and will never forget the heartache caused by the senseless act of a madman that Friday morning on Highway 97 when two semis met head-on.

131 Having Good Times at Our Fiftieth

Having made it to fifty years gives a person a sense of accomplishment, but as my son in-law Raymond says, “It’s just another day so what’s the big deal.” That’s assuming you got there without a struggle. Just let me say, all families have a secret, and ours is, it wasn’t always a cakewalk, but the good times by far out-weighed the bad, and the rewards are many. All you had to do was just look around and see all of the family and friends that chose to celebrate with us, which of course, was really the only meaningful reason for the event. It was, and is, what makes life’s journey the wonder and joy that it is.

I knew we were in for a super event when I heard my daughter Teri discussing the details of the occasion with her mother months before it was to begin. I figured then that anything to the contrary was useless on my part, and I might just as well keep quiet and just let it happen, as even by then, it seemed to be taking on a life of it’s own.

Teri is not inclined to do anything halfway and I knew she could pull it off in fine style but I would just as soon have been one of the guests as the center of attention. Being appreciated is fine but during such an event it is quite easy to overdue the bonhomie and as it is I’m now set for life.

I could tell that Teri was on top of the event from the very beginning as she was wise enough to solicit Bev Rippin’s talents and advise and to put Darrell Sayler in as the caterer. The event had such amazing people give of their time such as the Kettner’s and the many others who served and slaved in the kitchen and with the cleanup.

Both Joyce and Claude brought back such sweet memories of times past that the joyful emotions came very close to the surface as I relived them again. Joyce does an amazing job on putting life’s happenings into the poetic, and Claude always has such a way with words that I relived again our days out in the bush camping.

I appreciated everyone who got up especially Becky who shared such kind words about us as parents of her beloved and our son Bobby. It was also nice when Dan Johnson and my old boyhood chum Ron Lambert, as well as Bob Switak brought to life many of the memories of times past. 


It is an understatement to say that the tables looked gorgeous and that the food was par excellent. It was the first time that I ever saw a photo on a cake that looked so real that it could be eaten, and in fact it was.

I have to say that Meagan’s voice is so sweet and the songs that she sang so meaningful that I must give her an extra hug the next time that I see her. And as my good friend Leon says, “Where did Meagan get such good looks, it must have been from her father?” Just a joke Teri!

In closing I have to thank everyone who said that they enjoyed the slideshow, as I literally put in hours to make it happen, and I must thank Eric for his help.

As I said in the church bulletin, “We were more then overjoyed that you came to celebrate with us. You may have overdone it on the kissing thing but we forgive you and really appreciated your coming to wish us well. You are all cordially invited for our hundredth so keep a slot open on you calendar for 2061/09/09, Love, Bob & Sandy.

130 Making Big Bucks in the Herring

The herring fisheries was one of the big money makers of the season and one all fisherman looked forward too, my dad being no exception. Working at a government job meant a steady paycheck but not one that afforded a lot of luxuries. It was more on my part and not so much my dad’s that I suggested he let me join him on the ’79 herring fisheries in March of that year, for a chance at some extra money. I quite willingly hung the herring net that he gave me as he said it was part of the requirement if I really wanted to become part of the team. I never checked to see what the rest of the crew had to do to get hired, as I was only too happy just to be able to get an opportunity to make some extra money. 

Taking a leave of absence from my job at the Pacific Forestry Service was easy enough and on Mar 1 I showed up at Tofino where we waited impatiently five or six days at dock for the season to open. We lived on Lindley Jacobson’s boat, Eventide, as he and my dad were partners in the herring fishery. It was with great anticipation that we sat at the dock waiting for the herring row to mature, as herring row is an anticipated delicacy in the Japanese economy and has to be harvested at just the right moment. It is a short fishery, but brings huge bucks to the fishing industry as in one month many fishermen can exceed $100,000.

My Dad with Joe and myself in our aluminum herring skiff along with his partner Lindley Jacobson and his crew of two in their skiff, stayed tuned to the radio for the signal to throw in the herring nets, every second missed could mean the loss of big bucks.

After the countdown the horn sounded and what a mad scramble as by this time it was dark and nets were being laid everywhere. One joker even laid one across ours and we had to reset to a different location. It was pure chaos as in the dark no one could see exactly what was going on. After an hour or so things seemed to settle down and in the dark the straight looked like a city with thousands of lights as everyone moved about working their nets and jockeying at times for a more strategic spot.

Every few hour we had to shake the nets and watch the fish shake out into the bins in the bottom of the boat. Each skiff had a mechanical shaker to assist in the shaking, but I felt sorry for Lindley’s deck hand Eric Smith as his hands swelled up like puffballs because they were not used to the stress. When he moved them they made a funny squeaking sound. I am sure Eric was happy when the horn sounded just after daybreak the next morning to signal the close of the opening.

In their greed some fishermen would fish more than their one allowed net and leave the second net in the water after the horn sounded rather then get caught picking it up. It was less expensive to leave the extra net then to pay the fine if caught.

My dad had left his boat at Comox ready for the next opening, so we were able to beat it across the island just in time to throw our net in the water as the opening horn sounded. It was another night of hard work, but I can still remember the excitement as I watched the bins in the bottom of the boat fill up as we frantically shook the gilled fish out of the nets. What fun it is to watch the money rolling in one fish at a time.

The fish collectors paid cash for each delivery. I remember quite clearly when my dad counted $3000 in twenties and placed them in my hot little hand.

Lindley missed the opening, as he had to bring his boat around from Tofino, but as my dad and he were fishing as partners they split all the profits.

After hanging around Nanaimo for a few days we headed up to the Queen Charlotte Islands for the last opening of the herring season in the Skincuttle Inlet on Moresby, the south Island. We along with dozens of other herring fishermen booked passage on an old charter ship the Mara Bella. The skiffs were towed up on a barge and we all waited impatiently for the opening to begin. Wouldn’t you know the opening came on a Sabbath so we only caught the last half of the opening.

The month finally ended and we were on our way home. After arriving in Milbank Sound on the Mara Bella I caught a ride with James Wakus to Port Hardy where I jumped on a plane to Vancouver and then on to Victoria as I could hardly wait to see my Honey after several weeks at sea.

I was glad when my days as a herring fisherman were ended, however it was nice to pick up $6000 for the three nights that I worked during the month of March. I will never forget that experience and the fun I had as part of the herring crew on my dad’s skiff.