12 Finally a Logger, and Not Just a Logger's Son

The summer I turned nine was a memorable point in my life because this was the year my sister and I had just come home from the year of school spent with my grandparents at Mission. This was the first time my dad gave me the opportunity to work in the woods. My dad had struck out on his own, inviting my uncle Irwin and a friend of theirs Jim Lambert, to become his partners in a company that was to eventually be called “Bird Cove Logging”. This was driven from necessity as Forest Lambert the son-in-law of the Tanaka's, the family that had rescued our family from the brink of poverty, had forced the company into bankruptcy.  Forest had to take over the running of the camp when his in-laws were hauled off to a concentration camp in central BC, because they were of Japanese decent. Forest was a good man but not good at managing a logging company, and now Dad was without work.

Dad and his partners were able to locate an old steam donkey, which even then was obsolete. The old steam pot was still in running condition, and could it really haul, logs that is. The one major drawback this machine had was that it had a voracious appetite for wood. This kept one man busy with a power saw cutting firewood.

To say my dad made me cut wood for a steam donkey at eight years of age would not be telling the truth, but I do remember him giving me the handles of an old Mall power saw, and a monster it was, with a cutting blade about 5 feet long. I remember him starting the cut and them giving me the saw to hold. It just about rattled my teeth out, but it was enough to infect me with the wood virus and eventually I became one of the logger’s elite brigade, known as fallers.

Not only was I given a chance at running a power saw when I was only eight, but also my first job in the woods.  I was an eight year-old whistle-punk. The whistle-punk was the guy who relayed the signal from the chocker-man to the man running the steam donkey.  This was a very important job because if the signals were not given correctly, the “chocker-man” could get killed.  If the “chocker-man” hollered one “Hey” the whistle punk would jerk the wire once and if the “but-rigging” was stopped it would go but if going, it would stop.  The wire indirectly activated a horn that the “donkey-puncher” could hear. The pay was theoretically $1 per hour, but being the boss’s son was not always a good thing because getting paid was dependent on the availability of funds after all of the bills were paid. I do remember, however, of getting paid at least once as a kid and of buying myself a winter parka and presents for the rest of the family as it was Christmas time.

Steam donkey that Joy Lambert operated

11 Angels Must be for Real, But not David

 It was about two years later after we had moved from the head of Evans Bay to Bird Cove Bay on Read Island, and shortly after my sister and I had returned from living with Grandma Betts, that the three of us spent the next few summers swimming every afternoon as the tide came in. The operative word here is swim, meaning none of us new how.  But we used to have a great time playing in the salt water in front of our house and around the next bay by ourselves, out of site from both our mothers. The beach went out for about a quarter mile and it was mostly a black gooey mud, which made a squishy sucking sound when you walked and was good at sucking gumboots right off your feet.  Before you knew it you were walking with only your socks in the black gooey ooze.  The mud also made for great mud fights, between David, Dawna and I. Nobody ever won but it was sure fun to sling great gobs of the gooey black stuff at one another.  The best thing however was that when the tide went out the mud got really hot by the sun.  When the oncoming tide rolled over the hot mud it raised the cold salt water to bathtub temperatures, and it was lovely to play in.  And play we did on old logs and pieces of wood and such, making rafts to push around with poles.

I always was somewhat envious of David as in my mind he was a bit more daring them I was and he was also a better aim with a rock, and that bugged me. I had proof of that and a scar to prove it. Well before I knew it he had taught himself to swim, before I did, and that really bothered me too. Before to long Dawna had taught herself to swim also, and here I was still too afraid to put my face in the water.  At this point I was feeling a bit negative about the whole thing but still afraid to put my head under the water, when as luck would have it I fell off my raft head first into the water and came up swimming.  I wish all my prayers were answered that easily.

David was really not a bad kid but was the kind of kid that would get into trouble mostly because he never thought of the consequences.

One day when Dawna, David and I were playing outside.  David comes over to my sister and told her to put her hand in his pocket, and feel the little mouse.  Dawna not thinking trustingly did so, and quickly pulled her hand out and ran home and told mom what she had found and it wasn’t a mouse.  Mother immediately told my Aunt, and did David ever get in trouble and a lecture on what nice boys should and should not do to or with girls.  David never did do anything close to that again.  Of course this was a big deal in my mother’s eyes as even legitimate sex was only to be tolerated.  I think she had sex three times, one for each of us kids.

Even though we don’t keep in touch to often I still visit David from time to time, I like to think that because of me he turned out OK, or maybe I should say in spite of me.

10 There Really Is an Angel Somewhere

One of the most terrifying memories of my childhood was the day David’s little sister Cheryl, who was about three, just about drowned.  It was the end of a warm summers day when everyone was relaxing after a hard days work and the anticipation of hot supper.  Most of us kids were just keeping out of site so as not to be yelled at for being under foot.  In the mean time Cheryl had wandered outside unnoticed and began playing in the water.  As I have mentioned my mother and that goes for most parents in our camp, was quite relaxed about their kids and the dangers of the water.

But what happened next was every mother’s nightmare.  Aunt Ruth was not worried but as any mother would do, from time to time come out to see what little Cheryl was up to.  This particular time however, Cheryl was nowhere in site and after a few moments of searching, her eyes fell on something out in the bay.  She looked again to make sure, could it be, no it mustn’t be, again she strained her eyes and the realization of what she saw froze her heart. There was Cheryl floating face down in the water.  It was with terror in her heart that I heard her cry out, “Oh my baby! My baby!”

This brought terror in all of our hearts and everyone came running to see what tragedy had taken place. Erwin my Uncle was one of the first to arrive, my dad was there and most of us kids.

The terror in my heart was overwhelming as I watched my uncle and my dad walk out to rescue Cheryl from the water.  I can still remember as if it was only yesterday as my uncle laid little Cheryl on top of a big flat rock and started artificial respiration.  And I can still hear my Aunt Ruth wailing, “Oh my baby!  My baby! Oh my baby!  My baby!” The cry of my Aunt Ruth has stayed in my memory as if it was yesterday.  I can still see the water mixed with curdled milk draining out of little Cheryl’s mouth and running down the rock.  My Uncle paused from time to time and all of a sudden stopped as Cheryl opened here eyes and started to breath on her own.  It was not till then that my aunt stopped her wailing and with incredible joy my uncle placed little Cheryl in her arms.  The skeptic may scoff at it being a miracle, the believer will have his faith confirmed, and I choose to believe that it gives God great pleasure to give a mother back her child.

9 Let’s Go See Some Jellyfish

It was shortly after my cousin David had arrived and that time of year when the jellyfish are in spawn, that David, Dawna and I decided to row out in a small rowboat and watch them.  The rules on safety such as they were, begged the three of us to tempt fate and row out to look at them close-up. What more could a six-year old want, then to lead out in such a cool adventure then this.  So off we went in the small rowboat that was near-by, and with no life jackets to-boot.  Back in those days there were no regulations about wearing lifejackets and nobody seemed to worry about drowning.  Everything was going fine and we were all leaning over having a great time looking at the millions of jellyfish of all colors, shapes and sizes when suddenly David fell out of the boat headfirst into the water.  I am amazed at our presence of mind, as Dawna calmly pulled David back into the boat while I leaned over the other side to counter-balance the rowboat so it would not tip over and throw us all into the water.  David however landed sputtering and coughing back in the bottom of the boat.  When we got back to shore mom asked how come David was all wet and I said, “Oh! David fell in the water and we pulled him out.”  And to this day I don’t remember my mother even raising an eyebrow.