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Under These Waters Under These Waters Williston Lake: Before it Was by: Norman Unrau ISBN 0-9686049-2-7 ISBN 0-9686049-2-7
Under These Waters
Under These WatersWilliston Lake: Before it Was
by: Norman Unrau
ISB
N 0
-96
86
04
9-2
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ISBN 0-9686049-2-7
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Under These Waters
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Under These WatersWilliston Lake: Before it Was
by: Norman Unrau
©2001 ISBN 0-9686049-2-7
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Under These Waters
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UNDER THESE WATERS
Contents
Introduction .................................................................................. 7
The Dreamers .............................................................................. 9
Political Decisions ...................................................................... 11
The Forest Service Engineering Division .................................. 12
The Parsnip Forest Road (The Road in) ................................... 15
Logging Camps .......................................................................... 19
Temporary Camp at Mile 49 ...................................................... 23
The Work Starts, 73 Mile Camp ................................................ 27
Lookin’ for a Home ................................................................... 43
The Tree Crushers ..................................................................... 45
Fort Graham ............................................................................... 53
Wood Streeper’s barge .............................................................. 58
Walkin’ the Cats ........................................................................ 61
Some days are better…! ........................................................... 71
“Hamburger Joe” ...................................................................... 72
My work, great days! ................................................................ 75
Leisure Times ............................................................................ 78
Finlay Forks ............................................................................... 92
Displaced Citizens ..................................................................... 96
To Hudson’s Hope ..................................................................... 99
The Dam .................................................................................. 101
A Harbinger of things to come ................................................ 103
References ............................................................................... 108
Acknowledgements ................................................................. 109
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Under These Waters
Introduction
“Under the waters” is an abbreviated account of my
involvement in a particularly exciting adventure in the mid sixties.
My work placed me in a part of north central British Columbia that
is now lost due to flooding. A large water reservoir occupies the
area that once was a major waterway including portions of three
drainages. Recognizing the scope of this undertaking I ask the
reader to remember that this is only one account of many that
might be written. In fact there is a much larger and more complete
story yet to be told.
Certain aspects have been reported years ago and are available
at most public libraries. A few references are noted at the end of
this account.
I have included many names and photos of people with whom
I have rubbed shoulders, and others whose names are given for
background.
The difficulties encountered while piecing together this story
were enormous. People have moved away, others have died and
those of us remaining are limited in one way or another. Time has
a way of dulling memories.
Operations on the “Peace Pondage” were far flung. I was
fortunate to participate in various positions and places. Numerous
areas were being treated simultaneously. Where work took me to
the Parsnip other crews might have been busy on the Finlay, for
example.
(The name Peace Pondage was a rather loose term used
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interchangeably at times, with Mile73, The Peace or The Parsnip
and sometimes The Finlay or Finlay Forks).
To keep from scattering my story too widely I have relied on
the evidence of pictures liberally and I am indebted to those who
graciously cooperated.
The photos included were gratuitously received. Some photos
did not meet the criteria. Some were simply too badly faded, etc. to
be considered. This was further compounded when I “lost” the
works one day, everything, photos, text and all! My computer refused
to recover any of my manuscript other than the title.
I trust my enthusiasm and delight for living, working and having
played in an enormously endowed land will be obvious to the reader.
If a similar passion stirs the breast may our collective hearts find
focus on the One who fashioned the mountains, the rivers, the
valleys and all that now lies under these waters.
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The Dreamers“...young men will have visions, old men will dream dreams.”
Men and women have always had dreams. Some were good
dreams others were, nah! Some had limited dreams while some
had huge, the “sky is the limit”, fantasies. Power and the need to
dominate seem to be the forte of some. While world leaders affect
nations, individuals often strive for personal heights. Lindbergh and
Edmund Hillary may have gained their places in school textbooks
but where do ordinary Joes like me make their mark? I guess we
are satisfied with smaller things, like the more down to earth exploits
that I was an unwitting partner to, starting in 1964.
For three years my work was in the forest clearing end of the
project called “Peace River Pondage”. Unknown to many were
the plans being developed by our then present Government as early
as 1957. The Swedish industrialist Axel Wennergren along with
W.A.C. Bennett and his cabinet had designs on our resources. As
a result of much secret planning and politicking a dam was already
in the process of being constructed upstream of the village of
Hudson’s Hope when I arrived on the project near Finlay Forks. In
time a dam, a most impressive structure, would be constructed that
would earn the right to bear the Premier’s name. The pros and
cons of this venture will be debated for some time to come. Was it
all worth it? Time has a way of healing wounds, and there appear
to have been many!
There were reports of a possible monorail, coalmines,
hydroelectric development, dams and water diversions to the U.S.
via the Rocky Mountain trench. These guys didn’t mess around
with penny ante stuff.
At one point consideration was given to a plan where the water
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from the Peace River watershed would be backed up over the
height of land into the Fraser system and a dam constructed on the
Fraser River, again for electricity to head south. The Peace system
drains into the Arctic while the Fraser empties into the Pacific.
Fortunately, the plan was not implemented. As well there was the
much-debated Two-Rivers proposal involving the Peace and the
Columbia Rivers. (Much of this information is available at the
local library. See “This was our Valley” by Matheson & Pollon.)
These were the years of Social Credit, and ‘Flying Phil’ their
dynamic highways minister. To their credit several major projects
became reality like the Dea’s Island tunnel and the Fraser canyon
upgrade. The latter impacted my life considerably as I traveled
that route frequently in 1960 and ‘61. But, back to my story!
My dream was to get a job again, a salary, a little security,
maybe even a house. I had been an employee of the Forest Service
Engineering Division previously but had terminated my work with
them when I learned that I was being considered for a ‘posting’ as
a survey party chief somewhere in the province. Then, early in
May of 1964, when Tommy Thompson phoned from Victoria asking
if I’d like to go to work in the Parsnip area, I accepted!
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Political Decisions
Once all of the political ramifications, feasibility studies, surveys
and whatever else were satisfied, a water reservoir in the northern
part of B.C. would be built which would include most of the Parsnip
River, the Finlay River and the upstream Peace River basins. An
earth fill dam across the Peace near Hudson’s Hope (Bennett Dam)
was to create a water reservoir (now Williston Lake) extending
south to approximately the Pack River. The lake would back up
the Finlay River northward past Ingenika to a point near Rubyred
Creek.
Hydro electricity to be generated from this site was estimated
at over 2,000,000 kilowatts. Is that a lot, or WATT!
The “clearing” work was assigned to the B.C. Forest Service
whose Engineering Division in particular would oversee the
groundwork.
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The F.S. Engineering Division
The line of authority for this project was set up like this: Under
the Forest Service Executive came the Forester-In-Charge
Engineering Division (D. Greggor); Engineer-In-Charge Engineering
Section (P. J. Hemphill); and Engineer-In-Charge Peace Pondage
(H. Miles-Pickup).
Once the project got underway, the project managers rotated
as they became available.
Project Managers were replaced periodically as if to share
responsibilities; my understanding! Finding themselves at the helm,
in addition to the above, were Terry Prentice, Bob Monroe, Dez
Rice, Glen Goerwell, and Karl Rieche.
Those figuring in my more day-to-day experience were H.
Miles-Pickup (Project Super), Terry Prentice (Second-in-command
and Communications Specialist), Don Adams (Water Transport
Technician), Ernie Crajczar (Surveys), Karl Rieche (Forest
Specialist), Mr. Robbilard (Cook), and Bob Mackey, Dave Dietterle,
Walter Zayak (Senior Foremen) and Arnie Odiorne (Shop).
The F.S. Engineering Division was instrumental in developing
a network of Forest Roads within the Province as early as the
fifties. Much of the personnel came to Peace Pondage with
considerable experience gained from those road projects. In support
of these people were well- established Forest Service departments.
One was the Machine Pool. This department provided by
purchase or rental, machines, Caterpillar tractors, trucks, loaders,
compressors, graders and other construction related equipment.
The Marine depot or Maintenance Depot (F.S.M.D.) satisfied
the supply of watercraft such as were required on demand. On the
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Peace Pondage project those included jet boats, numerous
riverboats, a tugboat and several fuel barges. The barges were
constructed at the Marine depot. They were, I believe, built entirely
of steel with a capacity of around 2,500 gals. A former project
manager explained, “The Marine depot builds and supplies just about
anything from boats to trailer units and provides maintenance on
these and numerous other items.”
Transport Pool delivered large items such as bridge girders
and camp equipment including trailer units to projects by barge but
mostly by truck transport. Those were some of the “on the ground
concerns” before the project got under way.
In response to my letter to R.D.Thomas enquiring about
“Victoria” concerns, he writes the following.
The clearing of certain areas of the area to be flooded
became one of the reservoir preparation projects assigned to
the Engineering Section. Terms of reference had as the major
focus, the carrying out of such clearing as deemed reasonable
to permit navigation on the reservoir at all stages of water as
indicated in B.C. Hydro’s plans and data from the then Water
Rights Branch of the Govt Dept “Lands, Forests and Water
Rights.”
In addition some other clearing was undertaken on a more
esthetic basis. Partial work involved the road to Finlay Forks,
the identification on the ground of the probable extent of the
new reservoir to provide control of clearing boundaries for
navigable access to the future lakeshore. These works were
restricted to the Parsnip and Finlay River areas. The Peace
River arm was the responsibility of B.C. Hydro.
The reservoir area was to be partially cleared and the more
public sections fully cleared. On the two tributaries to the Peace a
waterway or navigation channel was considered but that proposal
was nixed and a less provocative plan was followed. Pressure
from the environmental community may have helped with that
decision. Mills sprang up, encouraged by a more lenient stumpage
rate, no doubt!
One of the environmental concerns was that too much forest
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would be lost, and a decision was arrived at where the bulk of the
wood would be removed on the areas most exposed to, or closest
to, human access. (From earlier experience, i.e. Kenny Dam and
its impoundment, there was a reluctance to repeat the flooding of
forests and the resulting environmental mess.) Many would
challenge that statement today! This decision would lead to greater
effort and expense, one which today might be considered
elementary!
Today the question is asked, “Why didn’t they take all the wood
out before they flooded it?” The answer is “It was simply impossible
to extract by logging such large volume within the time frame given
for the project. That would take many, many years.” Basically it
was a political decision! Politics being what it is and politicians
knowing that their tenure may be brief must “do things” soon in
order to be re-elected. And they did!
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The Parsnip Forest Road (The road in)
In order to provide road access the Engineering Division of the
Forest Service was called upon to start construction of a low class
grade starting at the Hart Highway or “97 North”. The first Forest
Service camp was located at Mile1 just off Highway 97 North and
immediately north of the Parsnip River Bridge. Hugh Turner and
Jack Bishop headed up the supervision.
Gagnon Cr. Bridge Construction (Photo supplied by: Dez Rice)
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The first stretch of some 20 odd miles, or to where Mackenzie
is now, had numerous creek and river crossings. The road was
built to one-lane specs and turnouts. This was one winding sucker
of a road, but there was considerable push to get to the Forks. The
original road passed next to Morfee Lake when I first travelled
there in 1964. Too many switchbacks, sharp curves, narrow bridges
and whoops, another ‘blinking’ vehicle!
Mischinsinlika Creek (Photo supplied by: Dez Rice)
A typical load on a narrow road (Photo supplied by: Dez Rice)
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“Too close to the edge” (Photo supplied by: Pete Mushaluk)
Spilled load on Parsnip Road (Photo supplied by: Pete Mushaluk)
It wasn’t too bad if you met at or near a turn-out but once
hauling started in earnest there were so many trucks on the road
that even the radio regulations didn’t entirely rule out accidents.
Kennedy Siding on the B.C. Railway figured heavily in getting
lumber and logs to market and much of the truck-hauled wood
started its long journey here. For those of us not radio equipped
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catching up to a truck meant following behind and depending upon
the charity of the driver one might be ‘sucking the hind tit’ for
many dusty miles. Spilled loads were not that uncommon, especially
on tight corners, creating additional hazards to approaching traffic.
Later it was upgraded, by-passing what is now Mackenzie and
speeding up traffic much to the delight of the trucking fraternity.
There had been too many incidents on that section earlier! The
road would culminate at the Forks 80 odd miles away and was
completed in 1963.
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Logging Camps, Mills
With the road (Parsnip Forest Road) completed it wasn’t long
after that people with dreams followed. There was such a bonanza
of wood available for cutting and processing it staggered the
imagination. Much of the timber was sawn at these mills and trucked
south with Kennedy Siding being a major out-bound station. The
possibility to “make it” was at hand. Without a doubt some did, but
there were also casualties!
Cattermole or Cattermole/Trethewy
The first mill established, to my knowledge, was situated at the
forks of the three rivers and the terminus of the road. Smoke from
their beehive burner was visible from a distance.
View of the three rivers, (The forks). Smoke from Cattermole’s mill.(Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
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It was at this millsite on the river that I saw my first shear
boom. Flying over the area gave me a first-hand look at a working
model of a simple but effective deflection system. The device was
constructed much like a log-boom with logs tied together end to
end with boom chains. Individual shear planks fastened to the logs
answered to the pull of the current deflecting floating logs into a
holding area from where they were retrieved.
Certainly, Cattermole was in a most favourable position for
some of the choicest timber imaginable.
We, the Forest Service, employed several of Cattermole’s D-8’s
and D-9’s as we cleared the North Harbour.
Harris and Miller
John (Coog) Harris and his brother Stan along with partners
Don and Conrad Miller were the owner/operators of this logging
show and sawmill. (I met this foursome when first working on the
Omineca Mining Road north of Fort St. James in 1961. There, they
were engaged in a similar venture, i.e. a sawmill by that name!)
The following account comes from a personal interview with
John Harris, April 2000.
Near the forks, their operation was approximately two miles
upstream from the Forks, on the west side of the Parsnip. The
camp, started in the fall of 1964 provided little, if any, accommodation
for married staff. The crews were housed in portables. Many camps
were geared for singles, basically! Not feeling confident enough to
trust his memory entirely, Coog figures their mill was in the area
near Isaac and Esau’s Mill. According to Don Miller, their sawmill
produced in the neighborhood of 80,000 to 100,000 bd. ft. a day,
depending on the scale used.
Access to their camp was via an ice-bridge across the Parsnip
River.
A faller supplying his own saw etc. could make a $100 a day at
$1 a tree!
Coog refreshed my memory regarding a report I had heard of
a near fatal accident in the area. This had to do with a faller getting
into a jam with a ‘hang-up’ on the Harris & Miller show. The
injured worker, in spite of his grievous injury, was transported
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strapped to the outside of a helicopter in a pod, to Prince George.
He recovered!
Without malice, Coog told me how they went belly-up and their
expectations nose-dived. He then went to work for Cordyban
(Carrier) in a portable sawmill and finally rounded out his working
days at a Prince George pulp mill.
Of the foursome Conrad Miller died in 1980. His brother Don
lives in Prince George. Don, though of retirement age, still keeps
active keeping his hands in making things. At the time of this writing
he was working, inventing machinery for the value added industries
(“whenever I feel like it”, he says.) John Harris (Coog) is retired,
also in Prince George, while brother Stan makes his home in
Vanderhoof.
Isaac & Esau
I don’t recall its location other than the description in the Harris
and Miller account.
Ongman’s
This mill was located where “Weston Harbour” is today. More
precisely, it was at or near Bill Boyko’s place at the confluence of
Weston Creek and the Parsnip River. Owned by Leonard Ongman
of Prince George, his camp access was from approximately Mile
64 on the Parsnip Forest Road.
In conversation with Mr.Ongman the following information was
gleaned as he fielded my awkward questions with considerable
grace.
Like many camps at start-up they too lived in somewhat
primitive conditions: no cook and batching for a while.
An ice bridge across the Parsnip R. was constructed in the
immediate vicinity north of camp.
I learned that he had been on the project from 1964 (that’s the
year I too started there) to sometime in 1970.
As the waters rose in 1968 Ongman had fallers working on the
Peace section. Where exactly wasn’t established, but the water
rose so quickly that the hand fallers were obliged to live on rafts in
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order to move with the rising flood. One day a land- slide demolished
both tents and rafts. The tent dwellers almost drowned!
Apparently they made money the first years but in 1970 there
was a sharp down-turn in prices and their fortunes started to slide.
At the time (2000) of this writing Leonard Ongman lives in Prince
George.
Curt Garland’s Mill
Information on this mill is not available to me at this writing.
The mill was probably close to mile 45 on the Parsnip Forest Road.
The owner later established Lomak Trucking in Prince George, a
sizable enterprise.
I recall only one time that I visited this camp. The occasion
came about like this. I was returning to our camp from McLeod
Lake. It was a dark, wet autumn night. As I rounded a curve in the
road I came upon several parked lumber trucks. The drivers were
sounding their air horns hoping to guide a lost hunter back to the
road. Apparently he was long overdue. Volunteering to check at a
camp nearby I and another chap approached the dark camp
awakening several grouchy loggers. The hunter had not shown.
This could be serious!
At this point we decided to notify our camp super, Terry Prentice
and drove the 30-40 odd miles. From our camp several of us fortified
with a Thermos or two started back to the scene, arriving there
about two hours after the first alert. Expecting the worst, upon
arriving we were surprised indeed that the guy had walked out at
exactly where he had entered the woods. He was a sorry sight, but
glad to be out of the woods, sitting in one of the trucks, getting
warm, and grateful for the coffee.
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Temporary Camp at 49 Mile
Now, back to my story! In May of 1964 the writer and a half
dozen or so newly hired employees met at Windy Point Lodge
where, under the supervision of Don Adams, a work detail was
organized undertaking the revitalizing of an intermediate or
temporary camp at the old construction campsite (49 mile). When
Hugh Turner’s crew had abandoned the site in 1963 they left the
wiring and plumbing intact, which our crew would now relocate
and hook up. Once that was completed we lived in tents and wooden
frames. Several married couples arrived with their own family
trailers.
High water - Too close for comfort (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
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Before the summer was over we had trailer units delivered to
provide an office, a kitchen, a bunkhouse, a power plant and a
mechanical shop. From here daily trips to the new campsite (73
mile) became routine. Forest Service Maintenance Depot provided
the transport and hauling. There might have been rentals involved.
The camp at 49 mile became a favorite stopping place for
black bears. After the camp garbage pit was moved down the road
a distance, the need to dispose of excess bears became unnecessary.
One day as I drove into camp I saw a black bear poking around
near a family trailer. Before I could react the animal raised up on
its hind legs. While the bear seemingly tried to gain entrance, a
child of about 2 or 3 years, inside the trailer, pressed its face and
hands against the window, totally oblivious to the danger. At one
point bear and child were within a foot or so of each other, separated
only by the window pane. Within seconds I, and another chap ran
up to scare off the beast. It had disappeared only to reappear on
the cookhouse steps. Mr. Robbilard, the cook, heard a commotion
and quickly secured the door from within. By this time the bear
had demolished the screen door. This was turning into a circus in a
hurry. Soon there were a dozen or more women and children on
the scene, yelling and screaming, some even trying to touch the
bear! Within minutes one of the mechanics showed up with a 30:30.
Mile 49 camp, Helicopter & ‘Bug’ (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
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Fall colours between Scott and Weston Creeks (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
dispatching the bear as it poked its head into a garbage can. What
a recipe for disaster!
Paul Diggle and I built several tree-stands overlooking the new
dump from which we observed some very interesting bear
specimens. The pecking order became apparent soon. Two giants
among bears took charge as soon as the garbage truck left. One
was a brown phase, the other black. There was no apparent friction
between them. They appeared to be evenly matched. Their huge
size suggested to me that they were males!
We made some mental calculations to wait until late August or
early September when we figured the pelts would be well furred
out at which point we would make the decision if we wanted to
collect them. Both of us wanted one badly!
For some reason unknown to us the bears suddenly stopped
coming and our lofty, well calculated designs came down to earth
and reality!
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Alf Storm family butchering an early moose (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
Mountain top with Paul Diggle and Howard Willis, East of 49 Mile Camp(Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
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The Work Starts: 73-mile camp
The camp had been chosen for its close proximity to the Parsnip
River.
The immediate area was densely populated with Jackpine (pecker-
poles) interspersed with aspen and birch.
The campsite was cleared of trees and fill hauled in over the
closely cropped tree stumps. Mr. Miles-Pickup insisted the site
would not be grubbed. The ground was mossy and when dry yielded
umpteen zillions of mosquitoes.
Later, after families moved in, an attempt was made to improve
the living conditions by periodically treating the forest floor adjacent
to camp with a pesticide. The sheer numbers of the little beggars
Terry Prentice & campsite before clearing (Photo supplied by: Robin Edwards)
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practically ruled out a lot of outdoor after supper activities. A
backpack fogger was employed and for a short evening the
mosquitoes subsided a bit! In springtime before insects emerged
and again in fall, when autumn colours abounded, conditions were
rather pleasant.
Winter scene from heliport (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
Parsnip River (Photo supplied by: Bill & Sheila Andreychuk)
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A helicopter landing was cut from the forest and situated
overlooking the Parsnip River with the Wolverine Mountains in the
distance. A beautiful sight (site) indeed! Naturally a path was soon
cleared from the camp area to the heliport and many visitors “oohed
and aahed” over the vista spread before them!
Autumn view (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
Lifting repeater to Tony Mountain (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
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Forest fire in Trench (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
Heliport Mile 73 (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
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A road was built from the camp snaking down to the Parsnip
R. where a boat landing provided access to the Parsnip R. and its
tributaries. I spent a considerable amount of time setting chokers
and dumping trucks here while generally overseeing the grade
construction under direction of Dave Dietterle. Fill came from a pit
across the road on the east side of the camp.
Logging Right of way (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
Clearing road down to Parsnip River (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
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Finlay Forks & Smoke from Cattermole’s mill. View from “Mt Selwyn”
(Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
Downstream were the Finlay River and the Peace where the
three rivers met at the Forks. It was at this physical location that
Cattermole had a logging and sawmill operation for some short
period. See also page 87.
Gravel pit with “Mt Selwyn”in background. “Mt Selwyn”, is a misnomer for the
promontory shown here. (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
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Under Miles-Pickup’s supervision a well driller was employed
with hopes of an adequate water supply. When that supply did not
materialize a reservoir, already built, served as a buffer but water
had to be hauled in all summer to supplement the well’s meager
output. I can still hear the grumbling!
Before winter 1964-65 new Knight Trailers were purchased
and hauled in providing living quarters for the single men. A
cookhouse trailer and eating hall were also acquired. A new mech
shop was also on the menu and completed before winter. All the
buildings were propane heated. The camp was staffed with the
necessary cooks, helpers and bullcook. Machine operators, foremen,
surveyors and office staff occupied the single quarters. The
inevitable light plant provided electricity enough for our purposes
but there was always a caution not to be too liberal with its use.
“Don’t plug in too many appliances at one time!”
Camp Life
Married couples were provided with parking space for individually
owned house trailers and some employees had F.S. trailer
entitlement. I had to wait for one to become available!
Deep Well Drilling (Photo supplied by: Robin Edwards)
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Sheila Andreychuk & Joan Haftner & kids picnic(Photo supplied by: Bill & Sheila Andreychuk)
Terry Prentice, Bill Andreychuk and Ernie Krajcza(Photo supplied by: Bill & Sheila Andreychuk)
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Bill Witter and Bill Troup (Photo supplied by: Deb (Troup) Marrello)
Bill Witter and Debbie Troup (Photo supplied by: Deb (Troup) Marrello)
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In the meantime I lived in the newly acquired trailers equipped
with two single built-in-bunk beds, a propane heater and some space
for clothes. These made up the livable area as I remember it. Not
much room! Electric lights complemented the arrangement and
most evenings I was grateful when the lights went out and I could
pound the pillow.
Prentice Boys (Photo supplied by: Deb (Troup) Marrello)
Seven Camp children: Back row L-R Tim Unrau, Lance Odiorne.Two
unidentified. Front row: Unidentified; Lorne Odiorne & Betty Unrau
(Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
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Diggin In
(Facing camera, left to right) Norm Unrau, Dave Duris and Walter Voradski.
(Back to camera, center) Bill Witter
(Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
Breakfast was my most important meal. The camp cook had a
reputation for ‘putting out’. I doubt if I ever ate better anywhere,
or more. There were always eggs, bacon, toast and all the different
spreads of jams, etc. If someone asked for something and it wasn’t
available it most likely would be in a matter of time. You could
choose from ham, sausages, omelet and most juices. There seemed
to be no shortages. I felt a bit conscious knowing that I was eating
better than my family did at home. Same for the other meals! And
still some guys grumbled!
New equipment had been ordered. There would be new D-
8’s, TD-25’s, TD-20’s and D-6’s coming. Once they arrived the
task of clearing the basin would begin in earnest.
Before these new machines arrived, however, the Forest
Service would rent equipment such as was available.
In time five old D-9 Cats were hired (contracted) from Del
Rio Ranch at Chetwynd. One of the D-9’s was used for spare
parts, I believe! More on these in Wood Streeper’s Barge page
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The first Cats arriving came with a ball and chain and
experimenting started in the ‘North Harbour’. The North Harbour
area was located just downstream from the confluence of the three
rivers and later named Finlay Harbour. The Harbour was intended
to be a safe haven for early water traffic. For sure it was a testing
ground where numerous methods of downing (clearing) timber were
tried. Downing timber consisted of running two Cats parallel with
each other and 50-75 feet apart with each end of the chain hitched
to a Cat. The dimensions and length of the ball & chain assembly
might have been something like two lengths of 100 feet of ships
anchor chain fastened to a 3-4 feet diameter steel ball in the middle.
Needless to say, there was much experimenting.
It required two heavy machines to pull down a swath of
material as shown here, preferably D-8s or D-9s.
Depending on the terrain and the volume of trees in the swath
much power was required and the skill of the operators determined
the amount of work completed in a shift. In heavy mature timber,
trails might have to be cut for the Cats to walk in. Once the swath
was started and the Cats were moving, the operators didn’t want
to stop until they came to the end of that particular section. The
operators kept in touch by hand signals, if they could see each
other, which wasn’t the norm. Later they were equipped with radios,
simplifying matters a lot.
Ball & chain downing (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
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When the operators (Cat Skinners) got their machines going
with the ball and chain lined up there was an awful lot of material
within the bight. It had to go somewhere and it did with trees
crashing, crisscrossing and falling everywhere. The windrows had
symmetry almost like a weave with timber and brush piled higher
than the machines in places. Loggers must have drooled over the
nice ‘wood’ that was being wasted.
Ball & chain downing (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
Ball & chain downing (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
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D-9 Cutting trees (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
Clearing, piling in North Harbour (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
The winter of ‘65 saw us employing four or five D8s and a D-
9 from Cattermole Contracting. The 8’s were basically equipped
with piler blades and the D-9 for its power, with a cutter blade.
Where the size of timber warranted trails were cut for the
Cutter enabling the operator to down a swath without stopping. Of
course this meant another tractor unit was required. The diagonal
cutter tended to throw the tractor off course testing the skill of the
operator constantly.
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Clearing, piling in North Harbour (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
Clearing, piling in North Harbour (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
This area, because of its intended use, had a higher standard
applied. Piling and burning ensured this. We experimented with
banding where conditions allowed. Banding was simply scraping
up soil and piling it over the downed timber every so many feet
(maybe 50 feet intervals.) I don’t recall this method continuing. In
other experiments ‘banding’ meant stringing cables over sections
of downed trees to keep them from floating away when the waters
rose. Finlay Harbour was an experimentation ground. Its geographic
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location and its close proximity to the camp earned many inspection
trips.
It was here that I spent many hours on time studies under the
direction of Karl Rieche. Many c-o-l-d, sometimes miserable, hours!
Time studies were a necessary mechanism to determine costs,
one that the operators detested with a passion. Every stoppage
was recorded and this ‘showed up’ the actual work time. You soon
discovered how much time a machine operator might accumulate
in un-productive time such as ‘comfort breaks’, coffee breaks and
whatever breaks. An operator might be forgiven, however, for taking
a pee on Government time but yes, everything was recorded! If
the operator stopped, for whatever reason, so too did the machine.
That was the idea!
Stu Grant and friend; time studies? (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
Names of other employees...(In no particular order, all touching my life in one way or another)
John Hafner Karl Borman Don Laird Jim Milner
Dan Doyle Dave Beatty Bill Kruiselbrink Jim Scott
Brian Coalston Ray Banta Joe Dale Ian Meiklem
Doug Emerson Lazlo ‘Bonn’ Walter Zayak Les Emerson
Bill Molnar Ken Nelson John Kellar Fred Reid
Jim Walters Glen Goerwell Gordon McMullen Johnny Olson
Frank Dietrick George Savage Max McNab Tiley Neil Braun
Frank Recek Bert Ware Doug Emerson Ron Pinfold
George Berry - Cook Wes Nelson - Cook
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Lookin’ For A Home
Meanwhile, my family of three remained in Surrey, BC. I had
inquired about F.S. accommodations for them, but I was relatively
low on the priority list for Forest Service trailers, so that seemed
futile. Then I heard that the Westcoast Gas community at McLeod
Lake had a house or two for rent but that place was miles from
where I was working. When I got home the next time the question
came up, “you could get a house in Prince George, couldn’t you?”
I hadn’t given that a thought! Later that summer we made
application for loans and found a contractor able and willing to
provide us with a suitable house. So the work on our house started
late in the fall of 1964. This was still a long way from Finlay Forks,
but now things were looking up.
On a subsequent trip home to Surrey, Joyce and I shopped for
furniture, made preparations for transport and shipping. We made
choices regarding colors and flooring, and then it was time for me
to boogie back to Finlay Forks.
Back at the Pond I found it difficult to keep my mind on my
work. This would be my last term before the Christmas break at
which time we would pack up and leave the lower Fraser valley.
Strange, how time went by so quickly.
When Christmas came near, most of us at camp had already
made plans to leave as early as possible. Mr. Miles-Pickup was in
a charitable mood when I stopped in at the office to wish him a
Merry Christmas. He asked if I’d like to stop at the gas pump and
fill up the tank in my V.W. bug before leaving, which I did. Then I
asked my German-made “people-wagon” to go and it did. Traffic
was exceptionally light with most camps already closed for the
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holidays. The snow-covered road was so much quieter than the
summer road had been. I recall only one spot where the snow was
drifting but my little car punched through this with no trouble. Then,
about five hours later, I stopped in Prince George to check on our
new home and found it completed and ready to move into. What a
surprise! It was unlocked so I spread my parka on the floor and
slept some before continuing my journey home early next morning.
Early in the New Year of 1965 we made the move to Prince
George! The house of 960 sq. ft. c/w basement cost $14,850.00
including the lot.
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The Tree Crushers
By this time the need to expand the operation became obvious.
There was a great deal of country to be cleared if the deadline of
1972 was to be met, at which time the dam was to be completed
and the reservoir filled.
Negotiations had been underway to employ a new method of
downing trees and the promo that I saw on LeTourneau’s tree
crusher created a fair bit of interest. The grand claims of this 300-
ton giant mowing down forests in South America “proved” it would
make short work of our clearing. Obviously someone in authority
bought the idea and in time it appeared on our project. Unfortunately
I can add nothing positive to its record. The machine did not live up
to its billing. It required a Cat and on occasion several Cats to bull
cook to its needs. Where the machine was favoured with ideal
ground conditions and light to medium wood density it did (in my
view) only a mediocre job. Its owners were paid for ‘down time’
as I understood it and getting stuck was not that unusual. I spent
several days doing time studies on this machine in the Nation-Parsnip
area, riding in the cab with the operator.
The Letourneau Tree Crusher was a huge ‘piece of iron’. If
memory serves me correctly the front roller’s length and diameter
were thirty feet and six feet respectively.
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The main engine, a diesel motor, powered the generators to
drive electric motors inside the main drum.
My experience with the tree crusher started near the Parsnip
River on the Cut thumb Creek side. The ground at this location
was basically flat with some light undulations and the forest cover
consisting largely of pine forest with poplar, birch and spruce
The large one, pictured here, was 300 tons, I think! (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
Smaller tree crusher (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
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scattered throughout. Pretty easy going! This machine came at a
price of $300 an hour or $5.00 a minute.
After the forest was crushed or partly flattened it was burned.
Burning is not the right word either. Charring might be a more
honest description.
From here we were going to move the crusher to the opposite
side of the Parsnip River. I had my doubts if and how that might be
accomplished but the record shows numerous crossings were
made. I was present for only the one
Crusher crosses river (Photo supplied by: Dez Rice)
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Small crusher at work (Photo supplied by: Robin Edwards)
Here are several photos of the two crushers, at work and
involuntarily “parked”.
Is that a big piece of iron or what! (Photo supplied by: Dez Rice)
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This one needs help (Photo supplied by: Ernie Krajczar)
Thinkin’ things over (Photo supplied by: Ernie Krajczar)
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From the air (Photo supplied by: Robin Edwards)
Parked (Photo supplied by: Ernie Krajczar)
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Newly crushed area (Photo supplied by: Robin Edwards)
Small tree crusher. Troubles? (Photo supplied by: Robin Edwards)
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The French crew (from Quebec I believe) in charge of the
Crusher consisted of two men. The fella in charge had at one time
been a strongman (personal bodyguard) for the leader of the Sea
Farers International Union on the east coast. His name was Chapel!
“You know, like a ‘leetle’ church?” The other chap operated a D6
bull cooking around the Crusher. As well, he was a welder of
considerable skill. These two men prepared the Crusher for the
crossing by applying oodles of “Gunk” and sealing both ends of the
front roller with precut plywood. The plan was to exclude the water
and thereby protect the electric motors.
Given the short distance across it should not take a great length
of time. The far side had a fairly steep bank and the slope had to be
cut down first. This machine did not do well on inclines! Getting it
through the waters would be the first challenge but soon it was
halfway across and the water was not nearly as deep as I thought.
I had expected the machine to break down at any time, after
all there were rocks and boulders strewn over the river bottom, but
it didn’t happen.
At a later date it was decided to hire another similar but smaller
tree crusher. Why? Beats me! The rate for this one was $200 per
hour.
The August 1965 record for the large one says, “Machine was
down all summer for repairs.” Work resumed in late September.
The record for the smaller T.C is also quite depressing. Getting
stuck and down time accounted for 14 days between August 21
and September 29, 1966.
When the first contracts for the machines expired new
agreements were drawn up at a rate more favourable and ethical.
Both machines were parked for the winter.
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Fort Graham
As the clearing operations gathered momentum and distances
between jobs increased so did the need for faster transport. The
older Sikorsky helicopter was replaced by a newer and faster model.
As it turned out I got more rides than I really wanted. We really did
get around!
Much of my helicopter traveling was during contract inspections
but the unit was used whenever and wherever the need was most
urgent. On one trip as we were flying up the Finlay I spotted a
community, now quite deserted, which in fact was the old “Finlay
Forks’ approximately four or five miles upstream from the physical
‘FORKS’. There were still several buildings standing at that time.
I never did get to “set down” there and in time it was demolished.
Before that happened however, some of our Forestry types
“rescued” several old fashioned phones and other paraphernalia. I
don’t recall ever seeing it from the river.
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On one of numerous helicopter trips, nearing freeze-up, we
were flying near the old Forks following the river upstream checking
on hand falling contractors. Most of these lived in primitive shelters
along or near the shores. Ice was forming quickly, lots of it, choking
the river. As no one was seen waving us in we continued on. Looking
down from my helicopter vantage, I felt grateful to have a salary
that wasn’t the largest by any means. I would not have wanted to
contract under those conditions.
At one point we had numerous contracts requiring frequent
ground inspections. Under-bidding was quite common. This
encouraged cheating. When a contractor realized that he wasn’t
making wages, he might try and ‘fudge a little’. Where the ‘contract’
required a tree to be bucked to 5 foot bolts the onsite inspection
often proved them to be more like 20 feet. After you got to know
how the system worked the rules were sometimes relaxed!
Those contractors choosing to stay on site might live in tents,
depending on weather, etc. others existed under tarps. One pair of
contractors built an all weather camp underground. They were
snug as a bug and were able to take advantage of the daylight
hours; hopefully they “earned” a lot of money.
A Prince George contractor, who had a large contract on the
“Old Finlay Forks”with Bobby Vansomer (centre) and Mc Dougal’s building at
right rear. The other two were not identified.(Information & photo provided by Dave Dietterle & Bobby Vansomer)
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Finlay River, had a different philosophy. He set up a more modern
camp complete with cook, showers and toilet. On the odd occasion
I was invited up for coffee. Boy, those camp cooks know how to
put it out! The Boss employed numerous fallers. Because he owned
an airplane, he visited the site frequently. The plane also allowed
for quick shift changes and a means for getting parts and supplies
to his camp.
For other less wealthy contractors unable to supply these
amenities the following substitute might have been the only outdoor
“convenience” available.
“JOHNSON BAR” not to be mistaken for Boston Bar, etc.
(a) a primitive toilet, (b) a depression in the ground with a log or
windfall strategically positioned over the “hole”. Users soon learned
to secure items in pockets. Suspenders also were kept up out of
the way, so to speak! (Hanging a ham over a suitable windfall is,
after all, not a new thing!)
With the “back forty” exposed to flying insects and your privacy
vulnerable you might be forgiven for getting the heck out of there
the sooner the better Yeah!
Another foray up the river (Finlay’s) was with Don Adams
who, by virtue of his seniority and knowledge of the country, was
the chief marine specialist and in charge of our fastest boat. Our
Taking off from the Finlay River (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
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little jet boat powered with a Ford Interceptor was capable of moving
three people (maybe more) in a big hurry.
Don and I and another chap, along with a 100 lb. propane tank
for the newly established camp at Fort Graham, scooted out there
and back one afternoon. Don was in charge of transporting the
survey crews there, I believe! Don’s family had pioneered at Gold
Bar in the Peace region and it came as no surprise to many that he
had a good understanding of the “lay of the land” and its people!
On another occasion a party of probably 6 or 8 of us were
returning to camp from work on the Finlay River when we were
overtaken by darkness. Our boatman had cautioned us not to be
late but we were. Golly, it got dark quickly! With overcast skies
there was little to guide us and I had no idea where we were until
we were nearing the Forks. You could feel the pull of the water
this way and that but with no more than a feeble flashlight and the
instincts of our boatman we made it. Scary? Yeah, a little . . .!
There were no lights on shore and when the boat scraped bottom
at our landing all of us, I guess, breathed a quiet “Thank you!”
Next spring things were starting to percolate. The camp at
Fort Graham started with the cookhouse being set up in the
abandoned Catholic Church (Les Nelson (cook). From now on
much of the necessary supplies would come in by riverboat.
Fort Graham from river (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
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As an aside (several, five 30 ft riverboats had been constructed
by Dick Corless for the Forest Service during the winter. For more
on Dick Corless, See (“Crooked River Rats by Bernard McKay”).
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Wood Streeper’s Barge
Word came one day that the Forest Service had ordered barge
service from Fort St. John. The barge was intended for travel up
the Finlay and I would be going with it on the first trip! One evening
it was announced that it had arrived below the Finlay rapids. It was
understood that it would take some maneuvering to get up and
through the fast water. When one of the senior men and I arrived
at the rapids next morning the tug and barge were already tied up
on our side of the river above the rapids.
At first glance one could be forgiven for “writing off” these
guys, there were three in total. But after seeing them run into
difficulties you soon realized that these guys were nobody’s fools.
Finlay Rapids (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
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What appeared as a hopeless situation simply took a bit of extra
time. Versatile? You bet! Just how versatile, I was going to find out
in a few short days when I would be asked to chaperone the first
trip up the Finlay to Fort Graham.
Our load consisted of a winch equipped flatdeck work truck
with an electric welder, oxy/acetylene and Curt Garland’s D-8
complete with two blades and barrels of fuel.
The tugboat was attached to the barge ahead by cable and
pulleys making me wonder, “How can this possibly work?” But
work it did, indeed!
The Finlay breaks up into different channels. Boatmen who
knew the river, especially the locals, had little trouble. Their
experience made them stand apart from novices such as me. So,
when Wood asked, “which channel?” I guess I shrugged my
shoulders. Before long it became apparent that we had taken the
wrong channel and there wasn’t enough water under the barge.
We were stuck on a sand bar. Well, I would have been, but not
these guys. That small punt that they carried tied to the stern took
one of the crew, spooling off cable as he went, to a tree onshore.
From there it was a small trick and we were winched out of there
and the trip continued. Simple!
Curt Garland’s Cat & truck on barge heading for Fort Graham
(Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
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Cool Cat on barge near Davis Creek. 1966 (Photo supplied by: Bill Troup)
Barge Service to Fort Graham (Photo supplied by: Dave Duris)
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Walkin’ the Cats
Several surveyors, Dave Duris and Howard Willis, had been
delegated to flag a line with surveyor tape from Finlay Forks to
Fort Graham. This line was going to be our reference as we moved
the Del Rio D-9’s in overland. I have no idea how long the surveyors
took but here are some observations I made as I chaperoned these
smoking behemoths to our work area.
Streeper’s barge ferried the 9’s across the ‘Peace’ one day
assembling them on the ‘far’ side upstream from the Finlay rapids.
The following morning after receiving a briefing and a map drawn
up for this purpose, I climbed aboard the lead Cat and we started
out. It was my job to locate the flagged line and direct the Cat
operator. On occasion we lost the markers and all had to stop
while I got off my machine to search. After locating the line again
we continued with trees crashing and criss-crossing to the side and
ahead of us. What a racket!
These machines weren’t built for comfort. There was no
provision for passengers and I don’t remember what I sat on but I
do recall hanging on for dear life and earning a pain in the butt.
Bum bruising!
There was no attempt to save trees since all would one day be
under the waters of what now is Williston Lake. IT WAS HOT
riding that pile of steel, and noisy! There were flies and mosquitoes
and when everything seemed to be going smoothly one of the
machines heated up and we all had to stop. Most often the radiator
was blocked with moss and leaves and more often than not we had
to wash out the rads to prevent heating or possible fires. The last
Cat in line pulled a sloop (fuel tank) carrying a fire pump and hoses.
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If water was handy the job didn’t take too long. The last thing we
wanted was a fire which most certainly would have resulted in the
loss of a machine.
While I carried a radio, its sole purpose was to stay in touch
with base camp. Depending on the nature of the terrain we might
find ourselves by days end having to clear a landing area for the
helicopter. Sometimes, for some reason we couldn’t make contact
so we would continue on a way, and try again. When contact was
established and a time set, we chose a landing site where the timber
was a bit more open and all the Cats would get with it and clear a
path for the helicopter. Fuel was ferried by helicopter to us from
points along the river.
It was very exciting listening for the chopper and someone
with keen ears first reporting its arrival. After a day on one of
those machines one might be forgiven for not hearing well! At the
end of the first day I was surprised at the short distance that we
had come! Diesel fuel, in 45-gallon drums, had been dropped on
gravel bars along the Finlay River. From there the chopper lifted
them to the Cat train in cargo nets. On occasion, the cargo of two
drums was ‘lost’ dropped amongst the trees when the hook became
undone. No one went looking for them. Those beasts took a lot of
fuel.
This routine was repeated for nearly a week. I recall working
through a long weekend. One day as we were crossing a drainage
on a beaver dam it dawned on me that the guys flagging the ‘road’
must have had a different picture than we had from on top of the
Cats. ‘My’ Cat had little trouble but the second one nearly ‘lost it’
so the guys started pushing wood into the ruts and after considerable
time they all got across. It was a muggy, drizzly day and as we
were engrossed in our work the Forest Service fire patrol ‘buzzed’
us. I guess they had seen the smoke from the D-9’s and came to
investigate. These machines used oil, a lot of it, and cases of Bar’s
Leak for their leaky radiators.
The tractor train progressed slowly but surely. Creek after
creek, drainage after drainage, swamp after swamp. Washing rads,
getting stuck, getting pulled out, helicopter in, helicopter out, building
heliports and after approximately 60 miles, Fort Graham! Finally!
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The “Fort” had its heyday earlier. The Catholic Church (St.
Peter’s and Paul’s Catholic Church) built, circa 1930-32, was now
the ‘centrepiece’ of what was left of Fort Graham. The building
would serve as our cookhouse and diner for my short term there.
Wes Nelson dished up food here suitable for royalty. Plywood
bunkhouses had been built and we had dry beds to sleep in.
Fort Graham and Ernie Krajczar, Terry Prentice and Bobby Vansomer(Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
Cat pulling trees. Church and supplies (Photo supplied by: Dave Duris)
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With the drop in fur prices the ‘Bay’ had closed its trading post
there in the late forties. Now as I got my first look at this piece of
history, I wasn’t even aware that this place had an historical past,
it simply didn’t appear ‘historic’, just old and in disrepair! Reportedly,
there had been another half dozen or so buildings along with the
Catholic Church at Fort Graham some years earlier.The remaining
few derelict buildings that I saw were not considered fit for human
habitation.
Camp construction at Fort Graham (Photo supplied by: Dez Rice)
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HUDSON BAY COMPANY
Hudson Bay Company at Fort Graham, Finlay River - 1914
P996.6.362 - Timber and Forestry Branch Photograph Collection Courtesy of
the Fraser-Fort George Regional Museum
HUDSON BAY COMPANY
Hudson Bay Company at Fort Graham, Finlay River - No Date
P982.30.23 - General Photograph Collection Courtesy of the Fraser-Fort
George Regional Museum
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The ‘Fort’, as we called it, was recorded as Bear Lake Outpost
in early Hudson’s Bay history, according to John Revel’s account
The Sekani Indians of Fort Grahame on the Finlay River in Northern
British Columbia.
There had been rivalry enough, between the Finlay area natives
and those of the Skeena River water shed, to prompt the ‘Bay’ to
create trading facilities here, exclusively for the local population.
Fort Grahame, (old spelling) served the area until 1949.
The authors of This was our Valley speaking of the Fort
Grahame community, on p-331, say, “…In 1914, five Federal
Commissioners visited the Sekanis at Fort Grahame and Fort
McLeod (communities of 57 and 75 members respectively); 800
acres were set aside at Fort Grahame and the existing 286 acre
reserve was affirmed at Fort McLeod.” According to the same
authors Fort Ware was settled in the mid forties.
Art Vansomer served the upper Finlay area, during my term
on the project, from a store at Ware. After Art’s untimely death,
his brother Jimmy Vansomer replaced him.
John Revel in his above noted account says this regarding the
Sekani natives, “The Sekanis were very close and loving families
with babies and young people a joy to be cared for and taught by
both parents; old people were never neglected.”
Smallpox had taken its toll among them with the coming of the
Europeans earlier. Change had also come with the arrival of
Catholic priests when some accepted the Christian faith while
retaining some of their old traditions. Now they would be required
to adapt even more to the changing times while the waters were
about to rise around them.
The valley, in which Fort Grahame was located, is called ‘The
Rocky Mountain Trench’. From here the mountains are always
within sight. What I saw of the area confirms much that has been
written elsewhere.
I did not have time to do much exploring here. My work,
however, allowed me to see firsthand some of the stands of timber
that we would soon be destroying. I did not have time to think
much of the loss of habitat, etc. But man, oh man, some of the
spruce must have reached nearing eighty or ninety feet in height
and close to three feet at the butt.
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The Finlay River broke into numerous side channels and oxbows
calling for knowledgeable and experienced river men to navigate
its waters.
Once flooded the area would extend 15 or so miles past the
Fort. My work took me a few miles upstream of the Fort, short
however, of the farthest point of the project. I felt deprived when I
did not get to see the upper reaches of the Finlay River.
Our work was fairly simple. Any trees projected to be above
maximum drawdown had to be cut down, pushed over and burned.
Of the 165 contracts awarded in 1966 only a half dozen were
over 100 acres. Most of the remaining ones amounted to, on
average, 15-25 acres each.
Approaching a hand-falling site you knew you were close by
the humming and buzzing sound of numerous saws. The sounds
echoing through the woods, one from this direction, one from another
direction, assured you that work was being accomplished and
hopefully everyone was making money.
There were, however, numerous defaults. Some fallers simply
couldn’t “hack it”.
Handfaller (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
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Getting to and from work was most often accomplished by
boat. It was here that I first met a native fella named Keom Pierre.
He was a jewel of a guy. I could depend on him. He was true to his
word.
He might have been the only person still making his home at
Fort Graham at that time. Keom’s brother Willie also served as a
boatman in this general area. I expected that the Indian agent had
Burning near Davis Creek (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
Burning, Davis Creek (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
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earlier negotiated the terms for the residents there in order to get
them to vacate.
Another boatman I recall was Paul Salonas. Paul and another
local native, A. Salonas, both completed hand-falling contracts in
the area. One of them told me how he had received treatment for
T.B. in a sanitarium somewhere in the Fraser valley. His description
of the place made me think it might have been at Sardis, near
Chilliwack, where I once lived.
One day as I came ashore, near Davis creek, I spotted a tree
with something hanging among the branches. This “something”
turned out to be a half dozen large traps most likely used for beaver
sets. On a subsequent check the trees had been felled and who
knows if someone recovered them or not! Most of the natives
trapped at one time or another!
When work took us farther along the river the Forest Service
housed us in a floating camp.
Floating camp at eventide (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
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Meanwhile, work continued on the Finlay in the summer. As
the distance to the work area increased the Ft. Graham
accommodation was added to with a floating camp to service the
downstream area saving a whole lot of travel. Here the fuel barges
proved their worth. Each delivered in the neighborhood of 2,500
gallons at a crack.
After our own (F.S.) machines arrived, more experimenting
was done up river on the Finlay. A longer length of chain for
example, worked much better in certain stands of timber. The ball
was dispensed with where warranted.
Floating camp near Collins Cr. (Photo supplied by: Dez Rice)
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Some Days Are Better…!
The morning started much the same as other good days had
for weeks. It’s a good thing that we can’t tell the future, eh? Had
I been able to do that I would have stayed in the sack, for sure!
My instructions were to move a pair of TD-25s to a new area
that included a creek crossing. On good days I am a very optimistic
guy. This day would not be one of those! The plan was that I would
ride with the rear Cat and the lead operator would take directions
from me on our radios.
After we entered the creek, high in flood, it became apparent
that possibly we should have tried elsewhere. Soon the water was
over the tracks and getting deeper, but the operator assured me
things were okay. Very quickly the water was over the floorboards.
This didn’t look good!
When I voiced my objection he couldn’t hear me say, “Get
back! Get back!” His radio was drowned by now, I guess! Boy, did
I feel helpless! Had he stopped right there he might have been all
right. But when I saw his tractor seat go floating away I knew this
was going to be a bad day. Then when he finally stopped to back
out, the motor quit! My operator maneuvered his machine close in
order to allow the operator, of a now dead Cat, to escape via our
machine. Which he did!
You would think that this was enough embarrassment for one
day; however, my dignity was going to be trampled on just a bit
more when Brad Wilson’s helicopter appeared overhead. Aboard
was our senior foreman, Bob Mackey! Yeah, they saw it all!
I spent many sleepless hours replaying that experience, something
like the car accident that I experienced a few years prior and never
getting an answer other than, “I should not have been there!” Golly,
I felt sick!
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“Hamburger Joe”
After settling in at the ‘Fort’ one evening after supper, I met a
chap who was referred to as “Hamburger Joe” Joe was a tough
guy, or so I was told. His real name was Joe Berghammer. I can’t
recall what his business was with us that night. He was a boatman
among other things.
He had come to this neck of the woods many years prior. He
was a very capable man and quite suited for the work we had for
him. He had trapped in the area. He was a river man, a faller and
bucker, but his reputation as a survivor went ahead of him. The
story was that one winter he got caught away from camp and
froze parts of his feet. When he finally gained the security of his
Joe Berghammer (Photo supplied by: Pete Wilson)
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cabin, where he lived alone, he realized that his toes or toe would
have to be amputated. Apparently he did the surgery himself with
a butcher knife and a block of wood.
After he left the area he returned to his property on Highway
97 North near the Parsnip River. His cabins were quite visible
from just below the bridge on the upstream side. Joe worked for us
as boatman and later as a falling contractor with his power saw. A
more complete account of Joe’s ordeal is available in Bernard
McKay’s “Crooked River Rats”.
Exploring the Finlay prior to our machinery arriving there, I
was looking the area over from a riverboat piloted by Joe
Berghammer one day. We had entered a side stream, some people
called these oxbows, which had a fair volume of water. The water
here was much quieter than the mainstream. “If the river drops a
bit there won’t be any current”, said Joe! With that established we
were doing just fine when a bear appeared on the bank looking
down on us. The bank was probably 12 or 15 feet above the water.
The bear huffed and took off. That was the last I expected to see
of that animal but it was so interested in us, or so it seemed, that it
followed us looking down on us as it galloped along keeping pace
with our boat. It had a genuine look of interest on its face. Joe
figured it was a young grizzly of about two years. To my untrained
eyes it appeared quite large!
Joe had a toughness about him, but I got to see a gentler side
of him. He soon learned of my love for the outdoors and took
occasion to help this tenderfoot. We were working inside of a side
channel when I returned to the boat for lunch where the discussion
inevitably turned to hunting and trapping. At some point I complained
about my lack of bait for my marten sets come November. “You
want bait? I’ll get you some!” he said. Of course I wanted bait!
Some 10 days or so later when the shift changed, one of the
returning operators came looking for me. He had a covered pail
for me from Joe. There was my bait, several pounds of ling. Problem
solved!
Another time Joe came to my trailer asking me to accompany
him up Manson Cr. where he had a falling contract. Apparently
there was some question regarding the ‘flagged line’ that marked
the boundary for his contract. After snowmobiling in and
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straightening up the dispute he took me back to camp. He showed
considerable respect for my wish to celebrate Sunday!
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My work, great days!
From the first day when I appeared at Windy Point to the last
day when I left Hudson’s Hope my involvement with the Pondage
program had been nothing short of incredible and exciting.
Firstly, I didn’t come to the project with any ‘proper’
credentials. There’s a huge list of things for which I did not qualify.
Truly I was not a surveyor. I never did like the word “can’t” but I
did survey work, of sorts! I wasn’t a forest technician but I did a
bit of scaling, cruising, and measuring waste and debris.
Not being a machine operator really cramped my style but my
superiors trusted my judgment enough to have me supervise
machine operations, i.e. clearing contracts, etc., etc.! No, I did not
mind being supervised and inspected. I discovered the Forestry
brass to be a very considerate bunch of guys.
Marking boundaries and keeping machines and fallers within
certain areas was a good deal of my job(s). At times I enjoyed
snowshoeing into areas as it gave me giving me an insight into
what made the country tick. I simply loved it!
There were always animal tracks to observe in the snow and
on the ground and it was a revelation to see something new. There
were wolf tracks and all kinds of other creature tracks, lots of
them.
Contract inspections took a fair bit of my time and I enjoyed
most of that except when a contractor tried to pull the wool over
my eyes, trying to cheat!
Note: I was somewhat amused and felt a degree of smugness
upon reading the 1966 annual report where the writer says “…it is
fair to conclude that an older man is more suitable for this type of
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work than the younger man. He suffers fewer qualms of conscience
in insisting on the full measure of the agreement.” I was going to
reach my fortieth birthday on this project so I count that as a sort
of compliment, after all, compliments weren’t that plentiful!
At times I set chokers, flagged lines and areas. The upper
elevation or maximum height of the expected lake was strictly
adhered to, but there were times when it was violated. Then a
superior might remind me of the sensitivity of the project!
As an aside, when we were engaged in downing trees upstream
on the Nation River, the Quebecers (guys in charge of the tree
crusher) had changed oil in the machines spilling some oil on the
ground. When we arrived at work the next morning we saw grizzly
tracks in and out of the oil splotch. There were tracks all over the
place. The animal apparently had little regard for the unusual smells
and was gone when we arrived!
Travel to and from work often required that you did your own
transport. We had a fair number of boatmen but I recall where I
once travelled up the Nation in a riverboat doing my own piloting. I
wasn’t exactly new to boating but this was going to require a bit of
skill, as there wasn’t much water under the boat. The 30-horse
outboard soon kicked up gravel in the shallows and I wondered,
“How much can that shear pin take?” Being a Sunday, I had
brought my young son along to give him a break from camp. I was
beginning to regret having him there but things worked out all right
for us both! This might have been my first and last time operating
a thirty-five foot riverboat.
Snowshoes (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
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So you soon learn to do the right thing, lift the outboard slightly
and let the lower half of the prop do the work. If I’d had a choice
I would have preferred to have a boatman like Bobby Vansomer,
Bill Whitter, Ed Strandberg or Joe Berghammer do the boating for
me!
Really, what can be more satisfying than drifting through some
quiet water, watching mergansers and beaver or seeing a mother
bear’s tracks where she had brought her cubs to the water’s edge.
Now look at that, just below the small logjam, see that riffle? Could
be a good “dolly” in there!
Author near Parsnip-Nation R. (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
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Leisure times
Base camp had few provisions for personal recreation. The
reason being that in the early days everyone ‘took off’ for Prince
George or other parts. Of necessity this changed when winter came.
Road and weather conditions dictated that the risks were extreme
for someone caught stranded. After the “Pondage” project got
into high gear the road itself was a hazard with many trucks
competing for a place on the narrow gravel road.
In camp the married folk did their usual coffee ‘klatches’ visiting
back and forth, exchanging gossip regarding the kids and who was
doing what and why. There obviously weren’t too many secrets
kept for any length of time. The single men of course had the
liberty of going to town whenever that could be arranged. After a
few months of camp life many wondered what they had seen in
this winter wonderland. The beauty of this snow-laden isolation
was dimming and thoughts of civilization, the city and other people
to talk to, became a near obsession for some.
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Radio reception was generally poor, I would say, with evenings
best when some Calgary stations might have come through.
Television was still in the future for this area but, what now may
seem a bit humorous, was an attempt to get early television to mile
73 camp. Someone with the aid of Brad Wilson and his helicopter
lifted a bedspring for an antenna into position on ‘Mount Selwynn’
(Actually a peak much closer to camp). The report that I got
regarding reception said there was considerable room for
improvement.
One winter a hockey rink was built. Refrigeration was cheap
and there were no maintenance charges. Other times The National
Film Library provided films free, and if the crummy driver had
remembered to pick them up there might be a showing some evening!
Summers provided fishing trips to local lakes. If you had access
to a riverboat you might be able to tangle with a good sized ‘dolly’
at the mouth of a larger creek. Some played baseball, some pitched
horseshoes and trips to town might be arranged. The policy regarding
getting gasoline for private use from the Forest Service tanks was
pretty dicey. It wasn’t supposed to happen; however, there were
exceptions made on occasion!
Before we moved into mile 73 Camp, the camp at 49 mile
Winter picnic. Present are, (Gardi, Stu, no other names given) Blaine Morton,
Arnie Odiorne, Alma Odiorne, Isabel Morton, Mary Krajczar,
Maralyn Dietterle, Julien. (Photo supplied by: Bill & Sheila Andreychuk)
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provided some of us with fine fishing at a small lake impounded by
a beaver dam at about mile 51. There was absolutely no skill
required to catch small trout here. The only requirement was that
you get some sort of lure into the water. Trolling almost any lure
worked. Trolling dry flies produced as many fish as did fly-casting
and almost anything worked. The fish, all rainbows, were not tackle
busters. I doubt if any were two pounds, more like 12 to 14 inches,
but hey! To get to the water was a bit of a trick. Some one had a
fiberglass boat ‘hidden’ nearby. Borrowing it, you had to pole your
way through tall grass for 20 or 30 yards before entering the lake.
The lake drained out over a sturdy beaver dam and the stream
found its way into Scott Cr. I think!
At times you shared the water with beaver or the odd loon.
Moose were also present occasionally! One evening I spotted a
cow moose in the shallows. This particular time I had decided to
fish from shore and as the light changed at eventide I noticed the
moose I had been watching appeared to have a long tail. Indeed it
did! Not being too familiar with wolves I started to slowly make
my way towards the road where my car was parked. This THING
kept watching me and by now I guessed that the beast was standing
in shallow water. On a follow-up trip I investigated the higher
ground near this place and found a den within a hundred yards or
Wolf Den within 100 yards of the Forest Road (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
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so of the road. There was considerable sign around the entrance
indicating that this was a recently used den. People traveling the
road had reported sighting a wolf bitch in the vicinity.
In the fall of ’65 a Forestry trailer became available and, my
wife Joyce, three children, and I moved into our newly acquired
thirty foot by eight foot unit. Come wintertime, for me, this was
pretty close to heaven. With my wife beside me and with my three
Betty Unrau and trailer at M-73 camp (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
My wife Joyce and son Roy at 73 Mile camp (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
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kids tucked in it was quite assuring as we lay in bed hearing the
trees crack with the cold. Our new “Irwin” built house in Prince
George was rented and I was thinking of the marten sets that I had
made by lantern light that evening. Not working weekends this
winter gave me the opportunity to do what I had desired to do
since I was a young blade in Manitoba years ago. There wasn’t
much time though, only Saturday. By Sunday evening I would have
to pull my traps. I had only a few Conibear traps in sizes suitable
for short-term use. I found them very efficient.
Raw skins in our lean-to (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
Unrau Kids, Tim & Betty (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
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I had obtained permission to trap land fur on Bill Boyko’s line.
He was not able to provide me with a distinct boundary description
but it was an area much larger than what I could ever cover. Bill’s
buildings were located at the confluence of Weston Cr.- Parsnip
R. and I used his main house to warm up in from time to time. It
was abandoned by this time but in very livable condition. Bill and
his family lived at McLeod Lake by this time and Bill was employed
with B.C. Highways.
Fur that I trapped was mainly marten, some fisher, the odd
weasel, mink and lynx. The country also hosted pika up in the
rocks, pack rats and many wolves. Wolf tracks were noted
occasionally where they approached the perimeter of the camp.
This news was not advertised.
After the clearing had started and the flat next to camp was
accessible by car, I drove my family through the area one Sunday
afternoon. The drive was uneventful until I heard my youngest boy
exclaim, “doggie, doggie!” We didn’t have a dog and WAIT A
MINUTE! “Where Tim, where?” A wolf that had been lying in the
open slash had just risen and was making tracks for the bush line.
Stopping the station wagon and quickly loading my rifle, I fired,
spinning the animal around giving me enough time to reload and
fire a second round. The animal died in mid air. I can’t say that I
Several lynx skins (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
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was over elated, maybe even a bit sad. But then I am a bit of a
sentimentalist!
Wolf sign was spotted frequently and numbers of tracks
indicated more wolves. I had saved a beaver carcass and
‘reluctantly’ decided to try for a wolf near the dump. The dump
was situated several miles down the road. Wolves habitually use
high points to scan the surrounding area and I knew of such a spot
overlooking the road. Here I set four # 13 traps around a large tree
trunk, the tree visible from a point of the road. This way I would
not have to check my set from close up. After hoisting the beaver
carcass up about 5-6 feet and wiring it in with some old electrical
wire I congratulated myself on a very professional effort. A few
days after that it snowed. Beautiful!
Taking every opportunity to visit the dump I would drive past
the place and, NOTHING! One day however, there were wolf
tracks all over and I simply had to check closer. They had
approached within a few feet of my traps. Suspecting that my
traps were frozen down I started to lift each one as I located them
and reset them. Again I waited and waited. I was beginning to
doubt my competence, maybe I wasn’t as good as I had thought.
Besides, I couldn’t spend this much time so, one day I pulled my
traps leaving the beaver in the tree. Coming by the dump some
days later I decided to check out some wolf tracks along the roadway
and, sure enough, they led to ‘my tree’. The beggars had taken the
beaver without a fare-thee-well leaving me wondering, “How’d
they do that!”
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Driving past the dump one day after a trip to town with my
family I noticed an unusually large concentration of ravens
congregating in the trees. Since I had a trap in the area I was
encouraged to make a spot check before driving home. It became
evident that an animal was caught but it wasn’t a wolf! What is
that? It was smaller than a wolf, for sure and all black. When I
approached the set I was somewhat apprehensive but I wasn’t
about to leave this animal to the crows and ravens. It was a large
male fisher!
The animal lunged at me to the length of the trap chain sinking
its teeth into my rubber boot barely missing my foot. I guess I had
had visions of fur prices in the late 30’s and early 40’s when prime
marten and fisher pelts might have commanded bids up to $100.
Crews working on the Black Water R. reported river otter and
I remember Bill Boyko catching one in his beaver traps. There
were probably wolverine too but I never laid eyes on any sign.
Beaver were most plentiful, but Bill and I had an understanding
where he would concentrate on beaver that were traditionally
trapped during the spring. I was permitted to take an animal or two
for bait purposes, no more!
Here are a few interesting notes taken from Handbook #11
“The Mammals of British Columbia”, authored by Ian McTaggart
Wolf. Was this one whose tracks were seen near camp? (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
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Cowan and Charles J.Guiguet regarding the marten. “Mating
occurs from June to September; young, two to six, average three,
born after a gestation period of 220 to 272 days, at least 5 months
of this being taken up by delayed implantation.”
Reporting on the fisher, he describes, “…a 350-day gestation
period and all but two months of this time is taken up by delay in
the implantation of the blastocyst.” What interesting creatures!
The price on fur wasn’t great, but I was working out a fantasy
not many get to do and I was proving a thing or two to myself. I
could learn and I was paying for my gas and a few new traps.
Nothing like the pros, but what the heck! Stifling the urge to sell all
my catch I saved a few skins to practice on doing my own tanning.
After health problems necessitated moving to Prince George my
decision to keep a few was amply rewarded. I still have them:
trophies of sorts.
But, back to the past! One weekend I found myself near the
road that had been pushed into the mouth of Weston Cr. Instead of
following the road towards the Parsnip River I decided to explore
the opposite side, the east side, of the Parsnip Forest road. After I
left the road I discovered I was in a completely different world.
There was a tangle of fallen trees and windfalls the likes you seldom
see. Water was trickling through the under brush in small rivulets.
The downed trees were moss covered reminding me of the coastal
forests. My mind was telling me that I was in totally virgin territory.
Kind of eerie there in the shadows, but a shape caught my eye
amongst the trees. There were no tracks, animal or otherwise,
anywhere close to this place. The underbrush had grown up around
this structure which was man made. Completely surrounded by
trees was a lean-to type of building about six feet at the peak with
a base of about four feet. It was just long enough and wide enough
for one person to lie down in. No window. The door opening
reminded me of a doghouse. To enter a person would have to
crawl on the knees. Inside, to the side by the door, was what
appeared to be a fire ring made of stones, small and compact! The
construction seemed to be of hand-hewn planks. I did not go digging
around the place but I did take a long look around and found no
sign of human activity. I concluded it was an old abandoned trapper
overnight cabin.
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My wife Joyce, who had given up our new home in Prince
George in order to accompany me at my work, and who in her
‘other life’, had been an elementary school teacher, took on the
responsibility of getting some learning into our oldest son. Good
idea! Our 8 by 30 foot trailer hardly leant itself to more bodies but
after the correspondence papers arrived our trailer became the
“schoolhouse” for our son (Roy), Buster and Debbie Troup and
Billy Molnar, all camp kids.
Our ‘lean-to’ provided me with a bit of room to follow my
after-hours trade. Here I did not get the customary “don’t-do-that-
in-here” treatment. The outdoors provided a cold room enabling
me to postpone skinning until a more suitable time. I doubt that my
fantasy ever encroached upon my Forest Service duties. Looking
back though, I can relate that the cook shack did in fact contribute
the odd can of sardines for survival food. Coincidentally, any sort
of fish makes great marten bait!
Summers were better suited for families, however, as the
following camp photos tell the story.
Betty Robbilard & Linda Monroe (Photo supplied by: Deb (Troup) Marrello)
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Tommy Jackson & Betty Unrau (Photo supplied by: Bill & Marg Troup)
Buster Troup & Roy Unrau on steel ball used in downing trees
(Photo supplied by: Bill & Marg Troup)
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Buster Troup & Keith Monroe (Photo supplied by: Bill & Marg Troup)
Buster Troup holding Tommy Jackson. Dan Berry (Photo supplied by: Bill & Marg Troup)
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Ernie and Mary Krajczar & Mitzi Prentice? (Photo supplied by: Bill & Sheila Andreychuk)
Isabel Morton (Photo supplied by: Bill & Marg Troup)
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Vic Lutz & Troup family (Photo supplied by: Bill & Marg Troup)
Tim Unrau & Warren Milner (Photo supplied by: Bill & Marg Troup)
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Finlay Forks
Lying beneath the waters of Williston Lake, where once was
the confluence of three major waterways, is (was) Finlay Forks.
The “Forks” could easily have been named after the Parsnip River
or, it might have been named after the Peace River. Today it doesn’t
matter! Along with other dreams of the past its secrets lie covered
by a small sea of water.
Air photo. Flown prior to clearing operations, circa 1961-63
Finlay Forks
A Doz. Buildings
Appear on air
photo
Manson Creek
Finlay
and
Parsnip
Rivers
Join
Cattermole’s
Mill
Finlay
Rapids
Begin
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Few today will remember what it was like except when reading
accounts of those who were there. Gone are the aspirations for a
railway down the Parsnip and Peace Rivers to the farmlands of
the Peace Block. There will be no city here, though there might
have been! That dream included a rail branch up the Finlay River,
who knows, maybe as far as Alaska!
A look at a map of the area confirms a straight shot up the
Trench to the vicinity of Lower Post and access to the Yukon,
Alaska and northwestern B.C. Another time, another set of
circumstances and the dream of the 1900’s may one day be fulfilled;
personally, I hope not!
But, wait a minute, if not a city what about some other venture
like a “get away from it all” community near the Forks with paved
road access, water access and of course floatplane services. It
has all the earmarks of something special, I believe!
Surely there are still those today, who hold to the notion that
the north is not adequately exploited, developed. They could be
right! See Bob Miller’s account in the Citizen Jan.08-2001 where
he cites former Prince George Mayor Harold Moffat’s remarks,
“…it’s a shame B.C. Rail didn’t follow through with its rail line to
Dease Lake, which should have been extended to the Yukon.”
Regarding more power development, Moffat says, “On the Iskut
River in northwestern B.C. there are at least nine places where
hydro dams could be built, using the same water over and over
downstream to generate electricity. It should be done on the Peace
River too.”
Given the sharp rise in natural gas and electricity rates one has
to speculate where the heat and energy will come from. And then
the question arose, “Why not use the water over and over again?”
In Alberta they expect to do just that! Peace River water, when
dammed somewhere between Fairview and Spirit River, is
calculated to produce enough electricity to supply up to 40,000
homes.
The people who preempted land in the area then are identified
now in records only. References to the ability of the lands potential
for farming and growing of crops are limited. As with pre-emption
(homesteading) in other places, hopes faded and the entrepreneurs
looked elsewhere. For those with pioneering blood in their veins,
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this must have been heaven. Imagine having a piece of property to
call your own. To spend years at developing it and planting crops
with dreams and hopes of a harvest one day only to have the
exercise end in disappointment for one reason or another.
Outposts of sorts found place and reason to exist here from
time to time. Supplies for trappers, prospectors and miners were
distributed from here. Cabins were in evidence. Surveyors stopped
and camped here. When I worked here in 1964 my party found
evidence of old survey marks in what is now Finlay Bay. Howard
Willis and I were setting boundary markers for clearing operations
when he discovered and uncovered a bearing on a tree. The blaze
mark was overgrown to such a depth that I could not recognize it
but underneath were numbers which Howard did recognize. He
marveled how those early engineers could have been so accurate!
It was in this general area that a pioneering couple from
California started a homestead from scratch in 1913. Jack and
Lucille Adams found themselves in possession of 160 acres here
initially. For reasons unknown to the writer, they left after a few
short years and moved down the Peace to establish a new
homestead in the vicinity of Goldbar.
Like other pioneers in other parts of the land, the Adams’ were
never short of hope or enthusiasm and never entertained the thought
of quitting.
Lucille Adams on left (Photo supplied by: Bill & Marg Troup)
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I saw Mrs. Adams once, at our 73-mile camp where she and
our Project manager Miles H. Pickup were in animated
conversation. I was struck, kind of, by her peculiar attire, in particular
her boots! Lucille Adams and her husband Jack were the parents
of our own Don Adams!
My first encounter with “settlement” in the area was at Weston
creek where Bill and Mary Boyko had a place. Access was by
boat on the Parsnip. By this time, however, the place was vacant
and marked for destruction. Soon a road would be pushed into the
place making it accessible for clearing crews.
Incidentally, place names such as Finlay’s River, Weston Creek,
Scott Creek, Fort Graham and Skog Lookout were named after
people, some very interesting characters! It gets you thinking.
Where did they come up with names like Tutu Creek and Cut
Thumb?
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Displaced Citizens
My recollection of aboriginal peoples in the Finlay Forks and
surrounding area were the ones that the F.S. hired on temporary
basis such as the boatmen. Some were from the immediate area I
understood. Some had lived at Fort Graham and others at Ingenika.
Little did I know at the time that the McLeod Lake population and
the ones around Finlay Forks might be related. All appeared to be
somewhat nomadic, moving about the country as their needs
required.
Then there was a fella named Max McNab-Tylee whom I met
while boating the Parsnip with Bill Boyko on a beaver-trapping
excursion one weekend. Max had a temporary cabin on the Parsnip
River, but the exact location escapes me. He may have done some
hand falling for us as well. A name (Max Tylee) came up in the
news in Sept. 2000 when the Prince George Citizen reported,
“Grizzly attack injures hunter”. I learned lately that this is the same
person.
Bill Boyko’s wife Mary was also of native extraction. The
Boykos had already moved to McLeod Lake when I first met them.
Bill was employed with the Highways Dept. at the time. I understood
that a negotiated settlement had already been made in regards to
the Boyko place at Weston Creek. Bill never voiced any details
about the deal, no complaints, nothing!
Like most residents of the area, Bill had also trapped furs from
his place at Weston Creek in season. Their cabin, by now
abandoned, appeared well-taken care of. I was allowed to use it
whenever I wished!
Bill was really proud of his family. Bill and Mary had two boys
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and two girls if memory serves me right. Of the four, two were
probably born here.
Rose, the second oldest I believe, visited my wife and I when
she attended school in Prince George. She went on to become a
person of considerable esteem, a judge!
As the waters rose, several native families reportedly, moved
to a site within a few miles of the Forest Service camp circa 1967-
68, one that I do not recall seeing. Others apparently relocated
temporarily near what is now Mackenzie. Few, if any, had any idea
or might even have imagined the immensity of what was about to
take place.
My understanding is that a good number of these took up
residence at Ingenika at a later date. While my association with
the Sekani people was limited to those hired by the Forest Service
as boatmen and fallers my closest dealings were with the Pierres
and Salonas, Good men!
Other citizens of the area were of the four-legged kind. Most
plentiful were moose. It was predicted that with the rising water
many would drown. Numbers were thrown around like rice at a
wedding. Someone came up with a good solid number, like 3000
animals would die. “The debris on the lake will prevent moose
from getting to shore!” The furor excited a lot of people. As a
result the hunting limit was raised to three animals per hunter that
year. Good thing for some hunters! Moose are excellent swimmers,
and I doubt if the numbers came to that.
Later reports indicated that the earlier numbers might not have
been that exaggerated after all.
A pilot of some acclaim who flew the area frequently reported
that many moose were trapped amongst the floating debris as the
waters rose. Apparently there were enough dead carcasses floating
to disgust the hardest of hunters. The local residents confirmed the
tremendous loss of wildlife!
Deer, caribou and bears along with furbearers probably suffered
comparably. No one knows for sure! All creatures great and small
have a tremendous instinct for survival, and like the human variety,
they too know where safety lies.
I once saw how animals could act when a portion of their
habitat disappears. When the area near the confluence of the Parsnip
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and Nation Rivers had been cleared I came upon two moose
standing in the middle of a vast clearing looking most forlorn. I got
the impression that these critters couldn’t figure things out. Instinct
told them “ we used to live here, but look at it now!” They simply
stood there!
Regardless of the numbers of animals that perished, now, three
decades later, newcomers must wonder what all the hue and cry
was about! Everything looks serene and natural!
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To Hudson’s Hope
I found myself transferred to Hudson’s Hope during spring
breakup in 1967. I would be overseeing a clearing contract on the
upstream side of the dam.
Under normal conditions I love flying. We did a fair bit of that
on this project. I was flying from the Forks to Hudson’s Hope. The
pilot was having a bad day, a bad ‘air day’. He was mad, mad,
MAD! I was getting scared, scared, SCARED! We got up in the
air all right but I swear we missed the first peak by inches.
The pilot apparently had an agreement that he could moonlight
between F.S. flights. The story went like this. On a return flight the
previous day he had landed on a body of water where his engine
stalled. The battery was dead! His radio was inoperable and of
course his engine wouldn’t start. I guess the night must have been
torturously long with the mosquitoes and all. To make matters worse
he was missing a private flight that had promises of some REAL
money. The F.S. helicopter found him next morning and after
delivering a new battery he was soon airborne. That’s where my
flight came in!
The landing on the river at Hudson’s Hope might have been
disastrous. We landed there with such impact the airplane bounced
way up in the air and when I got off I had to find a toilet quickly.
The pilot was still swearing! A more seasoned traveler might have
reported him. Fortunately this kind of nerve-wracking travel was
kept to a minimum.
At Hudson’s Hope I awaited the arrival of the contractor’s
machines, exploring “my area”! No, I didn’t go fishing, hunting or
anything like that! I wanted to learn the extent of the contract area
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and get to know it well in advance but I was thinking in little boy
terms. I couldn’t get it through my skull how big this operation
really was. Fortunately, my superiors came up on an inspection
trip, and discovered that I was in over my head. Before they left I
was seeing a much bigger and clearer picture.
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The Dam
Today the dam, a very impressive structure, sits there looking
powerful, which it is. It is also quite aesthetic, almost regal, holding
back a reservoir exceeding 200 miles in length. The reservoir rates
about 10th among the world’s larger impoundments (by volume).
Before construction began, a source for the large amount of
fill had to be found. Actually it had already been found within a
few miles of the proposed site. The earth fill dam would require
millions and millions of tons of material.
Transporting the material to the site required a 3:1/2mile long
conveyor belt. Coincidently, during my presence in the dam area, I
did not once see the belt in operation. Apparently it required a
great deal of attention and maintenance. It must have however,
moved a lot of material rapidly supplying the numerous screening
and sorting plants. Talk about moving mountains!
With load limits on the highways, I figured the Cats would be a
while before they would show up, and with Hydro not permitting
ANY traffic over the dam, well, I could be in for a long wait.
One morning while on my usual trip to my area I stopped for a
coffee when someone asked if I had talked to the Cat crew. Not
only had they come through the Highway’s scales, they had already
crossed over on the dam and were ready to go to work. Somebody
said; “Grease always works!”
Visitors to the plant can hardly imagine what went on underneath
where the dam sits today. I had the opportunity, once, to be toured
through the “bowels” of the structure. We entered the cavern from
the top I believe, via a wooden platform and steps fastened to the
side of this vast hole in the rock. It wasn’t that I feared high places.
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After all, I had been on jobs that required climbing and I don’t
scare easily! The height appeared to be about that of a ten or
twelve story building. The leader just motioned to my companion
and me to follow, you couldn’t hear for the noise! My knees started
to quiver and I wondered if I would wet myself. How secure are
these steps? That is a long way down. This is crazy! If memory
serves me this is where the gantry was set up in preparation for
one of the turbines. They also had a mobile crane with a very long
boom and jib working in there with room to spare. Wow!
For a novice like me, this was almost too much. Now, I
recognize at least three major components, i.e. the dam which is
the most visible feature, the powerhouse or the underground “guts”
and the above ground generating station.
On the floor, sitting suspended over an opening was this circular
thing that I guessed to be about 30 feet in diameter. I supposed it
would fit into the hole beneath it. With all the activity and noise in
that confined area I found the whole experience a bit bewildering
and I would be glad to get back out and resume my own duties of
supervising clearing contracts on the upstream side of the dam.
(The ground where I worked simply seemed a more reasonable
work place, one I could relate to!)
To date, a total of ten turbines, (Francis Type) manufactured
by Mitsubishi, Toshiba and Fuji with each complete turbine weighing
670 tons, have been installed. Their speed is given at 150 RPM and
their runaway speed (whatever that is) is recorded at 275 RPM.
Someone asked, “Did you ever?” “No!” I interrupted. “I never
did get a dam picture!”
The Bennett Dam, while huge and impressive in every respect,
loses some of its awe when its numbers are placed alongside of
other world-class dams. Compare the Bennett dam’s height of 180
meters (600 ft.) with that of the Nurek dam of the USSR at 300
meters (984 ft).
I found it interesting to note also that both dam’s hydro plants have
almost the same installed capacity of approximately 2700 MW.
The “planned” capacities of both plants were not given at the time!
The numbers for both plants pale when compared to the Itaipu
dam of Brazil/ Paraguay whose numbers are given at 12,600 MW
(from “The World’s Major DAMS & HYDRO PLANTS”, by T.W.Merm).
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A Harbinger Of Things To Come
When hard times came, as they did, I need not have worried.
There was a place found for me to work at my pace with time
available to let my body catch up - sick leave.
In late summer of 1967 I had recurring symptoms with my
health and needed to seek professional advice. My condition had
been diagnosed the winter before as rheumatoid arthritis. Now as
the pain increased, it was suggested that I go to Vancouver, to
C.A.R.S., “where I was told they do all sorts of good programs”
with arthritics. That episode can be read in my Arthritis and the
Long Haul.
Before leaving Hudson’s Hope, I once more came to realize
how much one depends on others. Those Forest Service guys and
gals were once more going to bat for me. They would provide
another position, one that I could handle, away from the physical
stress that my position had required. Before my family and I left,
we were assured of my continuing employment and the rest is
history except to say that in 1982 at age 55 I accepted early
retirement.
After my involuntary retirement from field duty and life had
returned to a form of normalcy, I took up some of my former interests
again. My hunting for winter meat was becoming a very real
challenge and my moans and whining must have reached the ears
of a friend. One winter day during our afternoon radio “sched” the
operator asked, “Is Norm there?” Don Leiterman at “Pondage”
advised me to wait for the ‘crummy’ tonight. “ I have a package
for you!” R-r-rodger!
I breathed a “God bless you Donald!” Moose meat is “acomin”
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and before quitting time the “crummy driver” was at the door of
our office wanting to know “where do you want it?” Getting into
my parka I followed him outside to where my V.W. bug was parked.
“You’d better have a look first!” said he. When he opened the
batwing doors on the crummy, my heart sank to the snow on the
ground. No one at the office envied me. There with four feet up in
the air, frozen stiff and leaned against the inside of the crummy
was my moose meat, a cow moose with head and hide on. It was
gutted. What to do? I really wasn’t up to this!
After persuading the driver to store the carcass in the truck till
morning I had to scramble and find someone who would take in a
frozen, un-skinned moose and cut it up. The truck driver delivered
the carcass to a local meat cutter next morning where I learned
that there would be a charge for thawing, skinning and then the
cutting charge. This free moose was getting expensive! There was
however, another teensie bit of irritation coming. “Can I see your
license and tag?” asked the butcher.
Before this morning ended I would use my own license and
tag on an animal that I had not killed myself, something that I had
never done before or expected to do!
The dam, and the Hudson’s Hope community in general, has
received a remarkable amount of attention, first during planning,
promotion and finally with construction. In more recent times the
discovery of sinkholes within the dam’s structure raised questions
of frightening possibilities.
Before the integrity of the dam could be assured, downstream
communities “under the gun”, so to speak, must have wondered,
“How did we get to this situation?” From my home in Prince George
I too breathed easier once the problem was rectified!
In 1967 my personal participation in the Peace River Pondage
(Lake Williston) came to an end. My interest stays alive and well.
I am convinced that with the right governmental supervision and
guidance of groups like the B.C. Wildlife Federation, B.C. Hydro
and local clubs, the maintenance of wildlife populations will be
assured.
Barring major earthquakes or sabotage the Bennett dam and
its water impoundment Williston Lake, gives us hope of many more
years of uninterrupted electricity.
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Returning to Hudson’s Hope many years later I recognize the
dam much as it was nearing completion. It appears more dressed
up, tidier. The construction camp is long gone. The lake (Williston)
behind the dam is at peace. It’s a calm day. The reported debris is
not in evidence. The scene is almost serene.
If I have any regrets regarding my involvement on the Peace
project, it would be in regards to the disruption and displacement of
our first nations people. That story is not a pretty one. I have an
idea how that all played out politically and it’s not a great commentary
on white man’s dealings with the natives.
Who would guess what lies under these waters? Its 1,100 miles
of shoreline hides a multitude of frustrations, injustices and
disappointments. Will they ever be corrected or must they be placed
forever under the waters of forgetfulness? Maybe that’s where
they belong!
On the other end of the lake, at Mackenzie, people there too
will forget what the rising waters brought.
Bennett Dam (Photo supplied by: Norman Unrau)
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They are reminded however, every time when the water level
is nearing maximum draw-down that the available water is “way
out there”, and that prosperity has a price!
In a generation or two the people concerned then will have
passed on and if the next generation has to deal with the silting and
filling up there will be challenges, no doubt.
The fact that the dam has already used 33% of its anticipated
life, however, might give us pause to consider how and where we
will look for future power. Possibly at some point people will once
again look to our rivers remembering the dreams of the past
generation. When that happens the holus-bolus approach of the
sixties will hopefully have been laid aside for a less contentious
one. A new breed of dreamers may find good alternatives that we
have not even imagined. Let’s hope so!
Now, thirty-five years later, I find the time to punch out these
words on my P.C. one finger at a time. I am retired, approaching
my mid-seventies and grateful to the Almighty for the road that I
was privileged to take. To my departing day I shall treasure the
people that crossed my path on this and other projects.
Debris salvage at Mackenzie, B.C. (Photo supplied by: Robin Edwards)
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References
Pollon, Earl K., Shirlee Smith Matheson. This Was Our Valley.
Calgary, Alberta: Detselig Enterprises Ltd., 1989.
McKay, Bernard. Crooked River Rats.
Surrey, B.C.: Hancock House Publishers Ltd., 2000.
Cowan, Ian McTaggart, and Charles J. Guiguet.
The Mammals of British Columbia, Handbook #11,
Third Edition (Revised) October, 1965. Victoria, B.C.:
British Columbia Museum and
Department of Recreation and Conservation, 1965.
Bob Miller in conversation with former mayor Harold Moffat.
The Prince George Citizen January 8, 2001.
“Grizzly attacks Hunter.”
The Prince George Citizen, September, 2000.
Merme, T.W.
Dams & Hydro Plants (Tables)
Courtesy B.C. Hydro.
Williston Lake Data. (Tables)
W.A.C. Bennett Dam. (Tables)
Courtesy B.C. Hydro.
Lindsay MacDonald (LandData Base)
Air Photo information.
Photos (Hudson Bay Company)
Fraser Fort George Regional Museum
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Acknowledgements
I am indebted to Bill and Sheila Andreychuk for providing a set of
photos, twice.
To Dez Rice for his cooperation and contributions of pictures during
construction of ‘the road in’. For the report and photos on the
Peace Pondage. (And, no Dez, they are not junk!)
To Bill and Marg Troup and daughter Debbie for taking an interest
and twisting Deb’s arm (Debbie Marrello) to trust me with her
photos.
To Robin Edwards for his early encouragement and a supply of
valuable material and photos.
To Dave Duris who, as a longtime friend, made some key
contributions with names and pictures.
To Dave Dietterle for stirring my memory with slides and
encouraging words.
To Mike Carson for assistance with editing and corrections.
Mary and Ernie Krajczar for photos.
Pete Mushaluk.
Tony MacGregor.
Vivian Lougheed.
To Joyce my wife and Elizabeth my daughter, for keeping me at it.
For many corrections and cautions like, “ You can’t say it like
that!”
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Under These WatersWilliston Lake: Before it was
by: Norman Unrau
©2001 ISBN 0-9686049-2-7
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