Night Run

The last year we were keepers on Liscombe Island Light & Fog Alarm, we decided that Carol, my wife, should  take the children and go ashore, the reason being that we had given Darren, our oldest boy correspondence in grade 1, but he didn’t take well to this regimen after being with me on the tractor hauling drummed fuel and other petroleum products used at the station, so after lengthy discussion it was decided that Carol take all three kids home to Drum Head and move in with my mom, despite the fact that we owned a home in this village.

This course of action left me alone on the station with my assistant and his wife. Anyway, I wasn’t completely alone; I had the very excellent company of my two Labrador retrievers. By this point in my tenure as keeper at Liscombe, I had suffered sore from the lack of a proper boat to travel to and from the island ( supplied by the Dept. of Transport) and had become so frustrated with the situation  that I had a real surf skiff built by Roy Levy of Sober Island Passage. Keith Guptill, keeper at Country( Green ) Island had one on his station and I was completely impressed by the sea keeping qualities of this sixteen-foot skiff; so Roy got my order.

Separated as I was from my family that last year, it fell that I used any and every conceivable excuse to get ashore and drive to Drum Head using the torturous winding dirt road that wended it’s way through the nine mile woods as a short cut. Of course, I  was always loathe to leave and go back to the island, so sometimes it would mean a trip outbound in the night, which held no terrors for me; I had complete confidence in my boat, the Johnson outboard that powered her and in my ability to navigate safely in any reasonable conditions day or night.

One Friday in February  ‘ 67,  I got the tractor out of the garage just as the sun was just coming up, in preparation for a trip ashore with Drum Head as my ultimate destination. From the time my family had moved ashore it had been my custom whenever the weather permitted to take Darren, our oldest,  out with me on the light for the weekend.

When I got over to the landing the morning was what the old fellows here in the village would have called a sea turn day-------the precursor of a storm. Patches of drift ice clotted the water between the Gravel Point and the southern side of Hemlow’s Island as well as to the east, toward the Tobacco Ledges, which are situated on the eastern side of Gegogin Harbour. Along the eastern shore of the island, Old Squaws could be heard, talking raucously to each other while the flock engaged in diving to feed on small mollusks in the shallow water out from the beach.

I shoved the boat down the slip, told my two Labradors I’d see them later, and took off. I thought there might be a bit of ice in Little Liscombe but it was clear, so I landed in my usual spot on Nathan Croft’s slip and hauled the skiff up; stopped by Nathan’s trap shed, where he was mending lobster traps, had a little yarn with him and went across the road to where Hitler’s Revenge sat basking in the bright morning sun. the night’s accumulation of rime now giving way on the windshield and slowly sliding down the glass as it melted.

First stop was Jean and Fred Bakers’ to pick up my mail, even though the P.O. wasn’t open yet due to the early hour, Jean was happy to accommodate me by going in for my mail. Next stop was Scotty Fraser’s  to fill the bug’ s tank with gas,  which if my memory serves me well, was .48 cents per gallon! After a visit there with Scot and the customer’s that were standing around chatting, we hit the road for DH  arriving about ten o’clock and spent an enjoyable day visiting with my family and around the trap sheds on the water front, where trap mending was in full swing. Everyone averred that a no’ east snowstorm was eminent, and “ You better hightail it back to that island before it catches you on the water !”  Now I considered myself a peer of the late Rube Hornstein when it came to forecasting weather, and yes, we were in for a snowstorm but not before late evening.

As usual I didn’t get away until well after supper, but the evening was still quite fine with just a zephyr out of the northeast. The sky was completely overcast by now and it was plain to see that the eastern quadrant of the low wasn’t too far off the coast,  that the snow would start at any time now..
We made Liscombe in an hour (Hitler’s Revenge was okay as far as holding the road was concerned) with Darren singing, happy to be going out to spent the weekend with me and the dogs for whom I had made a set of harness so they could pull him on a small toboggan.

Reached Nathan’s  slip,  piled our stuff in the bow of the skiff, flashed up the Johnson and took off, steering a course through the stygian blackness that would take us a berth clear of Rat Cove Point on the north east corner of Hemlow’ s  Island. We had traversed about half this leg of our journey, when with a resounding crackling crunch the boat struck ice; Freshwater ice! Newly formed freshwater ice is colourless on the water and impossible to see in darkness. This ice had drifted out with the falling tide during the day and filled Murdoch’s Cove in Little Liscombe. Now with the freshening wind out of the northeast, it was drifting out toward Rat Cove Point and had formed a barrier to our passage.
Liscombe harbour has sufficient input of freshwater from Liscombe River, Gaspereaux Brook and the small brook that empties into Spanish Ship Bay  to cause serious build up of freshwater ice on the harbour surface. Fresh water, lacking the density of seawater rests on top the latter freezing in sheets such as one would find on a lake. This freshwater ice is hard and can be very sharp when broken and a wooden hulled boat can be cut through in an amazingly short period  when steaming  in these conditions.

I immediately took the way off the boat and considered my options. It didn’t take long to decide to return to Little Liscombe, so I backed the skiff out of the ice that held her, and got her turned around. Heading back from whence we came, we only went about one hundred meters when we were beset with ice again. I realized that we were in a      ‘ bay ‘ in the ice field and that our return course was blocked off.

Getting the boat into open water again, I steered south west, for about five minutes, then hauled on for Archie Baker’s Point, running near the shore as I dared, I kept on and reached Nathan slip in Little Liscombe Cove, where we hauled the skiff up and tied her down and once more piled our gear back in the beetle and commenced the drive back to Drum Head.

The snow started when we reached Cochran Hill and by the time we made it to the CrossRoads, you could say it was a blizzard. Made it down to Goldboro and picked up Audie Pinkham just north of were the Gas Plant road goes in now. I can’t remember now why he was walking but his car must have broken down. Anyway we drove him down to Coddles Harbour and returned to Drum Head, by now Darren had decided that it was past his bedtime, and had gone to sleep in the back seat. I decided there was too much snow in my driveway so I parked down in front of Harry Hodgson’ s, woke Darren, who took umbrage at this rude awakening and started to slog up the driveway through the snow, and burst screaming in through the kitchen door, beating me by at least two lengths.
Mom was sitting in her Bass River rocker in front of the kitchen range and her startled scream blended with Darren’s wailing. She thought we had been in an accident, because time wise, we should have been in the dwelling house on Liscombe hours ago.

Getting caught off the station was tantamount to treason in the government’s all seeing eye, so it was necessary to call the duty officer in Dartmouth and report yourself derelict in your duty ( no answering machines in those days) Depending on who was duty officer, most times one could get away with a verbal blast, but other guys would write you up, and there e would be a memo in your next monthly report.

Believe me folks when I say; There was no life like it!!

Seanachie