One Morning, Off Flying Point

Harry, enjoying a quiet moment at the organ in his living room.
!n 1943/44 my dad bought the Harvey Hodgson property, Harvey’s share of 
Hodgson’s Hill. We moved ashore from Green Island in August of ‘ 45, and took up 
residency there.

This move made us some excellent neighbours…mong whom were Harry and his 
wife Beulah. Others on the “hill” was Aunt Sadie Farrell, Jim and Nora Henderson 
and their family, while down over the hill, near the road, lived Charlie Hodgson 
and his wife Margaret (Mag) Charlie was a brother to Harvey and Ab. The latter, 
was widowed, and resided with Harry and Beulah.

Harry was a fisherman. And a good one. I know. I fished with him in the “ Miss 
Drum Head “ in 1954, and we fished together with Everett Munroe in “ Ross and 
Ken “ in 1956/57. I have seldom seen a man show such exuberance for his vocation, 
or life in general, for that matter.

When I was a little kid and fishing with my dad from Green Island, Abe and Harry 
Had a small green boat that was named “ Bull Bird “ after that ebullient little 
black and white guy we see around our coast line in the fall and winter months. 
About 1943 Harry decided to have a new bottom built. Alf Hines, of Fishermans 
Harbour, got the job of building the “ Miss Drum Head “ She was built on the 
same moulds as my dad’ s boat and was 29 feet long and narrow for her length,
Harry powered his new boat with a Dodge truck engine. His father, Ab, feeling 
the weight of the years, “ swallowed the anchor “ and stepped ashore. Carl, 
Harry’s son, went with his dad in the new boat, but soon found that he wasn’t 
suited for a life in the fishery, so he, along with several other young men from 
the area joined the RCMP (marine division).

Harry would fish late into the fall, and by doing so, took some drubbings, one 
such day is the one when I fished with him in 1954. That day was also in 
October. It was this penchant for fall fishing that eventually caused the demise 
of “Miss Drum Head “ She parted her mooring in a fall gale and suffered 
irreparable damage. As her replacement he purchased “ Miss Tor Bay “ This boat 
may have been owned by Will Schrader, of her namesake village. In any event, she 
was built by that master New Harbour boat builder, Milt Sangster.

Harry and I made a few rabbit hunts together. I always figured that he went 
“over gunned “ and told him so. He carried a twelve gauge, now the property of 
Eugene Farrell, Goldboro. Harry maintained that a rabbit hit with a load of shot 
from his twelve gauge had little or no chance of survival .( Little or no chance 
of any salvageable meat either ).

Harry loved to sing and had an excellent bass voice, and many were the sing 
songs held in the living room of their home, gathered about the organ , where 
Harry is pictured. Walter Farrell, Blanche Burke, Greta O’Hara and many other 
singers from the two villages were frequent participants in these 
get-to-gathers; and let us not forget the voices of his daughters, either, who 
made beautiful music in their own right.

The hill where we all lived is still there. The sou’wester’s still blow across 
it and the sea from the winter storms still crash over Darby Point. The only 
original structure is Harvey’s old house; my workshop since 1990. If you dig 
around in among the ever encroaching laurel bushes down to the northeast side of 
the hill, you can find remnant of Aunt Sade’s little house, were I never failed 
to smash my head on the door frame between her porch and kitchen. All the 
vibrant souls that made it a separate entity from the rest of the village, have 
passed away, or moved to distant climes.

The following poem is an account of Harry saving Ed Warner and his two boys from 
certain death. I can’t put a time frame on it, because I was away, probably 
working in Quebec. I would say it happened in ‘68, or 69. They lost their guns 
and all other personal gear, but lucked out , when one of the strongest men on 
the coast came along.


One Morning off Flying Point

The Frying Pan (1) was imposed upon a sky,
All rosy with the rising of the sun,
T’was in October month, the time when grey coots fly,
And many die just off the Eastern Tail,(2) by hunter’s gun.
Green Island’s tower threw it’s mighty flare,
Still bright against the predawn sky where shines the morning star,
A warning for mariners to use caution and beware,
Of the Sou ’easter’s (3) vicious teeth, beslimed with weed,
And Tom Cod Shoals (4) as well, with rocks that sometimes hide,
Their evil visage ‘neath a tranquil sea.
Just off the Eastern Tail (2) that morning fair at dawn,
Three men were setting tollers (6) from a boat,
A skim shell of a thing; fit only for a lake found far inland,
Not for the wild Atlantic in the months she flouts,
Sudden gales and ground swells that crash upon the strand.
These men were not ‘sea-wise’ and knew not the risk that lay without,
The shelter of the harbour headlands where dark the cat spruce stands.
New Harbour Point was undershot by loom, (7) an omen true,
As the grey coots fell among the tollers dead,
The weather signs went unnoticed by the Warner crew.
Then suddenly three foxhunters(8) appeared, chasing the hounds,
Across the Western Shore, low in the sky; rapidly they rode,
Driven by a fall gale in the Gulf; the three gunned on, 
the dead birds made a mound,
No local men were off the Point to warn; no one to say,
“ It’s time to git your tollers in and drive ‘ er cross the Sound,
For the weather signs say, the game is done, it’s over for today.” 
The first puffs came fitfully at first, chasing the tide filled water round,
And then with muffled roar the norther came, and out the Bay,
Breaking lops driven by the wind; a Banshee’s scream with driven spray,
That strikes terror in the greenhorn’s heart and causes him to pray.
They pulled the tollers in with frantic haste, and got the anchor then,
The outboard on the stern was running smooth, the tank near full,
Irving hauled the rode, scarce room to move, tollers, guns, and three big men,
All crowded in that thirteen foot aluminium boat, that tiny hull,
Her freeboard little more than half a foot, so deeply laden that her plates did 
bend.
Ed at the tiller sat with visage grim, praying that the wind might lull,
His two sons sat upon the middle thwart and filled the little boat from side to 
side,
They rounded Coffin Rock, and set their course, straight for Bear Trap cove,
The Bay was snowy as white caps crested steep against the rising tide,
Laden so deeply the boat could not survive, as deep into the breaking seas she 
drove.
It happened with a rush of water, the boat filled to the brim,
Settling deep into the icy flood of pounding chop,
The motor’s weight  caused her by the stern to trim,
Dead coots and tollers floated free as the tiny boat sank below the lop,
The water seared like a burning flame when first immersion came
Arms threshing wildly, with coughing sobs, they strove to clear their feet, 
From toller lines and the anchor rode(9) that sought to pull them down,
To the realm below were the kelp forests grow and Neptune comes to greet,
In his garden fair, beyond compare, where sea anemones abound,
And there is peace and tranquil rest where the tides of the ocean meet.
Under the boat’s fore cuddy a pocket of air was trapped,
Her plates were tightly riveted; paint and corrosion through the years,
Had sealed it tight and held the air below the painter strap,
Buoyancy to hold her up; that, and nothing more,
And every breaking lop that came smothered the boat and her crew,
They hitched the painter round their wrists and the rope did chafe them sore,
Knowing that death was eminent, they prayed to the God they knew,
As the relentless, inexorable tide bore them toward The Rose,(10)
While five miles off to the south’ard fate began to play her hand, 
When Harry said to Bruce Langley, “ It’s time to head for the land. “
The breaking seas were combing in the thirty-five knot gale,
Hag Downs (11)were soaring over the crests into the troughs below,
As Bruce secured the anchor and rode and shouted aft to Harry,
“ I’ ve got the anchor stowed away, an’ you can let her go. ! “
And the “ Miss Tor Bay “ came into the wind and pointed her bow for the Bell.
With Harry steering and Bruce on the pump, she trampled the sea to a froth,
Thrusting her way up the breaking crests, she would fall in the troughs below,
And sheets of spray in the morning sun, made rainbows as they fell.
Passing abeam Green Island with three more miles to go,
Harry opened up the throttle and ahead he could see the Bell.


With spindrift flying back in sheets, they passed the Rock of the Point,(12)
Thirty-two feet of New Harbour Craft, steered by an unseen Hand,
Harry couldn’t believe it when before his eyes appeared on the starboard bow,
Three human heads clustered ’round, the bobbing bow of the boat,
He slowed the engine and swung away, then brought her up alongside,
Afraid he would sink the fragile craft, he attached a line to her stem,
The Warner’s unable to help themselves, being so numbed by the cold,
To Harry fell the Herculean task of taking the three on board,
He whose strength was held in awe in the village of his birth,
Who could lift the stern of a lobster boat when her keel was in the mud.
With Bruce up for’ard on Ed’s right arm, and Harry aft on his left,
Together they gave a mighty heave, timed with the roll of the boat,
And rolled him into the after stand, and then they dragged him for’ard,
Placed him there with his back braced up against the for’ ard kid,(13)
With Irving and his brother, they followed a similar plan,
Five minutes flat and t’was all o’ er, they all are safe on board,
And once again the “Miss Tor Bay “was heading on the land,
The empty sea spread out astern as they passed Goose Island Bell,
Three men that day from the sea’s harsh claws were saved from certain death,
You may call it luck or Providence; but they lived to tell the tale.

Seanachie.


(1) Frying Pan. A shingle reef , about 300 meters north of Green Islands north 
point. Derives it’s name from it’s shape.
(2) Eastern Tail. A submarine reef extending from the eastern end of Flying 
Point.
(3) Sou’easter. A hazardous ledge about four kilometres SW of Green Iland. Site 
of many shipwrecks including “ Nelson L “
(4) Tom Cod Shoals. Outh of Green Island, these shoals are comprised of Tom Cod 
Rock, Awash at half tide, Little Tom Cod Rock, covered with two meters at low 
tide, and a submerged reef.
(5) The Eastern Tail. The eastern extremity of Flying Point. Submerged.
(6) Tollers. Decoys
(7) Loom. A phenomenon that occurs when mirage causes the headlands to seem to 
float upon the water. Noted to herald the coming of a blow.
(8) Fox hunters. A never failing sign of strong northerly wind. Small dark 
clouds that scurry across the sky driven by the approaching air mass. I was 
intrigued by this phenomenon when I was a child, and my father pointed it out to 
me. I wonder if Peter Coade knows of the fox hunters.
(9)Rode. The name given to the anchor rode. Used when a vessel, ship etc., in 
the context to denote the way the ship or boat is tailing (heading) ‘wind rode’ 
or, “she is tide rode“ (or wind rode)
(10) The Rose. A shoal off Cape Mocodome. ( Home of the black backed gull; Mi’k 
Maq.) The flood tide sweeps past Flying Point and runs toward the Rose, to take 
a semi submerged object in that direction
(11) Hag Downs. Shearwaters.
(12) Rock of the Point. A short distance from the point, it sets submerged on 
the edge of the Channel. Breaks in a moderate swell.
(13) Kid. The fish pens in the boats out of home were called “ kids “ usally one 
on each side of the engine box and the larger for ‘rad kid. These kids were 
covered with “gang boards. “ The other spaces were called “stands “ standing 
rooms; forshortened. Where one stood to fish.