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EPISODE 216 THE YUKON DIARY ..STORY 5 JUNE 11, 1962 TO JULY 2,1962

EPISODE 216   YUKON DIARY 5   MONDAY JUNE 11, 1962   TO  MONDAY JULY 2, 1962


RED BEARD

alan skeoch
Jan. 3,2021

OVERVIEW: 1) MEET DR. AHO…famous promotor of the Yukon … buyer of Double OP’s for fools and alcoholics
                             2) USE A RIVER AS A ROAD…to Silver King  Mine
                            3) MEET BOTH A FAKE AND  A  REAL  BLACK BEAR
                            4) MEET A HIDDEN MAN WITH STRANGE QUESTIONS
                           5) MEET AN ANCIENT BURNED FOREST (and recover some shapes)
                           6) DISCOVERED I WAS PAID  LESS  THAN OTHERS
                          7)  LOSE WEIGHT…we are being sent to Dawson City for 3day  holiday…at our expense

Diary Entry, Monday June 11, 1962: Arose at 7.30 and cooked a quick French Toast breakfast before packing into the survey site to rev up the motor generator.  Spent another hard day doing lines 11,15,13,17 (2-1500 feet long), and lines 66 (1500), 62 (16-1500),64 (8-1500).  Saw a spruce partridge en route back to camp.  Bill Dunn found an old pick embedded in a tree stump by some long forgotten miner whose trail had disappeared long ago.  We drove to Elsa to do the shopping including several extras — 24 cans general soups, stew, etc, 24 chocolate bars, 3 pints ice cream, 6 feet of garlic sausage, 3 boxes of Cadbury’s chocolate cookies, 1 tube of Jiffy-sew. Back at our camp we awaited the arrival of Dr. Aho and the mail. Both of which never arrived.  My beard is progressing quite well and seems to be red. Imagine that.  Dad was known as Red Skeoch when a kid…proof of my legitimacy maybe.


 Diary. Tuesday June 12, 1962: Awoke early and had luxury of slowly getting ready for the day.  Cooked breakfast for the fellows. Steve Rudnicki arrived and we set off for the base line.  Long cable for Base line #2.  Moved motor generator.  Began reading lines 4,6,8,10,12,14,16 East.  Fell and strained my leg badly.  Bugs are now out in force.  Packed part of equipment out to base camp where I received letters from Marjorie and mom.  Wonderful. Eric has the rhubarb wine working in the cellar at home in Toronto.  Bill Dunn and I walked up to the old shack on the road where the walls are papered with old London Illustraed News papers dating back to World War I. Abandoned log cabins are common here in the Yukon…some found furnished as if builders were going to return sometime but never did.

Diary, Wednesday June 13, 1962: Arose early and made light breakfast of toast and cereal.  Hard day in bush today. Bill Scott and Steve coiled up part of Base Line #1 while Bill Dunn and i completed Base Line #2.  Completed reading lines 12, 14, 16…all 1600 feet long. While I was taking a reading Steve sneaked up behind me and growled.  I was sure it was a bear just about to grab me…my heart raced.  Spent afternoon hauling cable, more than a mile long.  Then packing out the loads.  Heavy reels of wire exhausted all three of us.  My back has scrapes from the cable  frame digging into my flesh. Drove to Mayo Landing to repair one of the reels…acetylene torch needed.  Tlelegram from Peso Siolver re: survey.  Bill Dunn and I had two rum and cokes while Mabel got our mail.  Pork Hocks and pork and beans at Luigi’s.  Expenses $5 for two dinners.

Diary, Thursday June 14, 1962: Steve Rudnicki arrived and we coiled the rest of the base line.Spent an hour over a smudge fire trying to drive the mosquitoes away,.  wonder at our loss of blood.  Roasted good length of garlic sausage which was delicious. On way back to camp found several hundred feet of resitivity wire left by previous crew some time ago. In afternoon Bill Dunn and I drove as far as we could by road then hiked to the Gerlitzki claim where we left search guns.  Found great waterfall en route.   Then packed Turam and drove to Elsa to get grub for our last supper in the old miners cabin.  Bought 3 steaks, bottle of whipping cream, one cake mix, 2 cans strawberries.  I baked the cake in the wood stove  and then fried the steaks…backwards dinner. Then packed all equipment including a pick, axe and shovel from the Wernecke mine stopes.  



The Peso Silver men and our survey and line- cutting teams meet each other on one of the mining roads. There is
no danger of traffic as we are the only people here (except for one mysterious man seeking information about our survey.)
No problem so we stop for a beer and share stories.   Nice bunch of men to work with really.   Some First Nations guys
from the Mayo Landing tribal territory as well.




Diary, Friday June 15, 1962: Met Bill Dunn in Luigi’s for breakfast then joined by Dr. Aho and Bill Scott.  Wheland Rand arrived at 1 p.m. from Peso Silver Mine and we loaded gear into the GMC four wheel drive.  Marjorie sent me a 2.5 box of nuts from Kingston.  The drive to Peso silver Mine was fantastic. Treacherous road up river beds with water over the running boards. Halfway there we switched to  D6 Cat with wagon and drove up the river between the mountains for several miles then switched to an old Dodge Power Wagon with elevated body.  Sometimes the angle of the so called road was 45 degrees. Reached Peso at 7.20 p.m.  Site was on edge of a cliff. This would not be an easy job.  Met new crew.   HIlls are all very steep …some seem vertical;.  Good supper though in the cook house.
Fluff, the baby rabbit raised hell all night as she did not like the cardboard box.   Our tent is white which makes night seem  like day…too bright to fall asleep.





Expenses:  Boots and KiT  $5.80, Meals $3.50, Chocolate 70 cents

Diary, Saturday, June 16, 1962: On the job by 7 a.m. Carried motor generator to site and strung out base line cable.  Put grounding rods #1 in Secret Creek while ground #2 is in the saddle on Eastern ridge.  Resistance 540 ohms. The high altitude and exceptionally steep slopes made Bill and I feel weak. Heart racing very fast.  Mosquito bites are so numerous that my whole body seems swollen.  The project looks quite difficult due to the steep hills…very rough following lines.  Worried that squirrels will cut the base line.  Spent evening setting up tent for our living quarters…built a 
table and several shelves.  Hung up Marjorie’s photograph above my so called bed…a piece of canvas stretched over wire hoops.  The new fellows trooped in and introduced themselves.  Had coffee and went to bed.



Sunday June 17, 1962:


ON job by 8 a.m.  Motor is not kicking out enough current…only o.2 amps at 240 watts. 
did  line w 4 Bm w t N.  Storm hit and soaked us. Returned to camp to dry the instrument then coninued
after lunching lines W18W, W18S, W16N, W16S,…total for the day was 10,500 line feet.  Good supper then
prepared  maps for Barrie Nichols in Toronto.  Wrote Marjorie. 

Then had bull shit session with Paddy, our cook on this site.Nice to have someone making meals.  Joined
by Fred,Ray and Dirk…subjects ranged from Catholicism, hiking, girls,whores and Ireland until 11.30 bed time.

Wheland  Reed has gone to town with the line cutters   He will have a tough time getting back because both
Len and Kellly are alcoholics.

Monday, June 18, 1962:

On the job at 9 am.   Covered 14,200  line  feet.  One line went right through campsite so we had lunch with the lads
for a change.  Better than sitting on wet moss and getting hemmoroids. Hugh Naylor and I discovered two birds
nests on our lines, both with babies but so well disguised that they were invisible in plain sight.

We took readings right over the known mineralized vein but got no indications of an anomaly.  This caused us great concern.
We must keep that fact secret at all costs.  Hard to explain.  Wait until Toronto office hears that.  Must not tell Aho as he
seems to want good news to help promote the mine he likes (which ever that is).

In the evening the truck came back from trip to Peso and town. Len was in an alcoholic stupor all night wandering from
tent to tent telling tales of Finland in broken English.

Tuesday, June 19, 1962

Bloody hot day covering 12,800 line feet…..lots …so hot out that tried  to work without the mosquito net
over my head. Impossible to do that..too many bugs.   Pulling the base line … winding on reel is nasty work.
Finished at 5 pm…so exhausted we left the reel and wire on top of hill. 

Startled to fins a forest of skeletons…huge
forest of Yukon Spruce that had  been burned  years  ago.  Trees all silver grey trunks with old burn marks
scoured out.  Beautiful  in a grim way.   Cut off a couple  to take back to camp and  maybe ship home to Toronto.
The piece  we cut was  over 100 years old yet looked liked 20 years old when we read the growth rings.


This is Bill Scott, my Toronto partner, hugging one of the burned over logs that has been scoured
by many Yukon winters.   Maybe I will get it home  (which I did…it sits in my workshop)



Short discussion with Wheland about oxidation.  Then we talked about the dangers of Yukon mines  cut into soft
rock…oxidation and weathering in Yukon mines…then went into mine  workings to look at the soft, clay  like  pyrite, silver,
lead, antimony. soft form of rock Makes mines very unstable…danger of collapse.

Awoke st 3 a.m. to find  the rabbit Fluffy asleep on my forehead.

Wednesday  June 20, 1962

Got reasonable start today and managed 8,000 line feet of readings.  The switch  box gave us a lot of trouble…cut out three times.
Hugh and  I are anticipating big trouble…hard to trace where wires  are shorting.  In the evening we took our gold pans to a spot
on the valley floor where a placer mine once existed…panned for gold.  Found tiny pieces on first effort.  Amazing.   No value of course as
so small.  Then Dirk and  Ron gave it a try…eureka!  Gold.

Apparently Peso Silver people ordered  a case of toilet paper Air Express last winter…cost $54.00.

Thursday,  June 21, 1962

Poor start today because no help available …still did 6,200 feet when 1 man joined me…The symmetry switch has  broken delaying work in afternoon.
I did some repairs to the console and then lay down on my cot with a  copy of Klondile by Pierre Berton.

Wheland Reed showed  up at 7 with mail…got two letters from Marjorie, one  from mom, and one from Aunt Mabel…and
a  box of cookies from Marjorie…home made. 

Spent evening talking with Fred and  Dirk. Fred had been a pilot until his plane crashed in the bush.

Friday,  June.22, 1962

Rain…Rain…wonderful rain!   Got up, had  leisurely breakfast and went back  to bed.  Wrote letters and wrote a poem (what drivel I write)
Spent whole day eating and sharing Marjorie’s  cookies.   Read more of Klondile where the fall of  1897 was tragic…3,000  horses  were 
lost scaling the Chilkoot Pass…killed, tortured, Maimed,  poisoned.




Saturday June 23, 2962

 fog and rain delayed us but still managed to do 13,400 feet of line.  Dr. Green of the Geological  Survey of Canada(DSC) dropped
in for supper putting pressure on our cook Paddy.   After supper Wrote Gord Sanford  a  letter.   Beautiful sunset.

Discovered that I am the lowest paid person in camp.  Yet feel I am the person who does  most of the goddamned  work.  My crew
was the only crew out working yesterday    Bill  gets  $450 a month whereas I get $350 a month…not really fair.  Feel badly
…love  the adventures of the job.  Wage works out to about $10 a day or $1 an hour.  Then again I do get room and board …wire assembled cot
that has collapsed and good food occasionally.   Dr. Aho does buy us  drinks when given a chance.  “calls them double OP’s”
which means  Overproof rum (80 proof…nearly absolute alcohol) . Story of the Yukon there…overproof alcohol connects to rampant
alcoholism.  Why send OP  rum to Yukon?  To save
shipping costs and expect the rum to be diluted 50%…never ever diluted though.  One drink of OP rum and we are drunk.  Rather funny
when it happens once.  But if it happens regularly…not so funny

(Dr. Aho was a charismatic figure who would eventually write a 300 page history of the Yukon.
He  is also a skilled geologist.  Impressive.)

Sunday, June 24, 1962

Got good  early start and covered 18,600 get of line…3.7 miles.  Roughest day yet but I feel good about the mileage.  Who would
be impressed?  No one. Then we extended the base line to the east.  

When I got back to camp my mouth was so dry I could not speak with ease. Had a good shower and  then we had  the usual
bull shit session with Dirk, Fred, Ron,  Bill and Ray.  Lots of off colour and funny jokes.  Checked  resistors before going to bed.

Monday June 25, 1962

Morning writing letters and checking equipment while Bill Scott set the grounding rods  for new base line.  Then managed to
do 8,900 line feet of readings…1.78 miles.  We really  worked like devils … before the rain  came…heavy black clouds.

Returned to camp to discover that Paddy the cook had cut his hand badly…thumb deep cut…needed a doctor.  My first aid
kit was the only first aid in camp.  Never laugh at a Boy Scout.  Bill and Ron served  supper while Hugh and  I did the dishes.
Then I washed  9 pairs of socks, 3 boxer shorts and 1 shirt.  Mail arrived from Marjorie, mom and Russ  Vanstone. 

So far my earnings total $321.46 with $24.95 taken off for income tax.  Russ says he is planning to go one for his  MA at
U.of T…maybe.

My bed  collapsed  in the night…cannot be fixed  as  canvas ripped  along the wire rods.  Will be sleeping on the floor.

Tuesday June 26, 1962

Hell of an evening…slept fitfully with nightmares after my bed collapsed.   Woke early and had terrible breakfast
of pork chops of all things…preferred bread and jam.  Then Ray Harris drove me up to the top of the hill (Yukon people
seem to call mountains  hills unless they have a snow cone on them) Managed  to complete 19,000 line feet….3.8 miles.
Long but spectacular vistas … made return to camp seem dull.  Paddy returned bandaged…brought mail.  

I was so tired  that I gave up efforts to repair my bed.  Fred and  I had a glass of sherry to soothe our nerves…Fred failed
his first year at UBC…word came in letter today.  Then Hughie joined  us as he just got  a  Dear John letter from his
girlfriend…he was very broken up to say the least.

Wednesday June 27, 1962

Tired…no sleep on cot…got up stiff in joints.   Managed to cover 14,400 feet of line…2.88 miles…

Bill Scott and I spent evening talking religion of all things.  What do  I know about religion really?  I  am
Presbyterisn whatever that really means while Bill is a very active Catholic.  No arguments.  We will get
along fine.  We traded Bibles … i brought my copy of New Testament but had not opened it…did not
tell Billl that.

Had  coffee later with Fred who told funny stories about the Bengal Bicycle club snd the Dirty Buggers Club.
Lots of laughter.

Thursday,  June 28, 1962  

Fred, Len and I spent the day reclaiming Base Lines  1 and  2…shielded single strand copper wire.  Then moved
the motor generator over to the new site.  Seems to be difficult to read  console  here for some reason

Got some lumber and built a desk  and  a chair. 

Wheland Read arrived with Roger Verity from Vancouver.   Verity is a big promotor for Peso Silver.  Seems nice.

I received a nice letter from the love of my life.

Names of men in our Peso Silver camp
Fred Carter
Hugh Naylor
Dirk Tempelman Kuit
Pat McGan
Wheland Read
Len Aaltonen
     Kelly
Ray Harris
Neil Hager
Dinky (First Nations)
Lea
Ron
Roger Verity
Budd Rich

Friday June 29,1962

Looks like rain.  Len and  I attempted to reach the eastern edge of grid where we had  a hell of  a time
with grounding rods  due to the permafrost.   Eventually got satisfactory resistance of  290 ohms.  Len
decided  to walk back to camp along the ridge.   Ten miles  walking through the bush.  Hard.  Startled
a mother partridge and her chicks…got some pictures.

Saturday June 30, 1962

Drove to job site with the line cutters in our Power Wagon.  Then Len and I put in the western grounding
rods…500 ohms … line resistance of 440 ohms (meaning what?) 

A strange guy from Rio Plata popped out of the bush wanting to know what we were doing for Peso Silver…wanted
information but got none from us.  Mystery .  His name seemed to be Ed Chase but I could be wrong.
Len and I managed to cover 8,600 line feet….1.72 miles.

It was very cold today and some of the fellows expected snow. Imagine that ..snow at end of June.
Len commented “Imagine that, I  will have put on my ‘Jesusly’ underwear when I just took them off last week.”
Jesusly is a new word.

Wheland Read and Roger Verity have planned a 3 day  holiday  for Bill Scott and me … in Dawson City
because we have overtaken the linocutting crew.  Nothing really for us to do.  We plan to take
our sleeping bags, mosquito nets and food.  Not sure we  can afford this trip but it is a chance
to see the Klondike at its  core.

Went to bed and fell asleep for an hour.  Woke up and read more of Klondike by Pierre Berton.

High wind shook our tent all night.

Sunday, july 1, 1962

This camp was made flat by the bulldozer then some professional carpenters set up the tents.  Neat.

Kelly, the new cook, rang the gong at 6.30 so  we got an early start on the Rex Base Line.   Managed  19,280 line feet..
3.85 line miles.   Switch box  cut out twice.   Today was cool with bright sunshine…conducive to working .

Back at camp Ron and  I were discussing books when suddenly he looked down towards the cook shack…”God…there’s
a bear!”  A large black bear was about 5 feet from the cook shack.  I got two pictures of the fellow.

Later we  had a discussion with Roger Verity and Wheland  Reed about three possible extensions.  Then we had coffee
and tried to guess  Dinky’s age.  He says he is 51 but looks about 21. Then he told  us about bears and
wolverines on his trap line.  Apparently a grizzly bear walked right into the Calumet bunkhouse.
“Wolverines are  vicious and smart…got into my cabin by squeezing down the stove pipe….in summer”


Monday July 2, 1962

This was one of those bad days as  the switch box failed 8 times and  we lost the whole morning’s work.  Put in extra grounding rods
at the western end.  Still failed.  I sent word  to Bill Scott for help.  He watched the switch while Len and  I did lines.   Then I
built a cover for the switch  box…discovered that sun’s heat may  have been problem.   Bad day but did manage to
get 9,770 feet of line done…1.95 miles.


BEARD  IS PROGRESSING FINE…..vanity you might say.

Tuesday July 3, 1962

DAWSON CITY, HERE WE COME!

END PART 5  YUKON STORY DIARY

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EPISODE 215 YUKON STORY PART 4: GHOST TOWNS VISITED ON KENO HILL IN 1962 BY BILL DUNN AND ALAN SKEOCH

EPISODE 215     YUKON STORY: PART 4  GHOST TOWNS VISTED ON KENO HILL IN 1962 BY BILL DUNN AND ALAN SKEOCH


alan skeoch
Jan. 2, 2021

EPISODE 215    GHOST TOWNS PART 4  …KENO HILL AND WERNECKE CAMP

alan skeoch
Jan. 2, 2021



SUNDAY, JUNE 10, 1962


“THIS is our big day.  Bill Dunn and I are going to climb Keno Hill…really a mountain…in search of a ghost town we
heard about.   We have no idea what it will look like or where it is.  We do know there is an old road up the mountain
from Keno City which  is itself almost a ghost town.  Bill Scott with drive us to the base of the mountain in our bashed
and beaten 1953 Power Wagon then he will backtrack and go to Mass at the Catholic  Church in  Elsa.  Given a choice
between discovering  and exploring a ghost town and  going to mass, We chose the ghost town while Bill Scott chose
Mass.  What choice would you make?

We climbed upwards  for two hours following the long abandoned  mining road which is now blocked with a small
glacier partway up.  The melt water flows down the old track for a distance… impossible even for our power 
wagon to get through.”

ROAD TO KENO HILL CLOSED…BARRIER OF RUBBLE

“About 2/3 the way to the top we found an old mine entrance and a jumble of abandoned ore cars with their wheels
gone.  Should we crawl  over the cars  and explore inside this mine?  We thought about it but decided  finding the
ghost town came first since we only had a few hours to spend before Bill would return with the Power Wagon.
Strange however that the mine would be part way down  the mountain yet the mine buildings would  be up top.
(We did not know at the time that there were two mines here…Keno Hill and Wernecke Camp.  Both very historic
in the mining history of the Yukon.  More important than all of Dawson City.   To us, what we saw was just
a gaping hole held open by timbers that seemed about to collapse.)”

chris-nicole.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/08/Chris-and-Nicole-CNA-Photos-visit-keno-city-yukon-14-300×200.jpg 300w, chris-nicole.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/08/Chris-and-Nicole-CNA-Photos-visit-keno-city-yukon-14-768×513.jpg 768w, chris-nicole.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/08/Chris-and-Nicole-CNA-Photos-visit-keno-city-yukon-14.jpg 1200w” sizes=”(max-width: 1024px) 100vw, 1024px”>






“So we continued to climb.  Very steep road. Eventually we got above the tree line and there spread before us was what remained of  
Keno Hill or Wernecke.  The two names were confusing.  But the vista was incredible.  We could see for miles  and  miles…maybe
50 to 100 mlles distant was the looming tower of snow clad  Mount Haldane…due west of Keno Hill.   Really we  did not see
this vista at first because our eyes were distracted by the more  or less parallel set of  railway tracks that curved  out from
another  mine opening and ended abruptly at a  cliff face that went straight down for several hundred feet.  At the terminal
end was a heavy wood platform built right to the edge of the  cliff.  This was where the waste  rock was dumped and fell
far below along with other things  we could see among the fractured waste.”

“Our trip had all the trappings of home….frying pan  We borrowed a small orange crate 
table as we dined luxuriously on a platform built over the edge  of a cliff face.  When the mine operated
the waste  rock and other things were dumped here and far below was a garbage  dump worth attention
we could not give.”



I think this is Mount Haldane but cannot be  sure.  The picture was taken at lake level.  Not from top of Keno Hill
This shows what miners leave behind.

“I was reticent to sit on the platform but Bill was  insistent we sit there and  have our lunch with our knees on the edge of
the precipice while we gazed  across the valley to Mount Haldane.  I suffered from a feeling of vertigo
but at the  same time  a feeling of wonder.  NO mosquitoes or black flies  up here because the wind
drove them to ground.  It was something out of this world.  We should have sat there longer but even
our rapid lunch gave enough time for the vista to get locked into long term storage in my brain. Indelible.
Keno Hill mine was built on a truncated Mountain valley that had convulsed long long ago…and  a great 
swath of Keno Hill had been torn free and fallen straight down to the great valley below.

Several lakes glowed emerald green  here and there across the valley.  We thought we saw a moose in one’
the nearest lakes but could not be sure.  Nor  did we want to take the time to do much more.  We had
the ghost town  to explore.  Dotted here and there across  the bare top of Keno Hill were many buildings…most
of them windowless.  But a couple looked like picture postcards from  gold rush days of the 1890’s…log buildings
mostly but a few had shiplap lumber.  Unpainted.  The first one we reached even had old curtains hanging on
the windows.   inside there were dishes and  pots and old kitchen stuff here and there along with tables
and chairs.  Abandoned but done so in haste it seemed.  We had not idea when this mine was closed.
We guessed turn of the century…1900.  (But we were wrong.  Keno Hill and  Wernecke were abandoned  
between 1928 and  1932).   


My memory of this house was that he windows were  intact and there  were curtains.  Easy  to see the curtains. The rest is a shambles.
Perhaps the picture is misplaced.


The  opening to the Wernicke mine adit is choked with ice.  Closed.

That home was hard  to forget.  We felt like intruders … maybe the owner would arrive any moment.  Outside, however,
was silence only disrupted by gusts of cold wind. 



I think these  are buildings that were constructed in 1921 by Livingston Wernicke as housing for his miners.


“Not far away from the house was a large log building.  Looked like a big log barn which is exactly what it turned  out
to be.  Inside were horse stalls with horse collars and harness hanging on spikes;  No horses…no sign of life at all.
(It Turns out there were once 98 horses  up here.  Some pulled the mine cars from the stopes to the mill while others
pulled the waste rock  to the dump at the cliff face where we had lunch.  Most of the horses were harnessed
to heavy wagons  where the sacks  of  galena ore were placed  in route down the mountain road to 
Keno City and then forward all the way to Mayo Landing where stern wheeling steamships paddled
the ore to Whitehorse where the White Pass Railway took over.   The  silver from Keno Hill dominated
the world silver supply for many years. )”


“We expected to find piles of old machinery in abandoned  workshops but did not do so.  When the
mine closed the crushing  machines and related  tooling was tool valuable tote discarded it seemed.
Small tools like  pick heads and D handled shovels were laying about here and there which indicated
the corpse of Keno Hill had been picked clean by previous explorers like Bill and me.

We had only a hour or two to explore.   Never got to see every building nor did we find
an adit leading into the mine.  Adits are horizontal…shafts are vertical.   We had no chance
of getting deep in the bowels of  Keno Hill.

I took a  few pictures and  we headed  down the mountain to Keno City where Bill Scott was waiting.
How were we able to get the time to do this?  I don’t know.  Maybe we had finished one job and  were
getting ready to start another.  Somehow we had a free Sunday.”

ONE of the horse stables on top of Keno Hill.  Once there were 98 horses up here.  Then Livingston Wernecke decided it was
cheaper to use Holt Tractors to haul galena to Mayo Landing.  What happened to the horses?   I have no idea but even to this
day there are wild  horses in the Yukon…tough wild  horses that manage  to survive.  At least they were
still there in 1962.  I do not know about today.

chris-nicole.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/08/Chris-and-Nicole-CNA-Photos-visit-keno-city-yukon-4-300×200.jpg 300w, chris-nicole.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/08/Chris-and-Nicole-CNA-Photos-visit-keno-city-yukon-4-768×513.jpg 768w, chris-nicole.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/08/Chris-and-Nicole-CNA-Photos-visit-keno-city-yukon-4.jpg 1200w” sizes=”(max-width: 1024px) 100vw, 1024px”>
Many of the Keno Hill miners homes must have looked like this.   Use your imagination  When it was lived in
it may have been OK.  Small window openings were a blessing in a Yukon winter.

THE FACTS THAT BILL DUNN AND I DID NOT KNOW

Bill and I knew  nothing about either Keno Hill or Wernecke Camp.   All we knew  was that people once lived
on the top of Keno Hill and no one lived there in 1962 but their homes were still there…empty…collapsing.
A regular ghost town.  We were not sure we  had any right to climb Keno Hill (really a mountain).  But the
lure of the mysterious Yukon was irresistible.

Now,  in 2021, I know  a lot more about what we saw that Sunday afternoon back in 1962.
Sorting  out the owners of the mines near Keno Hill, their years of operation, their stories
is  a task too big for this episode so  I have tried to pare it down  to something readers can
understand.   What should  be written is  a great novel the likes of  Grapes of Wrath by
Steinbeck.


Livingston Wernecke photo

Livingson Wernecke (1883-1941)





In 1917 the huge Treadwell Mine on the coast of the Alaskan panhandle suddenly fill with water.  350 Miners fled
up  the  shaft as fast as they could  The mine horses could not flee. The death of those horses broke the
heart of the mine  population.   Millions of gallons of sea water  soon filled every
corner of the mine.   Livingstone Wernecke  was a mine geologist here in 1917.  He moved to Keno Hill in 1921.


The easiest way to understand what happened on Keno Hill is to focus on one man,  Livingston
Wernecke.   He was a big time miner.   A geologist who spent his early years working the
Alaska Treadwell mine.  Incredibly dramatic life.  But I will hold the story of Treadwell back.
It will take another whole episode.  Captivating is an understatement.

In  June, 1921, Wernecke came to Keno to check out the possibilities.  Much of Keno Hill had
already been staked, and some silver ore had been extracted.  Rich ore…lots of  silver, lead
and zinc.  The market was good.  World War One was over and the 1920’s were  booming.

So Livingston Wernecke thought Keno Hill had  great possibilities.  He bought a sawmill
and set it up at Mayo Lake to get planks and timbers for the underground workings
and the town site he needed for his miners.  From the Treadwell mine in Alaska he sent
all that was needed to start mining…steel  rails, drills, mine  cars, chain falls…a165 diesel 
engine, a 150 kilowat generator…picks, shovels, mine  paraphernalia.   

Access to Keno Hill in 1921 was not easy.  The best transport was by flat bottomed 
sternwheeler steamships which had come up the Yukon River and then up the Stewart River to
Mayo Landing.  That was  only part way.  The rest of the way to Keno was overland
on a bush road that was best in the winter..a muddy terror in the spring…a fly infested
hell in the summer.  Especially hard on the horses, all 98 of them.  But the job was 
underway and in May 1924 planning was made to reconstruct a flotation mill weighing
100 tons.  By January 6, 1925 the mill was  in place.  (*There was no sign of
the mill in 1962. It had been removed to Elsa, a few miles west of Keno)

Meanwhile his miners, he called them his ‘boys’ and tried to keep  them morally pure.
..meanwhile Wernecke’s boys were digging, blasting….deep…600 feet hollowed out
and the galena was rich…high concentrations of silver at 60 cents a pound.
(*The first mine  entrance that Bill and  I found was a drainage  adit saving Wernecke
the $200 a day costs of pumping water from the mine stopes and passageways,)

The estimated cost for the whole  project was $200,000 and the estimated profit
was  $1,273 a day.   Every ton of  galena produced 64ounces of silver that was
then worth 60 cents a pound.   Then there was the side profit selling lead
at 6 cents a pound.   Wernecke processed over 244, thousand tons of ore
containing nearly 13 million ounces silver along with lead and zinc.

Those were good times for everyone.  The miners, some of  whom got
houses for their wives  and children.  Others  lived in fancy bunkhouses built
with lumber from Mayo Lake saw mill and sheets of corrugated steel
from United Staes steel  companies.

Then suddenly the price  of silver dropped.  By November 16, 1932, Keno Hill
was no longer profitable.  Wernecke was killed in 1941…killed  in an attempted
airplane rescue of another downed pilot and crew.  His plane circled through fog
and  hit an unseen immense tree on the Alaskan panhandle.  Killed all
while those about to be rescued watched  helplessly

So in 1932,  Keno Hill and  Wernecke Camp became  ghost towns.
Much of the machinery and even some of the buildings were
packed up and moved to Elsa,

What we  saw in 1962 was a townsite and mine site that was slowly
rotting into powder.  People visiting Wernecke today will only see
the railway tracks and abandoned mine cars maybe.  Apparently the one
house  that remains intact snd  livable is the house  that Livingston
Wernecke built for his own family.  Some enterprising residents
of Keno City would  like it preserved as an historic cite.  Is that
likely? I am  not too sure.  Getting to the top of Keno Hill is not easy.

This is the short form history of Keno.  The full story will come later.
Suffice it to say that Livingston Wernecke tried to keep his boys
away from the hookers that took over Keno City in the 1920’s, when the mines
were flourishing.  He failed to do that.  Wernecke will be another secondary story. 


When I read about that failure I remembered a miner I worked underground
with at Elliott Lake.  He asked me if I knew how to tell that a mine
was going to be successful.  I thought it must be the price of the raw
minerals.  “No, you can tell when the hookers start to arrive.”  Well,
they sure began to arrive in  Keno City.  That will be another secondary story.

alan skeoch

Jan. 2, 2021

Posted on

EPISODE 211 PICTURE OF JAMES SKEOCH SHORTLY BEFORE HE WAS KILLED IN 1918

Note to General Readers:  Sorry to insert this episode as it is a Skeoch vignette of limited
interest to those of you looking for excitement !  In these episodes I try to balance interesting
stories with a dab or two of family history.  Call this a dab of family history .  The  pandemic 
gives all of us time to dab bits of family history.  I know hat from he email letters  I get back
from some readers.  


EPISODE  211    JAMES SKEOCH SHORTLY BEFORE HE WAS KILLED IN 1918

alan skeoch
Dec. 2020



JAMES SKEOCH…LAST PHOTOGRAPH BEFORE HE WAS KILLED IN 1918

Look up top, far right.  That is the last image anyone ever saw  of James Skeoch… riding in a 1918 troop 
carrier to or from a rest break at a YMCA cafe in France.  I think this picture was sent to me by Tina Skeoch
from the Skeoch farm at Corunna   Tina corresponded often with James.

James was  the oldest child of James Skeoch sr.  When World War 1 broke out he volunteered o
join the Canadian army and was eventually shipped with other Fergus volunteers to England and then to the trenches  of  France.

His enthusiasm did not last long..  Somehow at least one  of  his letters escaped the eyes of the censors
and  was sent to my father, Arnold (Red) Skeoch.  In that letter James states clearly that his brothers
should not join he army.   The letter gave me the feeling that James did not expect to survive the war.
Arnold was  unlikely to join the army anyway as  he was  only 12 or 13 when the war began and 16 or 17
when the war ended.   Dad’s brother John,  however, was prime military age and  seems to have
taken his brother James advice.

alan skeoch
Dec. 2020

THE SKEOCH LETTERS OF THE `830’s and 1840’S

P.S.  Two decades ago I spent one winter laboriously transferring the hand written  Skeoch letters of
the  1830’s and  1840’s into typewritten form  Soon to be transferred to digital  form.  These  letters
are  interesting  but a little difficult to put into context.  At some point in the mid 1840’s a  decision was
made  to leave Scotland.  Not all the family migrated. Some were left behind, particularly the elderly. 
Most came to Canada.   Some to the United States.
Why?   Were they pushed out of Scotland by misery?  Or did they see a chance of great wealth in pioneer farming
in Canada?   Push  or pull.?  I found both.

One other branch moved
to  St. Croix, Virgin Islands where they owned and ran a plantation.  A book was written about
that branch titled  Robert Skeoch, Cruzan Planter.   We became  aware of this branch of the family
when my wife Marjorie suggested we look up Skeoch’s in a Scottish phone book while on tour in the 1960’s
The  visit was wonderful… elderly Skeoch farm family closely associated with the Virgin Island
branch.  Back in Canada when  we told  Aunt Elizabeth about that she packed  a bag  and
flew to the Virgin Islands to meet any she could find. 

Another  flourishing branch high tailed it to Australia.  We write back and forth
often.  The connection was made in the strangest way.  I discovered that I was
not the only Alan Skeoch…there were three of us unknown to each other.  The third
was a dentist in California who recently passed away before I could bother him.

Back in Scotland  the family seems to have thrived as well.  Even to the point of trying
to establish a car industry by manufacturing The Little Skeoch in 1921.  Unfortunately the
factory caught fire and burned to the ground.  Today, however, some enterprising men
in Dalbeattie, Scotland, have successfully rebuilt a  model of the Little Skeoch.  Look it
up on the internet…you will even see the little car moving.

STOP!  STOP, ALAN!  PLEASE STOP!

In a subsequent Episode I willi include copies of the Skeoch letters even though it is doubtful
they will interest general readers.  Wait!   Give me time.  I can  find a  hook that might make
the letters of broader interest.

ENJOY  the picture of James  Skeoch above.  You  do not have to be  a relative to find
that photo interesting.  Worth researching even.

P>A>   I HEARD  YOU SAY THAT…HEARD YOU SAY “I AM SICK AND TIRED
OF ALAN’S EPISODES”  (I do not blame you.)



Posted on

Fwd: EPISODE 210 “NEW ZEALAND AIR AMBULANCE NEEDED” (ANDREW SKEOCH, HEAD ON COLLISION)



Begin forwarded message:


From: ALAN SKEOCH <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>
Subject: EPISODE 210 “NEW ZEALAND AIR AMBULANCE NEEDED” (ANDREW SKEOCH, HEAD ON COLLISION)
Date: December 27, 2020 at 7:41:44 PM EST


EPISODE 210    ” NEW  ZEALAND AIR AMBULANCE NEEDED”  

alan skeoch
Dec 2020

Dateline:  Dec. 1992
Place:  90 mile beach, Cape Rainga, North Island, New Zealand


“Christ Almighty…there going to hit us head on!”
“KABOOM…”
“JESUS…JESUS…ANYONE DEAD?”



WE loved that car…but it was scrap in the twinkling of an eye.




“Christ Almighty…there going to hit us head on!”
“KABOOM…”
“JESUS…JESUS…ANYONE DEAD?”

Excuse the profanity if you can.  People in crisis often appeal to Jesus whether they
are believers or not.  Two cars smashing together on a New Zealand near empty 
 highway should have  been  deadly.  Head on!  Head light to headlight…engine to
engine.  Glass shattered by heads hitting.  Metal folding like cardboard.  Blood flowing
like water.  Voices screaming for the Almighty.  Jesus!  Jesus! Both cars held young people
who were fit.  Bashed, broken, bleeding … all alive but needing medical treatment
immediately.  This was not a good place for a head  on collision.  Not that
there is ever a good place for that.   Andrew Skeoch and  Keith Merker along
with two girlfriends had  been windsurfing on 90 mile beach on the west coast
of New Zealand’s North Island.  Carefree.  Two Canadian  boys on their chosen
world  tour.  Two New Zealand  girls enjoying the exhilaration of youth.  No one
dead but injuries were grievous.  Four Kiwis in the other car…girl with broken arm.

“Hello, Air Ambulance!  Get a chopper up to tip of 90 mile beach right away.
Car accident.  Head  on for Christ’s sake.”
“How many hurt?”
“They are all hurt but three girls need to get to Auckland fast.”
“And the boys?”
“Send an ambulance…quick. Two Canadian lads.”
“It will take hours to get there and get back to hospital.”
“We are stabilizing the  boys.”
“Who is speaking?”
“Police Officer Clark”
“Police  Officer?’”

“Archie Moore…”
“Are you sure you’re OK?”  Any others hurt?”
“Everyone was hurt.  Joanne has a broken jaw.  






“How did it happen?”
“Looks like one  car was rounding a hairpin on wrong side of the road.”
“Canadians?”
“No, Kiwis…”
“Sounds like it could have been fatal.”
“Bloody true…lucky the cars were big…some  protection.   And the kids are fit.”
“Any danger of delayed shock?”
“Don’t think so…that danger was  over long ago.  They were not 
found  for a couple of hours.  All  are conscious.”
‘We’ll send an investigator…mind if a reporter tags along?
“No…get a move on, goddamnit.”




Marjorie and I did not get a phone call from Andrew  until a couple of  days had
passed.  He  wanted us to know.  Nothing hidden.  Feared over reaction.

 But both he and Keith were hurt
and in the Aukland  hospital.  To phone right away, he  felt, would cause panic back home.
In the meantime the boys had to make a big decision.  They could be flown back to Canada.
Insurance covered that if necessary.  Two days passed by  and  they were mending.  Andy had
his nose nearly severed and  Keith had the steering column rammed into his lower body.  Injuries that
seems bad when their heads went through the windshield.  But two days later seemed OK.

CHRISTMAS DAY 1992

“Hi Mom, how are things back  home.  All ready for Christmas i bet.”
“Oh, Andrew, how nice to hear from you.  How is the world adventure going?””
“Bit of a problem.  We got in a car accident…”
“Nooooo!”
“But we are fine.  Bruised…mending.”
“Any others hurt?”
“Everyone hurt…some worse than others.  Joanne has a broken jaw.  Claire
has a lot of soft tissue injuries.  Both girls and one from the other car flown to
Auckland by air ambulance.  The car is a write off.”

BEFORE THE HEAD ON COLLISION


ON Oct. 7, 1992, both of our sons left home.  To say it was a surprise is an understatement.
Kevin had  taken a job with the American School teaching English in Bratislava, Slovakia.
The Soviet Union had just collapsed and Eastern Europe was in chaos.  Most citizens  of
Slovakia were looking westward to places like Canada and the United States for help. Most.
Not all.  There still remained many supporters of the communist ideal.  We felt Kevin was
stepping into a morass.  As he was.

Andrew, on the other hand, and his friend  Keith Merker had decided to head westward. 
“Where are you going, Andrew?” 
‘ Across Canada, down to Los Angeles  and then
across the Pacific…island hopping to New Zealand.”
‘Money?”
“We have some.  Get jobs  along the way.”
“Sounds a little chancy.”
“if I get in a tight corner, I will call.”
“No car?”
“We will buy wrecks…cars  heading for the scrap heap.”

And they did.  One car they bought in the U.S. had no side
windows so when they dropped  in on Victor Poppa’s place in California he
made them Wooden windows.   On a side venture to Arizona they 
were advised  to get out of the state by a friendly police officer. “Stick around
here with that car and meet a different cop…you will wish you never heard
of Arizona.”
John Steinbeck, were he still alive, would have added a  chapter
in either East of Eden  or the Grapes  of Wrath.

Island hopping across the Pacific…Figi and so many others…turning
to road kill for supper on one occasion.  Never cooked the thing though
the thought seriously about it.  Island hopping.

This was the way they ended up at 90 mile beach on the North Island
of New Zealand.  Let me tell the story from Andrew’s own words.



“We bought the four door Ford for $2,000 which was all the
money we had.   No worries for we felt we could sell it for
that money or more when we were done.  It was a great car for
a surfing holiday.  We met Joanne and Claire and  pooled  our 
resources.   We had the car. They had  the food  money. Nice 
girls who had  won a lottery. Surfed all  day in shark water..
We drove for miles up the beach…as far north as we could go
to Cape Rainga.  Car got stuck trying to clear a sand dune
 so we had take a run at the dune to bust out onto the road.

Then one hour later on a hairpin curve a New Zealander was cutting
the curve  and hit us dead  on.  I flew through the wndow cutting my nostril
in half.  Keith crumpled the steering wheel  with his body and  sliced his kneecap.
Joanne  broke her jaw on the head rest.   Claire had soft tissue injuries to
most of her body.   In the other car a girl in back seat broke her arm.  Boys
in front were protected by the seat belts.  I know..I know..we  should have buckled.

We collided at 6 p.m. but did not get help until two hours later.  No traffic up
Road ends at the ocean…goes nowhere. Eventually some cars came. Wrapped
girls in bedrolls…chills, maybe shock.   Policeman named Archie Clark came and called for an air
ambulance for the girls and ground ambulance for Keith and me.  We did not
reach hospital until midnight.  Next day there was an article about the crash
in the Aukland Herald.

The investigation concluded we were not at fault (which is easy to see in photos).
We then had to decide whether to head back  to Canada or wait out the injuries
and continue.   I waited a few days before calling you.  Afraid to spoil your Christmas.
Then Archie Clark offered to take  us to his farm over Christmas.  He found us
jobs and fed us.  Boar hunting with his sons.  After that we headed for the south island and then over to
Australia.  You sent us some money and we made a little washing storefront 
windows wherever we  went.  All we needed was a couple of  squeegees and
a pail.   

The girls?  We never  saw them again although I keep in touch with
Joanne on Facebook.   Both girls are married with children as are  Keith 
and me.  I wonder  if  there are many police  officers like  Archie Clark.”




FACEBOOK NOTE FROM JOANNE

Hi Andy, 
You havent changed a bit!!!I found my box of travelling stuff in the loft yesterday and thought i would see if i could find anyone! Hard to beleive it was over 18 years ago. It was only last year that i had to have jaw surgery to correct my bite since the crash. Hows your nose?
Do you still see Keith. I see Claire, she lives around the corner from me and our children go to the same school. She is still travelling all over the world as an air hostess for BA. She is married to Andy has Ben whos 10 and Jessica who is 7. 
How is life with you? I see from your photo you are still surfing!!!
Love to hear from you
Love Jo






WHEN MARJORIE AND I TOOK ANDREW  TO NEW ZEALAND…hardly any danger of a speeding collision











Kiwi birds are hard to find.  This one was attracted to the beer bottle between my legs I think.


Campgrounds in New Zealand are wonderful…full kitchens.


That was sometime around  1993.  The years when the Soviet Union was collapsing.  We were able to experience
the collapse first hand when our other son, Kevin, called to ask  us over to Slovakia for a week…which also
turned out to be a grand adventure.

alan skeoch
Dec. 1990


Posted on

EPISODE 209 TRAPPED … WITH THE INCOMING TIDE IN NEW ZEALAND

Note:  Episode 208 will  come a little later.  It is complicated and
needs  a little more research.  while  combing through my pictures
I came across these two photos…reminded me of an adventure i
had almost forgotten.

EPISODE  209    TRAPPED…WITH THE INCOMING TIDE

alan skeoch
Dec.  2020


Some time ago
Andrew, Marjorie and I decided  to explore some hidden  beaches on the
east side of New  Zealand’s North Island… Taranga location.  Not very 
far from the the Maori grave of  my cousin Roy Skeoch whose Maori wife, Anna
and family we came to see.  

Black volcanic rocks with glass like needles rose  sharply above the beautiful beaches.

We did not pay much attention to the fact that those beaches were
getting  smaller and smaller and the surf was at the same time
becoming angry.

Too late.  Our escape route was  closed…no footpath remained… just churning
surf.  Our only escape was  over the volcanic base of Mount Taranga.

We thought it was funny at first.  Then we became aware that there
was no place to hide.  Marjorie got a bit ripped.  In the end Andrew
carried Marjorie over the rocks.  That gave me a chance to get
two fast pictures.   Afterwards we decided to name our kitten Taranga
in memory of this bit of surf and rock and  churning water.





New Zealand is very safe for tourists.  Great long beaches on both sides of
the islands.  Accessible.  The only danger, apparently, is from a tiny toxic
spider that lives under the rocks.

Well, not the only danger.

Shortly after we returned to North America with Andrew he decided to go back
to New Zealand with his friend Keith Merker.   Both of them kids who would turn
into young men while exploring the world  around them.  The danger?  The greatest
danger they faed in New Zealand came from fellow human beings.   

And at the same time the greatest rescue they experienced  also  came from
a human being…a New Zealand police officer.

I will try to put that story together.  I have the pictures.   

The pictures of this wild surf reminded me of those days and the adventures
we shared.   Our other son, Kevin, could  not go with us as he was a student
at the University of Toronto at the time.  He would have his own adventures  on
the other side of the world that might interest you.  Again…I have the pictures.

alan skeoch
Dec. 2020




Posted on

EPISODE 207 WOODEN FIRE ENGINE…ATTRACTS CHILDREN



EPISODE 207     WOODEN FIRE TRUCK…ATTRACTS KIDS

alan skeoch
Dec. 2020



“What are  you doing in the garage, Alan?”
“Building a fire engine.”
“Fire engine?”
“Got the parts at a farm sale…parts  that looked to me  like a fire engine.”

Took me a couple of weeks to get this fire engine assembled and painted.
The very day we  Wheeled it out to the front lawn a  huge load of  kids 
arrived.   Came like bees smelling nectar.   I counted11 of them..may have 
been more.


But where is Andrew?  Lots of kids…10 of them, but where is Andrew?


“Here I am Daddy.”

Posted on

EPISODE 206 LOBSTER TRAP RESCUE IN STRAIT OF BELLE ISLE, NEWFOOUNDLAND

EPISODE 206  THE LOBSTER TRAP RESCUE  IN THE STRAIT OF  BELLE ISLE, NEWFOUNDLAND

alan skeoch
Dec. 24, 2020

GIFT TO ANDREW AND  KEVIN FROM DAD AND MOM (CHRISTMAS 2020)

When you were little boys.  Before you became teen agers and would
find  your parents less  dominant in your lives.  Before those teen  age
years  which we thought might be  difficult.  (Which turned out to be  untrue.)

Marjorie and I decided that the best gift we could  give you would be Canada.
So we planned to give you Canada.  We  bought a used  pop up tent trailer made
of chip board and canvas.  Camping seemed the best way to give you Canada.
We wanted you to touch the earth.  We wanted  you to realize how lucky you’re
to live in the second largest country on earth.

That means at least two grand  trips.  First to the east to dip your feet in the Atlantic Ocean
and then to the west to put bigger feet in the Pacific  Ocean.   The trips could have been
miserable failures with us  pulling you across Canada like a pair of stubborn mules.

So, for the first trip, we bought a  pair of handcuffs.   You were both going with us
whether you liked  it or not.   The dogs too…Sonny and Daisy…both Labradors. And a lot of other stuff
like  four bicycles, a Coleman stove, pile of groceries and a first aid kit.

OUR TRIP TO NEWFOUNDLAND….2 KIDS, 2 DOGS,  4 BIKES, 1 TRAILER, 1 TRUCK, MARJORIE AND ME.






The trip East was terrific.  Most of the trip you remember because you talk about it but this fragment you may have forgotten.
We crossed  to Newfoundland on a big car ferry..overnight…sleeping with other Newfoundlanders on the floor as it lifted
and  fell.  Then we drove west to Gros MorNe Park where another ferry took us over  a short patch of water.  Remember the fish and
chip store?  Real Newfoundland fried fish.   Complete with a long white worm in my chunk which amused you both.


Then we drove  up the coast alongside the Strait of Bell Isle heading towards St. Anthony and the wonder of the Viking
settlement at L’Ans aux Meadows.  Eric  the Red had landed and lived here 400 years before Columbus.

We  camped part way up the road.   Alone on the Newfoundland shore.



“You boys own this country…did  you know that?”


This story is about that camp.   By then the four bicycles strapped on the front of the truck were becoming a hazard so
we gave two of them to a Newfoundlander we met.  He was overjoyed.   Told us about the water.  “Whales out there…lots  of
them.  And lobsters by the truckload.  And codfish.  A good land, mind you.”   We had camped earlier on the west 
side of Newfoundland and seen thousands of tiny fish flip flopping and eventually dying on the rocky beaches.
Newfoundlanders gathered buckets of them  and hung them  on clotheslines with pegs.  “Good eating…that’s why
the whales are after them.  They try to escape and end up on the beach.  Millions of them survive but millions
also die.  Good eating.”

“Any capelins here on the Strait of  Belle  Isle>”
“Nope but lots of other creatures.”
“How do you  make a living?”
“Lobsters…trap them in season…sell them  to the three piece suit 
people  back in Toronto.”






Here,  a bushel  or two of live capelin have attracted  DAISY AND SONNY … dogs that became a fisherman.




This was a nice camping spot so we stayed  for two days or longer.

That was  when we discovered the lobster traps…dozens of them washed up on the rocky shore.


Some smashed all to hell


Others that were perfect.  





“Let’s see how many lobster traps we can collect, boys…stack  them up neatly.”
“Can we fill the truck with them, Dad?”
“Sure…pile them on the roof…three or four high…see
how they hold when we rev the truck up to 70 miles per hour.”
“What can we do with them?”




“Alan, there’s a fishing village up the shore a bit.  I bet these
are their traps.  Maybe we can carry them back to them.”

“And so began our Lobster Trap Rescue Episode.”










“These must be your lobster traps?”
“Reckon they could be.”
“We have gathered up a pile of them way up he shore…done this for you…
we even carried some  to your village.”
“Wish you had not done that boys.”
“Why not?”
“Because we get a  government grant to cover
lost lobster traps.  The more you boys bring
back here,  the less we get.  Understand?”

Kevin and Andrew did not understand.

The  Newfoundlanders had a better idea.

“How  would you boys like to meet a whale?”
“Meet a whale?”
“Sure…we can motor out a ways and meet a whale for  sure..
maybe more than one.   Ask your mom and  dad.”


And so we went whale searching…using a little motor boat…outboard motor.  Just enough
room for the four of us  and the Newfoundland crew of one.   Low in the gunwales.



I did not expect we would meet a whale.  But I was wrong.  We met two or
three.  Animals  far bigger than our little boat.  Animals that seemed to
know where we were.



“Remember what you did when  one whale  swam up and under our boat, Andrew?”
“What?”
“You dived down on the floor of the boat and would not look.”
“I Felt like joining you”


“Dad,  do we really own this country…this Canada?”
“We do…we really do.”
“Makes me feel  good, dad.”


/


alan skeoch
Dec. 2020
Posted on

EPISODE 205 MANURE SPREADER AND SOME SKEOCH BOYS

EPISODE  205     MANURE SPREADER AND SOME SKEOCH BOYS


alan skeoch
Dec.  2020

EARTHY is the best word I can you to describe those visits to the Skeoch farm on
the southwest corner of Fergus.  Earthy for sure.  “Would you fancy a beer, Alan?”
And Uncle Norman would lead the way to the barn stable where he kept a case
of Molson’s Golden tucked  under the hay of the first manger.  Why there?

Because Norman’s sisters had ‘taken the pledge’ so to speak.   Temperance
people.   Nice people…warm, hearty, educated, informed, leaders.  All of  this
including  the deep belief that beer and  other alcohols were a blight on the
country.   

That was a good thing.  Kept visitors out in the barn where stories always
seemed richer than  around the kitchen table.


Left to Right:   The  Skeoch Manure spreader, long retired but still admired,  then  Uncle Norman Skeoch (my Dad’s youngest brother),
the Jake Raison (first husband of cousin Jean Skeoch…Jake played box Lacrosse), Bruce Skeoch, Hubert Jim Skeoch (brothers from
the Skeoch farm on the North east side of Fergus), and finally Long John Skeoch … possible  to play dominoes  on his pants.

HOTTER THAN A PEPPER SPROUT

Jake and cousin Jean got married in Mimico.  One of the best weddings I ever attended.  All the Skeoch men were there in the back rows
of the church while the Skeoch women were attentively listening to the minister at the front.   My brother, Eric, sat  beside me for
a  while then he just disappeared.  Uncle Archie or Uncle Norman had reached under the pew, grabbed him by the ankle and
hauled  him in a game of  ‘pass the kid’  to other uncles and hangers on until Eric  got close to the women when he was released.

What a wedding.  Uncle Art and Aunt Mary and the Rawsons had rented a hall not far from the church.  It had a  kitchen 
walled  off from the main hall using thick paper board.  I know it was paper  board because Uncle Ernest (who  was really a cousin)
came smashing through the wall … pushed  hard by Dad (Arnold  Skeoch)  as they argued  about politics, or sports, or anything
worth arguing about.  In my mind I still see  his body as a kind of ‘cut out in paper board’ which made  a new door to the kitchen.

Aunt Elizabeth, Aunt Greta,  Aunt Lena and  mom  acted  like mother ducks protecting ducklings.  They were determined that
the children  should  not enter the kitchen while the discussion was happening.  Someone had got beer into the hall.

Uncle Ernest’s wife, Aunt Ayleen, had the warmest laugh  of anyone I had ever met.  She was an Arawak
from the Caribbean…loved us…she was a  hugger.   I don’t know how she
reacted when her husband smashed through the wall.  I do remember, however, that Ernest and Ayleen drove
mom, dad and us home that night.  Laughing. No hard  feelings.  No.  I do  not know who paid  for the wall.

What a  great wedding…”Hotter than a pepper sprout” but eventually ‘the fire went out.”

See Hubert Skeoch next to long John.  he was in the air force in  World War II.  Somehow he
got his teeth knocked out and they were replaced with some kind of plate.  He would swirl 
the plate around  in his mouth for the Amusement of Eric  and me when he lived with
us at 18 Sylvan  Avenue.  He hated the name Hubert…wanted us to call him Jim…which
we never did.

Long  John Skeoch and I  got the unpleasant job of being the executors of the Norman  Skeoch estate.  
We presided over the selling of the Skeoch farm and  all the equipment.  Norman  left the farm to all
his brothers and sisters  which was the death knell of the farm.  Had to be sold.  Sad  ending.  Wish I had the sense
to buy that manure spreader.  

Bruce Skeoch  was the historian of the bunch.  Father to Lloyd and Vernon.  He Kept the records as best he could.   The Skeoch women kept
a lot of the records as well.  When i showed an interest Aunt Elizabeth loaned  me the letters sent back
and forth to Scotland  in the 1840’s .  I laboured  long and hard transcribing them.  Maybe I got a little to 
close to the truth behind the Skeoch  migration.  Aunt Elizabeth got them them back.

alan skeoch
Dec. 2020
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EPISODE 204 TTC AUCTION OF LOST ARTICLES and RED SKEOCH


EPISODE 204    TTC LOST ARTICLES  AUCTION SALE

alan skeoch
Dec. 2020

Dad did  not buy presents.  Well, not quite true, one year he bought Eric  and me
a Red Rider BB gun and a long-playing portable record player.  We got them 
unwrapped and later discovered he was  able to persuade some store to sell
them if he put a dollar downpayment.  The rest of the costs was up to us…actually
up to mom as usual.  

That probably sounds terrible to readers who had a more normal family if such
ever really existed.   We took it in our stride.  You already know that the BB gun
only existed  for 1 day and  was then smashed against the Manitoba  Maple tree
in our backyard to the relief of us  all.  We sat the records player on the cedar
chest in the only bedroom in our house.  We had a nice stack  of old 78 rpm records
to feed the machine.  These also only lasted  a short time.  Eric sat on them…smashed
them all to hell.  Or maybe I sat on them.  Forget who but remember the shards
of broken records.

No one ever bought mom a  Christmas  present.  Never occurred to us.  She wrapped
presents  for us though which  was expected.  One year she got upset at this
one way  gift giving. “Does  no one ever buy a gift for me?”  That made Eric and
I suddenly think about reciprocal  giving and  we tore up to the furniture store
and bought her an electric table lamp with a base full of curves.  She was touched.
Put the lamp on the little  table beside her bed couch in the living room.  Rather garish
but she treasured it.  We felt justified in taking her gifts after that.  I think it cost
Eric  and I about $7….all our spare cash from the Toronto Star paper route which
paid us  half a cent per 3 cent paper.


No one really felt bad about this one way gift giving.  Even mom was  not disturbed except that one time.  Our big Christmas presents
for a couple of years was  the TTC lost goods auction sale at a run down store on Queen Street West.  All year long
the TTC  conductors  turned in lost articles to the transport officials.  Piles of them.  Then, sometime around
mid  December, the unclaimed  articles were dumped into huge cardboard boxes and auctioned off to whoever
attended the auction.  

Dad, Eric and  I were enthusiastic bidders.  Limited funds though.  But eventually we were able to get a big box
of things nobody wanted.   We kept the box closed until Christmas Eve or near that day.   Then dad  sat on the
couch that mom slept on…adjusted  his glasses…and opened  the box.  The box was so big that it would fit
a kitchen sink.  This was no tiny box holding a pair of socks.   This  was an immense box  of lost articles.
A Treasure trove.

What do you suppose people forget on the streetcar?   Take a guess.  You are right.  There were usually a
few umbrellas…some working, others bent so badly they would  not unfurl.  The umbrellas were the first
thing pulled from the box.   Dad looked up…amused with each treasure.  Then there were gloves…lots
of gloves.  Most of them female.  Some in pairs…others singles. “These are for you Methusalum.” And mom
began to collect a pile of gloves.   Next were the scarves.  Again most of them were women’s apparel but
a few were suitable for Dad.  He wrapped them around his  neck.

In this  picture, however, Dad  had reached the near bottom of the box and he pulled  out a pair of
pants.   How could anyone lose their pants in the street car?  “Someone got off the street with his
bare ass to the wind,” said Dad  with his amused expression.  Deadpan expression. Not laughing out loud but an  expression
that made the rest of us howl.

There were other things…empty purses,  wallets,  hats…but that pair of pants took the cake that
one year.

A lot of  Christmases  have gone by now.  Lots of  presents have been exchanged.  Sometimes
the pile of presents make the Christmas tree seem  small.   Some great presents.

But to my mind this Christmas  of  the year 2020 could never compare with the Christmas
of 1953 or 1954 when Dad, Eric and I hauled that huge five or ten dollar box of umbrellas
and mismatched socks home to 455 Annette Street on the TTC streetcar and trolley bus.

Mom got most of the stuff…gloves, scarves, purses.   But dad got the pants which he never 
wore but held  up for us to see.   We could imagine some poor sucker getting  off the
streetcar with his “bare ass to the wind” as dad said in his usual colourful language.

alan skeoch
Dec. 24, 2020

Posted on

EPISODE 203 ELSIE AND RED SKEOCH ,,, SO VERY HUMAN

EPISODE 203     ELSIE AND RED  SKEOCH…PARENTS

alan skeoch
DEc. 2020

If you are easily offended stop reading now…wait for another episode…avoid this episode


“NOW,  Kevin, let me tell you how to smoke a good cigar.
First you nibble the round end…bite off a small chunk and spit it out…anywhere.
Next  you remove the label…White Owl  Invincible…expensive cigars.
Next  you lick the cigar like  it is a popsicle…get the taste of the cigar leaves…moisten  the cigar.
Next  you get a good wood match, strike it on your Jeans and  put the flame to the open end.
Next  you take a puff..couple of  puffs…not so much that you choke.
Next  you breathe out the cigar smoke before it gets too deep in your lungs.
Next  you now know how to smoke a fine cigar.”
A fine  cigar is a showpiece.”

(*Avoid getting judgmental.  Both boys do not smoke  ,..except for a cigar in memory of  Dad on rare occasions…very rare)
And neither do they  drink very much.  Now men with their own families.)



“Grandpa,  why does grandma insist  you smoke in the back yard or up at the corner of the street?”
“I do not rightly know Kevin.   Women…your Grandmother in particular..are very hard to understand.”
“AND why does grandma put your Limberger Cheese in the clothespin bag and reel it to the back pole?”
“As I said before, women  are hard to understand…as you will discover in due time.”

“And why do you call Grandma  “Methusalum” ?
“Now that I can answer.  Methusalah was the oldest person in the Bible.  And “Methooz” is older than me.  I like to remind
her of that.  Why do you say Methusalum rather than Mefhusalah? “
“Sound better…has a nice  ring to it.  I have improved the Bible.”  The short
 form is even better….”Methooz”
“Does she  like that name?”
“She has never objected.   You want to know something interesting Kevin?”
“Yes.”
“Your Dad and your uncle…Alan and Eric…did not know her real name was Elsie  for the longest time.”





Life can be very strange.  We thought everyone had a mother snd father
similar to ours when we  were small.  The older we  got the more we
realized the Skeoch – Freeman  sets of grandparents were very different.
Both sets marvellous.

But the one thing we never appreciated was the way Mom held everything
together.  We took her for granted.  Being taken for granted is a rather backhanded
compliment.  She  seemed to like it that way.  No hugging  and  kissing.   Just the
warm  feeling that no matter what went wrong in our lives our home was
the safest, most forgiving, place.   

Mom, as I have mentioned, was a seamstress.   She could make  a sewing machine
do wondrous things. Her income came  from the sweatshops of Toronto.  For Eaton’s
she  made dresses as advertised in the Eaton’s catalogue and was  told “make the  front
look nice…do not worry about the back.”  

So mom worked with other women.  Lots of them.  Eric and I felt we had dozens of mothers
because mom made sure we met all her friends who seemed to love  us…like Joyce Bannon
and Annie Smith in the picture with Mom and  Dad.  Her friends all gave  us boxes of chocolates
each Christmas.   So we  lived in a circle of women.  Not men.   Dad was the only man.
Which leads me to one  of the most endearing stories about him.  I may have told this
story before but it is worth hearing again and  again.

Mom and dad lived in a rooming  house at the time…house full of women machine operators.  Dad was
the only man.  Which he did not particularly like.  “Too many goddamn women.”   Goddamn
was one  of  his favourite words as was ‘son of a bitch’ and ‘bastard”.   Manly, right?

Well  dad arrived home one night and found Joyce in the apartment with mom…I was
a baby in the crib.   Dad did not like this.  He had to do something to assert his
manly nature.  Ahah!   The radio…a big floor model.  Dad went over to the radio
and said loudly.  “Look at this Mathooz, I can write my name in the dust.”

Then Joyce piped up with one of the best Zingers I have every heard.  “Oh, Red,
isn’t it wonderful to have an education?”   

We have told that story over and over in our family.  So many times that 
even Dad gets a grin on his face.

A weird thing happened a few years ago when  I was asked to be the
guest speaker at the University of Toronto Women’s club.  I thought the women
would enjoy stories about Dad.  I was wrong.  There was a dead silence
most of the time.  A silence that got deeper and deeper with each
story.  At the end, my high school French teacher whispered to me.
“You poor boy!”

She missed the point completely.  Mom and dad were terrific people who
kept Eric and i feeling lucky to have such interesting  parents.

Here is the opening of that speech.

“Ladies, my father, Red Skeoch, loved nicknames.  He  never called us Alan
or Eric.  Most often  he referred to us this way.  “I have two sons, one is
a gutsy bugger and the other is as stupid Joe’s dog.”   This was flattery.
Dad spoke in opposites a lot of the time.  He called me a ‘goddamn fool’
most of the time which meant he like me.  I knew that.  Was I the gutsy
bugger or the son that was stupid as Joe’s dog?   My brother when
he became a teen ager called Dad up on that term.

“Dad, that expression ‘stupid as Joe’s dog’ makes no sense.  Just how
stupid was Joe’s dog?”

Dad got a gun on his face that was a mile wide. He  had been waiting years
for that question.

“Eric,  Joe’s dog was so stupid  he jumped over nine bitches to screw his own shadow.”

That was the introduction to my speech.  No one laughed.   And I still had 40 or 60
minutes to speak.  So I kept the stories flowing.  And the silenced deepened.
Hence the term “You poor boy”.  

Marjorie commented that it was unlikely  I would be asked back to speak again.
And I have not.

Some of you have heard these stories before.  They are worth repeating.
Mom and dad were so goddamn human.  Makes me cry.

So many more stories.  Outlandish  But, oh, so human.



I only ever brought one of my girlfriends home.  That was Marjorie.  She and dad got along perfectly.  His
extremes of behaviour were accepted.  Once he knew that there was nothing Marjorie  could do wrong.
She had  to give up trying to breast feed our boys because dad showed up at our house every day… it seemed.
I think Dad  liked  Marjorie more than he liked the horses where he blew all his money.  And when
Marjorie showed an interest in the racetracks  of southern Ontario, dad thought she was a perfect
person.   

alan skeoch
Dec 2020

P.S/  “Should I send this or not, Marjorie?”
“The only part I do not like is that definition of Joe’s dog…crude”
“Dad would never have said that in your presence.”
“I guess Joe’s dog cannot be avoided…certainly removes
you from the Speakers Club.”
“I am not sure about that…look at what Trump has said.”