EPISODE 104 “WE DO NOT NEED YOU ANYMORE.”

EPISODE  104    WE DO NOT NEED YOU ANYMORE


alan skeoch
August 2020

John Myers, a friend, has asked me  several times to
tell him about my radio career …  with CBC radio.  I have not 
answered because the  story is long with many twists  and
turns.  You may  not want the full story because there is no
high drama.  Maybe  I can tell the story in point form best.
short form.

1) At the Thompson auction sale near Kitchener, Ontario around 1980, I bid
and  bought four threshing machines.  Beautiful things as big as
five ton trucks.  Historic machines  doomed  to be burned by
scrap dealers seeking  cast iron.  How could I explain this purchase
to Marjorie?  She is  long suffering and  never crushes  my enthusiasm.
 What could I do with 4 huge dinosaurs  of  the
harvest fields. ? 


MY radio career began with this threshing machine …. believe it or not.

I bought quite a few of them at auction sales…Was I insane?   No,  I managed
to turn them into an 300 page M.A. thesis  at U. of T.  Three departments…history, engineering 
and fine arts.  Loved it.  The engineering department shared my enthusiasm the most.
Where did I keep them?  Gave the best to museums.  Others are still in the barn.

2) The biggest was made in New Hamberg, Ontario about 1890.
It was in great shape.   Wooden construction, wood  wheels, lavish
folk art painting  done by professional stripers.  And  alligator for
instance was added to accent the sharp teeth of the thresher when
it tore grain sheaves to bits.

3)  I donated the machine to Riverdale Farm,  a  kind of 
salue to Ontario farm history located  in the heart of the
City of Toronto.  To get the machine to its new barn I
hired Gordon Hume and his flat bed  truck.  It was quits a sight
rolling up Parliament Street.  Heart of the largest city in Canada.
A  nostalgic farm! A  few years later Riverdale Farm
gave it back to me.  Imagine that. The nerve!  So I regave the machine to
Doon Pioneer village where it remains.

4) As chance  would have it a  CBC radio producer was having
a coffee break as  the thresher came by. Parliament Street studio.
 Or Perhaps  it was  noticed
by the host of Radio Noon, then David Shatsky.  Someone followed
the truck to the farm museum and asked “What is it?” “Who donated it?”
So my name reached decision makers at CBC/

5) “Would you drop by for an interview?”   I did and that interview
went so well that I was asked  to be a regular radio journalist with
a 5 to 10 minjute  slot each  Friday on Radio Noon.

6) I must have done  about 100 shows.  My 5 minute special reached
beyond Toronto.  Some covered Ontario.   Some were national. One 
even reached an  Inuit village in the Northwest Territories.   He was being
hounded by the local priest.  Scared.  Not much  I could do.
I know the phone call makes not sense but it was memorable.

CBC paid
me eventually.  Around  $100 a show.  Not big.  The cost of parking
took a big slice of the money.  Then the research and Union  dues took some as well.  I did
not care.  It was a joy to do the programs.  I learned a lot about 
communications.

7)  On my third or fourth show, my produce, Doug Coupar spoke to me
privately “Alan, your shows are terrific….”
When someone says that to you be prepared for the follow up word which
is ‘BUT’.    To repeat   “Alan, our shows are terrific BUT you must remember
that the  radio audience attention span is  one minute at the most.  Get your
big idea into that first few seconds  or you will have lost them.”  What
grest advice.    Cut the bull shit…get to the point right away.  That advice
changed  my whole approach to teaching.  For the better.  I began each
lesson with a big question.  Often  a questions to which I did  not know the answer.
Kids really got involved.  They often took over the discussion.
(i.e. Why did  John A. Macdonald allow  Louis Riel to be executed?  Why?)

8)  So I would race down to CBC on my lunch hours every Friday
to trigger ideas in a public forum.  My personal ego trip some  must 
have thought.  I loved it. Then race back to class.   On one of these trips I  was
startled as I opened the truck door. A tall thin man in running shoes had
jumped  on the back  bumper and then blocked my exit.  “I am going to
fucking kill you,” he said. Made no sense.  I had not hit him.  What should
I do.  I looked at my watch hand and said, “Sorry, I don’t have time for that
…I am late for class.”  to which the deranged mind  said “OK!” and  wandered
off.  Lakeshore Psychiatric  Hospital  had recently been closed.  I do  not
have a watch.

9) My tenure at CBC radio was quite long…maybe 3years or longer.
That is an eternity for a radio host and also for radio journalists.
One of the CBC personalities took me  aside  early in my career.
He gave  me some great advice as well. “Alan, remember this…we
all have a shelf life.”  WE ALL HAVE A SHELF LIFE.  Just like hamburger
and  cheese.  Being an on air personality was not a lifetime job.  At some
point a CBC exec that I would never meet would decide to change the
format. Get rid of that Skeoch guy…we need a new direction.”

10)  DAISY

One of my best stories dealt with our grest dog Daisy.
She died and I grieved her on the radio. One man phoned to say.
“I had to put over on 401.  I was crying.”  The studio was  empty
as I spoke because all involved got emotional.  As  did  I.

10)  So one New Years Day, I phoned the CBC to outline my special
program for the new  year.  I had a new  producer by then.
He was a hatchet man  The conversation was short.
“Just to let you know my plan for next week. I think…”
The hatchet man cut in fast.
“We do not need you any more.”

That was it.  The kiss off.  The guillotine blade was falling.  My shelf life
with CBC radio was over.  “Sorry, we  do not need you any more.”

alan skeoch
August 2020

P>S>  Not quite over. I did  occasional programs  when they needed
someone to cover a dead air space.  My second last program was such a shock
to CBC decision  makers that they never let it go on air.  So when
I tell you that story it will be fresh.  First time ever.  Next episode.

EPISODE 104 “WE DO NOT NEED YOU ANYMORE.”

EPISODE  104    WE DO NOT NEED YOU ANYMORE


alan skeoch
August 2020

John Myers, a friend, has asked me  several times to
tell him about my radio career …  with CBC radio.  I have not 
answered because the  story is long with many twists  and
turns.  You may  not want the full story because there is no
high drama.  Maybe  I can tell the story in point form best.
short form.

1) At the Thompson auction sale near Kitchener, Ontario around 1980, I bid
and  bought four threshing machines.  Beautiful things as big as
five ton trucks.  Historic machines  doomed  to be burned by
scrap dealers seeking  cast iron.  How could I explain this purchase
to Marjorie?  She is  long suffering and  never crushes  my enthusiasm.
 What could I do with 4 huge dinosaurs  of  the
harvest fields. ? 


MY radio career began with this threshing machine …. believe it or not.

I bought quite a few of them at auction sales…Was I insane?   No,  I managed
to turn them into an 300 page M.A. thesis  at U. of T.  Three departments…history, engineering 
and fine arts.  Loved it.  The engineering department shared my enthusiasm the most.
Where did I keep them?  Gave the best to museums.  Others are still in the barn.

2) The biggest was made in New Hamberg, Ontario about 1890.
It was in great shape.   Wooden construction, wood  wheels, lavish
folk art painting  done by professional stripers.  And  alligator for
instance was added to accent the sharp teeth of the thresher when
it tore grain sheaves to bits.

3)  I donated the machine to Riverdale Farm,  a  kind of 
salue to Ontario farm history located  in the heart of the
City of Toronto.  To get the machine to its new barn I
hired Gordon Hume and his flat bed  truck.  It was quits a sight
rolling up Parliament Street.  Heart of the largest city in Canada.
A  nostalgic farm! A  few years later Riverdale Farm
gave it back to me.  Imagine that. The nerve!  So I regave the machine to
Doon Pioneer village where it remains.

4) As chance  would have it a  CBC radio producer was having
a coffee break as  the thresher came by. Parliament Street studio.
 Or Perhaps  it was  noticed
by the host of Radio Noon, then David Shatsky.  Someone followed
the truck to the farm museum and asked “What is it?” “Who donated it?”
So my name reached decision makers at CBC/

5) “Would you drop by for an interview?”   I did and that interview
went so well that I was asked  to be a regular radio journalist with
a 5 to 10 minjute  slot each  Friday on Radio Noon.

6) I must have done  about 100 shows.  My 5 minute special reached
beyond Toronto.  Some covered Ontario.   Some were national. One 
even reached an  Inuit village in the Northwest Territories.   He was being
hounded by the local priest.  Scared.  Not much  I could do.
I know the phone call makes not sense but it was memorable.

CBC paid
me eventually.  Around  $100 a show.  Not big.  The cost of parking
took a big slice of the money.  Then the research and Union  dues took some as well.  I did
not care.  It was a joy to do the programs.  I learned a lot about 
communications.

7)  On my third or fourth show, my produce, Doug Coupar spoke to me
privately “Alan, your shows are terrific….”
When someone says that to you be prepared for the follow up word which
is ‘BUT’.    To repeat   “Alan, our shows are terrific BUT you must remember
that the  radio audience attention span is  one minute at the most.  Get your
big idea into that first few seconds  or you will have lost them.”  What
grest advice.    Cut the bull shit…get to the point right away.  That advice
changed  my whole approach to teaching.  For the better.  I began each
lesson with a big question.  Often  a questions to which I did  not know the answer.
Kids really got involved.  They often took over the discussion.
(i.e. Why did  John A. Macdonald allow  Louis Riel to be executed?  Why?)

8)  So I would race down to CBC on my lunch hours every Friday
to trigger ideas in a public forum.  My personal ego trip some  must 
have thought.  I loved it. Then race back to class.   On one of these trips I  was
startled as I opened the truck door. A tall thin man in running shoes had
jumped  on the back  bumper and then blocked my exit.  “I am going to
fucking kill you,” he said. Made no sense.  I had not hit him.  What should
I do.  I looked at my watch hand and said, “Sorry, I don’t have time for that
…I am late for class.”  to which the deranged mind  said “OK!” and  wandered
off.  Lakeshore Psychiatric  Hospital  had recently been closed.  I do  not
have a watch.

9) My tenure at CBC radio was quite long…maybe 3years or longer.
That is an eternity for a radio host and also for radio journalists.
One of the CBC personalities took me  aside  early in my career.
He gave  me some great advice as well. “Alan, remember this…we
all have a shelf life.”  WE ALL HAVE A SHELF LIFE.  Just like hamburger
and  cheese.  Being an on air personality was not a lifetime job.  At some
point a CBC exec that I would never meet would decide to change the
format. Get rid of that Skeoch guy…we need a new direction.”

10)  DAISY

One of my best stories dealt with our grest dog Daisy.
She died and I grieved her on the radio. One man phoned to say.
“I had to put over on 401.  I was crying.”  The studio was  empty
as I spoke because all involved got emotional.  As  did  I.

10)  So one New Years Day, I phoned the CBC to outline my special
program for the new  year.  I had a new  producer by then.
He was a hatchet man  The conversation was short.
“Just to let you know my plan for next week. I think…”
The hatchet man cut in fast.
“We do not need you any more.”

That was it.  The kiss off.  The guillotine blade was falling.  My shelf life
with CBC radio was over.  “Sorry, we  do not need you any more.”

alan skeoch
August 2020

P>S>  Not quite over. I did  occasional programs  when they needed
someone to cover a dead air space.  My second last program was such a shock
to CBC decision  makers that they never let it go on air.  So when
I tell you that story it will be fresh.  First time ever.  Next episode.

EPISODE 103 MUSKRATS….PEST OR CREATORS OF OUR WORLD

EPISODE  103    MUSKRATS…PESTS OR CREATORS  OF OUR WORLD


alan skeoch
August 2020






IN THE BEGINNING THERE WAS  ONLY WATER…THE GODS LIVED ON TOP OF THE CLOUDS





THERE were four to them cavorting in the swamp.  Young  kits.   Muskrat kits  that
I had no idea were living and thriving in a hidden swamp  on our farm.  Only  made
visible because I have been clearing  brush to get a better view  of the glorious
little swamp.   Once they spotted me they arched their backs and dove down.  
Muskrats can stay submerged for as long as17 minutes…longer than my patience
it seems.  I waited and  waited.  Were they some kind of  mirage?   Not so, their
home is likely under the submerged roots of some cedars and the four ran  home
to their mommy.

I was elated.  Our swamps, of  which we have four, seemed sort of  empty of late since
the frog population has  been  immensely reduced and  even the leeches (bloodsuckers is
a better word) have disappeared.   A  pair of Canada geese raise a  brood each year
but once the little ones are big enough, they disappear somewhere.

So  it was nice know the Muskrats have been thriving all the time.  But unseen.


THE SWAMP…UNSEEN  FOR 20 YEARS…NOW VISIBLE…AND ALIVE.


I  am partial to muskrats but the internet sure is  not.  The word ‘pest’ is used
a lot.  Why?  Well they can punch holes  in dams but more serious is the presence
of rabies and  other diseases.  Scary.  But the  presence of rabies  is  not
exclusive to muskrats.  So do  not get your underwear in  a twist.  The internet
goes  on to suggest poisons and  traps  to kill or capture the Muskrats. 

Largely herbivorous, Muskrats like our human gardens.  They are nocturnal raiders
whose presence can  be deduced by the tracks … four small feet about size of
a cat and a long streak of the Muskrat tail in between.   That may account for the 
anger some of us have towards muskrats.

SOMETIMES we forget Woody…he waits knowing we will remember him


Personally I think  these little beavers (related) are rather smart.  One late afternoon
a few years ago we were driving home and had to turn around  to go  back to
the farm.  Maybe  we forgot the dog, Woody.  That happens occasionally.  When
we drove in the farm lane, there was an adult muskrat on the pathway.  He or she
must have waited  all day for us to leave in order to get from one swamp to another…particularly
to the hidden swamp.

(I prefer the  term pond because it sounds  so  attractive.   But, that word,  implies  a wetland
that has been changed into a place for goldfish.   The word swamp  is  better…allows  for
wild things that are not controlled by human hands.)

The muskrat stopped,  looked at us, and then turned around and disappeared into the
mass of goldenrod that clothes  much of our open  swampland in summer.




Why  love a  muskrat?

A few years ago I wrote a  book on our indigenous people.  It was written with good  intentions
…to highlight their depth of culture and the wrongs that have been committed.  The book was
a failure.  Publisher went bankrupt the day  the book  came out.  And, worse, I was accused
of appropriating indigenous voice.   True.  I had not considered there was a danger in my main
protagonist using first person voice.  Writing exposes a writer to  criticism.  Painful always.

Which gets me back to the muskrat.

In  Mohawk legendary tradition the origin of our world is explored in a charming manner.
Elements of this legend are also found in other First Nations explanations of how
humans first appeared  on earth.   The Christian Adam and  Eve explanation is most
common to Canadians.  Would that the Mohawk explanation was equally familiar.

The legend comes down through the generations in spoken form. Thus  there
are changes since storytellers  often like to make the story ‘better’.

Yes, the muskrat will be featured.  Don’t get so anxious.

This is my interpretation of the Mohawk legend of creation.  The basic elements conform
to the tradition.   We are not dealing with something absolute.  Not Holy Writ you might say.

“In the beginning, the planet was  covered in water.  There was no land…no earth. All
water.  Above the earth was an envelope of clouds where the gods lived.  One day
there was an opening in  these clouds and a  woman we call  Earth Mother peeked
through the hole.  In order to get a better view,  she leaned  over too far and fell
through the hole.  She was  tumbling head  over heals through the sky.   A loon noticed
her and flew under her thereby cradling Earth Mother.  But the loon could  not hold her
forever.  The loon called out to the creatures below, particularly to the big snapping
turtle. “Can I let Earth Mother land on your back?”  The snapping turtle agreed and
before long Earth Mother found herself  standing on the top of the great snapping turtle.
Even though the turtle was  large it was not large enough to hold Earth Mother forever
so the big snapper called all the water creatures together saying “we need some mud
from the bottom below us.  If  we can get mud we can build a  home for earth mother
on my back.  

“So all the creatures  tried to get some mud…some earth.  The beaver dove down
as deep as it could but never reached the bottom.  Died trying.  So the otter then
tried but also died trying.  All  the water creatures tried and failed.  Then the big
snapping turtle turned  to the little muskrat who had been ignored because it was
so  small  and insignificant.  “Will you try?”  The muskrat agreed and dove down
deep deep down.  It was down a long time.  Had  it drowned  like the others?

“Then the little muskrat come to the surface.  Was ti dead or alive?  We do  not
know but there clutched in a little paw was  a  handful of mud  from deep below
the water.  When that handfull of mud was  spread on the great snapping turtles’
back it suddenly began to expand  and expand…got larger and larger until the land
we know of as our earth was  created.

“All this happened because of the lowly little muskrat had an ability to live underwater’
for a long time.  Without the muskrat none of us would be here.”

NOTE:  Legends  of human origin are common to most cultures.  But the First Nation
legends, particularly this one have some striking features.  The snapping turtle’s
back, for instance,  fits the modern scientific of plate tectonics.  The crust of the
earth is broken into huge plates that float snd clash. Below is a sea  of molten magma.
To me, the Mohawk creation legend has  another feature.  All the  creatures of
the world  helped Earth Mother survive.  Among the Mohawk the great Snapping
Turtle is given much  credit…but most credit goes to the tiny Muskrat. There
is a recognition that all the creatures have value.

There are other features to this legend which I will not explore because my
story is  about the muskrat but it is worth mentioning that Earth Mother was
pregnant when she fell.  She  bore two sons.  One was a good son, the other
was  a bad son. They fought. (as dud Cain and  Able in western legend)
The good  son just barely squeaked victory
but his victory is never secure.   Rings true to the Adam and Eve legend.  But
foremost in the legend is the role of Earth Mother.  Among the Mohawk and other
Iroquois women are given great prominence.  The Society of Matrons have been
traditional leaders and decision makers.   It took a long time for British and 
European ‘discoverers’ to understand that.

Bottom Line…Our family will not be spreading poison  to kill the muskrats nor
will be hiding leg hold  traps among the goldenrod.



alan skeoch
august 2020

P.S.   Apologies if my interpretation of the Mohawk legend  of  creation differs
from others.  Legends  come  from spoken traditions.  I am comforted  by the
fact that our Mississauga First Nations…now living on land given to them by 
the Mohawk people in the 19th century…that these people invited  me to speak
at their historical conference a couple of years ago.  They were a most gracious
and broad minded people.  We had a good  time.




EPISODE 102 AN OLD MAN’S WINTER NIGHT … BESIDE THE QUEEN ELIZABETH HIGHWAY

NOTE:  THIS MAY SEEM A  LITTLE OFF  HE WALL…



EPISODE 102    AN OLD MAN’S WNER NIGHT…BESIDE  THE QUEEN  ELIZABETH HIGHWAY

A PLACE WE’VE ALL PASSED…WHAT WAS HERE  40 YEARS  AGO

alan  skeoch
august 2020

It took a long time to  find the picture.  Without the picture this story has
no meaning. 

About 40 years ago Was driving  along the North Service road just above the
big Ford  Assembly  plant.  Right beside the Queen Elizabeth super highway.
Winter time but getting close to spring.  A  place you have all seen because today 
there  are two glass and aluminum modern office buildings in that place.

Bu 40 years ago there was  a  barn.  Old style barn that had  never  been elevated.
Guessing  a date of  1850 or  earlier.   The barn looked bad.  Defeated.  Empty
Abandoned.  Doomed. Sad.  All to these.  So I pulled in to get this picture (below)
Attempting to record something that was about to disappear.

Just as I held up the camera an elderly man walked  out of the stable.
Was I trespassing?  No.  I was on the  road shoulder.  But he  walked
toward me  anyway.

“This had  been our farm for better part of a century, son.”
“Mind if  I take  a picture.”
“Go ahead.”
“It must be hard to part with .”
“Very hard.”

He  looked at me…I think he wanted to see  in my face if I really gave a
damn about him and  his former farm.  He must have seen something in me.

“You know son, I got a lot of money for this farm
but it means noting to me.   I wish I had it back.
I wish I could still farm.  What am I going to do
with money?

That incident has preyed on my mind for the last four  decades.
Every time I see those  twin  towers of glass and aluminum, I see
that old man.  And I hear him.

That, however, is not the end of the story.



THIS IS THE PICTURE…NOT MUCH, RIGHT?




Many years later we were driving up the access ramp on the other side of
the QEW.  Exactly across the highway from the old man’s farm.

“Dad…big fire over there.”
“Barn  fire.”

Sure  enough a large barn was engulfed  in flames.  Not much  anyone
could do but look.  And there was a crowd gathering   

Another of our Ontario wooden agricultural  cathedrals 
was being reduced to ashes.

Every time we drive along the QEW and  start to enter the curve 
down  to the Ford  Motor Company plant
I see both of these barns.

And  I hear the old man speaking about the meaningless of his
sudden great wealth.  





(This picture above is not the barn that was burning.  But it is similar.  So many are gone.)








Take another look while you read Robert Frost’s ‘An Old Man’s  Winter Night’




alan skeoch
august 2020

An Old Man’s Winter Night by Robert Frost

www.robertfrost.org/images/postquote.png); overflow: auto; background-position: left top; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat;” class=””>

All out of doors looked darkly in at him
Through the thin frost, almost in separate stars,
That gathers on the pane in empty rooms.
What kept his eyes from giving back the gaze
Was the lamp tilted near them in his hand.
What kept him from remembering what it was
That brought him to that creaking room was age.
He stood with barrels round him – at a loss.
And having scared the cellar under him
In clomping there, he scared it once again
In clomping off; – and scared the outer night,
Which has its sounds, familiar, like the roar
Of trees and crack of branches, common things,
But nothing so like beating on a box.
A light he was to no one but himself
Where now he sat, concerned with he knew what,
A quiet light, and then not even that.
He consigned to the moon, such as she was,
So late-arising, to the broken moon
As better than the sun in any case
For such a charge, his snow upon the roof,
His icicles along the wall to keep;
And slept. The log that shifted with a jolt
Once in the stove, disturbed him and he shifted,
And eased his heavy breathing, but still slept.
One aged man – one man – can’t fill a house,
A farm, a countryside, or if he can,
It’s thus he does it of a winter night.

NOW EVERY TIME YOU TAKE THE QEW WESTWARD YOU MAY  SEE THE OLD BARN
AND  HEAR THE OLD MAN….EVERY TIME YOU SEE THESE BUILDINGS.

alan skeoch
august 2020

EPISODE 101 THE BEE YARD…TWO MEN IN SPACE SUITS

EPISODE 101   THE  BEE  YARD…TWO MEN IN SPACE SUITS…A DRONE WITH A CAMERA


alan skeoch
august 2020


Our son Andrew decided to raise  bees.  I do not know where  he got the
idea since  my experience with bee  keeping was an utter and complete 
failure for manY reasons.

My failure as a beekeeper:  About 30 years ago, maybe 40, I decided to become  a  beekeeper after buying a van load of old
bee hives, etc. at the Parker  Petit auction sale north of Toronto…maybe  near Beeton come to think of it.  All I needed
was instruction and a load of bees from an American supplier.  Getting the bees was easy.  Understanding  the bees  was
another matter. First mistake… I put good bees in old hives.  They got diseased and had to be burned.  Awful.  The worst part came
next.  Ed (deleted last name) was my bee instructor.  Seemed like a  nice fellow until he turned up at our house when
I was away.  His intentions were sexual and Marjorie was appalled.  She phoned me at PCI and I in turn phoned
Ed.  The call was  not nice.  I did not care if  his wife was listing.   So ended my beekeeping career.

Andrew, our son, will not make the same mistake.  His instructor is one of my lifelong friends.  He has been
beekeeper for 50 years.  Loves his bees.  And  loves helping youngsters willing to take up beekeeping.  It cannot
be a casual  thing.  Bees are one of the most organized living things on this planet.  They do not take well
to amateurs.

MARAUDERS ARE OUT THERE

Russ: “Skunks and bears have killed many
of my bees.  They  find them tasty.  The Skunks just scratch on he hive..like knocking at your door.  When  the
bees come out the  skunk eats each bee as you would a nice  sweet chocolate.  A skunk can eat a  lot of  bees.
The worst raid was  by a bear.   My bee  yard is near Orillia which can be bear country on rare occasions.
The bear just lifted the supers of the hive one by one.  Ate until his  gut was full then ambled away  leaving
my bee yard devastated.  I spent a couple of evenings parked near the hives  intending to get that bear.
The bear outsmarted me…never came back.”



SEE THE white/yellow pack of pollen attached  to this bumblebees back legs?


Sunflowers are immense.  But no bees.  No nectar.


The secret trial  to the bee yard.  I walked.   Russ and Andy drove.


Our fields of  goldenrod could be  saviours of Andrew’s bees.   Currently bee yard is located between
two fields of commercial soybeans.  Long past the flower stage.  

“How far will a bee go for nectar,  Russ?”
“Maybe 2 miles although they do not like the long trips.”




“So what do you think, Russ…good bee yard?”
“The problem is getting these bees  ready for winter.  One hive is OK, the
other is weak.  We may  have to combine  them if Andrew  is to have bees 
next spring.”
“Can Andy  get any honey  this fall?”
“Maybe, but the bees have to eat as well…I would wait until
next year when the hive(s) might be stronger”


Russ, the beekeeper in Andy’s bee yard.  “Will the bees live or die?”

How  can you tell that Russ has been a beekeeper for a long time?  Look  at his  bee outfit.

The weirdest thing about this bee visit was that Andy and Russ dressed up like spacemen while all  I wore
was short pants and a polo shirt.  I  should  have been scared, I guess.  Neither Andy nor
Russ paid  any attention to my vulnerability  They talked bees…as  if I was  not there.

“What if  I get stung, Russ?”
“Bee stings could do you the world of good…my dad  said
they were good for arthritis pain…reduced the pain”
“I do  not have arthritis, Russ?”
“Well, enjoy the bee stings as if you do.”

“Alan, would  you pipe down.  Andy and I have serious  work
to do here.  Go out and take pictures of thistles.”



Thistle honey…a rare sweetness


“Andy, the success of any bee  colony rests with the female bees.   They do  all the work.
The male bees do one thing and then they are useless.  Most die.  The females keep a
few around but must get irritated  for the drones just flop here and there.  They do  nothing
except do a bit of breeding.”

“Sounds about right.”

“Meaning?”

“Women are multi tankers.  They do  most of the work around  home.  Men just hang around
and drink a beer or two…now and then.”

“Where did you get that idea,Andy?”

“From my dad.  Look at him right now.  He is doing nothing but taking pictures.  We 
are working.”

“But we are males too…drones. “

“Right, maybe we should  consider a  sex change.”






Marjorie and  the bee keeper’s wife, Anne…plus a friend.

“Russ, could that mask… above Marjorie and Anne…could the mask scare skunks away from
the bee hives?”

“Scares  me.”

We are awaiting the honey.   Humans  are such insensitive creatures.  Here we are prepared to
steal honey from bees  who have collected  nectar from millions of tiny flowers.   We are worse 
than insensitive.  We are greedy.   We give them back sugared water after stealing their honey.

How did that fox get in the house ?  Marjorie come and  get the fox our of here..


Russ and  I  have been good  friends ever since high school.  We spent our high school years
going on camping trips using our thumbs to get rides, then playing football for years in the mistaken
belief that girls liked the game and would therefore marvel at our skills of knocking  people down.
We were mistaken.  We did, however, marry roommates at Victoria College, University of Toronto.
That was one of our great achievements.




This is our son Andy and his wife Julie.

Marjorie and  her pet cow named Elsie.


Two beekeepers.   Andy has kept bees for 1 month.  Russ and his dad have  kept bees for more than 50 years.  “I still do not fully understand my bees even
after 50 years.  I do my best to keep them healthy.”

alan skeoch
August 2020

Fwd: EPISODE 99 LAST FLIGHT OUT ON A CRIPPLED BUSH PLANE



Begin forwarded message:


From: ALAN SKEOCH <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>
Subject: EPISODE 99 LAST FLIGHT OUT ON A CRIPPLED BUSH PLANE
Date: August 25, 2020 at 10:04:17 AM EDT
To: Alan Skeoch <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>, Marjorie Skeoch <marjorieskeoch@gmail.com>, John Wardle <john.t.wardle@gmail.com>




EPISODE 99”  LAST FLIGHT OUT … ON A CRIPPLED BUSH PLANE

alan skeoch
August 2020




EPISODE 99   LAST FLIGHT OUT ON A  CRIPPLED BUSH PLANE

alan skeoch
august 2020

PILOT  “Listen boys, I do not like this little lake
so do your work fast.  The water is going down
and  landing will get difficult.”

“Take less per load.”

“Possible but soon there’ll not be enough water to land.”

“These  are the last off our anomalies…we will work fast.
Come back for us in three days.:  (I do not remember this time line exactly)


The summer of 1964 was hot.  To many that means heightened fire  danger which was
true.  We had a no fire rule for much of the summer. But the real danger was the slow but
steady evaporation of water from the lakes.  A lot of water
was gone between June and September.  That fact is apparent in the photograph of
our fly camp (Episode 97).  Looks like the water has gone down five  feet or more.

Flight pontoon landings that were easy and safe in June became difficult and dangerous
in September.

This picture was  taken  in mid August.  Take a  look at the high  water mark on the shore.  Seems water had  gone  down about
four or five feet by then.  On  our last job the water level had dropped more.  Very dangerous for water landings and takeoffs as
we discovered.

It was our last job. 
we Were  finished. The crew had returned to Paradise Lodge to pack up.
Marjorie had caught the ACR to Sault Ste Marie.  “Meet you at
the airport, Marjorie…maybe around noon.”   My part of the job  was finished.  I had to be
back in school by the end of the Labour Day Week  End.    

The plan was neat.  We had finished work on an anomaly close to a small lake
south of our Wart Lake camp.  All that was left was a pile of gear….tents, cooking
goods, some wire frame cots, axes,shovels.,Coleman  stoves, fuel, etc.  I don’t really remember what was
in the pile of goods.   Maybe 200  to 300 pounds  of
euipment.  



“I don’t like this lake…too shallow,” said the pilot when he dropped us a few days earlier.

“And it will get worse.”

We did the job as fast as we could and had arranged a pick up.  Don’t remember much about the first flight
  but I do  know I was  feeling quite nostalgic.  This would be the last bush job of m life.  I knew that
and wanted to savour my exit alone. Crew out first.  The flight went
well although the distance from touchdown to the end of the lake was short.  

That was not the problem.  I did  not expect a  problem for I was  wrapped in
my memories of so  many bush  planes on so many lakes.  Mostly Beavers but a  few
Cessnas and one Seabee which was just a visitor being dropped off.  “Those 
Seabees are really dangerous.  Motor at the rear.  Pushing.  If the motor quits the
goddamn thing drops like a rock.  No ability to glide.   Cessnas  glide best.”

The Cessna 170 came in  at tree top level.  Had  to.  Landing strip of water was short 
as evaporation created shallows where  once  there was two or three feet of water.

The pilot cut power early and  the plane settled  down  harder than usual.  Bigger chevron 
of water.  And something different.  Slightly lopsided.  The plane turned  and  idled
its way to our landing site.  Slight slant.  Odd.

“Hit a fucking deadhead.  Ripped the pontoon…goddamnit.”

Submerged  objects terrified bush pilots.  Often they took a run at landing
then circled.  Looking for objects.  Like dead heads…old submerged logs or
trees  sometimes angled upwards.

“I’m going to pump out the water while you load.  Could be tricky.  Put 
load  as far forward  as you can…need the weight for extra  lift.”

Took no time at all.  Ignition. And we worked our way to best takeoff  position
and he gave it full power.  We flumed our way down the lake with an increasing
slant as the pontoon filled with water.   Fast but not fast enough.  The far shore 
and  tree line got closer and  closer.  “Can’t make it!” and the pilot cut power and  the plane settled.  Slightly off centre.  And close
to shore.  Too close.

“Dump the load on the beach.  We’ll try  once more but empty.  Got to get off
this fucking lake. “  He cursed and  pumped out the pontoon water.

“There.  Let’s give it another try.”

He taxied down as far as he could without getting tangled in weeds.  Then
we were moving.  The pontoon filled with water as we went full throttle
down the lake.  Far shore became the near shore.  No lift yet.

“Move your body  forward…gut more lift.”

Then we had liftoff.  To me it seemed  just in time.  Seemed we were
just skirting the swamp and  maybe touching tree tops  Not true of
course.  Imagination played.

The rest of the flight was easy.  In an hour we had landed at Sault Ste
Marie where Marjorie was supposed to be waiting.  I had said noon but
we were late, very late. She was not there.
Her turquoise VW beetle  was in the parking lot but no sign of 
Marjorie.

Then she walked into the holding lounge from the aircraft side.

“I pretended to be  sick.”


“A man offered me a tour of the city from his plane.  I did  not
know he was just a pilot in training.  Scared me near to death.
Only way we got back on the ground  fast was I pretended  to
be about to vomit”

And so  it ended.   Our days of mining exploration were over.  They
ended with a bang.

alan  skeoch
August 2020

P.S.  I know this sounds hard to believe.  Writing from memory
can result in exaggeration.  So here are the simple facts
of that last flight.

1) Water levels had  fallen dramatically (see picture)
2) Pilot did hit something and punctured one pontoon.
3) I  watched him pump out the pontoon
4) We failed to get liftoff on our first attempt and jettisoned
the cargo on the beach.
5) Second attempt was just barely successful and I remember
the pilot asking me to lean forward.
6) Our baggage?   Do  not know what happened.
7) Marjorie did take a joy ride that scared her enough to feign vomit
8) This  was  not my final job.  The next summer we flew to Merritt
B.C. on a short seismic job.  But this Paradise Lodge job was
my last bush  job.
















EPISODE 100 BEST CROP IS FLAX…FOR THE MOVIE INDUSTRY

EPISODE 100    BEST CROP IS FLAX…FOR THE MOVIE INDUSTRY


alan skeoch
August 2020

“OUR best crop is Flax.”

Friends  and relatives often ask us what do we grow on our farm.  I have 
a standard answer…”Flax”…followed by fragment of explanation…”for the movie  industry”

Now that makes us,  Marjorie and  I, sound like big time farmers.  The truth is less exalted.
Our flax  crop needed  a little high powered marketing before we reached the big time.
Big time?  What a load of  hot air.

We  grow about an acre of flax which fights for existence in a 
field  full of  weeds.  Flax  is  tough and succeeds here and there.




But to get rentals.  Yes, rentals…we rent our flax.  It is  not a consumable unless the mice
get at it in the seed  ball stage.   Our flax never reaches  the seed ball stage.  We harvest it
just after the beautiful tender blue or purple flower drop their petals.  Less  attractive to mice.   That is
our little trade secret.  Do not copy.

Harvesting about 100 bundles of flax.  Not a truckload.  Maybe two  wheelbarrow loads when its bound
with binder twine and looped for hanging. Then the flax  is ready for the sales pitch.



“What you  people need is a load of our flax to hang here and there
in your movie…maybe a market scene or a murder scene.   Hanging
flax can make things mysterious.  Your camera can  move on one side
and presto … you have mystery.”

“Let me  demonstrate”



“There are 44 bundles  of flax now hanging in the workshop.  Our target each year is 100.  
the rest is left for the field  mice or winter  birds.   We are generous farmers.”


Please do not look closely at our harvest.  I would  prefer you not see the binder twine looping system.  Just look
at the pretty blue or purple flax  flower.


We diversify our crop rentals with a bunch of hanging tobacco.  The trouble with
renting tobacco leaves is that some never comes  back.  I suspect the movie
crews like to  roll your own .   Who cares?  Loss is just the cost of doing business.



Now  suppose you want the aged effect.  Well we have a supply of  aged flax…brown.  
Some of it is in the ball stage because we were too slow in harvesting.  That gives 
the flax and even more mysterious appearance.


“Our flax is hand harvested.  This dump rake is just a prop to make us look mechanized.”

“Can you find the flax among the weeds?…look for the little balls”

alan  skeoch
August 2020

p.s.  Do not call in the next couple of hours.  We will be in the back field
hand harvesting and bundling.   

Note from Alan…ON MY 99TH EPISODE

HI,
SOME of you actually read these Episodes. Some of you do not because your lives are full or you think I am a jerk…or both.
I just sent Episode 99.
Why am I doing this? Several reasons but foremost is the fact that many of you are stuck in isolation and I felt these stories might break the boredom. Another thought is the stories might trigger your own memories and thereby make the tedium less onerous. Maybe you might even record moments in your lives that were memorable.
Another reason is that I hoped my grandchildren might read them and see their grandfather and grandmother in a different light. Not sure they even read them sadly.
alan august 2020
P.S. I am not finished. The stories will keep coming.

EPISODE 99 LAST FLIGHT OUT ON A CRIPPLED BUSH PLANE



EPISODE 99”  LAST FLIGHT OUT … ON A CRIPPLED BUSH PLANE

alan skeoch
August 2020




EPISODE 99   LAST FLIGHT OUT ON A  CRIPPLED BUSH PLANE

alan skeoch
august 2020

PILOT  “Listen boys, I do not like this little lake
so do your work fast.  The water is going down
and  landing will get difficult.”

“Take less per load.”

“Possible but soon there’ll not be enough water to land.”

“These  are the last off our anomalies…we will work fast.
Come back for us in three days.:  (I do not remember this time line exactly)


The summer of 1964 was hot.  To many that means heightened fire  danger which was
true.  We had a no fire rule for much of the summer. But the real danger was the slow but
steady evaporation of water from the lakes.  A lot of water
was gone between June and September.  That fact is apparent in the photograph of
our fly camp (Episode 97).  Looks like the water has gone down five  feet or more.

Flight pontoon landings that were easy and safe in June became difficult and dangerous
in September.

This picture was  taken  in mid August.  Take a  look at the high  water mark on the shore.  Seems water had  gone  down about
four or five feet by then.  On  our last job the water level had dropped more.  Very dangerous for water landings and takeoffs as
we discovered.

It was our last job. 
we Were  finished. The crew had returned to Paradise Lodge to pack up.
Marjorie had caught the ACR to Sault Ste Marie.  “Meet you at
the airport, Marjorie…maybe around noon.”   My part of the job  was finished.  I had to be
back in school by the end of the Labour Day Week  End.    

The plan was neat.  We had finished work on an anomaly close to a small lake
south of our Wart Lake camp.  All that was left was a pile of gear….tents, cooking
goods, some wire frame cots, axes,shovels.,Coleman  stoves, fuel, etc.  I don’t really remember what was
in the pile of goods.   Maybe 200  to 300 pounds  of
euipment.  



“I don’t like this lake…too shallow,” said the pilot when he dropped us a few days earlier.

“And it will get worse.”

We did the job as fast as we could and had arranged a pick up.  Don’t remember much about the first flight
  but I do  know I was  feeling quite nostalgic.  This would be the last bush job of m life.  I knew that
and wanted to savour my exit alone. Crew out first.  The flight went
well although the distance from touchdown to the end of the lake was short.  

That was not the problem.  I did  not expect a  problem for I was  wrapped in
my memories of so  many bush  planes on so many lakes.  Mostly Beavers but a  few
Cessnas and one Seabee which was just a visitor being dropped off.  “Those 
Seabees are really dangerous.  Motor at the rear.  Pushing.  If the motor quits the
goddamn thing drops like a rock.  No ability to glide.   Cessnas  glide best.”

The Cessna 170 came in  at tree top level.  Had  to.  Landing strip of water was short 
as evaporation created shallows where  once  there was two or three feet of water.

The pilot cut power early and  the plane settled  down  harder than usual.  Bigger chevron 
of water.  And something different.  Slightly lopsided.  The plane turned  and  idled
its way to our landing site.  Slight slant.  Odd.

“Hit a fucking deadhead.  Ripped the pontoon…goddamnit.”

Submerged  objects terrified bush pilots.  Often they took a run at landing
then circled.  Looking for objects.  Like dead heads…old submerged logs or
trees  sometimes angled upwards.

“I’m going to pump out the water while you load.  Could be tricky.  Put 
load  as far forward  as you can…need the weight for extra  lift.”

Took no time at all.  Ignition. And we worked our way to best takeoff  position
and he gave it full power.  We flumed our way down the lake with an increasing
slant as the pontoon filled with water.   Fast but not fast enough.  The far shore 
and  tree line got closer and  closer.  “Can’t make it!” and the pilot cut power and  the plane settled.  Slightly off centre.  And close
to shore.  Too close.

“Dump the load on the beach.  We’ll try  once more but empty.  Got to get off
this fucking lake. “  He cursed and  pumped out the pontoon water.

“There.  Let’s give it another try.”

He taxied down as far as he could without getting tangled in weeds.  Then
we were moving.  The pontoon filled with water as we went full throttle
down the lake.  Far shore became the near shore.  No lift yet.

“Move your body  forward…gut more lift.”

Then we had liftoff.  To me it seemed  just in time.  Seemed we were
just skirting the swamp and  maybe touching tree tops  Not true of
course.  Imagination played.

The rest of the flight was easy.  In an hour we had landed at Sault Ste
Marie where Marjorie was supposed to be waiting.  I had said noon but
we were late, very late. She was not there.
Her turquoise VW beetle  was in the parking lot but no sign of 
Marjorie.

Then she walked into the holding lounge from the aircraft side.

“I pretended to be  sick.”


“A man offered me a tour of the city from his plane.  I did  not
know he was just a pilot in training.  Scared me near to death.
Only way we got back on the ground  fast was I pretended  to
be about to vomit”

And so  it ended.   Our days of mining exploration were over.  They
ended with a bang.

alan  skeoch
August 2020

P.S.  I know this sounds hard to believe.  Writing from memory
can result in exaggeration.  So here are the simple facts
of that last flight.

1) Water levels had  fallen dramatically (see picture)
2) Pilot did hit something and punctured one pontoon.
3) I  watched him pump out the pontoon
4) We failed to get liftoff on our first attempt and jettisoned
the cargo on the beach.
5) Second attempt was just barely successful and I remember
the pilot asking me to lean forward.
6) Our baggage?   Do  not know what happened.
7) Marjorie did take a joy ride that scared her enough to feign vomit
8) This  was  not my final job.  The next summer we flew to Merritt
B.C. on a short seismic job.  But this Paradise Lodge job was
my last bush  job.















EPISODE 98 FOOD…good and bad, AILMENTS, VIOLENCE and ISN’T THAT FUNNY…AN OVERVIEW




EPISODE 98     FOOD…good and bad, AILMENTS, VIOLENCE, and ISN’T THAT FUNY…AN OVERVIEW  


alan skeoch
August 2020

This was the Dawson City, General Store in the Yukon as it appeared
in 1961.   
The building was slowly sinking into the permafrost each year.   This picture has nothing to do with the story that follows.  My job
for ten summers was as unique as the  Dawson City hardware store.  

FOOD FOLLOWS…GOOD AND BAD
THEN AILMENTS…FROM TOOTHACHE TO PILES TO AXE ERRORS

THEN  VIOLENCE…VERY LITTLE

THEN  “ISN’T THAT FUNNY?”…

Dinner at our fly camp in summer of 1964.   After the supper of wormy stew we went 
back  to the good  staple food  of  pork and beans.  That is  Bob Bartlett
pouring condensed  milk onto something and beside him is Serge Lavoie.  

This captures what life  is like in he bush…cooking over an open fire. Very rough and unpleasant. in this case
 the fire  is much too large but it was  made in the pouring rain when we  took a lunch 
time  break…and tried to dry our socks.  Fires were always carefully extinguished.  Never once do I remember a fire
causing damage.   One Question?  Where would you sit here?  Careful, you could
easily get piles.  Yukon Territory job. 1961.

alan skeoch’
August 2020

Many of our jobs had camp cooks, sometimes we ate in diners.   But a  lot of
the jobs were bush jobs where we were our own  cooks.

WHAT WAS GOOD  FOOD?


Cooking.  Essential was bacon…needed to grease the pan for both French Toast
and  Pancakes, both of which we ate often in various forms.  Note the blazing
axes  in the background.  A  special light axe for marking trails.


1) French Toast was great for breakfast as long as the eggs lasted.   Rotten eggs
made poor French Toast but that never happened.   The nose was  key to freshness.
French Toast had an added plus factor.  Slabs could be eaten cold at lunch sitting
on a dry log.   Two meals.  Even three if there were some leftovers for supper.
2) Peanut butter…could  be slathered  on cold French toast.  Or on anything.  Peanut 
butter could  be eaten with a spoon right from the can or bottle.  No wash  up
needed.  A perfect food.  And if  too many field  mice found our cook tent then
peanut butter on a Victor snap  trap solved the problem.  Red squirrels needed 
a rat trap but were also suckers for peanut butter.  Rarely used though.  There was
no trap big enough for black bears with whom we shared food a few times.

3)  Rolled oats cooked fast for breakfast with brown sugar and
canned or powdered milk.  Then the leftover porridge would cool and form a 
gelatinous  slab for lunch.  The slab could be rolled with marmalade or
peanut butter in between.  Scrumptious .   Many many lunches of such 
make my mouth water even today. wrapped in wax paper which served the
double function of starting the lunch time fire for our Billy cans of tea.

4) Salami or Polish sausage.  Both kept well.  The flies preferred to lay
their eggs in the slabs of sowbelly…bacon slabs…rather than the salami
or Polish sausage.  Why?  I am not sure but suspect the latter were loaded
with preservatives that the flies sensed  but we did not.

5) Pork and Beans.  A camp favourite even though the cans  were often
too heavy to pack if we were not returning to base camps for a  day
or two.  Throw in a  slab of butter and more salt and  pepper.  Smell
was terrific.  Dining like kings and queens.  There were side  effects, of  course,,
but the side effects were very healthy  Nothing worse than constipation.
Or, as we called that affliction, “the screaming shits”.

5) Cookies…lots of them.  Usually Peak  Frean shortbreads of  various  shapes.
But I remember large boxes of David’s cookies on the Quebec job.  I mean large
…about the size of a small suitcase.  That company made lots of sweet things
with marshmallow fillings.  We never put limits on consumption that I remember.

6) Food for fast consumption.   On deep bush  jobs where food service was by
bush plane at irregular intervals we would order some fresh  food…like fruit.  Maybe
a watermelon to eat right away or a six quart basket of peaches.  Oranges were
best since they kept well.  Sometimes we might even try a pie or cake…again
for fast consumption the arrival day.  Gorge and starve.

7) Drinks.  You might think we would order several cases of ginger ale or Coca cola
but that did not happen.  Lots of  tea bags and ground coffee.  Hot chocolate made
with powdered milk was  drinkable but barely so.   Fresh milk was a luxury item.
Alcohol was never on site which I find strange on reflections because we always
celebrated the end of a job with a beer or double O.P. (Yukon job).

WE  never had alcohol on the job.   After a job, however, we celebrated.  This is my favourite picture  of celebration 
in Ireland in 1960.  Most of these men were our employees and they all enjoyed a pint  of Guinness as did we.


8) Bread.  Useful whether fresh or stale.  Old bread got rather crusty but could 
be softened  in the form of French toast as mentioned above.  Mouldy bread
was garbage but sometimes the mould was  spotty and  could be cut out.
Sliced bread got mouldy in the first four or five slices…deep in the loaf sometimes
a  good slice was found.

9) Canned Prunes.  The  two terrors we wanted to avoid were Constipation and
Diarrhea.  Bot are debilitating.  Constipation seemed the most common hence
the canned  prunes.

10)  Pasta…lots of it in the form of Kraft Dinners, and a few attempts at
 spaghetti with canned sauce…no fancy pastas however like
Lasagna…too hard to make.   Kraft dinner best.

Mrs.  Kennedy was the dominating person in Bonmahon. Ireland job.   She also saw that we ate well.  No rough food like we
had in our wilderness camps.


11)  Mrs. Kennedy, on the Irish job, made my lunch sandwiches filled
with Lobster.  A delicacy.  But I had never eaten lobster and carefully
asked her,  “Could you make peanut butter sandwiches?”  She had
never heard of  peanut butter sandwiches   Both are good.

WHAT WAS  BAD FOOD?

1) Wieners.  I expect readers would find this wiener aversion surprising  because
they are fast food items.  Hot dogs…super easy  The problem was that with time
our wieners exuded a white bluish  substance…preservatives I think.  On he
Groundhog River job I remember picking up a wiener with one finger…the bluish
stuff stuck to the finger tip.  Did we eat them anyway?  Not sure.  We ate a lot
things that were disgusting.

2) Sowbelly.  Again I remember the Groundhog River job where the blow flies
laid  eggs  in our slabs of bacon (really  sowbelly).   Cutting off the contaminated
end was part of the ritual of breakfast.

3)  Canned  meats.  Edible but not pleasant.  We referred  to all cans
of preserved meat as cans of Clap.

4)  Doughnuts.  great when fresh but very soon turned into life preserver rings
as hard a  bullets.  Of course they could be  dipped in tea.

6)  Fresh fruit like grapes,  peaches, pears, cherries, melons.  Wonderfull
when the airplane  arrived but very soon rotten or fly infested.   We gorged.  
Then chucked the rotten remainder in the latrine.  There were 
wild berries however.   I was never sure which of the wild berries were
edible and which were not.  Walter Helstein ate them all so he became our
berry tester.   Blueberries were easy to get as were swamp apples (orange, large)
but they were super sweet to an extreme.   Walter ate lots of red berries
that seemed inedible to me. (Groundhog River job)

7) Some dehydrated  packages turned  out to be wormy as mentioned in Episode
97 but that was not true of all dehydrated food.

8) Chocolates….in candy form or bar form.  Fear of toothache from cavities
made  all forms of chocolate suspect.  But we  always ordered a couple
of cases of  chocolate bars.  When  we got a toothache we just had
to tough it out.  No dentists in the bush.   That applied to any  ailment.  

9) Moose meat:  Marjorie was  given a slab of  moose meat to
cook for the fellows on a short camping venture to Wart Lake.  There
was no way that the moosemeat could  be made edible using 
normal cooking skills.  Tough as  leather no matter what was done.


WHAT AILMENTS DID WE FACE?

1) My worst ailment had nothing to do with food.  It was my feet.  The constant
rubbing of my boots against the undergrowth soon wore through to my 
feet.  Water seeped in and got warmed up by my body  temperature so that
my feet were cooking.  By the end of some bush jobs my feet were as
pock marked  as the fields  of France in  World  War I.  Flesh could be peeled.

2)   On bush jobs in the Yukon, Alaska, Northern Ontario
we  always  carried  a  hand  made billy can…a coffee can with a wire loop
for making tea.   Usually using tea  bags.  It was possible however to make
Labrador tea  from a common shrub with canoe like leaf shape with fuzzy
underbelly.   Making tea was easy.  Could  be done anywhere with a small
fire.  Sitting was the problem.  The undergrowth was often spongy with wet
mosses of all kinds.  Sitting on the moss  was like sitting on a pillow…a
wet pillow.  We looked for dry dead logs instead.  Sitting on wet moss
day after day was crazy.  Piles!   Anyone who has  had  piles  knows
the discomfort.  We sure did and looked for windfall strewn forest
floor where there were logs to sit on.

3)  Tooth ache…terrible thing.  Constant pain.  happened occasionally.
Nothing we could do other than tough it out.  I seem to remember suggesting
we tie a string to a tooth and the other end to the Yukon cabin door.  Slam the 
door and  out comes the tooth.  Only time I remember that working was
with my brother way back in the years when he trusted my ideas.

4)  Food poisoning.  I got that on the Cochrane job from eating rotten
balogna.  I could not work and spent a couple of days in my sleeping
bag wondering if I was going to die  Everyone else went to work. My 
only visitor was a big black  bear who arrived when all others were gone.
No problem.  he or she was just sniffing around the cook  shack where
some scraps must have been available.

5)  Serious cuts with axes.  Using a blazing axe requires a little skill.
Alway  put blazes on sold trees.   Never try to blaze a leafy branch.  Why not?
Because branches are elastic.  Hit a branch and it bounces  back.
Along with the bounce back  comes your blazing axle.  I  remember a particularly
difficult fellow would just would not learn.  Sliced himself badly with his blazing axe
and had to be taken out on a emergency  flight.  No  loss.  He was just
too much trouble to have around. Lazy.  Looking for the easy way. Accident 
prone.

6)  Falling.  So  easy to do and a fall could  have serious conseqences
as happened to Walter Helstein when  he fell on a sharpened picket which
pierced his hand and was subsequently infected because we couldn’t get
a plane to pit him up because the weather turned stormy.

We warned Walter not step on fallen tree trunks.  Never step  on a fallen log…to do so was to 
possibly slip and fall headlong into whatever was on the other side. Step over. In Walter’s case sharpened
pickets like the Viet Cong used in the Viet Nam war were low to the ground on the other side.
Freshly cut by lone cutters.  Lethal.  Easy  to
get hurt.  Walter was  too old for the job  Perhaps sixty.  He  couldn’t step  over logs.
The end result was tragic (as mentioned in earlier episode), poor Walter lay in the tent for days
moaning as  infection spread.  When float plane could  finally land, Walter was in very bad
shape and spent a long time in hospital recovering…months.  All  from a single misstep pmtp
a moss covered windfall.  We never saw Walter again.  Missed him.

WAS VIOLENCE COMMON?

Nerves get frayed on tough bush jobs where two  or three men have to live together
under poor conditions.  Tension develops over small things. ‘ Who ate all the chocolate bars?
My pack frame load is heavier than yours, you bastard.   Let’s rotate he lead job when blazing  
trail.  You jerk, your goddamn belt buckle has made the compass wrong.’

It is  very easy to get on someone’s nerves even in the best OF jobs.  On a bush  job
tensions occur fast.  How  are they best handled?   Here  I turn to Floyd Faulkner
again (Groundhog River job…3 months together on a ground crew .searching for anomalies found
by an airborne crew)   Even if compass bearings were correct we sometimes made 
errors.  One time, however, was really bad.  “Al, you take the lead with the compass,
we’ll do the blazing.”  Big mistake.  My  Boy Scout belt buckle was big and  bronze.  it 
deflected the compass.  We were hopelessly  lost by the time that error was discovered.
Floyd’s reaction was laughter.  We faced hours of labour retracing our steps, correlating
our position with the aerial  photographs.  I was 17 years old  and threw a hissy  fit…began
thrashing at the jungle undergrowth and  yelling like a  stuck pig. “Goddamn bastardly bush”
 Floyd thought that was even funnier.
From that incident I got the nickname “Fucking Al” which was  a term of endearment.
Another incident on the same job made me look like a fool.  We had to pack  our fly camp
out to the Groundhog River from some distance east…miles.  There had  been big storm
and  the tents and fly sheets were wet and terribly heavy.  A real bitch.   “Bob, my load
is way heavier than  yours.”  “OK,  Al. we’ll switch loads.”  Another stupid incident.
Bob had  the big wet tent.  It was so heavy that by the  time I reached the Groundhog
River, my packframe was bent into a curved piece  of useless junk.  Bob and Floyd
were  amused.   Make me look like a fool, right?  

All the years I worked for Dr. Paterson there were no fights.  Quite amazing because 
the job was very tough and the communities were sometimes not prone to
lovable relationships.  But no violence.  On one occasion Dr. Paterson was amused…
no, incredulous..when  the
Alaskan branch of  Humble  Oil armed us all with heavy duty rifles. Our company
never gave us weapons for fear we would  shoot each other.  True. 
No need. 
Really, we had  a good  time together nearly all the time.  That was why
I loved the job so much.

ONE CASE OF VIOLENCE IN TEN YEARS

One summer I took a  survey job with the Ontario Department of Highways building 
Highway 17 across Northern Ontario.  We were based  in a trailer camp outside
 the village of Hunta.  Eight of us about 18years old. .    An age when stupid
things happen.  One of our crew was ‘disturbed’…really a bit wacko.  John (no
last name  used here) just did not fit in.  He could not fit in anywhere.  There was
something  seriously wrong with him.   It took a while to surface but when he snapped
we were lucky that no one died.   Some  of the boys picked on John as teen  agers
are prone to do.  Like a big Boy Scout,  I took John on my survey crew and got along
OK … not terrific but OK.  At least until one day when I
signalled  John to move to the right or left just to keep our line straight as we could
John turned … looked at me….and threw his blazing axe  at me.  Missed by a foot
or two.  But there was  no reason for the sudden  anger.  I was least likely to make
fun of him.   Privately I told  the crew foreman who was reaching a point where he
realized  John was  a problem.  

That night John did something I can never forget.  We were all asleep  or
dozing in the trailer.   The night was black,  Suddenly there was a loud crash
at one of the bunks.   John had got up silently.  Holding a large granite boulder
high above one of the guys who had teased him… a Finlander from
Thunder Bay as  I remember.  Then John dropped or threw the rcck  down hard.
The rock  smashed  a big gallon water can  beside the Fin’s head.   Crushed completely.
We got the lights on.  By then John was back in his bunk.  just lay there while
the rest of us  clustered around the water jug.  He was silent.  He did not move.
He must have done it.  Had he intended to
kill or just to warn?  We were never sure.  The next day officials arrived to take
John away.  We never saw or heard from him again.

That was the only violent act that got close to me in ten years of exploration.

FUNNY THINGS HAPPENED ON EACH  JOB.

Humour is a tricky thing to present.  Incidents that I consider funny may
seem  insensitive and crude.  Like the time that Bill and  I were sitting
in a bar in Dawson City.  We had camped  outside the town on an old 
sourdough claim site.  Needed  a  beer badly after a tough night and day.
We were really just kids pretending to be men.  Beside us on the floor
of the bar two very large people…one male and one female…had decided
to copulate.  They were having  difficulty with their clothes because both 
were dead drunk.  Bill and I kept our cool and pretended the behaviour
on the floor was  normal.  the bar tender came around  the bar and began
rolling the amorous couple towards the door.  I seem to remember the 
rolling but no sure how he got them out the door.  They took a lot of door 
space.  Later Bill and I laughed and laughed.  You  may not consider
that funny.

Bill and I worked  damn hard on that Yukon job.  We deserved s week end break in Dawson City.  Here Bill is
plotting our data.  Sadly his Dad died in the middle of that summer and he had  a rush flight home.

On another occasion our contractor, a mining speculator called Dr. Aho
from  BC, had the habit of buying newcomers to the Yukon  ‘Double op’s”
at the Mayo Landing  hotel.  “Here boys  have a Double OP”  What 
is a Double OP?   It is a liquid explosive.  Rum and Whisky sent 
to the Yukon was double regular proof…i.e.  damn close to pure
alcohol.  Multiply that times twice and  you will understand what happened
after only one of these was consumed.  Dr. Aho thought that was funny.
I  agreed after we had been  around Mayo Landing for some time.  Lots
of heavy drinking.  Even our pilot Bob was drunk much of the time.
Isn’t that funny?    

Then there was the time we sent Joe Fortin to  Chibougamau in1958 to 
get us food.  He flew out.   Then at  dusk  he flew back. Just getting
out of the Beaver was a chore.  He fell into the water from the pontoon.
Joe was dead drunk.  He spent his time and our money at the
Chibougamau Inn.  Forgot to get us food.  Isn’t that funny?

Bill Gilbey in bed on the Marathon job


Then there  was Bill Gilbey (Gilbey’s Gin family) on the Marathon job
thumbing his way through the women’s lingerie section of Eaton’s catalogue
saying “We are a pathetic  bunch relying on Eaton’s catalogue for our pornography.”
Isn’t that funny?


Then  you will remember the BC job at Merritt where the mine 
manager and geologist mistook Marjorie for a  Vancouver hooker
that I had hired as company at night.  This picture is not the motel
room bed but gives the right impression all the same. Isn’t that funny?

Then there was our flight from Anchorage, Alaska, to Seattle with a lot of American
military brass flying out of Tokyo.  Our regular flight had been cancelled due to
crippled landing gear.  The US officers were a stiff bunch. None
of them drank.  So the stewardess gave us her full attention. Free
drinks.  When  we sobered  up in a Seattle  Hotel we were all 
wearing Japanese kimonos.  Isn’t that funny?

Then there was Pete in the Yukon, lying in bed each night 
reading the Bible.  He could quote chapter and verse by heart.
I wondered.  “Pete, you must be really religious?”
“Not so at all.  I read the bible just to get into arguments..really
I am an atheist.   Isn’t that funny?


Then  there is our helicopter pilot on the Alaskan job awakening
us on the camp PA with his charming “Let’s get Fucking Airborne”
Or the camp cook explaining the finer points of  eating moose heart.
Isn’t that funny?


Then there is Barney Dwan warning me to be careful crossing Irish farm
fields.  “There was a nun who took a short cut and  all that was ever 
found were her boots with her feet in them.”  (Hogs got her)
Isn’t that funny?

Then there were all those lonely hearts club letters I received on
the Groundhog River job.  Dozens of young (and  older0 women hoping
I would marry them or at least help  them out of poverty.  Those letters
came when my friends  Russ and Jim  enrolled me in the club.
Isn’t that funny?

Obviously, a lot of these stories are not funny at all.  Unless you 
are 17 or 18 years old enjoying the full panorama of life.

alan skeoch
August 2020

Next EPISODE 99…LAST FLIGHT OUT ON A CRIPPLED  BUSH PLANE