Alan Skeoch

Author: Alan Skeoch

  • EPISODE 699 MY LAST MINING JOB, MERRITT B.D. 1965

     BY TERRAVIVA

    SUMMER 1965: LAST JOB IN THE WILDERNESS


    1965:  My Last Summer in the Wilderness:   Merritt Open Pit Mine, Merritt, BC

    alan skeoch
    Feb. 2019


    As the Summer of 1964 ended,  I thought my career as a Field  Man in the Miining Industry
    also  ended.  Was I waving a fond good-bye?  Not a chance.  Along came the Summer of 1965.
    Marjorie now had a role which  was misinterpreted as you will notice.


    “Hello, Alan, is that you?”
    “Yep.”
    “Norm Paterson here…need a man for a seismic job in BC…two weeks, maybe three.”
    “Wait until I check with Marjorie.”
    “Short job, Alan.”
    “All clear, what’s up”
    “Big molybdenum mine near Merritt B.C…worried about overburden slippage…need seismic
    info urgently.”
    “Using the  portable FS2 unit.”
    “Yes, with some modifications…”
    “Modificatons?”
    “Nothing big time…you can handle it I’M sure.   Can you take the job?”
    “When?”
    “Fly out to Vancouver tomorrow then short hop to BC interior.”
    “Sounds great, count me int.”

    That call came from out of the blue about August 10, 1965.  This  was our summer vacation as public 
    school teachers.  Hardly a  vacation for us since somehow I got Trench  Mouth in early July.  Trench Mouth?
    Not many people have even heard  of trench mouth.  Lucky for that.  It is a super painful mouth infection 
    Mouth…a series of ulcers in mouth and throat…super painful.  Cause?  Gums got infected with Trench ]
    Mouth bacteria from some source.  Rare disease  dates back to soldiers in the  trenches of World  War I.
    Knocked me out for month of July so the Seismic call from Dr. Paterson was a welcome return to normal life.

    But I had a few questions…reservations.  What is molybdenum?   What are these ‘modifications’ to the 
    FS 2 portable seismic unit?   Where is Merritt?  How big is the open pit mine?  And finally a questions
    best not put to Dr. Paterson”  “Can Marjorie come along on the job?”  Of course, the final question was
    the really big question.  And  it was already answered.

    “Marjorie, pack a  couple of bags for two weeks…light, one bag each.”
    “Where are we going?”
    “Wish  I knew…place called  Merritt.”
    “Another bush job?”
    “Nope, sounds like a  job at a mine site.”
    “Where will we live?”
    “Not sure…I will fly in first and then you follow a couple of days  later.”
    “Why?”
    “Because the mine manager expects an expert…this  job is serious business…if the open pit is on verge of collapse…
    they do not expect a husband and wife team on some kind of junket.”
    “Where am I to stay then?”
    “Stay in Vancouver for a day or two in some cheap hotel and then take a bus to Merritt…by then the job should be well
    underway.”
    “How do I get there?”
    “By bus…should be  a nice ride.”
    “I’ll book you into a an East  Vancouver hotel,…”

    MOLYBDENUM

    “What is molydenom?”
    “It’s a mineral often found assoiated with copper.”
    Never heard  of it.”
    “Not many people  have…important mineral though…alloyed with steel makes steel harder.”
    “Who needs harder steel?”
    “Military.  One inch thick steel plating of steel and molybdenum is as good as 3 inch think ,metal.   Make
    tanks ligher…makes ships lighter…”




    THE NATURE OF THE JOB:  COMINCO OPEN PIT MINE PROBLEM

    One wall on The Cominco Open Pit Mine was unstable and seemed about to collapse which would tumble  hundreds of tons
    of soil and rock into the open pit mine.  Like a  mountain landslide.   Geologists and mining engineers became aware of the danger when slight rock falls began
    to happen.   Could the whole massive open  pit mine be  compromised?   Maybe.  Maybe not.  There was  a chance that deep
    underground the rock was  quite stable.  Maybe there might even be some kind of intrusion underground that would inhibit any
    further  movement.   

    It was worth finding out.  If stable then the profits would  be secure.  If not then drastic action would have to be taken.  Action that
    might even bring about the closure of this partciular open pit operation.

    “You can do it, Alan,” said Dr. Paterson which was comforting.  I was not so sure as I had graduated from U. of T in history and  philosophy.
    Philosophy gives a person confidence.  History made me aware of  my ignorance.  One cancelled out the other.

    No matter, we were committed and picked up the portable ‘modified’ seismograph.  Marjorie and I flew to Vancouver the next day.  She was  booked into a modest hotel in Vancouver while
    I caught a plane to Kamloops and rented a snazzy red convertible for the trip down to Merritt.  Then Rented a room in the local motel which was very close to the mine itself.
    On arrival I  met a company geologist and the mine manager
    and we sleuthed out the site.  Explosives and blasting caps were purchased and  we got down to business.  Plan was to start the job the following morning.
    That sounds  very business like.  Very efficient.  

    Unfortunately events did not go that smoothly.  Let’s start with the car rental.  Nice red American  made convertible.  Luxury car was only car available so I motored joyfully
    south through the desert landscape of sagebrush and Ponderosa pines.   Pulled the car up near the mine admin building…sort of a wooden temporary structure.  Lots
    of huge earth movers were busy stripping off the overburden then loading up with the blasted fragments of copper bearing ore…very low grade…with molybdenum  and tiny traces  of
    silver and gold.  Needed huge load of ore to get small amounts  of copper or molybdenum.  Gold  and silver even less so.

    Earth movers have a blade about midway down the body. The blade is a mouth…once dropped it scoops up loose soil and rock…then the mouth is lifted and
    the pile of soil and rock is hauled to a dump site.   These machines  are often driven by devil may care cowboy kinds of people. Shake the shit out of  drivers.  Certainly true in this case.  As  soon
    as I parked the car a cowboy tried to see how close he could come to the car.  He got very close…too close.  Sheared off the passenger side and back bumper.  Had to 
    rent another car, less luxurious.  Funny thing was  that neither the mining people nor the rental agency got their underwear in a twist.

    Later I heard  that heavy alcohol consumption in the area led  to many car  accidents.  




    Imagine this rental car with the side sheared away.

    An earth mover, called a tractor scraper,  identical to this one took a  swipe at my rental car…ripped the passenger side and tore off the back bumper.
    Driven by a young man about my age or younger…maybe even only18 or so.  I have no idea why he did it.  Never met him
    and he did not stop just kept hauling his load to the dumpsite.


    The Cominco (later Highland Creek) Open Pit copper and molybdenum mine in 1965




    Current picture, circa 2018, of the Highland  Creek open pit mine near Merritt, BC.   When I worked there back in 1965, the pit
    was not nearly tis deep.   The place where we did the survey may have been somewhere near the central road way
    but up on the former surface.  Then again it could have been a nearby open pit that was subsequently abandoned.



    SO YOU WANT TO KNOW ABOUT THE FS2 PORTABLE SEISMOGRAPH?

    I learned the business from the bottom up.  My first job in New Brunswick was the ‘hammer man’ job.  Dr. Paterson gave me
    a heavy sledge hammer and  small steel plate.   

    “Hit that plate as  hard  as you  can wherever and  whenever you are told to do  so.”
    “Must I know how to run a seismograph?”
    “You do not need  to know a damn thing…just follow orders.”
    “Bottom of the learning ladder kind  of job, right Dr. Paterson?”
    “Right…if you are lucky, you come back as a field man for the company…capable
    of running a seismic survey.  If you foul up, well, you can figure what that means…”
    “Who is  my boss?”
    “Dr. Abul Mousuf, a professional geophysicist…nice guy.”

    Description:  Sledge hammer pounded  on a steel  plate sent sound waves to 
    the portable seismograph at clearly defined spatial intervals.  Some distance
    from the Seismograph it was necessary use explosives.   Sound waves  travel at
    different speeds in different material…i..e. air, overburden soil, bed rock.





    So My first job we used an MD-1 portable seismograph.  All I  had to do was  hammer a steel plate with heavy steel headed sledge hammer.  Abul Mousuf  was  my boss on that job.
    Just the two of us were sent to New Brunswick  to confirm the future lakebed of the St. John River Valley was  going to hold the huge amount
    of water from the Macktaquack (sp?) dam.  




     Abul was the first moslem I ever met.  Very patient
    and generous  guy.  He ran the portable seismograph while I provided the sound wave vibrations which were picked up by the machine in milliseconds..tiny
    fractions of a  second.  I pounded the steel plate at measured intervals…usually around 50 foot intervals.   The more  distant I got from Abul the
    harder I had to hammer that steel plate.  When hammering was no longer readable, we started to use force… explosives…Explosives!

    “Alan, cut the Forcite sticks into quarters and  halves.”
    “How?”
    “Slowly with a knife…the sticks are quite stable…
    “Stable?”
    “plastic C4…needs big shock to detonate…That’s where  the caps come in.”
    “Caps?”
    “These little metal tubes with wires…electric  firing caps.”
    “How are they charged?”
    “Slide the metal tube slowly into the Forcite…quite safe.”
    “And the wires?”
    “Attach to this cable that goes back to the firing switch…
    “Any danger of error?”
    “Always  a  danger if more than two people get involved…safe is we work together.
    You set  the charge…bury it so some of the force will go down… then get back  out of the way…Signal me…wave your arm…yell, ‘All clear’
    and I’ll detonate the charge.  usually only need quarter sticks.

    We worked out a routine…once the charge was buried and wires connected I signalled Abul, then moved out
    of the way, and he pushed  the firing button.  Wham!  A small geyser of dirt snd  debris flew into the air.  And beneath the ground a  sound wave raced
    to the seismograph.  Sound  waves move faster in  hard surfaces so it is possible to ‘read’ what is  beneath the ground…and do  a profile of the depth to bedrock.
    That is  a very simple explanation.  Forgive any errors.  Remember I was just the hammer and explosives  guy.  The kid on the
    job.




    The greeting by the professional staff at the mine site was a little disconcerting though.  They had  set up a demonstration test just to be sure the company, my company, knew what we we’re doing.
    At least that’s the way I interpreted them gathering around the FS2 on the first working day.   They assigned a hammer man to work with me, a man who was a little familiar with frociete explosives.
    Really just a kid a few years younger than me.  We walked along the edge of the huge open pit mine.  Walked carefully.  But not carefully enough for the hammer/explosives man.  He slipped over
    the edge carrying the box fo Forcite sticks.  Fell down about ten feet or so, regained his footing and popped up again.  Forcite does not explode when dropped.  A most stable explosive…can be needed
    and wrapped  around a bank vault as they show in the movies.  So there was no real danger although the boy who fell had misgivings. 

    Let me set the stags for the next critical incident:

    We are standing on the edge of the open pit Molybdenum mine.  A Great circular road  weaves its way down to the pay dirt at the bottom.  Huge Euclid mine trucks are going and coming
    while equally large excavators are at work far below.   The officials from the mine are interested in seeing the Seismograh at work.  They are professional people…a geologist and the mine manager
    are among the 5 or 6 people present.  

    I set up the console and mark off the intervals for a) the hammered plate and then, once hammering cannot be done b) the intervals for the electrically fired quarter snd half stick of Forcite.  The hammer man
    has been instructed how to slowly side the electric firing caps into the Frociete then use the lead wires to make the explosive secure.

    I am nervous.   What if nothing happens?  What did Dr. Paterson mean when he said certain adjustments had been made to the FS2.  Let me describe what happened next in dialogue form.

    “OK, we’re all set up,  FS is on.”
    “Hammer the steel plate…NOW.”
    “That’s odd, no reading…no milliseconds indicted…Do it again!”
    (Nothing happened…I had my heart in my mouth…was there something I did not know…was it my fault?
    Keep calm, Alan…be confident.”
    “Sorry, must be a defective board…may have shaken something loose en route.”
     Dr. Paterson had given me two or three spare “boards” filled with complicated soldered resistors and what not.)
    “Just do a replacement…slide this board out and put a new one in…happens all the time.”
    “OK, now take a good song with the hammer:
    “Bingo…working fine…measures time vibration gets to the seismograph in milliseconds…
    te more distant the hammer or the explosives get from the seismograph the closer we get to finding 
    what is underground.  What you want is a stable rock base…or a rock knob to prevent any more slippage.
    That will take s lot of readings…(no need for an audience is what I really meant)”
    “My credibility had been established…by pure luck…well, more than luck, let’s say guts…Dad always
    called me a ‘gutsy bugger’

    GUESS WHO ARRIVED THAT FIRST DAY ON THE JOB?

    Once the board was replaced all went well.   Firing box for  Explosives worked perfectly. All I had to do was push the button and  then
    write down the milliseconds it took  for the sound wave to reach the seismograph.  Simply add  up the little twinkling lights.  At least that
    is what I remember.  Things became routine.

    My next shock was when I returned to the motel.
    Marjorie was unpacking her suitcase in our room.  




    “Marjorie, I thought you were going to wait a couple of days?”
    “Not in that Vancouver hotel.  I  was scared so I caught the night 
    bus to Merritt…arrived this morning.”
    “Scared?”
    “Strange men…noise…drunks…did not want to stay around.”
    “Glad to see you…perfectly safe here…”

    A little later, the mine geologist showed up to make me feel welcome.  Me?
    He was surprised to find an  attractive young woman in my room with me.
    Wore a kind of lopsided grin when I introduced Marjorie to him.

    The next day I got the scuttlebutt from our hammer man that the execs thought I had
    brought a hooker in from Vancouver.  They were certain of that.  No matter how many
    times  I introduced  Marjorie as my wife, they figured I was leading them on.

    “Marjorie, these guys think you are a hooker…can’t dissuade them…”
    “So, let’s leave it at that then Alan.”

    Pictures: Marjorie…I know these were taken a few years after the BC venture…but they seem to fit.

    As the days wore on, I think they came to realize Marjorie was my wife but we were 
    never sure that fact was believed.  There is  an old story about mining that I picked
    up when working on the Elliot Lake uranium job.  Our liaison man on that job said
    “The best way to tell if a mine is going to be operational is the arrival of the hookers.”
    Maybe Marjorie was a good luck omen.

    WHAT WAS THE RESULT OF THE SURVEY?

    I was only the field man.  The interpretation of my results was done by professional geophysicists like Dr. Paterson back in Toronto. 
    The execs from Cominco would have liked me to tell them if the unstable north wall of the open pit was on the verge of collapse
    or whether it would  stabilize due to a  tilt in the bedrock.  I never did know the results.  That was true of all the jobs except for
    the Southern Irish job where Dr. Stam and geologist John Hogan were on site for the duration of the job.  

    When we finished our seismic readings and the results were sent back to Toronto, the job was over.  

    So here we were in Central British Columbia with s  few days before school started back in Toronto.   What should  we do?
    Fly home right away?   I never liked doing that on any job.   Seemed  an absolute waste because most of the places we surveyed
    were distant from Toronto. Some were fascinating places like Anchorage, Alaska…Keno City, Yukon Territory…Bunmahon, County 
    Waterford,  Ireland.   It would be stupid to rush home.  And it would be costly since two airfares were involved only one of
    which was covered by the company.

    So we booked ourselves on a cross Canada tourist train both
    of us in a Lower birth.

    alan skeoch
    dec. 29, 3033

  • EPISODE 698 B 52 STRATEGIC AIR COMMAND NUCLEAR BOMBER CRASH SITE — PERTH ANDOVER, NEW BRUNSWICK



    EPISODE 698   B 52 STRATEGIC AIR COMMAND NUCLEAR BOMBER CRASH SITE — PERTH ANDOVER, NEW BRUNSWICK

    alan skeoch
    Dec. 16, 2022


    All that remained of a US Air Force B 52 nuclear bomber …
    found at the crash site in 1959

    Photos: B-52 Stratofortress Bomber, Just Returned From Middle East


    WE STUMBLED ONTO THE CRASH SITE OF A B 52 Strategic Air Command  bomber

    Abul Mousuf  and I were doing a seismic survey  in 1959 across  the Upper St. Joh River Valley when we came
    across the site where a B 52 nuclear bomber belonging to Strategic Air Command crashed in
    1957.  It came down in a small forest after exploding in  the air when apparently the pilot panicked
    and veered so sharp that the huge plane fell apart and exploded in the air before diving vertically
    into the St. John River valley.

    I picked up this piece of melted aluminum from the rubble.

    It was a strange place.  As we did our survey we noticed bits of melted metal in blobs here and
    there in the forest.  Nothing big.  I suppose the clean up crew from Maine took away most of the
    remains of the plane and crew.  It was a mysterious crash site.  Many rumours.  Was it sabotage
    or pilot error.  A debe ensued centre around the lone survivor who managed to bail out.  The conclusion
    of the investigation was pilot error.

    Morrell Siding B-52 Bomber Crash Site

    Street Address: Morrell Siding, New Brunswick 

    At 12:05 p.m. on Friday 10 January 1957, a B-52 intercontinental bomber from the 70th Bomb Squadron, stationed at the Strategic US Air Force Command Base at Loring, Maine, exploded and crashed near Morrill Siding, five miles north of Perth-Andover. Traces of the wreckage can still be found. On board were the six crew members and three instructors. Eight airmen in all were killed, while the co-pilot, Captain Joseph L. Church, miraculously survived, parachuting to safety. The bomber was returning from a routine instrument training mission and was undergoing an exercise designed to test the pilot’s reflexes. The pilot’s vision was partially restricted, most likely by a hood, and then the aircraft was placed in “an unusual position.” The pilot was expected to take the appropriate action to regain control of the aircraft. On this occasion something went drastically wrong. The stress placed on the airframe caused it to break apart and explode. This was the fourth crash of a B-52 in eleven months.

    B52 Crew Lost at Morrell Siding

    The B-52 bomber crew lost at Morrell Siding on completion of its training at Castle Air Force Base, Merced, CA. Co-Pilot Joseph L. Church escaped while two instructors not pictured additionally lost their lives.

    Captain William C. Davidson, Pilot Instructor, age 40, married, buried Hanford, California.
    Captain Richard A. Jenkins, Pilot, age 35, married, buried in Huron, Ohio.
    Captain John E. McCune, Pilot Instructor, age 31, married, buried Hayward, California.
    Captain Marquad H. D. Myers, Pilot Instructor, age 35, married, buried Tracey, California.
    Lieutenant Charles S. Cole, Navigator, age, 27, married, buried Basin, Wyoming.
    Lieutenant Andy Larson, Observer EOM Operator, married, age 26, buried New York City.
    Lieutenant Walter A. Thomas, Early Warning EW Operator, age 33, buried Youngstown, Pennsylvania.
    Sergeant Ray Miller, Tail-Gunner, married, age 27, buried Racine, Wisconsin.
    Lieutenant Charles Samuel Cole
    The fate of the aircraft’s navigator epitomizes the human cost of the Cold War. Lieutenant Charles Samuel Cole completed his training with his crew at Castle Air Force Base in Merced, California in June 1956, after which they were assigned to 70 Bomb Squadron. He married Theresa Jalbert of Caribou, Maine, and the couple took up residence on Church Street in her home town. Within the year, he was killed at age 26 and was buried in his hometown of Basin, Wyoming. One week after the crash, his widow gave birth to their only child, a son named John who would never know his father.







    Islamophobia is a problem for some Canadians but not for me.  The reason?
    Very early in my mining career I worked with Avul Mousef doing aseismic job
    in the St John river Valley where a huge dam washout to be conxruvtrf called


    WHAT WERE WE DOING IN PERTH ANDOVER IN 1959

    Abul was my boss.   I pounded steel plat with a heavy sledge hammer at various fixed intervals 
    away from the seismograph.  When the hammer signals got weak I wired small quarter sticks
    of force explosives which were triggered by Abul

    ALL THAT I SAVED IS THIS PIECE OF MELTED ALUMINUM














  • Fwd: EPISODE 697 MEMORY OF ABUL MOUSUF, GEOPHYSICIST



    Begin forwarded message:


    From: ALAN SKEOCH <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>
    Subject: EPISODE 697 MEMORY OF ABUL MOUSUF, GEOPHYSICIST
    Date: December 15, 2022 at 10:41:12 PM EST
    To: Alan Skeoch <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>


    EPISODE  697   ABUL MOUSUF AND SEISMOGRAPH 


    alan skeoch
    dec 14  2022

    This is what remained of our blasting caps once the Forite explosive was triggered by bus Mousuf who held the firing bus and watched the the seismograph register the number of milliseconds it took for the sound wave

    to travel a fixed distance.  This way we could determine the depth of overburden over bedrock.   I saved the wire for these 60 years just to show you.

    Before I can describe my last mining  job in 1965  I have to go back to 1959 when I had the privilege of working with Abul Mousuf…Dr. Abul Mousuf.  There are People in this world whose force of personality enter long term storage in my brain.   Abul was one of these.   Not because he ws dominating.  He was 

    very soft spoken even shy.  Silent, as we flew to Fredericton on a rush Seismic 
    job in the upper St. John River Valley where the immense dam had
    been consructed and would eventually drown one of the prettiest river valleys in
    Canada.



    “Alan, you will be the hammer man for Abul”
    “Hammer man?”
    “Your job will be to hit a steel plate with a ten pound hammer…seismic work involves sound waves…you will generate the sound waves.  Abul will do
    the rest.  Not quite true. When the hammer waves are too far from the 
    seismograph, we use explosives.””
    “Explosives? Like Dynamite?”
    “Forcite explosives triggered by electric blasting caps.   Comes in sticks
    about length of weiners.   Usually quarter sticks are enough.  Hook caps
    to wire then Abul will trigger.”
    “Dangerous?”
    “Not really if you are careful.  Slide the cap gently into the Forcite.  Once you get the Forcite armed…get out of
    the way and signal to Abul.   “
    “How does the blasting cap get into the Forcite stick?”
    “That’s your job.  Just slowly push the metal cap into the Forcite.  Slowly.  
    Avoid too much friction.   then tie the lead wires around the Forcite tight.”
    ‘Bury the charge.”
    “Abul in any danger?”

    “Soft soil, muddy soil, swamp…impossible to use the sledge hammer …in

    those cases Forcite explosives are quite close to Abul as you will see no doubt”



    ABUL HELD THE FIRING BOX AND WATCHED THE SEISMIC RESULT REGISTER ON THE SEISMOGRAPH..  THIS WAS A TWO PERSON OPERATION.
    MORE THAN TWO COULD SPELL TROUBLE SUCH AS A MISCUE  ON THE FIRING BOX.




    Sound waves are measured in milliseconds…one thousand 
    milliseconds in 1 second.  Sound travels faster in rock than
    in soft ground or air. 

    WE HAD A THHIR MAN WHOSE NAME I HAVE FORGOTTEN.
    HE WAS FAMIIAR WITH FORCITE AND PREPARED MULTIPLE 
    CHARGES.  ENOUGH HERE TO BLOW OFF ARMS AND HEAD

    THE St. John River valley was slowly fill-in with water. Farms disappearing.   Temporary car ferry where road disappears.


    So my job was a touch more complicated than swinging a hammer.  Quite exciting really.  Danger is exciting.  Sound waves measured in milliseconds. We would draw profiles of the depths 
    of overburden in the St. John Valley .  Locate the bedrock.  Construciton 
    engineers needed this information.  

     So many beautiful ancient farms were
    about to be destroyed.  That saddened me.

    But this story is about Abul.  He was an expert in geophysics.  Had a doctorate
    although ne never said so.  I was a student.   Yet he treated me as an important
    team member.  

    Abul was a muslim.  First musliim I had ever met.  First impressions are important.    

    What term is correct? — Moslem or Muslim?
    “A ‘Muslim’ in Arabic means ‘one who gives himself to God,’ and is by definition, someone who adheres to Islam. By contrast a ‘Moslem’ in Arabic means ‘one who is evil and unjust’ when the word is pronounced, as it is in English, ‘Mozlem’ with a z.”Jan 12, 2015

    On other mining jobs cursing, drinking,  laughter were the order of the day. 
    We always tried to have a good time because  the working conditions were 
    rough often.  That was not so on the job with Abul.
    We just talked.  Partly about the horrors that attended
    the split between Hindus and Muslims,,, between Pakistanis and Indians.   Partition of India and Pakistan occurred in 1947 when the British colonialists withdrew from India after World War Two.
    This was not a peaceful transition.   Many
    died .  Abul was in the centre of it all as a young man.
    Horrified by what he saw around him. 

    I think he was a student at U. of T in 1947.  Could never go back home maybe.


    Abul loved Cnada.  Warmed his heart to see our level of innocence with regard 
    to the violence elsewhere.  Dr Norman Paterson sent me these two memories of Abul,   

    “”The Beloved Professor” incident was when Tuzo Wilson took a bunch of graduate students on a hike across the steep north rim of the Sudbury Basin. Abul fell behind and curled up under a tree. When the others went back looking for him he looked up and said Oh my beloved professor, I thought you had left me here in the wilderness to die. 

    The Resolute (not called that now) story was when Abul took an FS-3 Hammer seismograph to measure the depth to bedrock on the ice off Resolute Bay. His helper, an Inuit got very agitated as evening approached and made signs that he wanted to return home. Abul continued making measurements. Eventually the Inu threw all the gear on the sled and left. That night the Mess Hall was buzzing with the story of how the brave man from India continued his work with a polar Bear only 100 feet away.””
                    (Dr. Norman Paterson, Dec. 15, 2022)


    DEATH OF ABUL MOUSUF

    In 1961 Abul died. 

    “Abul’s wife, I think her name was Dorothy. She came toToronto after Abul’s death. She told me Abul was not really that sick but he was VERY tatalistic, and when they put him in an oxygen tent he told her he was going to die, and so he did The job was a small IP survey I believe, in the Restigouche Area.
              (Dr. Norman Paterson, Dec. 15, 2022)

    MOUNT PLEASANT CEMETARY

    Dr. Mousuf is in all likelihood one of the first Muslims to be buried in Metro Toronto. He died years before there was a substantial Muslim population. In those days there were a number of Muslim students attending University of Toronto and doctors in residency programmes at local hospitals. His grave is located on the west section of Mount Pleasant Cemetary (the section located between Mount Pleasant Road in the east and Yonge Street on the west) near the fence on Mount Pleasant Road.  

    Dr. Mousuf was born in Bihar State, India. He was an Earth Scientist (geophysics) by profession. His headstone states ‘in loving memory’, 

    ==========================
    A Google search of the name ‘Mousuf’ yielded this result, among others:

    K40 Radioactive Decay: Its Branching Ratio and Its Use in Geological Age Determinations
    A. K. Mousuf
    Geophysics Laboratory, Department of Physics, University of Toronto, Toronto, Canada 
    Received 30 June 1952 
    ©1952 The American Physical Society

    POST SCRIPT

    PARTITI0N OF INDIA ACT 1947

    The partition caused a large-scale loss of life and an unprecedented migration between the two dominions.[4] Among refugees that survived, it solidified the belief that safety lay among co-religionists. In the instance of Pakistan, it made palpable a hitherto only imagined refuge for the Muslims of British India.[5] The migrations took place hastily and with little warning. It is thought that between 14 million and 18 million people moved, and perhaps more. Excess mortality during the period of the partition has been conventionally estimated to be between 200,000 and 1 million. The second figure is thought to be too low, though a lack of reliable data precludes a more robust figure.[6] The violent nature of the partition created an atmosphere of hostility and suspicion between India and Pakistan that affects their relationship to this day.

    Why the Partition Is Not an Event of the Past

    The long journey across new border


  • EPISODE 695 MEMORIES OF THE ALGOMA CENTRAL RAILWAY 1964 MY FAREWELL TO MINING


     
    EPISODE 695   MY FAREWELL TO MINING — MEMORIES OF THE ALGOMA CENTRAL RAILWAY

    alan skeoch
    December 12, 2022



    Marjorie arriving at Paradise Lodge, a flag stop on the Algoma Central Ralway.in 1964

    The conductor is helping Marjorie unload her sewing machine, her luggage and a

    cage with our cat Presque Neige.   There is noting here….no station.


    abandoned algoma central railway station, searchmont, onta… | Flickr


    MINING DAYS WERE NOT OVER


     But my mining
    days were not over.   Dr. Paterson sent me to Paradise Lodge in the summer
    of 1964, a wilderness job that depended upon flagging down the AlgomaCentral 
    Railway out of Sault Ste.Marie en route to Hearst.  A ghost railway line.
     Marjorie joined our bush crew.  She arrived with her sewing machine and our cat,
    Presque Neige, much the amusement of the fellows.  No electricity for
    the sewing machine and wolves howling to get at the cat.  

    Not sure if Imentoned Marjorie would join the crew to my boss, Dr. Norman Paterson,?  Not sure about that.

    I paid her transportation.  No salary but free accommodation and meals.  Marjorie 
    did some of the cooking and made the camp seem like a home away from home
    for the crew.  Take Serge Lavoie for instance.  He swam in the nude before Marjorie’s
    arrival so she made him a hand sewed bathing suit.   And her voice joined with Bob Bartlet’s
    around our campfire evenings.  Bob had his guitar and a long list of the current folk
    songs of the 1960’s of which Four ‘Strong Winds’ dominated.   This geophysical 
    survey seemed more like a summer camp than a wilderness ordeal.

    Every time I hear The Sound of Silence sung by Simon and Garfunkel  I remember
    Bob Bartlet leading us in song.  Especially the first verse. “Hello darkness, my old 
    friend…”

    • Hello darkness, my old friend
      I’ve come to talk with you again
      Because a vision softly creeping
      Left its seeds while I was sleeping
      And the vision that was planted in my brain
      Still remains
      Within the sound of silence

    The crew were younger than I was…the sixties generation.
    ,,,not too anxious to live rough, sleeping on 
    the ground when our anomalies were too distant from the
    civilized life at Paradise Lodge.  We used a Cessna
    170 to set up a fly camp several miles west of the ACR.  Landed
    there just before night fell.  Then in the dark we cooked supper.


    (Bob Bartlett, Serge Lavoie on left)


    “Special treat to night … I was able to buy dried dinners…all we need
    is water to make a big beef stew.  No more canned food, we can travel
    light with this freeze dried stuff.  Just hang the pot over the fire and in
    a few minutes we’ll have beef stew.”

    Well this was a case of good news and bad news.  The good news was that
    we all had lots of beef stew.  The bad news was discovered in the light of
    the next morning.  The remainder of the stew was in the pot…along with a host
    of tiny cooked worms.  The dried beef stew was full of maggots.   My leadership
    suffered a bit as a result.  There was an upside.  No one got sick.

    “Alan just what do you do each day in the bush?”
    “Why don’t you come along today,  Have to renew some claim tags.”

    That led to two memories I will never forget.   I hope no one
    will get offended and accuse me of sexism. 

     Paradise Lodge is located
    near he ACR tracks on  one side and network of lakes on the other.

    “We can get close to the blazed trail using thereat and outboard motor.  Bring some
    lunch and hop in.”

    And away we went.  A beautiful day.  Full sunshine above and cool water
    below.

    “We’l pull into that little island and go for a swim.”
    “No bathing suits, Alan.”
    “Who is there to care…strip down and dive in.”
     
    What a delightful dip that was.  Even managed to catch a photo of Marjorie
    getting ready … semi-clothed.   She looked terrific and this is one of my special
    photographs.  A keeper.

    That was  a day to remember forever…long term storage in my brain and it was

    not just the nude swimming with my wife.  We beached the boat where the blazed trail

    began and hiked deep into the forest for a couple of miles.   Our future base line
    for the magnetic survey.   

    We stopped at the claim post,  Marjorie looked around.

    “What are those scars on that tree?”
    “That’s where a bear sharpened its claws or a moose rubbed the velvet off his
    antlers.”
    “Oh…OH!  Let’s get out of here now.”
    “No danger as long as you make lots of noise.  Wild animals try to
    avoid humans…”  (I was tempted to say ‘unless they are hungry”. I held
    my tongue.)




    Serge Lavoie and I had a close call 
    that I will never understand.   We finished Magnetometer work on a small
    anomaly a few miles south of our camp when a sudden summer storm swept through
    the bush.  High velocity wind.  Strong enough to blow over a patch of cedars
    and strip leaves off deciduous trees.

    “Let’s get the hell out of here fast.”
    “We can get to the ACR track in a mile or so…late
    afternoon train northbound. “

    We ran like broken field runners on a football field.  But we
    did not get far before strange thing happened.  Something I will
    never understand.  In the flash of an instant we were both flung to the 
    ground.  Knocked out.   For how long?  No idea, perhaps a few seconds,
    perhaps minutes.  When we came to, we were a bit stunned.  The mag which
    I was carrying was hung on a bunch of tag alders.   Maybe tenor fifteen feet
    from where we lay.   The wind  was cyclonic…blew in circle it seemed.
    Did a flash lightning hit the ground near us?   Were we nearly struck by lightning.  I seem to remember clumps 
    of cedars uprooted at an angle.  Shallow roots, easy to upset.

    “What happened?”
    “Lightning?”
    “Cyclonic storm.”
    “Grab the mag and let’s get out of here.”
    “Still time to flag down the ACR.”

    The train was intercepted.  Flagged down and we flopped into
    t;he open doors of a baggage car and rode north to Paradise Lodge.
    I am not sure what happened to us that day.   If I was alone no one
    would believe me.  But the same thing happened to Serge.  It was
    our own little adventure.   Wonder if he remembers?  Wonder if Serge
    is stil alive. If so, he will be 80.
     
    The final adventure on that job could have been catastrophic.
    Our final anomaly was near a small lake southeast of Paradise Lodge.
    When we flew in the pilot cautioned us.

    “Thi lake is small and getting smaller in summer heat. Little rain..  Landing could
    be difficult if we wait too long.  The survey went well and the crew
    was taken out first.  The last load included our camp gear and tent…and me.

    Seemed OK as the Cessna set down.   Great flume of water at the shallow end
    then a dead head log  ripped a hole in one pontoon.  Small hole but big enough
    to pick up water on takeoff.  The exact particulars are a little misty but bottom 
    line was we abandoned  our gear to lighten the load which basically included the 
    pilot and ,me.   Our first attempt was a failure as the ripped pontoon picked
    up too much water.

    “Lean forward as far as you can … get your weight  to balance the load…picking
    up too much water.”
    “Got to cut power or go up on shore.”

    Been a long time since that failed takeoff.  Not crystal clear.  Pilot pumped
    the water out of the dmaed pontoon. Then lightened the load even more 
    for the final run.  We ferried as far down the lake as possible and hoped a light
    headwind would help lift us up.  

    He got us moving.  Applied full power and we bobbed our way down the lake.
    And lifted off.  I wish my memory was better .  Did it happen as described or have
    I over dramatized the flight?   The ripped pontoon  is confirmed in my diary. The terror
    of the takeoff is not.  Once in the air we headed for the airport at Sault Ste. Marie


    Marjorie had come out by train with some of the crew.  She took  our car to the
    airport and waited for me.   Waited and waited.  

    “How would you like to join me?” asked a young man who had just learned to fly solo.
    “Dangerous?”
    “No, I have my licence and just want to build up a few hours in the air…circling around
    the airport mostly.  Take offs and landings.  Really fun.”
    “My husband is due here shortly.”
    “Flying could relieve the boredom of waiting…but suit yourself.”
    “OK, I’ll do it…may even see Alan coming in.”

    Mistake.   Big time mistake.  I was upset when Marjorie told me about
    joy riding over Sault lSte Marie.  She was not too happy about it either.

    “He wanted to show me what he could do…flew in big circles …tilted lots…then accelerated up and
    drifted down.  I got scared and wanted  to land.  Yelled ‘I’m going to be sick …going to throw uo”
    which got me back on the tarmack.

    The summer of 1964 was over.

    alan

    post script

    FORGOTTEN RAILROADS LIKE ACR

    Arlo Guthjrie singing  CITY OF NEW ORLEANS
    written by Steve Goodman

    Riding on the City of New OrleansIllinois Central, Monday morning railFifteen cars and fifteen restless ridersThree conductors and twenty-five sacks of mailAll along the southbound odysseyThe train pulls out at KankakeeRolls along past houses, farms and fieldsPassin’ trains that have no nameFreight yards full of old black menAnd the graveyards of the rusted automobiles
    Good morning America, how are you?Say, don’t you know me? I’m your native sonI’m the train they call the City of New OrleansI’ll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done

    Stompin Tom Connors  wrote a song about the
    Algoma Central Railway.

    Lyrics

  • EPISODE 691 THE MARATHON JOB…AND MARRIAGE AUGUST 24, 1963

    EPISODE 691    THE MARATHON JOB…AND MARRIAGE AUGUST 24, 1963


    “Floyd, why don’t we have a gun to protect us from bears?”
    “Because we would likely shoot each other” (Floyd Faulkner 1958*
    *That was one of the worst jobs ever. Floyd was right. Bob Hilkar, Floyd
    Faulkner, Walter Helstein and I did get on each other nerves but never
    so much as we needed a gun.  We spent 3 months in that tent.  Smelled bad.
    All the same the principal of ’no guns’
    was a sane principal that should be etched in stone somewhere…everywhere.”)

    This job in Marathon in 1963 was supposed to be my last bush job…but it wasn’
    Read on.

    alan skeoch
    Dec. 11, 2022

    My mining days were not over quite yet.  Even though marriage was on the near horizon…August 24, 1963…
    I accepted a survey job near Marathon, Ontario.  A wilderness job.  Dr. Paterson put me in charge
    of the logistics and sent a Welsh man, John Lloyd, to do the interpretation of our results.  

    Marjorie accepted my explanation. “The money I earn will pay for our honeymoon.”  

    MARATHON JOB and THE BLACK BEAR and BILL GILBEY 

    “What about the bear?”  I know. I know. (Some readers may wonder about the bear story
    alluded to in a previous episode)

     That was one smart bear.  It seemed to like our camp.
    Hung around. Once it Grabbed a salami hanging in our cook tent.  Expected easy pickings…better than
    the local garbage dump. One dark  night John Lloyd reached for his axe mistaking me for the bear.
      Dangerous.   The bear was a novelty at first.

    We tried our damndest to scare the bear away. Like hitching the generator to the garbage can lid.  It did not
    work.  Before we could flip the switch the bear got our box of chocolate bars.  We had figured
    a good jolt of electrify would deter the bear. Nothing worked and the bear was getting bolder.
    We expected the bear would join us at our cook tent table one day.  Did the bear reach into the cook
    tent for that hanging salami while we were having supper?  That might be my imagination.



    I was in charge so had to make a decision.  A gun!  The bear had to be removed before
    someone got hurt,  Canadian mining survey crews do not carry guns.  Why not? “Because.”
    said Floyd Faulkner, “we were likely to shoot each other”.  Which was true. The job
    was tough.  Slogging through bug infested forests day in and day out tends to breed
    discontent.  Sleeping on the ground beside a  guy who snores and farts can be irritating.
    Having wet feet day after day also makes men irritable.  No anger on this job but lots 
    of laughter…especially when Bill Gilbey was reading and showing us excerpts from
    the Eaton mail order catalogue.


    Marathon hob, left to right:  Bill Glbey, David Murphy, Alan Skeoch, Roger Nicholls,
    John Lloyd.  
    I have a good memory but not perfect.  I do not remember what this machine did.
    Suspect it was a trial machine to find underground conductors.  Seems not to have worked
    because we never used it. Then again maybe we were just too stupid and could
    not figure how to make the machine work.  Pics were taken as promotion for investors.  Mining
    exploration was going through terrific changes in the 1960’s.  Don’t we look impressive.?

    BUT NO GUNS IN CAMP

    So no guns.  Fine by me.  I hate guns and regard gun lovers as deranged.which alienates 
    me from hunters and the gun sport lobby (IRA).  I  Became a gun hater by experience rather than idealism.
    I shot my brother in the ass just to see if our brand new BB gun had punch.  Lost him
    as a friend for a while as a result.  Dad smashed the BB gun across a Manitoba maple in
    our back yard.   Before that I managed to shoot the panes out of several farm
    drivesheds and even put a BB through the back window of Angus McEchern’s 
    half ton as he drove down the Fifth line that Christmas day so long ago.  

    I know this dissertation is too long.  Only desperation caused me to invite the
    local Lands and Forests Ranger to our campsite. “The bear is getting a little
    too friendly.  There he is over at the tent flap.”  The bear visited us in the daytime 
    at that point. 


    We were more at fault than the bear.  All our food just sitting in the cook tent.



     “Only one thing we can do…shoot the bear.  Too bad. Easy access
    to food results in a lot of dead bears.” (a veiled criticism)
      Ans he raised the rifle
    “Stay behind me…OK he’s standing to get a good look at us.”
    And he fired
    “got him”
    The bear did not move for a second or so.  Then it did something I will
    neer forget.  It cried like a little baby.  Slumped over and died.    We buried him
    where he fell.   None of us on crew…Roger Nichols, DavidMurphy, John Lloyd,
    Bill Gilbey and myself felt good about what we had done.  Since I had made
    the decision I probably felt the worst.   Never could understand the joy a hunter
    feels when he shoots an animal for no other reason than the joy of the kill.

    Thankfully Bill Gilbey broke our depression by turning the pages of
    Eatpn’s catalogue as he did every night.  A whole section of the catalogue
    is devoted to female lingerie.  “How we have fallen when we have to depend
    on Eaton’s catalogue for our pornography?”   And he held up a model showing
    off a brassiere or something even more suggestive.  we all laughed as we 
    did with just about everything Bill Gilbey did.



    Perhaps a word about Bill Gilbey migh be interestng.  Those of you who drink gin
    might recognize the name.  Gilbey’s Gin is sold in liquor stores around
    the world.  Bill was born into the ranks of English lesser nobility.  His father,
    Sir William Gilbey had been knighted for some reason or other.  That put Bill
    into the upper class.  What was he doing on a lowly geophysical survey crew
    like ours?  Will he require bowing and scraping….maybe a curtsy?

    “Alan, you will have a special person on he crew this year.  Guy whose family
    name is on thousands of gin bottle.  Gilbey.”





    Bill Gilbey in his sleeping bag with an air mail letter close by.  And Bill Gilbey in our canoe on the
    Little Pic River where one of our line cutters drowned or so we were told.
    Bill turned out to be a wonderful guy to work with….sharp sense of humour…capable..wonder what he wrote in that air mail letter ?

    Capable of swearing at mosquitoes and black flies with the rest of us.  Later 
    some beer drinkers mimicked his accent…kept needling him.  He met one of them
    outside the pub who wanted to punch him out.  It was a one punch fight.  Bill could
    box.  Surprised me for he was nicest guy imaginable.  (A Couple of years ago I tried to
    find him in England and discovered he had died.) He was as sad about the bear as
    the rest of us.

    And so the summer of 1963 rolled  along and was over too soon.

    Then  a Chevrolet pulled in to our gravel site campsite.  Marjorie and her guardian, Phyllis Morgan and my mom 
    arrived to take me back to Toronto for the wedding.   The boys gathered round, presented us 
    with a card table as a gift.  

     Marjorie fitted in so well wit the boys that an idea
    was hatched in the far corner of my brain. Maybe Marjorie could join us next summer.

    Maybe my mining exploration days were not over.  Maybe Marjorie might like
    to come along on another job.  As long as I kept my mouth
    shut about the plan.  Our boss, Dr. Paterson, made a big mistake telling
    me that his wife came with him on a couple of jobs.   Marjorie could be a big
    asset as she could cook, sew and sing.  And we could swim nude in some unnamed
    lake in the Canadian boreal forest.  Like Adam and Eve but no fig leaf. Good idea, Alan….

    Marjorie prepared for a honeymoon on Cape Cod but the real place chosen was
    the Bahamas.   We had a great time but ran out of money in four days so came
    home earlier.  I worked for 3 months to pay for the honeymoon but it was gone
    in four days.  We didn’t care….we were married.


    alan skeoch

    NEXT EPISODE # 694    MY LAST TWO JOBS…AGAWA CANYON, Ontario, and OPEN PIT MINE MERRITT, British Columbia