“SKIPPERING A SCOW” ON THE ATHABASCA
(Continued from last issue)
By N. A. Howland
The only other boat besides mine that remained above the rapid was the York boat, drawn back up to the Island on the cable to re-load and continue the trip to McMurray if necessary.
We Cut Loose to Shoot the Rapids
Gathering my crew and sundry other loose boatmen lying around, we embarked on the scow for the short but swift journey, there being sixteen souls aboard. We shoved off, the steersman standing on the after-deck, alertly watching the stream. He worked the boat into the passage by means of the sweep, which is a massive oar protruding half of the scow’s length over and pivoted to the stern with a steel pin. This acted as a rudder, but twice as effectively as the ordinary rudder, because of its length, with the additional advantage that being movable up, down and to either side it offers no resistance to the rocks, therefore cannot break. We travelled slowly at first, but gradually gaining impetus, the scow was soon tossing in the boiling waters, travelling with the speed of an express train. It trembled from stem to stern with the shock of the waves. There was an exhilarating sensation with an element of danger in it.
The Steersman Distinguished Himself
The performance of the steersman was admirable. It was difficult to believe that this lithe, active fellow who with powerful arms handled the heavy sweep with such ease, bearing down on the handle to lift the blade clear of the water, jumping from one gunwale to the other with a speed and agility truly astonishing, could be the same slow-moving figure that idly lounged on his oar all the previous way.
We Made the Big Eddy Safely
He seemed to guide the boat as by instinct and with such unerring skill, twisting and turning her among the boulders in the roughest of the water through the narrow channel, that we had hardly time to realize what was happening before the restless figure in the stern resumed his usual listless attitude and we were riding in the Big Eddy. At the cry of “Out oars,” we were quickly rowed ashore by the remainder of the crew.
Pulling the Scow Back by Cable
After dropping passengers, no time was lost in endeavoring to pick up the cable and pull back to the island. Luck was against us. Repeatedly the scow was swept away before the log attached to the end of the rope could be caught, though we knew it was being tossed around on the outer rim of the eddy. After battling the current for an hour the men put me ashore. There were still some matters requiring attention on the island, so I walked back, ferrying across again above the rapids. When I reached the landing place the crew had just managed to secure the cable and were being pulled up.
After loading the rails and car wheels there was nothing to hinder our departure. My work was done.
The next eighty miles to our destination was a succession of rapids, but none bad enough at this time to necessitate unloading. The journey was continued next morning, the previous evening having been spent by all hands in a futile attempt to dislodge the tug “Crester.” It was apparent that nothing but a further rise of water would move her off, so we left a force of men to help Captain Barber out of his difficulty and continued on our way.
We Carried Russian Passengers
Cornwall had previously arranged with me to take some of the Russians as passengers, his boat being too crowded for rough water work. Thus it happened that thirty of these smelly gentlemen were transferred to me. They were not desirable company on account of their odour. Besides, they were afraid of the rapids. The weather, which ever since our leaving Athabasca Landing had been perfect, now changed. The bright sky was obscured by clouds. It rained intermittently all day. The Russians huddled themselves up under my tarpaulins. They presented an inexpressibly comic appearance to me, as they sat around for the most part completely covered up, dismal faces now and then peering out from unexpected places to survey the scenes. When the boat hit a few waves, the lumpy canvas would contort and wriggle all over in anguish, uncouth muffled sounds arising. Louison, who rarely smiled, took particular pains to seek out the worst water. He grinned broadly whenever we struck a big wave.
The Arrival at Fort McMurray
H.B.C. Store at Fort McMurray, Alberta
Next day this eventful voyage ended. We arrived at Fort McMurray before noon. There was one particularly handsome fellow among my passengers, who attracted me by his refined appearance, but he spoke no English. The lad with many of his companions went in to bathe in the Clearwater River, which joins the Athabasca at this point. In front of the village it is very shallow. This man went out too far. There was a hole into which he fell and could not swim out. He was drowned before it was possible for a boat to reach him. A drag was improvised out of a two-by-four to which were attached cords fitted with fish hooks. After six hours’ labor our mournful task was successfully accomplished and he was laid to rest in a new outfit of store clothes in accordance with the Mohomedan faith. Thus for a week was my journeying at an end.
(To be continued)
