Grizzlies, Gales and Giant Salmon. Pat Ardley

them. We invited Ray, Ruth and Lorna to join us. I had never cooked for so many people before so by the time we were finally sitting down to eat, it was quite late. No one was in a hurry though, since there was no place else to go.

      We were having a lovely time when suddenly there was a knock on the door. We all looked around the table to see if anyone was missing. Our glances nervously returned to the door. It was unheard of for anyone to turn up unexpectedly, especially after darkness had fallen. George finally stood up and went to open the door. An axe murderer was wielding his weapon—no, actually it was only John, Ray and Ruth’s son. He had arrived from the north side of the island so he hadn’t driven past in front of the houses. One of us would have surely seen or heard him go by if he had. Then he had anchored his tugboat in the bay, used his own skiff to get to shore and knowing that we didn’t know he was there, he thought it would be fun to knock and give us all a fright! Well, he had succeeded! We all laughed nervously and pretended not to be surprised or scared. I wasn’t the only one thinking about the lighthouse keeper who had been murdered behind the wharf shed at Addenbroke in late 1929—a murder that is still unsolved.

      George took his dad fishing early each morning and they always came back with huge grins and bright silver coho. They didn’t have to go far; just below the lighthouse was the perfect spot. The tide, the lack of early morning wind, the way the feed follows the shoreline—all provided the best fishing conditions. Ernie liked to be the one to clean the fish when they got back, which worked for me, and still works to this day! From then on, I said, “If I cook them, I don’t clean them!” One day we canned the fresh-caught salmon the same way that we did the clams, except this time we put the meat into canning jars, not cans, then into a boiling water bath. I’m still here, so I think I have proved that it works!

      Ernie never liked to sit still anywhere for long and was perfectly happy to have work to do with George and Ray every afternoon. Irene and I spent hours sitting on the deck crocheting in the sunshine while listening to Ray and Ernie talking about how life was when they were young. Ernie grew up in the Courtenay area on Vancouver Island, while Ray grew up in Sointula on Malcolm Island near Port Hardy and had spent many years on the West Coast of BC. The two men were about the same age and both had an easy storytelling way of keeping us all entertained. Ray and Ernie did most of the talking while George listened and learned.

      George and his dad built two watertight wooden boxes with Plexiglas bottoms and handles on two sides. We went out in the skiff and motored slowly along the shore while hanging overboard looking into the boxes. The see-through bottom didn’t need to be very far into the water, just far enough to break the surface to make the fascinating sea life so much more visible. We drifted along the shores watching eel grass and bull kelp sway in the current. Dungeness crabs skittered sideways, starfish seemed to glide along the bottom. There were sea cucumbers, little pike fish and eels, limpets and hermit crabs. So many coloured sea anemones that opened like giant flowers then disappeared into their long tube if we got too close. Long siphons stuck out of clamshells, and feathery fingers reached out of mussel shells combing the water for nutrients. We spotted bottom fish almost hidden in the sand and starfish sometimes sucking out the contents of a clamshell. There was always something new to look at.

      Irene didn’t like to stay too long with family because she didn’t want to impose. We were waiting for the float plane to return to pick them up when the Thomas Crosby V arrived and anchored in the bay. Irene had already fortified her nerve with a couple of stiff drinks, bracing herself for the flight to come, when the minister came to our door. We invited him in and chatted for a few minutes while Irene tried to pretend that she was drinking plain soda water—on ice with a twist of lemon. The float plane was soon circling in front of our house and we had to hurry down to the wharf. George ran ahead so he could get the boat organized, and I was last out the door as I made a quick check in case they forgot something. I jogged down the walkway and up behind the minister and Irene walking quickly down to the wharf. The minister was kindly carrying Irene’s “drink” for her and they were passing it back and forth so she could sip a little more courage. In the end, all went well, and Ernie and Irene were safely tucked into the plane for their return home.

      The day after Ernie and Irene left we borrowed the boat again. Ray had told George about the people who were living at the Egg Island Lighthouse. Egg Island was the next beacon marking the Inside Passage for ships travelling south and we could see their light on a clear night. I had no idea at the time how far the island was. We headed out in the little tin boat early in the morning because the trip would take a couple of hours. I felt very small by the time we passed the entrance to Rivers Inlet. At that point you start to get out into the open water and the swells of Queen Charlotte Sound, and the safety of land looks very far away. The swells here are different from waves, they are more like the ocean heaving up in huge round-topped speed bumps. You can have a six-foot swell and ride up and over it just fine, but when you add the chop on top, well, things can get ugly. This morning though, as luck would have it, the sound was flat calm as far as you could see in all directions. I don’t think I have ever seen it that calm since. Our little boat was a tiny pinprick on the vast reflective surface that merged with the sky. I didn’t know how scared I should have been, and would be, on future boat rides.

      We zipped along past the Dugout Rocks and Cranstown Point then past False Egg Island and Table Island. Finally, we approached the west side of Egg Island where the houses were. We could see the lighthouse keepers waving to us and knew that we had to drive around the island to the back, more sheltered side where they had their wharf and crane. When Ray radioed the 6 AM weather report he had sent a message through the Prince Rupert Coast Guard that we would be visiting Egg Island that day. The Coast Guard then contacted the Egg Island lightkeepers, Ed and Carlene Carson, and passed on the message. They were expecting us, and they were very excited.

      Egg Island is even more remote than Addenbroke, and almost no one ever visits. There is no safe harbour or anchorage so everyone generally just passes by. It’s a very small island in the middle of Queen Charlotte Sound and because of exposure to winter winds there is not a lot of greenery or trees growing on it. The first lighthouse there had been built in 1898 but was very badly damaged by a huge wave in 1912. They built a new foundation farther away from the water, but still not far enough! On a cold November night in 1948 the lighthouse was destroyed again by a huge rogue wave during a tremendous storm. That night the house trembled each time another wave hit. At 2 AM the lightkeeper, his wife and young son just barely managed to get out of the house and up to higher ground before a wave hit and carried off their home. They endured piercing rain, frigid temperatures and intense hunger for five days.

      Shortly after the storm abated, the father attempted to row for help but he had fallen and damaged both of his elbows so he was not able to get very far. Then they saw a fishboat circling the island and the three of them climbed into the rowboat and rowed themselves to the Sunny Boy and safety at last. The crew on the Sunny Boy fed them and gave them clothes because they were still in their pyjamas. They then took the family to the hospital in Bella Bella where they were treated for various injuries and exposure. The federal government had assumed that the family of three had been washed away and did not send help to check on them! The family who had helped keep boaters safe for many years was never properly compensated for their ordeal or the loss of everything they owned. They did not continue to work as lightkeepers.

      George’s dad and a friend with a nice catch of salmon caught off of Addenbroke Island. Our guests would still be fishing this area for the next thirty-eight years from the sport-fishing resort that we would build called Rivers Lodge.

      Ed and Carlene helped us lift the skiff out of the water with their crane and swung it over to rest safely on the wharf and ushered us across the island to their home. It was a quick few minutes’ walk to cross the entire island. They showed us the foundation of the original lighthouse and told us why it had been destroyed so easily. Apparently when the new foundation was built in 1912, the old lighthouse was moved up onto the foundation but was never actually attached to it. Just simply plunked down on top and that was that.

      We sat at the kitchen table while Carlene made lunch and we all chatted at the same time. Everyone wanted to talk, but there was