Doubts began to assail me of the wisdom of this venture. While I felt this trip outside was necessary and beneficial for my wife Vera and the two smaller children (Martha nine, and Rolf twelve), it also meant taking the kids away from their correspondence lessons for a month or more. But if the venture was successful we would have an aircraft at Nahanni and would be as isolated as before. With the aircraft equipped with skis from November to April I would be able to fly to Fort Nelson to get our mail and supplies on a regular basis. We would be able to have fresh fruit in the winter time and other supplies needed for the trading post; and most important of all, we could ship the fur from the trading post to the outside market for the monthly auction sales, thus up-grading the operation of our business.
Looking down at the timbered hills and ice-bound lakes, I vowed to go ahead with my plans to become a bush pilot with whatever determination I could muster and take whatever obstacles there might be one by one.
Jack Norcross turned from the controls of his Stinson and said to me, Would you like to take the controls for a while, Dick?
No, thanks, I replied. I think I'll wait 'til I get to the flying school. Handling the controls in the air is not much use. What I need is instruction in landing and takeoff and I sure don't want to bent your little bird.
OK, Jack laughed, but don't worry, you'll make out all right.
All small light planes are noisy, making conversation difficult, and we did not continue talking.
At Fort Nelson, Rolf and I transferred to a four engine D C 6B of Canadian Pacific Airlines.
We broke through the clouds over Vancouver and I saw the waters of the Pacific for the first time: the green islands of the gulf set in the blue, blue waters with the snow-capped mountains rising right out of the sea. No wonder it is called Beautiful British Columbia.
With our parkas, moccasins and heavy clothing we felt conspicuous as we stepped from the Terminal building into the balmy air. There I noticed a green carpet at the edge of the walk.
Ah-Ha, I thought. That looks like grass all right, but I'm no fool, I'll bet it is artificial turf. They can't fool me, even if I am from the north, and in what I hoped was not a furtive manner I bent down and pulled at some of it. Bless my soul, I said out loud. It is grass, good green natural grass.
My son Rolf who despite his twelve years thought he was pretty worldly wise, was often embarrassed by the naivete of his father.
Don't be stupid dad, of course it's grass, he said.
To tease the members of my family I often spread it on a bit thick and this maneuver serves as an escape hatch in case I really do make a 'boo-boo.' I can then smile as if to say, it was just a joke, I'm really not so dumb.
We were to meet Vera and Martha, who had arrived in Vancouver some says before, at the Fraser Arms Hotel. While waiting in the lobby someone came up behind me, hit me a wallop and said, Dick Turner, what the hell are you doing here? Picking myself up I saw familiar face.
Bill Cormack you old buzzard, when did they let you out? Are you tending bar here? You can't possibly still be flying for C.P Air.
You'd better believe I am. I'm flying a Six on the Tokyo run. And who is this big boy here? Obviously your son eh? Come in and have a drink. I'm off for three days now. We've got lots to talk about.
When friends from the north meet in the outside world it must seem to onlookers that the northerners are a bit out of their minds. They are so happy to see someone from home that they slap one another around something scandalous. Once while I was standing on the sidewalk in Hay River, a man came up behind me and taking me for a long lost pal, hit me a wallop that sent me staggering. On seeing his error he was terribly embarrassed and full of apologies.
It's OK, I said, I have done the same thing myself. In fact I almost did something that might have had frightening consequences. I saw a girl I knew, a very good friend of long standing, walking ahead of me in a town. I came up behind her to plant a kiss on her neck, and just in the nick of time saw that she was a complete stranger. I almost died of heart failure, but I was able to collect myself . . . . . |
