Grizzlies, Gales and Giant Salmon. Pat Ardley
at the north end of Vancouver Island a little over fifty miles away. Beside the big front window was a door that led out to a huge square deck. The deck had been built on the base of the site’s original lighthouse, which had been pulled into the sea by ships’ winches in 1968 to make room for the new lighthouse and tower on top.
The house was fantastic! We loved it, but there was one little problem. The fridge was missing. We had nowhere to store our fresh produce. Somehow that important detail was not included in the memo from the Coast Guard about the contents of the house. We got to work and made ice in the downstairs freezer and made do with a cold box until a fridge was finally delivered many months later. And, there was more than one problem. There was also no washing machine, just two sinks and no dryer either! Something about the 7.5 kilowatt Lister Petter generator (our only source of power) not being able to handle too many electrical appliances, especially those producing heat. There was a note in the memo that said, “a drying rack of light rope would be very useful indoors.” How nice that the previous occupants had left a clothesline outside that we could … I could use. There was also a note for us to apply for and bring with us a cncp Telecommunications credit card so we would be able to send telegrams. Otherwise we would not be able to send quick messages to family while we were stationed there. We would receive mail about once a month when our groceries were delivered. On top of it all, there were no curtain rods or curtains so we lived without for the next year and a half—but given the wilderness setting, who needed curtains?
In the basement there was an oil furnace, which we would be grateful for when we saw how much work it was to keep the wood-burning furnace going in the senior keeper’s house throughout the winter. There was also a workbench attached along one wall, and we immediately started planning which woodworking tools we would buy once we had money. The basement also had plenty of space for storing extra food supplies. We were told to have no less than two months’ worth of groceries on hand at all times.
Half of the basement was a water cistern that held fresh rainwater that washed off the roof. There was a pressure pump to push the water upstairs. There was no other water source on the island so we quickly learned to conserve the precious liquid. No leaving taps running while brushing teeth, or washing dishes under running water. Ruth told us the scary story about some lighthouse people who ran out of fresh water many years before and had to have water delivered from a dirty, rusty tank off the Coast Guard tender boat. We were having none of it. To this day I can’t leave a tap running for more than a few seconds.
Addenbroke Island is about two miles square, with the houses on a cleared area on the Fitz Hugh Channel side with enough area in front of the houses for two lovely, though time-consuming lawns. Other than the gardens and walkway areas, the rest of the island was covered with a thick forest of huge cedars, yew, a few small shore pines, spruce and alder as well as dense salal undergrowth—but mostly cedar. The bay was only safe to anchor in if there was good weather, which was rare in winter, and there was no safe place to build a dock because of the constant crashing waves. Instead, a wharf was built far above the high-tide line. The wharf was about 150 yards from the houses. There was a small rowboat that belonged to the station and an even smaller skiff, with an ancient motor on it, that belonged to Ray. A hydraulic derrick on the wharf lifted the small boats in and out of the water when they were needed. Halfway between the house and the wharf was a fenced garden on one side of the walkway and a short path that led through the salal bushes to the helicopter pad on the other. When it was convenient for the Coast Guard, they sometimes arrived in a helicopter between the regular monthly boat deliveries and brought our mail. And if we were notified in advance of their delivery, which was seldom, they could bring a little extra fresh produce.
Ray and George split the twenty-four-hour workday between the two of them with Ruth covering a few hours in the morning while I took a turn late in the evening to give George a chance to have a nap. During my late-night shift months later I heard a song dedicated to me on a Seattle radio station, the one channel that our radio could pick up. It made me feel like I was still connected to the outside world. The fact that I was the one who had submitted the song request to the station (by mail) meant little. Even if it was a dedication to myself, I heard my name on the radio!
George worked from midnight until 4 AM and then 10 AM to 6 PM. Ray and George worked together in the afternoon on a variety of projects to keep the lighthouse looking good and functioning well. They made repairs wherever they were needed; they painted the white buildings and the red trim, cut the grass and maintained the machinery. They worked inside if it was raining and outside if it was dry. During the day I could always hear Ray talking while they worked. Ray had a wealth of knowledge about life on the coast. He was patient and helpful and always explained how something worked or how he wanted the job done. George soaked up the information like a sponge. Ray was like a little old elf, small but agile as he moved quickly and clamoured over rocks and up and down ladders with ease.
Me with the Addenbroke Island light tower in the background. Having moved from the flat, open spaces of Saskatchewan and Manitoba to the rugged wilderness of the West Coast, I was ready for adventure. I think I got more than I bargained for.
Part of George’s job was to, once a day, radio the weather to the Coast Guard in Prince Rupert, including wind speed and wave and swell height. And at 6 PM he would take the Canadian flag down. The main duty for the middle-of-the-night shift was to keep an eye out for fog because the keepers had to go out to the generator room to manually start the foghorn if visibility went down to about two miles. The horn had a lovely deep-throated bellow that was easy to get used to. I could drift off to sleep feeling safely wrapped in the fog on solid ground while the sound of the horn washed over me.
George and I spent a lot of time talking. There is nothing quite like being stuck on an almost-deserted island on the Pacific for couples to learn how to communicate with each other. Who needs couples therapy when you have endless hours in front of you with no one else to talk to but your partner? We talked about anything and everything. We talked through our arguments, we talked over our finances, we talked about the past and we talked about the future, always with me curled up in the cozy armchair and George sprawled on the couch so we could both watch the changing scenery through our awesome front window. There was nowhere to go, so we learned a lot about each other. I thought of the saying my mom would quote to us kids when we were having a tough time: “What doesn’t kill you outright, will only make you stronger.” We decided that rather than killing each other outright, we would make the most of our life together on the lighthouse. We only got stronger.
Gardening, Chickens and Can You Really Eat This?
I was bent over weeding when I heard a noise. I turned to see a doe leap straight up and over the seven-foot-high fence and land three feet from my bent back. I leaped out the open gate in startled panic. The high fence all around the planted area was ostensibly there to keep the deer out.
I was learning how to garden. Ray and Ruth had a great vegetable and fruit garden that required constant care. Ruth was a kind and caring matronly woman who was generous with her knowledge. I helped with the work and learned a lot from them both. My only previous experience with gardening was with an oversized bag of English pea seeds that my big brother gave me when I was ten years old by way of an apology for dragging me around the house by my hair. I planted them in the semi-shade at the side of our house and enjoyed raiding my very own garden a few weeks later. I also picked lilacs in the back lane and sold bunches of them to unsuspecting people walking past our house. Though that might be considered more entrepreneurship than gardening.
The underbrush from the surrounding forest on Addenbroke was relentlessly trying to take back the land. I was constantly pulling little salal plants out from where they had popped up after creeping underground five, ten and sometimes fifteen feet into the garden. I felt right at home—weeding, raking in nutrient-rich seaweed and compost or helping to tie up the beans and raspberry bushes. It didn’t matter what the job was, I dug in and enjoyed it all. Except for the slugs—great big banana slugs. So disgusting. They stampeded in from the forest. One night I walked out onto the back deck in bare feet and stepped right onto a huge squishy, slimy one. It popped under my foot and oozed between my toes. I let out a blood-curdling scream