Cartwright, Labrador

These are my remembrances of the radar site at Cartwright, Labrador. I have chronicled some of the more (hopefully) pertinent and interesting events that took place on my watch and of which I had particular knowledge. The details are as best as I can remember them, and I tried not to add a lot of superfluous detail. There are many other stories I could relate if I had the time.

Everyone passed through the Air Base at Goose Bay before being dispersed to the radar sites along the Atlantic coast. When we arrived at Goose, we were issued Arctic clothing; a parka, hat, mukluks (boots), and snow pants - clothing essential for this area. Personnel generally received 30 days leave, both before and after completing their tour here.

Cartwright is approximately 110 miles East of Goose Bay, near the Atlantic Ocean. The site was spread out on a mountain top to the Northeast of the village, and three miles from the village by road. It's mission was the detection and identification of all aircraft passing through the area.

I arrived in March of 1961 and left in February of 1962. All personnel, mail, movies, pay, and urgently needed supplies were transported to and from Cartwright by helicopter from Goose. The chopper typically made two trips per week.

Canadian and U.S. flags were flown outside the main entrance. The site had a guest book you signed when you first arrived and again when you completed your tour of duty. I wonder what happened to that book since the site closed. Did other radar sites also have these books?

The buildings were designed to withstand high winds and cold weather, both of which nature supplied in abundance. All major buildings were inter-connected by hallways so you never had to go outside, very important when winter storms blew in. For security purposes I imagine, all windows faced away from the ocean or were blocked by other structures. The site was completely self-sufficient and could operate for extended periods without outside help. Power was supplied by diesel generators in one of the larger buildings. Water came from a small lake about 1/2 mile to the south. I often wondered how they pumped it up and kept it from freezing in winter.

The site was home to about 200 men, including about eight officers and several civilians working in various capacities. The CO (Commanding Officer) held the rank of Major. The station was a typical military installation with a headquarters, living quarters, motor pool, mail room, armory, radar center, communications (heavy ground and aircraft), laundromat, latrine, medical facility with a highly competent medic on duty (no doctor), and warehouse. The mess hall was open 24 hours a day. Steak was one of the mainstays of the dinner meal (there were some benefits to this duty).

To break the monotony, there was also a movie theater, library, Officer's club, NCO club, Airman's club, bowling alley (put in the summer I was there),ham shack for the licensed radio operators, photographic darkroom, store, and barber shop. There was a radio station where guys could play disc jockey, and whose audio was piped throughout the site. They had a good-sized collection of records. Recreational activities included pool, volley ball, bowling, horse shoes, fishing, skiing, hunting, photography, writing letters (I was a letter-writing fiend up there), touring the village, and exploring the surrounding area. There were no telephones for personal use and no television, no such things as VCRs, PCs or email. Hard to imagine that today.

Morale and camaraderie were very good considering the hardship and isolation. Everyone was eager to complete their tour and get back to the States. The standard warning to someone who was leaving a month or two before you was, "You'd better not slow down or you'll have brogan (boot) tracks up your back." The standard response, "You'll play hell catchin' me." Canada is a wonderful country, but there is no place like home. Having spent a year of my life there, I'll always have a warm spot in my heart for Canada.

I was part of a small contingent (15-16 guys) who maintained the Polevault communications link, a heavy ground communications system which depended on tropospheric scatter of radio waves. We were Detachment 8 of the 1933 Communications Squadron, a support organization to the 922 AC&W (Aircraft Control and Warning) Squadron. We were nicknamed "Polecats" and liked to consider ourselves the site rebels (grin). At Cartwright, we provided radio contact with Goose in one direction and St. Anthony, Newfoundland to the South. We also provided communications to the gap-filler radar sites reporting to us before they closed. A teletype channel provided written communications to and from our Headquarters in Newfoundland, and other sites.

The name Polevault conjures up this image of a long-distance jump to the North Pole. Well, it almost was. From Goose communications extended through other sites to the far North, the DEW line system of radars, and possibly Thule, Greenland.

Communications had to be maintained at all times regardless of weather, time of day, or problems with the equipment. There were spares on hand for every piece of equipment imaginable and they were maintained and ready. Any outages were very serious. Reports were made on any problems. There was a regular contest to see which Detachment could maintain the least down-time. We had lights and audible alarms to indicate malfunctions. Low-temperature wires were strung for fire detection, there were sensors for overheating, transmitter and receiver failures. When there was a problem, we busted our butts to troubleshoot the problem and get back on the air as quickly as possible. Generally, there were days and even weeks of crushing boredom punctuated by seconds of controlled panic when something failed. With a little experience and skill, we could massage the equipment and be back on-line in very short order.

Our equipment was monitored around the clock. Three man (typically) crews baby-sat the equipment in shifts, and rotated their working schedule every two days. A crew would work day shift for two days, followed by two days on mid shift (4 to 12), and finally two days of midnight to 8. Then they got a two day break, of which one day was spent catching up on sleep. Somehow we adjusted to this schedule, and everyone got treated equally in the process. New people were brought in at regular intervals and integrated into experienced crews for training.

When we worked the night shifts, we would go outside to see the Northern Lights directly overhead. In the spring, we could see icebergs floating in the Atlantic. That summer I took pictures of sunrise at around 2:45AM. Part of our duties were hourly manual recordings of equipment meter readings. Due to the weather or for whatever reason, radio signals would fluctuate periodically. These signal changes (and any lapses) were automatically recorded on chart recorders. Cleaning and calibrating the recorders was a daily chore. To maintain consistency between time zones, chart times were marked in "Zulu" or Greenwich Mean Time.

Other duties included cleanup detail. One day we were sweeping the floor in the equipment bay when, without looking, I moved a cart on which was setting a large Tektronix scope. The cart moved easily, the scope - still cabled to equipment on the bench - did not, at least not horizontally. It fell from a height of about 3 feet, rotated 90 degrees and landed flat on it's side on the floor. CAH-BAM! Naturally startled, I jumped a foot. Well I figured two things out right quick - the scope was totaled, and I was in reeeeaally big trouble. We set it back on the cart, inspected for damage, applied power and were totally blown away when it still worked, none the worse for wear! I got some good-natured ribbing for that stunt, but nothing more. Always took a little more care after that.

A couple of guys tried their hand at homemade beer. They got the supplies and a couple of milk cans from the mess hall, mixed up a batch and stashed it in a receiver hut to ferment. It turned out to be dark and vile-looking, with strange-looking organisms floating in it. Didn't look too appealing to me. One of the sergeants would regularly ask the cook for a steak and fixin's which he cooked up on a small hot plate in our office.

Our living quarters were one man rooms, although double-bunking occurred at times. Each room was approximately eight by nine feet, and had a door (no lock), bed, overhead light, lamp, window, open closet, desk, speaker for the radio station, and steam-heat radiator. One of the "keep'em busy" privileges was to paint your room.

Now, stashed away in a place like this did have a tendency to warp a guy's mind. One guy painted his entire room black, ceiling and all. Now there was an individualist! Most considered this display more than a little bizarre. Asked for an explanation, he simply noted it made sleeping in the daytime easier. As good an excuse as any I guess. He didn't win any awards for interior decorating though.

People got "tight-jawed" when things did not go their way - a normal physical reaction to a problem. One guy truly flaked out and ran screaming down the hall, swinging at everyone in his path. I did not see this myself, only heard about it second-hand. He was evacuated on the next chopper and held at Goose for observation. I don't know what set him off, speculation tended toward getting a "Dear John" letter.

Summer was a busy time of year. The ship which brought in our yearly stock of food, chopper and diesel fuel, and other major equipment and supplies docked at the village and required all hands to unload and truck to the site. Civilian maintenance teams came in and made repairs to antennas and calibrated the test equipment.

A more advanced radar system was installed in the summer of 1961. This enabled closing of the small gap-filler sites manned by a total crew of six. About 60 miles above Cartwright was Spotted Harbour. To the south about the same distance was Fox Harbour. I swear, on a clear day I could see the radar dome at Spotted Harbour.

A rigid geodesic dome was installed at this time. Previous to this, the radar antenna was housed in a dome of flexible white material inflated by pressurized air. This huge pressurized dome had been designed to withstand winds in excess of 100 MPH.

There was a fair bit of social contact between the villagers and personnel on-site. One such event was the annual soccer game at the village. Billed as a friendly, get-to-know-your-neighbor gathering, the guys at the village took the game far more seriously. Several Airmen sustained minor injuries and one hobbled around on crutches for a while. I never heard whether any of the village soccer players suffered a comparable fate, though I doubt it. I believe the CO and the Mayor of the village had a friendly wager on the outcome. Another annual event was a tour of the facility by the villagers. Several men from the village worked in the motor pool and were regarded as very competent mechanics. A truck made regular runs to the village to provide transportation. As we had the only movie theater, the girls often were asked to see a movie.

I would estimate 500 people lived in the village. They had a school, an orphanage run by a church, Hudson Bay store, and RCMP office, among other things. I believe most of the villagers were of European descent, although they were proud to call themselves Eskimos or preferably, 'skimos (skee-moez). Other than action in the soccer game , they were very friendly people.

That summer the first phones were installed in the village. They operated over radio to (presumably) Goose Bay. No land-lines up here. Heck, the only roads were in the village and to the site.

You could obtain skis and other equipment for recreational use. We found the slope to the west of the station was an excellent ski area. You could ski a long way, and the road to the village was close by so you could hitch-hike back up when the truck came through.

One day a jet interceptor created a sonic boom by dive-bombing the station, and rattled the whole place. It was rumored the pilot was Commander of U.S. Forces at Goose. RHIP.

On the Fourth of July, a formation of jets from Goose made a fly-over of the site. I don't remember how we found out about most of the events taking place. Probably word-of-mouth and the radio station.

Once a month, the Airman's club had a well attended pizza and beer party. Every few minutes the cook would rush in with a large pan of pizza balanced on his shoulder and set it on the table. The guys would rush in and scarf it up in seconds. One time the cook brought in a pan and just had to taunt the guys before setting it down. The guys crowded in only to discover the pan was empty. The cook had a good chuckle - prematurely, as it turned out. Several guys taking on the spirit of the moment (plus maybe a little too much beer) grabbed him and threw him outside, holding the door shut. Keep in mind this was at night in the dead of winter, and he was not wearing heavy clothing. He literally almost froze. When they let him back inside, he was shaking uncontrollably. A very sobering experience.

The weather could get pretty bad during the winter. One time there was an extremely intense storm that lasted over a week (10 days?) and kept the choppers from Goose grounded. We got no mail, no movies, no supplies. Snow blew around and packed everywhere. When it cleared, it was like a winter wonderland. The air was crisp and clear. The snow crunched stiffly with every step. Everyone made for the mailroom when that chopper finally came in.

Payday. We got paid in cash on the last day of the month. That evening, a small group would set up a card table in the laundry room and play poker well into the next day.

The movie theater held approximately 30 seats. Movies cost a quarter. The guy who ran the projector also sold popcorn for a dime a box. At this time, I can not tell you the name of a single movie I saw there.

At the store you could get the necessities and items like reel-to-reel tape recorders. Cigarettes cost 25 cents a pack. When I first arrived, the Canadian dollar was worth slightly more than the U.S. dollar. The store would take either, treating them of equal value. Later, the Canadian dollar dropped below the U.S. dollar in value and they quit doing that. Each Canadian bill was a different color based on its face value.

Stereo systems were just coming into vogue. One airman built one from a kit, and had a demo record in which a ping-pong ball could plainly be heard bouncing alternately between speakers. Everyone was duly impressed, stereo was "for real."

Recorded entertainment included comedy by a young Bob Newhart (a skit with Bob as Sir Walter Raleigh introducing the Queen of England to a fad from the New World called tobacco), unusual songs by Tom Lehrer ("a wife that made coffee that tasted like chammm-POO", (rhyme was set up to expect champagne)), comedians Bob and Ray, Redd Foxx's X-rated comedy (calling a horse race), and master guitarist Chet Atkins. Rock-and-Roll was highly popular of course.

Visitors to the site included a USO troupe touring at Christmas time. This musical quartet entertained us with songs and instrumentals. We just ate it up, we were just so glad to see people. Didn't matter what they played or sang, they got rousing applause. Don't remember their name and haven't seen or heard of them since. We also had a Catholic chaplain who stayed for a week. The Bob Hope USO show toured Goose Bay that year. I wanted to get an audio feed of his show piped in, but it didn't happen.

A group of visitors in the summer was an RCAF inspection team. The presence of all higher ranking personnel was commanded for a dinner hosting the group. Most of the meal, from what I hear, was spent rising to toast the Queen. And the more they imbibed, the more toasts were proposed. Interesting.

In August four of us took a fishing trip. We paid a villager who owned a boat $20 to take us out, and return the next day to pick us up. The boat had a "one-lunger" gasoline engine. It was amazing, the spark plug fired about once a second and the whole boat shook. You wonder how this thing could keep running - a large flywheel helped. The boat developed engine trouble on the way out and we detoured to a smaller village for parts. The river where we fished had a natural sandy beach and emptied into the ocean. The water was extremely cold. We slept overnight in a shack nearby. The fishing was great. We caught lots of trout and they hit on about anything. I used DareDevil lures, one guy was fly-fishing.

One of the strangest things I saw on that trip was a fish with a square-shaped head that was all mouth, with a tail and big fins, and virtually no body. Eskimos called it a "Double-Ugly," don't have any idea what it was named otherwise.

Around October of 1961, a chopper headed back to Goose went down. On-board, beside the pilot, were about six men returning to the States after their tour of duty. Although a search was mounted, it was not found while I was there. An Eskimo did find a wallet belonging to one of the guys which he turned in to the RCMP at Goose.

The tour of duty at these sites was one year. As your tour was coming to a close you got to wear a "short-timer's ribbon," a small yellow ribbon from a Seagram's Seven bottle. On leaving, I was more than happy to sign the guest book, throw my duffel bag on the six-by and leave for the chopper pad. On the trip back to Goose, I rode up front with the pilot. And back at Goose, I met up and got re-acquainted with the characters I had arrived here with.

Then irony of all ironies, Uncle Sam sent me to the deserts of Arizona where I worked on the flight line in 110 degree heat, and picked up an obvious nickname - skimo.

Group picture of the Polevault crew
(March/April 1961)

Standing left to right:
Jim Ramsey, Tom Kryka, Jim Scanlon (Techrep), Sgt. Rodney Sanborn (Detachment Commander), Sam Lafferty (Laffo), Harry Dillman, Jeff Jones, Tom Turner.

Sitting left to right:
George Wilson, Joe Gunter, Dave Trower, Bob Schmidt (Snuffy), Vernon Blanck, Marty Mahlon, Bob Graham, Jerry Thompson (holding sign).