The following article is from RCAF Radar 1941-1945 (Royal Canadian Air Force Personnel on Radar in Canada During World War II) and is used with permission of the author, WW McLachlan
An edited story by Fred Farr
This radar detachment was situated on a tip of land slightly to the West at the Northern end of Vancouver Island. Vital to its survival were craft such as the 'Mermaid' and the 'Combat' RCAF 60-foot fishing boats which were the means of supply. Personnel destined for the Cape would arrive at Port Hardy and then be taken to Coal Harbour some 10 miles South, to await the next sailing of the supply ship. Coal Harbour was at a sheltered inlet which is an arm of Quatsino Sound. When Fred arrived in February 1943, the men at the Cape had been on emergency rations for six days as a landing had been impossible due to the weather. The corduroy road between Coal Harbour and Port Hardy was barely passable and consisted of bumps joined somehow.
Port Hardy resembled a frontier town of the Old West set in a coastal rain forest, tangled and gnarled, coming right to the edge of the town clearing, and bony cattle grazed on slime-covered rocks at low tide. The women, who looked strangely out of place in their city hats and hairdos, would be the wives of officers and men stationed at Coal Harbour.
We boarded the 'Mermaid' and the weather for the first part of the trip justified the decision for the boat to leave. As we left the channel, however, and headed for the open sea, the ship took on a ominous roll which made it very unpleasant. As the Cape came into view, we were able to see the situation that so far we had only been told about. There was no wharf or float and no shelter from the heavy seas. Usually, the supply ship anchored off-shore and lowered its dinghy, while rowboats from the Cape Detachment set out from shore; both small boats then went back and forth between the supply ship and the beach until the incoming cargo was all on shore. This time, however, the seas were still rough enough for something different to be tried.
Three men were deposited by the dinghy on the rocks of a little cove where only the rise and fall of the water had to be contended with instead of the mammoth breakers pounding on the beach. Thanks to skillful handling of the dinghy they were landed all right, but so precariously that the more conventional method was decided upon for the remaining men. They made it to the beach, the dinghy riding the crest of a gigantic breaker. Within minutes, however, the breakers became even larger and started rolling in so fast that nothing more was unloaded that day. The 'Mermaid' headed back to Port Hardy. Four days later the ship returned in somewhat calmer seas and was able to unload. In the meantime a plane had arrived twice and dropped mail, fresh meat and tinned milk.
There were two parts to the station at Cape Scott, the operations site and the campsite. At the former, the radar equipment for detection of aircraft stood atop a headland at the very tip of the Cape, while at the latter, sleeping quarters, orderly room, mess hall, canteen, sick bay and other buildings were located. A makeshift road, consisting mostly of two plank tracks, connected camp and operations and enabled the station transport truck to travel between the two. Along the way there was Cape Scott Sand neck, a bridge of sand which actually joins the Cape to the mainland of Vancouver Island and often after a high wind we had to shovel sand off the plank tracks before the truck could proceed.
No one wore a uniform at the Cape, and spit and polish was never used. If Air Force blue was ever seen it was probably on a visiting officer, someone who had just arrived, or one of the boys dressed ready to leave on the supply ship, which after unloading mail, supplies and any incoming personnel, took on the outgoing mail and men headed for 'bush leave' in Vancouver or, sometimes, for a still more remote posting farther up the coast.
We were 'on the air' around the clock, except during the very worst windstorms when the revolving aerial was locked fast in one position, and the radar mechanics and operators had shifts to work at the operations site. We all took turns on wood-cutting detail. The original plan had been to supply the detachment with coal for heating and cooking, but getting it there was so difficult and driftwood so abundant on the beaches, that burning wood seemed more sensible.
Whenever the supply boat visited, about every other day, everyone who was off duty swarmed down on the beach to help with the unloading: "organized sports" it was called. The mail came ashore first, the corporal clerk would take it to the orderly room and have the letters and parcels all sorted and ready for distribution by the time the "organized sports" were over. Then came the sides of beef, sacks of potatoes, cartons of canned goods, pieces of technical equipment, hardware, housekeeping and medical supplies. And then there were barrels of oil which was our life blood. It fueled our diesel electric generators which supplied all our electricity.
The barrels were tossed over the side of the vessel and then shepherded to shore by dinghy and rowboat and, closer to the beach, by our guys in wet suits or swimming trunks, depending on the weather. A 1500-pound safe was delivered by the 'Combat' and the saga of it being unloaded and brought ashore in the dinghy became a legend of the West Coast detachments. And no easier than the safe to bring ashore, was a piano for the canteen, which it turned out, no one could play. Twice that fall inclement weather played havoc with incoming personnel, once the visiting paymaster and others were unceremoniously dunked when the dinghy capsized.
Other unscheduled events required everyone to pitch in on his off-duty hours. In late summer of 1943, the 'BC Star', a sister ship of the Mermaid, disappeared with all hands while headed for a detachment in the Queen Charlottes. We were requested to search the shoreline as far as possible in both directions for signs of wreckage that may have washed ashore. Nothing was found. One might think that, without such off-duty emergencies and in such a place, boredom would set in. But such was not the case. We did our washing, played ping-pong, listened to records, played cards, wrote letters, read and shot the breeze. Some men engaged in the business of a home laundry, and another became an off-duty barber. We started a mimeographed weekly called 'The Isolationist', and we produced a talent night.
The supply boat usually brought a movie which was shown in the canteen each evening, sometimes the same film over and over until the supply boat brought another one. The canteen was also the scene of endless table-tennis tournaments and heroic drinking parties, especially in September 1943 when Italy surrendered: we all received free beer. Occasionally a padre arrived and a makeshift altar draped with fresh cedar boughs and topped with a driftwood cross would be the focal point of the church service. There were rest days when the rain came down in sheets for hours at a time, but when the sun shone, we explored the sandy beaches and the countless rocky coves.
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Updated: August 30, 2003