By August 1939 Tom and I were operating separately. He had a logging show and a small sawmill. I was contracting in the house building business and doing some roads and bridges.

In September, World War Two was declared. Within weeks all materials and men were needed for the war effort. Closing down the contracting business, I started with Marwell Construction on Defence projects.

My first job was building a large seaplane hangar and docking facilities at the Patricia Bay airport near Sidney, Vancouver Island. Starting as a carpenter foreman, I was soon made general foreman of this phase of the construction.

When this was completed, the company asked if I would go to Vulcan, Alberta, as Assistant Superintendent on a training airport thay had contracted to build. This meant leaving my wife and two young daughters alone in Victoria. There was neither time to take them along nor suitable accommodation to house them in.

We were separated two months when blackouts on the Pacific coast came into effect. A phone call assured me that everyone was in a panic. I hitched a ride on an Air Force plane and arrived in Pat Bay the following morning.

In Victoria, the situation was chaotic. Everyone was talking about getting away from the coast and the potential dangers of being bombed. Driving after dark, except on authorized missions was prohibited. Hotels, houses and other buildings had to have their windows completely covered, or the lights kept off. At night, the west coast, including Vancouver Island, was in complete darkness. The next day, after helping my wife pack, I bought her and the children train tickets for Calgary. A plane was waiting to take me back to Vulcan. Luckily, a small house on the outskirts of town became vacant, and here we spent the next ten months. The alkali water tasted horrible. We missed the trees and mountains.

Worse were the periodic dust storms. The fine dust sifted in through even the tiniest cracs, and covered everything with layers of fine silt. "Travelling real estate" the locals called it. It took days to clean the house after a storm. One consolation was that we did not have to live with coastal blackout regulations.

When the job was completed, we packed and again headed west. We rented a house in Vancouver.

After a few days at Marwell's office to finalize the Vulcan project, I was invited to handle a very tough job. Doug Welch, one of the partners, called me into his office and asked if I would accept the task of building a radar station on Marble Island, off the coast of the Queen Charlottes. He produced maps and explained that this was the most westerly piece of land in Canada, and was separated from Japan only by the waters of the Pacific Ocean. He explained the fear that the Japanese might invade the Queen Charlotte Islands and use them as a springboard for attacks on the mainland.

"Radar is the only means of detecting such an invasion in time to do something about it," he said.

Plans prepared by the RCAF were produced, along with some engineering reports. I pointed out with some concern that the engineer's closing comment was written on some water-soiled pieces of newspaper, and stated, "Camp and tents blown off the island in a storm". No one was sure a station could ever be built out on this island, though it was indeed a strategic location.

"If you are willing to give it a try, I will guarantee you all possible support from this end," said Doug. "You will have a free hand to do the job as you see fit. Any reasonable expense is of no consequence if the job can be completed in a relatively short time. The CO at Alliford Bay Seaplane Base has guaranteed 24-hour a day radio communications and all the machine guns and ammunition you think necessary, plus air patrols when weather permits".

Doug left his desk and walked to where I stood.

"Well Joe, there is a war on, so what do you say?" he asked with a smile.

"Sounds like this could be a bit of a challenge. I'll give it a try. When do we start?" I asked.

"This afternoon if you like."

He went on to explain that men would be called from any industry or even out of the armed forces, if they could contribute to getting this top priority radar project operational in the shortest possible time.

"I'll have a crew hired by tomorrow noon and will want air transportation to Alliford Bay by two p.m. if you can arrange it," I replied.

"I have an accountant who is also a timekeeper," said Doug. "He can go along with you and set up a temporary office at Queen Charlotte City. He's familiar with all the procedures of progress draws and the bookwork required by the Treasury Department."

"It would be a big help to get things started and under control. Have him packed and ready to leave tomorrow," I replied.

I spent the rest of the afternoon calling a crew. I hired fourteen of the best, including brothers Tom, Oliver and Lloyd. Fred Robson, Margaret's husband was hired as a master mechanic. When I asked him if he thought he could handle the job, he replied, "Hell, yes! I fix anything from alarm clocks to a 1000 horsepower diesel engines, and keep them going."

"You'll do. Be ready to leave one week from today. You'll be up there for at least four months, so make a list of equipment you want to take and pack everything you'll need, except a girl."

Fred laughed. "I'll be there, you can count on it."

The accountant and I left Vancouver airport next afternoon and landed at Alliford Bay just before dark. Harry Winnie, the Commanding Officer, welcomed us with great enthusiasm. He was pleased and relieved that we were going to build the station. We discussed the pros and cons of the job with his engineers, and talked till well past midnight. Harry agreed to have a Stranraer aircraft at my disposal at daylight. He would do the flying.

It was dawn when we put a sleepy-eyed accountant on the dock at Queen Charlotte City, with instructions to establish an office and charter a boat. We headed out to look over the situation from the skies. The little island was no more than a quarter of a mile long and about 200 yards wide. It was pointed at both ends and looked much like a large ship in a rough sea. We flew over and around it for half an hour. We checked all sheltered bays and inlets on Graham Island, a mile to the east, which might be useful for storing materials until they could somehow be put on Marble. It was a reasonably quiet day for the west coast, yet the seas were running and breaking some fifty feet up on the rocky beach. Any attempt to land near the island was out of the question.

We could see it would be impossible to put a scow near enough to the island to unload without having it smashed to bits. Landing people and food from the supply boat would also be a perilous manoeuvre. This would have to be done by using a strong boat that could be manhandled up on the beach when not in use. Any type of power boat would be useless. We decided to try a riverboat, with seasting for two sets of oars and four passengers, or equivalent cargo. Just how the heavy equipment might be put ahsore safely was much more of a problem than either of us had anticipated.

Flying low through the passage that separates the two main islands of the Charlottes, we could assess the shallow channel and its jagged reefs. Farther east we could see several A-frame camps. Big spruce timber was being yarded to the water, then lashed into "Davis" rafts. Noting the size of these huge logs gave me an idea.

"Harry, do you know the name of the boss of the outfit we're looking at down there?"

"Sure do."

"Where can he be contacted?" I asked, with enthusiasm.

"He should be in the cookhouse about now, there on the big float just ahead and to our left."

"Let's land and have a chat with him," I suggested.

Harry banked the flying boat, made a perfect landing, and taxied up to the float. The man we wanted to see was there to help us tie up. I was introduced to Jim Carstairs, the "Bull of the Woods" in logger's lingo. Jim invited us to stay for lunch and chat awhile.

Harry and I explained what we were going to try and do on Marble Island. Jim's opening remark was direct.

"On the west coast of these islands, it is rough and dangerous at any time of the year. Right now I wouldn't want to face it in a battleship."

"It sure looked bad from the air, but I believe if you could put together about a dozen of these big spruce logs, and lash them with double headsticks and heavy cable, such a raft might hang together long enough to put the equipment ashore out there," was my suggestion.

Carstairs said nothing for a minute or so, then looked at each of us in turn and gave his opinion.

"I think your project out there will be impossible to complete. If we built you this raft twice as strong as anything we've ever built, it jusy might hang together long enough to put your machines and supplies off on that surf-bound piece of real estate".

We discussed size and construction details. It was agreed the raft should be about forty feet wide and eighty feet long, with logs not less than three feet in diameter at the small end.

"I'll have my men double-lash everything. It will be ready one week from today if that's okay with you." Jim stated.

I considered this briefly. "Jim, let's make it ten days from today and instead of double lashings, make it quadruple."

"Okay, but who's going to tow it to the island?" Jim asked.

"Jack Hann has a big seiner called the "Bertha G", and knows the passage as well as anyone around here," Harry suggested.

Jim concurred. "Couldn't get a better man for the job."

Okay then, ten days from now we head out just ahead of the morning high tide." I thanked him for his help and for the great lunch.

"Anytime we can do anything to help you, let us know," Jim shouted as we taxied out for takeoff.

Jack Hann was contacted that evening, and he agreed to be ready in ten days. The "Bertha G" would carry all the necessary towing gear. Hann's comments were also brief and to the point.

"You fellows must be more than a little crazy to try to build on that damned island. Only thing it's good for is eagles and seals. The winds will probably blow the buildings into the ocean if you do manage to put them up."

Next morning shortly after daybreak, I was airborne for Vancouver to supervise the loading on scows of all the equipment and prefabricated buildings. We planned to take them through the narrows and then transfer everything to the log raft.

The cargo consisted of cookstoves, dishes, beds and bedding, diesel lighting plants, prefab buildings, plywood, barrels of gas and diesel fuel, one complete water system, three 10,000 gallon storage tanks, food for thirty men for four months, first aid supplies, two machine guns and thousands of rounds of ammunition, a logging donkey, a small sawmill and a bulldozer. There was a complete four-bed hospital unit, including drugs and supplies. All this had to be loaded in such a way that the items loaded last would be off first, and used in that order. To feed and shelter thirty men out in the Pacific was going to be a major undertaking, until some buildings and cooking facilities could be established.

We were lucky enough to get the cookhouse and one bunkhouse roofed in before the first storm hit. All hands were busy moving stoves, beds and groceries under cover, when suddenly everyone stopped and stood listening to a strange roar.

"What the hell is that noise?" Fred Robson shouted.

"It's the start of a storm. All hands hurry and get things tied down or into those buildings". Running up to the lookout, I sent the men from there to help.

From this point I could see the storm in the distance. About ten miles out to the southwest there was a black line of low clouds swirling and moving towards us. The roar got even louder as this front approached. It struck the beaches with a roar like thunder, driven by 60-mile an hour winds. Within minutes, our wind-guage was registering gusts well over 100 knots. Hailstones and rain hit in a cloudburst.

The noise created by the waves and wind became so great that voice communication was impossible. Rocks as big as a man's fist were being blown through the air. It was so dangerous the crew had to take shelter either in the buildings, or behind rocks and logs. From a small cave, I watched all our bags of precious cement disintegrate. The seas roared up the rocky beach like tidal waves. Some were twenty feet higher than any we had seen up to this time. So strong was the storm, it actually blew wet three by ten joists right out of the tight piles, into the air, and scattered them onto the frothing sea. Some of these heavy planks would be blown off the tops of the waves and carried as much as a hundred yards through the air before falling back in the water, to disappear in foam and spray.

The worst of the storm lasted about an jour. Then the wind abated to a steady 60. It was possible to come out of hiding and go down to the beach to assess the damage. Over half the lumber was gone and all the cement destroyed. Nails and hardware soaked in sea water had already begun to rust. The pile of bricks, over 2,000 of them, had been washed around in the waves and rocks until there was nothing left larger than a good-sized marble. Luckily, most of the plumbing and electrical supplies had been carried off the beach and into the buildings the previous day.

We had lost almost all our groceries. Sacks of vegetables and cases of canned goods had been swept off our storage ledge, which was over twenty feet above normal high water. Suddenly, everyone realized that we were critically short of food.

Next morning when the Quallace came out to stand by, we hoisted our pre-arranged signal, a red flag, to show the Gale brothers we considered it too dangerous to attempt any unloading. The arrangement was that they go back to shelter and try again the next morning. If a green flag was up, they were to stand by until the big skiff could be launched.

In our crew were six men from Alberta. Though they were a rugged group, this storm had scared the hell out of them. They had packed their bags during the night and announced the next morning that they would rather leave now than stay to starve or drown at some later date. It was four days before the sea quieted down enough to get these men out to the packer, and bring some supplies ahore.

Jim and Frank Gale owned and operated our supply boat, the "Quallace". She was a 45-foot west coast fishing boat. Fred Robson and I were acting as "boatmen" when we took the six terrified men out to put them aboard. It was always dangerous transferring anything from one boat to the other. This day the waves were such that one minute the big skiff was ten feet above the decks of the packer and the next we could see the propeller and keel level with our eyes.

We took the men out, two at a time, and somehow made the transfer without drowning anyone. It was imperative to keep the boats close without allowing any actual contact. This was done with poles and ropes handled by men whose lives depended on every move. Any bump would smash and swamp the skiff. The prairie boys were so anxious to leave, they needed no coaxing to leap from the skiff to the deck of the bigger boat. Their bags and suitcases could be tossed to them from a safer distance.

When all six were safely aboard, I scrambled from the skiff onto the packer. I had with me a grocery list that looked sufficient to feed an army for a year. The cook had taken stock and ordered what was required to replace our food losses. Coffee, tea, sugar, and meat had been rationed by the government and were available only with coupons. This was indeed a problem from our standpoint. The storm had taken four months rations in a single day.

When we were out of the rough waters, the Gale brothers gave notice; they would not carry on unless a second boat was chartered to give them some measure of safety should their boat have trouble. The storm made everyone realize the dangers of operating out in the wide-open Pacific. It was suggested I try to charter the "Burnaby M", a 50-foot seiner owned by the Haida Indians of Skidgate Village.

"If you can get that boat with a good crew, maybe you could hire some of the Haida men to help out there," was Jim Gale's suggestion.

Arriving at Queen Charlotte City, both Gale brothers and I headed for the Skidegate reserve. I was formally introduced to Ed Collison, the Chief, and also to his half-brother, Jim McKay, the skipper of the "Burnaby M". Their big boat was up on the beach being caulked and copper-painted. The fishing season had jusy ended so most of the Haidas were at home. The "Burnaby M" was formally chartered. Jim McKay agreed to be skipper and Fred Russ accepted the job of engineer. Because we were able to pay good wages, a dozen more young men were hired in less than an hour. The big boat was launched at high tide that evening.

It was arranged that all hands would leave early next morning for Marble. Gale's store provided groceries. We purchased almost everything they had in stock and stowed it aboard the "Quallace" in readiness for the early departure. But when Frank Gale Sr. learned we had no ration coupons, he refused to let the goods go.

"I can't replace those rationed things without coupons," he stated. I got on the phone to Harry Winnie to explain our predicament.

"Hang tough! I'll be over in our crash boat in less than an half an hour."

Twenty minutes later there was a great roar down by the dock and Harry stepped ashore. He had brought with him the purchasing officer from the base. Papers were produced and signed by the two officers and myself, stating that we had received the groceries as emergency rations for west coast radio detachments. We all knew this might have repercussions if the Ration Board got sticky. The CO's parting words were: "If there is a court-martial for this, I'll come out and get you so we can face the charges together."

"Thanks for everything, old boy." We laughed.

In minutes the crash boat was out of sight in its own spray as it raced back across the channel. It was powered by two big straight-eight Rolls-Royce engines and capable of doing over 40 knots.

Our arrival back at Marble Island with the two packers, replacements for the crew, plus enough food to see us through, shot morale from low to high.

What amazed Robson and my three brothers most was the way the Haidas took over the big skiff and hauled all the supplies and men ashore in a way that was a pleasure to watch. They took the boat through the waves and breakers as naturally as young ducklings take to a pond. The crew of the "Burnaby M" was also great. There were few words spoken. They worked as one big human machine. Each seemed to know exactly what was needed, and anticipated every move.

When the Haida boys had all their gear safely in our new bunkhouse, Lloyd, Fred and I went in to introduce ourselves. We wanted to find out what each could do best. They proved to be fine young men. Their average height was a little over six feet. We learned that most had attended outside schools and had studied the arts and music.

George Brown started the intoductions. He told us he was Captain of the Rangers on the Queen Charlotte Islands, that all of the men here were members with combat training, and each had brought his ranger rifle with 500 rounds of ammunition per gun. They had also brough along some hand grenades and emergency food rations.

"Might be pretty handy stuff if those damned Japs try to come ashore." was Robson's observation.

As we were intoduced, George explained the skills of each man. When Fred Williams shook hands, he informed us, "I am the leader of our orchestra. We are known as "The Harmony Boys." He was apologetic because they had brought along some of their instruments, and asked if it would be okay if they practiced and played some music. He introduced the members of the band. They had brought drums, saxophone, trumpet, violin, a couple of guitars and one banjo. Brother Lloyd suggested they tune up and give us a demonstration.

The last man introduced was six-foot three inches, weighed over two hundred pounds and was put together much like Jack Dempsey.

"This is Phil Wilson. I suggest you make him your labour boss. He knows how to handle the boys if they get out of line," said George. Shaking hands with Phil was like putting your hand in a steel vise.

"You are now the official boss of the Marble Island Haidas and will be paid accordingly," I said, rubbing my right hand to get the circulation going again.

"You can count on me to look after the boys," Phil grinned.

It was easy to sense the respect everyone had for him.

The "Harmony Boys" were tuning up their instruments and getting ready for a song. Lloyd left to get the rest of our crew to come up and meet the new gang. Fred and I headed for the office. It was now early January 1943, and cold. We were about to open our door when the music started. The strains of "White Christmas" drifted out over our little camp. A full moon was just rising out of the ocean. Somehow, the combination froze both of us in our tracks. We stood perfectly still for a full fifteen minutes. Fred broke the spell by announcing, "That's some good crew you hired today. Might get this bloody job done with men like that around. Sure wish we had something to celebrate the occasion."

"It's a good feeling to have those men out here," I said. "Makes me think it will be a lot safer getting things on and off this damned island from now on. If you dig deep enough in the bottom drawer of my desk, you can come up with some pretty good snakebite medicine. It should lift the boys out of their doldrums from that bloody storm."

I had bought four bottles of good Scotch at Alliford Bay the previous week. We took this up to the bunkhouse and proceeded to cheer up the crew a bit. It proved to be a great evening with all hands getting aquainted. Phil was the one who called the party to a halt. At eleven o'clock he blinked the lights three times and commanded; "OK gang! Party's over! We've got a war on and plenty of work to do tomorrow, so let's hit the sack for an early rise and shine."

The diesel generators were now in operation, replacing the coal-oil lamps and gas lanterns we had been using. The music and Scotch had done a great deal to bolster the sagging spirits of everyone in camp, especially the Air Force boys who manned the wireless and lookouts, around the clock.

Next day everyone tied into his job with vigour and enthusiasm. In only a week, we had the main cookhouse completed. A gravity water system was operating. We had hot water and a stove with an oven, for the first time since landing. We had to get a second cook to help with the extra work for the larger crew. A scow was on its way from Vancouver with cement, bricks and lumber to replace what the storm had destroyed. Bread and pastry could now be baked. Everyone was tired of living on rye crisp and hardtack. Art Christianson had been sent up as head cook. He was jet-black and hailed from Georgia. Forty years later when we visited the Charlottes, Fred Russ told the story about the time Art was on his way to Marble Island.

"Hell! We could have got that man ashore two days earlier. He was making such good pastry and meals, we didn't want to let him go. When our boat would hit the big seas outside the inlet, Art would turn sort of green and lose all his breakfast. He begged to be taken to the inside so he could go back home. We wouldn't do that. When we finally did get him in the big skiff to go ashore at Marble Island, he was so scared he turned white. We actually had to lift him over the side and drop him in that skiff."

The "Burnaby M" had come out three days in a row, but the waves were so high it was too dangerous to attempt to put groceries and men ashore. Things went smoothly for the next while, then another storm struck.

We had beached the big log raft with a full load of supplies. It was partially unloaded when heavy seas started to pound the island and push the raft far up on the rocks. The tides were at their highest cycle, so our raft was high and dry. The noise of the waves and the big raft pounding on the beach was like thunder.

Three days later we got a long cable out of the "Burnaby M" and with the boat pulling and the bulldozer pushing, we were able to move the damaged raft only about ten feet at one end. Then she stuck tightly again. This loose end tangled in the propeller. It looked as though the "Burnaby M" was headed for a watery grave.

Again, the crew did the impossible. Fred Russ cut the cable with a fire axe, then launched their dory. He and the deckhand cleared the cable from the propeller shaft, using a pikepole and a gaff hook. The skipper was able to apply power barely in time to pull out to safety. One more minute and the packer would have been a goner.

Next day, at low tide, Ollie and his helper drilled holes in the rocks seaward from the raft; then they rigged the main line from the donkey through a block fastened to the eye-bolt anchors they had put in.

"I don't think the donkey will have enough power to move that raft one inch," was Ollie's emphatic declaration, as we looked over the situation.

"What do you suggest then?" I queried.

"Hell, we got lots of dynamite in the shed. Why don't we blast her loose?"

"If you know how to load the powder under it, we can give it a try," was my suggestion.

"Sure as hell no good to anyone where she is," was Ollie's remark as he spat on the headstick.

He and the crew carried a dozen boxed of dynamite to a big crevice under the high side of the raft. They piled boulders on the boxes to keep the charge in place. They ran a fuse through a long piece of water pipe. After coating the pipe with grease, the cap end was put in one of the full boxes of dynamite and tied securely. Just before the tide was high, Ollie stretched the main line singing tight. Everyone, except the donkey puncher and Ollie, was clearded from the area.

Five minutes before high tide, Ollie lit the fuse, then took over the donkey driving himself. The dynamite was now under several feet of water. There was a deafening bang, a huge spray went up, and the raft seemed to heave ten feet into the air. The donkey roared. Through the smoke and spray we could see the big raft lunge towards the open ocean. Everyone let out a great cheer.

The boatmen again took the cable out to the "Burnaby M" and this time she was able to haul the raft free and back into the inlet for the final load of goods.

"All she needed was a bit of a jolt to get her going," was Ollie's laughing remark.

"She sure as hell got a jolt all right." I had to laugh too.

We had built a steep railroad leading from the beach on the east side up 300 feet to the radar building. The little rail cars were pulled up this incline by a single-drum gas winch. There was some 200 feet of track along the level from the top to the radar site. This level portion was operated completely by manpower. It was dangerous when a car was heavily loaded, yet the boys managed with only one sprained ankle and some badly barked shins.

A team of three experts from the Air Force came to install the special tubes and wiring. Our crews were not allowed inside the building once this secret radar equipment was being put in place.

There was a recess left in the main concrete foundation about fifteen inches deep and twelve inches square.

"What the hell is that square hole for?" I asked the officer in charge.

"That is to be filled with a high-test dynamite and wired to a secret switch that only the operators know about. If the Japs land, the orders are to throw the switch."

"Won't that kill the men on the shift?" I queried.

"It will kill the operator, but the Japs will never be able to copy our radar tubes. The charge we put in there is enough to blow the building and contents to Kingdom Come. It's not really such a big deal. The Japs would kill everyone anyway."

"Nice war we're having," was my parting comment.

To get the secret equipment from the war supply depot in Vancouver to Alliford Bay, a small destroyer was used. The cargo was then transferred to a small scow. Harry and I agreed to beach this scow on Marble rather than risk a transfer to the log raft.

On each corner of the scow, a machine-gun was mounted and manned during the trip out through Skidegate Channel. Two planes, with bombs acted as escort. Harry Winnie explained to me in confidence that two Japanese submarines had been sighted in the area and it was suspected they would try either to destroy the equipment or pirate it from the scow.

Jack Hann, with the "Bertha G" did the towing through the narrow and treacherous Skidegate passage and on to Marble. He asked me to be on his boat to help co-ordinate and supervise during this risky manoeuvre. As we approached the narrowest turn in the passage, Jack handed me a razor-sharp fire axe. It was a tense Hann who gave the instructions.

"Now listen carefully, Joe! Our lives may depend on what I have to say. The tide is travelling out towards the ocean at over ten miles an hour. The front end of that scow will strike the rock shoulder as we go through the turn ahead. It should bounce clear and follow, but if it hangs up and swings on us, you will have to cut the towling. If I swing my left hand down, you chop that rope instantly. If you miss, we will be jammed onto the jagged reefs. This could sink both scow and boat at the speed we will be moving. I'll need full power on to keep the boat under control."

I took my position near the big hemp rope where it passed over the stern. After taking a couple of practice swings with the axe, to make sure there would be no mistakes, I glued my eyes on Jack and waited.

We flew past the shores as we travelled with the riptide. It was swirling and boiling like rapids in a river canyon at flood time. It seemed only minutes until we were into the turn. The port corner of the scow struck the rocks with a crash. I watched Jack's left hand as the towline came up so tight, water actually squirted out of it where it passed over the hardwood rail. The scow groaned and bounced, then cleared the rock shoulder to follow like a trained seal. I wiped the cold sweat off my face and walked to the wheelhouse where Jack stood with a tight-lipped grin.

"Was ready to give the signal when she broke free," he said.

"Wouldn't want many like that in a day!" was my hoarse reply.

The cook brought hot coffee.

The big ocean swells were only a mile ahead. It was here the four machine-guns were taken from the scow and mounted on the two Air Force boats that were also escorting the convoy. You can be sure the gunners needed no coaxing to leave that scow and get aboard the boats.

Brother Tom and I left the "Bertha G" to ride the scow and handle the line changes and signals that would be necessary when we neared Marble Island. Weeks of advance preparation had gone into this important manoeuvre. The tides and wind were the major factors to contend with. We planned to beach the scow on the east side of Marble, about an hour after high water. On this particular day, this would be at three o'clock in the afternoon. We hoped the scow would settle on the beach before its bottom was pounded out.

The "Burnaby M" was to have the strawline, from the donkey to the shore, stretched out some 800 feet off the east side and held tightly so it wouldn't sink to snag in the nig boulders on the ocean floor. As we came nearer we could see the boat standing off, and knew she had the cable ready for hooking to the scow.

As pre-arranged, the scow passed as close to the "Burnaby M" as conditions would allow. Jim McKay threw a light line to me as we passed. This was tied to the end of the strawline which was pulled over and shackled to a bridle at the back end of the scow. The boat then cleared the strawline from her tow bits and the donkey was signalled to go ahead. This caused the scow to swap ends and start backing towards the narrow entrance to the beach. The "Bertha G" had been instructed to hold the scow in position by pulling on the towline as needed. Thanks to the skill and good judgement of Jack Hann, the scow and cargo were manipulated to within feet of the prepared landing spot. When the shore lines were secure and tight, the "Bertha G" was cut free. With a wave of his hand, Jack turned his boat and headed for quieter waters. The Air Force boats circled the island until well after dark. The Japanese subs were not seen on this day.

By deaybreak, the lethal big tubes and acid-filled crates were off the scow safely and on their way to the radar building. All hands had worked through the night to accomplish the seemingly impossible. For some there had been no sleep for over thirty-six hours.

With high tide the next afternoon, the "Burnaby M" pulled the scow off the beach only to find the bottom smashed out of it. They were able to tow it slowly away from the island, but when the scow hit the big ocean swells the towline parted. The battered little wreck drifted out towards the open ocean, never to be seen again. All felt the loss sad, but justified. The completion of the radar station was now assured.

An end to the hazards and isolation seemed only a few weeks away. Little did we know that the worst was yet to come.

It happened a few days after the scow left, but on the opposite side of the island. A fairly big sea was running with waves averaging fifteen feet high. The "Burnaby M" was standing by to unload. They had several barrels of diesel to be taken ashore. Charlie Williams and Don Moody were doing the boat duties that day. Phil Watson had sent them out to bring in the barrels on a towline. Don neglected to remove his gumboots. He and Charlie were rushing the job and before they knew what happened, the big skiff fouled the towline and instantly capsized. The boatman found themselves in the heavy surf, in grave danger of drowning. The undertow was so strong a seal would have trouble moving along the rocks.

The alarm went out and all hands came on the run. Big Phil never hesitated. Throwing off his heavy clothes and shoes, he dove into this foaming surf to pull one of the men from under the water, then tie him to the swamped boat. George Brown threw Phil a rope. Don had gone to the bottom because of his boots and heavy rain clothes. Phil dove and was able to tie the line around the drowning man's waist. Unconscious, he was hauled onto the rocks and revived with mouth-to-mouth resusitation.

If you don't know what is meant when a west-coaster warns, "Look out for the three big ones!" I'll try to explain what can happen.

I was running along the top of a reef some fifteen feet above normal breakers, headed out to help Phil. The swells were breaking some fifty feet away. There was no thought of danger coming from that direction. Without warning, the first of the three big ones knocked me off the reef into a pothole of foaming water, on the shore side. The first big wave came over the top of the reef in a solid wall some ten feet high. I was sucked down into a hole so deep all daylight from the surface disappeared. The second wave shot me up from the depths and I was able to gulp one breath of air. The third wave came over the reef like a small Niagara Falls and I went down again into the darkness. A passage went under the reef and out to the ocean.

It seemed like eons before I saw daylight again. Pulling off my heavy gloves, I clawed frantically for the surface and some air. I neither blacked out nor panicked, but when I crawled out onto the rocks and lay with my head down, it seemed as though quarts of water ran out my nose and mouth. Unable to stand, I crawed some distance towards shore and safer ground. Twenty minutes later I staggered up the beach to where brother Ollie and Fred Robson were talking very seriously about something. Fred was the only one who had seen me disappear in that wall of water. He was telling Ollie there was no chance of ever seeing me again when I surprised them, looking like a drowned rat. Fred must have thought he was seeing a ghost. He jumped sideways and shouted, "How the hell did you get here? We were sure you were a goner!"

"Wasn't easy Fred. How are the other boys? Did they make it?"

"Yeah, they got out okay, a bit shaky and waterlogged though. All the Haida boys are up in the bunkhouse having a meeting right now."

Ollie had talked with Big Phil after he got ashore. Phil said, "Bad spirits are here and we're all going to leave for our village to have a potlatch".

"When?" I asked.

"Now," Ollie replied.

"They can't leave now, it's too bloody rough and dangerous, Half of them will be drowned the way that sea is pounding on those rocks."

In less than ten minutes, Ollie, Fred and I were surrounded by some twenty young Indians and old Mr. Moody, who had taken charge to explain the Haida custom. It was his son Don who had come nearest to a watery death. The old man explained how the good spirits had saved the men and had to be honoured by a potlatch.

"We go home now to lose the bad spirits of this island. We must honour the spirits now, or somebody will die for sure," he explained.

It was easy to feel the fear and sense of their desperate need. They all seemed to be expecting something bad to happen at any moment.

"Phil," I said, "you must not try to leave in a storm like this, someone will drown for sure."

His reply was blunt.

"It's okay, we must go now."

"No," was my firm refusal.

With a single voice all the Haidas shouted.

"We go now! It is an old custom of our people."

"If you use the skiff, each of you must sign a paper releiving us of any responsibility if you don't make it," was my stipulation.

They held a short conference and agreed to sign.

"They are going to go no matter what," was Fred's observation. He had been trying to pursuade his helper to influence them to wait for better weather.

"We must go now!" George insisted.

I suggested we could use the machine-guns to stop them committing suicide in the big waves.

"You get your machine-guns, but we must go anyway!" was George's quiet but definite reply.

With that, one of the Haida boys climbed the cliff to watch the ocean, as an eagle would, from the branches of a big spruce tree. This lookout man gave the boat crew signals when it looked safe to start out for the "Burnaby M". It was better than any movie, to watch the show these men put on in the ensuing hour. Their strongest and best boatmen manned the oars.

The lightest man on each trip was in the bow. Four were in the stern, and at a given signal of the one in the tree, the boat seemed to be pushed or carried into an incoming wave, slide down with it, and somehow was far enough out to prevent it from swamping in the next breaker. Always, two of the four men handling the stern wound up on the back seat, and safely boarded the "Burnaby M".

When only two Haida men were left, Jim McKay came ashore for a discussion with Fred and me. Jim looked at his watch. It was almost four p.m.

"It'll be dark soon, so we go. In two days at four o'clock we'll be back! Fred, you come and bring the skiff in on the last trip."

Jim offered me his hand and without another word headed for the waiting boat. Fred had never learned to swim, though most of his life was spent on boats.

Our skiff came ashore on the crest of a big wave. The boys were there to carry it up to safety. That was our worst day! It had been some kind of miracle that saved four of us from drowning.

"Spirits", the Haidas say. Maybe they are more in tune with things like that than we are. I'm sure there was something that helped me out of that deep hole.

Two days later, at a quarter to four, the "Burnaby M" was standing off the west shore waiting for the skiff to come out for the crew. Fred Robson and Ollie made the first trip, bringing three of the Haidas. These then took over the landing duties. Within an hour, all were safely back on the island and ready to go to work. They were confident that their potlatch had rid Marble Island of all its bad spirits.

Shortly after this near-tragedy, a letter was sent to our Lieutenant-Governor, explaining the courage and bravery displayed by Phil in saving the lives of the two boatmen. Some days later we received a reply, commending Watson for his actions. There was also the appropriate British Empire Medal. Instructions on how it should be presented were clearly explained in the letter. A meeting of the band was convened at an early date. Included were the Senior Officer of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, the Commanding Officers of the Armed Forces, the Chief and all his Council, plus other dignitaries wishing to attend. My role was to represent the Lieutenant-Governor and present the medal with all the pomp and dignity such an occasion demanded. A two-day holiday was proclaimed. One day was spent travelling and one day recuperating.

We proceeded to the big Skidegate hall. The hall had been decorated for the occasion. A huge crowd was in attendance. Phil, Chief Ed Collison, Harry Winnie, Jim McKay, the Senior Officer of the RCMP and myself were all up on the stage. Two young Princesses saw to it that tea and drinks were served, whatever the preference.

Following the welcome by Chief Collison, I was introduced, and asked to present the medal to Big Phil. I spoke of the near-tragedy and the courage displayed by our hero. After a few more drinks, Phil and I decided to become blood brothers. Chief Collison agreed to solemnize the occasion. I was given the name which, translated, means "Stormy Waters." Some Haidas believe it is spelled "Guiwa". Others say it cannot be spelled, only spoken.

Next morning we were on our way back to Marble Island. Jim McKay was at the helm. The rest of us nursed hangovers and drank coffee.

The Haidas have historic legends that are passed down from one generation to the next. It might be interesting to relate some of them here. Jim McKay told me this one: "The Haidas lived on the west coast of the island many years ago. We had a bigger town out west than we now have at Skidegate. Several hundred years ago, the bad spirits came to our town. Nearly everyone died. Many people, maybe a thousand died in that springtime. All the houses were full of the dead. Those who lived hiked through the woods across the island to the east coast. Only a handful made it all the way to Skidegate. There they started a new village where we live now."

"If you go to where the old town was, the streets are still there. When I was a small boy, I came with my grandfather to one old town opposite Marble Island, on the big island. We pulled our canoe up in the bushes and went to this old town place. We shot a deer and camped. On a moonlit night we walked along one old street to a big cave and rested.

"Then we heard it; first, the strum of drum music and next a strong voice chanting a war song. My grandfather told me it was the spirits of the old warriors who still walked the streets to sing and dance.

"Are you sure you heard songs and drums?" I asked.

"Many times I hear it. Now I have taken my grandson so he can hear it as I did. Only by moonlight and in the springtime do the spirits of the old people come back to play and chant."

"What made your people die?" I asked.

"Devils with big sores and scars came," he replied.

He seemed to be describing a sickness similar to smallpox.

I know where the old town is supposed to be. Maybe one spring, with the help of a helicopter and a grandson, we will visit and listen.

The Japanese current flows by the west coast of the Charlottes. It then veers north to go up towards the Aleutian Islands and Alaska. This current keeps the water temperatures warmer than that of most of our coast. It was not unusual to find glass fishing balls or other Japanese wooden things on the beaches.

Big sea-like creatures known as sea elephants were often seen near Marble Island. These monsters weigh several tons and have a nose similar to that of a bull moose, only longer. The nose looks much like an elephant trunk cut short. These rare and strange creatures are usually found only in tropical waters. They were extremely curious and followed our boats on several occasions. The Haidas believed they were bad and did many things to discourage them from following. They often shot close to their heads to scare them off.

Sharks up to twelve feet long sometimes followed the big skiff toward shore when the cargo was meat. We never knew if these were the man-eating type. No one jumped in to prove the point.

Another unusual incident occurred. Three of us towed a half-sunken scow from Van Harbour to the entrance of Skidegate Channel. Two sea elephants had followed us the last few miles. It was getting dark. We beached the scow then anchored the "Burnaby M" where we thought it would be safe for the night.

About two a.m., we were awakened by the crashing of waves and wind in the rigging. We leaped out of bed to find the boat dragging anchor and drifting dangerously close to the beach. Snow was blowing so thickly, visibility was reduced to a few yards.

We started the engine and steered out into the center of the channel. We just idled her into the wind until the storm abated. Jim McKay was sure the bad spirits from the sea elephants had caused the storm to wreck the big scow.

During the last month we moved the sawmill, donkey ande bulldozer off Marble and shipped them south. We cleaned up the job which included the painting of all the buildings with that horrible yellowish-green camouflage paint. We planted some spruce trees to the seaward side of the camp so it could not be spotted easily by a passing boat or submarine. After handing the keys to a young Lieutenant, we left for home.

It was understandable that there would be problems getting men and supplies on or off the island. Though we left the big skiff, three of the Air Force men were drowned within a month.

In the summer of 1978, Gloria Hobson, George and Berta Brown and I charted a helicopter to fly from Queen Charlotte City out to Marble for some pictures and a look-see. Storms had completely demolished all the buildings at the beach area. At the foot of the cliffs, piles of splintered lumber and bits of plywood were strewn in disarray. The wood was white and worn smooth from the constant pounding of the storms. That was all that was left of the hospital, cookhouse and four bunkhouses.

The inclined railway was there but the timbers were moss-covered and rotting. The diesel engines had been plundered at some earlier date. The radar building was barely visible amongst the trees on top of the hill. Its roof sagging in the middle, it stood among stunted spruce trees, looking like an old switch-back horse in a field of tall grass.

As we walked the beach, past memories returned in a flood. When I went out to the big pothole for a look at my near watery grave, it was exactly as I remembered it. I stood for a few minutes staring down into its depths. I was shocked back to reality when two young seals popped up a few yards from my feet. They had come through the cave passage that led to the ocean.

Up in the trees along the ridge, dozens of eagles perched. Some were Golden Eagles with huge wing spans. The rest were Bald Eagles. Nests could be seen in the trees with young birds poking their heads up. Hair seals stared at us with big saucer eyes. Jack Hann's words came back from the past.

"You fellows must be more than a little crazy to try to build on that damned island. Only thing it's good for is eagles and seals."

After an easy takeoff in the chopper, we cruised home through the Skidegate Channel. During the half hour flight, George Brown and I chatted about things that had happened during the construction. We agreed that, had helicopters been available in the early 1940's, the radar project would have been completed in less than half the time, with most of the dangers eliminated.

In the fall of 1979, Phil Watson visited me. We reminisced for an hour or two about Marble Island and the west coast of the Queen Charlottes and found time to enjoy a couple of good Scotch and sodas. Phil told me how he had hunted seals with his hrandfather and uncle.

"I was about nine or ten. We would land in the bay on the east side of Marble Island, pull the big canoe up on the shore, then climb up the rocks and sneak through the trees and long grass until we got within shooting distance of the seal rookery. There would be several hundred in and around the bay. The smell was so high it made me gag."

"Both men had two rifles each and it was my job to carry the extra guns and pass the ammunition. They were crack shots and would sometimes kill up to fifty before they all took to the deeper water."

"The government paid five dollars for a hair seal nose. At that time it was the way to keep down the seal population and conserve salmon and other fish. I remember the water being red with blood and waiting for it to clear so the dead seals could be brought up from the bottom with long gaffs and spears. Then the noses were cut off. The seal bodies were released to sink back to the bottom. This was when the big sharks came in."

"We made our cooking fire on the rocks nearest Van Harbour. From here we could see the high bluffs and watch the big waves breaking against them. There were strange marks on the face of the bluffs, that looked like scratches made from some huge hand. When I asked Grandfather about them, he told me the legend of the "Wosco", the big sea wolf."

"Long ago, some of our people lived over there on top. There was an old lady who was kind, very big, and also very fat. One day she found some puppies on the beach in the bay. The pups were wet, cold and hungry. This old lady carried them home and cared for them. They grew big and loved to swim out in the ocean. When the lady wanted fish she got the message to the "Woscos". Off they would go and soon return with a killer whale in their mouths. Then there would be great feasting. There was another lady living nearby and she became jealous of the fat one. One day when the Woscos went out to fish, this wicked woman, who had strong powers, created a terrible storm. So big were the waves that when the Woscos returned to climb up on the bluffs, they were washed back into the ocean. The marks on the bluffs were made by their claws before they drowned. The wicked one then turned them into stone. You remember those two big humps behing the bluffs? Those are supposed to be the big sea wolves which look after Marble Island.

"I had to believe Grandfather's story. It all seemed so possible to a 9-year old."

Later, as he was about to leave, I asked him if he still had his British Empire Medal.

"It's a mircale I still have it," he replied. "A few years after the war ended, my house burned down. All my belongings were destroyed in the fire. A few months later, when I was rummaging through some old ashes, I found my old jewel-case. It had become so hot it was distorted almost beyond recognition, but when I pried open the lid, my medal was inside, looking as good as the day I recived it. I'm sure some of the spirits from Marble Island stay with the medal to protect it for my descendants."

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Updated: November 17, 2003