up near the bow of the ship, outside. They say the pork products used to walk off the ship by themselves when they arrived at camp four or five days later.
....As the ships plied their way to the north, they would make various stops – sometimes at a dock, sometimes at a floating wharf, and often just drop anchor and have a small gas-boat or even a row-boat come alongside to take off supplies and passengers, (or loggers). To look upon such a scene today would conjure up inconven-ience. Then it was a mode of life and the people awaiting the ships, whether at a dock in the middle of the night or in a row-boat at high noon in the middle of a lonely inlet, were only too anxious and happy to climb aboard through the side hatch of the ship and head for the small magazine counter.
....I can remember the smell of diesel, and food and ships paint as I would scramble along the passage way in search of the new edition of Doc Savage, or Liberty magazines.
....The captain was always impatient to get his load of freight and passengers off and to head for sea again. Too bad for the slow deckhand or passenger that doddled. A bellow would often come from the bridge, telling all the forest around that this ship has to pull out.
....Ships brought the news of city life, the happenings at other camps along the way and the links with the outer world. They also brought the “travelers” as they were called – the men who represented sales companies supplying the upcoast stores, logging camps and canneries. Well do I remember the clinging smells.of pilch-

“Of ships and things – and loggers”

....In these days of hot environmental issues, union bargaining tables and export market conditions, I think we in the forest industry tend to get pretty up-tight, develop some ulcers, and forget just who we are and where we came from, and what brought us here.
....We’ll talk about these “today” issues at a later date, but right now I’d like to go back to what is loosely termed “the good old days” and reminisce about some of the events in this forest around us that have given this forest society (bullcooks to presidents) these good new days.
....When thinking of past days my mind wanders back to coastal B.C. and the old floating logging camps, the A-frames, the Coleman gas lamps, the beautiful clang-clang of the cookhouse bell and of course the coastal steamers. Those ships – the Venture, the Maquinna, the Adelaide, the Catella and so many others are ghosts of the past that sailed our waters in the 20’s, the 30’s and the 40’s supplying food to the logging camps and trans-porting loggers to and from their jobs.
....These quiet ships would load their holds with canned goods, caulk boots, Stanfield underwear and Copenhagen snuff, and the winches would never stop rattling until the last minute before sailing time.
....The ships always sailed from Vancouver in the evenings around 8 or 9 o’clock. Thus the loggers scrambling aboard would be in fine condition – hav-ing finished their after dinner demi-tasse, and grabbing their pack-sack and the nearest lady, wife or friend, would take a taxi to the dock of the departing ship.
....It was quite a scene at the darkly lit wharves, particularly the old Union Steamship dock. To say that chaos reigned would be putting it mildly. Our daily paper, The Sun, might put in a line stating that “50 passengers and


175 loggers sailed for the north to- night.” One did not confuse the readers in those days by classifying logger and passenger as of the same race.
....But the dockside departures for camp were something. I remember well the Saturday night at nine when (let’s call him Rigger Smith) and his family of brothers and sister arrived at the dock to see the Rigger off for camp. The brothers were all big men and likewise was his sister. They were in high spirits and had just left a local bootlegger’s place, all bust up. It seems someone had insulted sister and the boys didn’t like the part of the bootlegger’s hair, so they bent a few chairs and upset a few antique pieces in his alcohol emporium.
....Well, brothers and sister got Rigger in a cab and down to the ship just on time, for the code was a good logger never missed the boat. Midst the roar of the winches, the yells of goodbye, the arriving of taxis and the blowing of the whistle, the Rigger, the “pas-sengers” and the loggers sailed off into the night. By 10:30, as the ship passed Point Atkinson, calm had been restored and the bow was headed for the upcoast camps. Yes, they were good ol’ days!
....The Venture was a ship to remember. As best I recall about 175 feet long. A large freight hold was up forward and a few first class cabins, that sometimes held four people to a cabin. A large, long “glory hole” lay in the depths of the ship, with a long table down the middle and no-backed benches alongside. The walls were tiered with bunks, so that the occu-pant could simply swing himself out of his bunk onto the bench and dinner was at your elbows. In those days, before refrigeration, it was not uncommon to find the hind quarters of beef, destined for the camps, hanging

British Columbia Lumberman, February, 1972

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - (. page break )

ard or herring fertilizers that would be loaded on at the canneries on the south bound trip back to Vancouver. It had the fragrance of a long dead whale on the beach.
....In the summer months, particularly on the CPR boats, the “good ship Maquinna” or the Adelaide, there was always a mixture of tourists. They played their foursomes of bridge, had their afternoon tea, and always went down to the dining lounge for evening snacks of delicious cheeses and assorted cold cuts. In winter, the ships were void of tourists as they carried their “passengers and loggers” through some wild rough storms on the west coast of Vancouver Island, or the Johnstone Straits, or Queen Charlotte Sound. The men were separated from the boys on these trips by the appearance in the dining lounge of those few tough hardy souls who could still eat and hold some food down.
....This forest industry today can look to those quiet ships and can give items [them] sic and their captains and crews a vote of thanks for services performed. They never let a logger down no matter how tough the storms nor how treacherous the tides and rocks: the old ships would arrive at coastal destinations with much-needed supplies and loads of loggers. It was an era and deserves its place in our heritage. The other day, I noted an interesting piece from the past when I dropped in at the Loggers’ Employ-ment Agency on Carrall Street in Vancouver. Here loggers, by the thousands have signed up for jobs over the past fifty years for up-coast logging camps. While most men travel by air or car to their jobs, I noticed that the hiring slips they sign, state that the man is “shipping-out” from Vancouver to such and such a camp. So the ships live on in our forest life today.

We grumbled about the quarters on those ships. We rumbled when they were late getting to camp due to storms. We swore we’d never hire out again after a rough trip, and the five day trip from Vancouver to Prince Rupert, the Queen Charlottes, or Port Alice seemed like an eternity. But with the memories of those past annoyances long forgotten, I remember only a quiet, silent, red and black funneled ship plying along a west coast inlet, surrounded by the hills and forest around us.
....The Venture, the Maquinna, the John, the Adelaide – a part of our forestry heritage.

........Keep out of the bight,

British Columbia Lumberman, February, 1971