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Page Updated:
July 16, 2006
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From
the Scouter’s Quill:
Memories - The Trip
by Bruce Kenn
Saturday morning the sun
shone brightly and although it was early July, there was a crispness in
the air. We met at Main Street railway station in the east end of Toronto.
The patrol stowed their gear in the baggage car and then settled down in
the coach for our first leg of the journey. We were heading to the Haliburton
Scout Reserve. This wilderness camp had been bought by the Greater Toronto
Region in the mid-forties and was still being explored by adventurist groups
such as ours. Our Senior Patrol consisted of five scouts and our Skipper,
Howie “Beans” Harper.
We pulled out of the station,
sitting in nice plush seats and thinking, “this is the way to go”. The
scenery was very pleasant as we wound through the countryside. There was
many types of farms, dispersed periodically by small towns and villages.
Idyllic! indeed!. This comfortable leg would end at the station in Lindsay,
Ontario.
They called it a “Milk Run”.
Our second leg of the journey had us putting our gear on a sort of Box-Baggage
car combined. The engine was puffing away blowing steam all around us.
Behind it was a coal-car, boxcar, coach and caboose. The seats in the coach
were slatted and could be set forward or looking back. They were not built
for comfort and so we spent a lot of time strolling or leaning out the
window. The engine finally got up enough steam and with a jerk, we were
on our way. The patrol had made up box lunches and it was suggested we
could have them on our “second leg”. A soggy cheese sandwich and lukewarm
poop was not a gourmet’s delight but it filled the bellies of our teen-age
stomachs along with extra junk-food stashed away for such occasions.
The train wound it’s way
North and on some curves, I think we could have waved to the engineer.
The first part of the trip took us through scrubland and some small lakes
with cottages here and there. Eventually, forest and bush land became the
common scenery. The heat of the afternoon gave us time to slumber or “take-five”.
There were not many passengers and those not snoozing were reading or staring
out the windows at the verdant foliage. Suddenly, the train jerked us out
of our comatose state and slowed to a crawl. We looked for a station or
crossing but all we saw was a little platform with a couple of milk cans
and a canvas bag on it. The train stopped only long enough to exchange
loads and then continued to puff on it’s way. This routine continued for
the next couple of hours. Finally we started moving into a faster roll
and the engineer seemed to want to make up for lost time. Clickity, clackity,
along, we eventually arrived in the town of Haliburton around 4:30 p.m.
This would be our last encounter with civilization for a week and we pondered
the adventure we were heading into.
When we arrived at Haliburton
station, we were met by a camp staff member driving a small army lorry
(truck in Cdn. English). The lorry was painted a fresh yellow and had an
open back with bench seats running up both sides of the box. We stored
our gear on board and sat down facing each other. “Beans” closed the tailgate
and jumped in front with the driver. With a crunching of gears, we were
off. We proceeded North and East out of town on route 121. A short while
later the driver turned off this highway onto a secondary road. This road
seemed twice as long as the main route and we were forced to hang on as
our truck jockey barrelled along to our destination.
We eventually came to the
road to camp. This road, I think, must have been laid according to the
lay of the land. It went up, down and all around. Our driver knew the curves
and hills and yelled to us to keep our heads low as the branches of low
hanging trees whistled over the cab. “Hang on! The camp is just ahead.”
Yeah! Sure it was. Enveloped in a cloud of dust we finally came to a stop
eons later in front of a little cabin. this was headquarters and just beyond
it lay a long dock. We “fell” off the truck, trying to get circulation
back into our legs. After we loaded our gear and supplies into a very large
lifeboat (That’s Queen Boat Bruce). Added to our supplies was a twenty-five
gallon drum. This would be our “hot water” reservoir for the duration of
the camp. These large lifeboats had been acquired by the Reserve for
transportation
of Troops to the various site locations. “Irish” the warden of the camp,
tethered this boat to a smaller runabout which had a ten horsepower motor.
Some of us piled into the small boat while a few had to travel with the
gear. The added weight made the gunnels sit close on the water. Fortunately
the waters were calm. They usually are before a storm. The sky was grey
and menacing thunder clouds had accumulated overhead as we arrived at our
destination. A small pebbled beach was our landing spot. We dumped our
gear and equipment very rapidly as the rain started. Irish sails off and
with a wave he shouts; “See you in a week.”
This site would become Chippewa
Point, named after our patrol from the 73rd Monarch Park District. The
year 1950. We cleared our site and set up our supply tent. The main tent
would have to wait as we crammed in with the supplies while the sky opened
up in a torrential downpour. Our camp, that’s another story, for another
time.
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