Page Updated:
July 16, 2006

Continued from A Whole New World - Part I

So, after my first year in 1961, I was offered a job in 1962 on the North shore of the St. Lawrence River in Quebec, and took it, since I had lived in Quebec for three years. Regardless, I applied to HSR for 1963 and was accepted in the composite programme as an assistant scoutmaster (called ASM and pronounced the way it’s spelled). There was a senior ASM and a junior ASM; I was the senior.

Unbeknownst to me, there was a plan afoot to locate a new composite campsite at Hurst Lake; naturally, I was on that team. Our skipper was Glen Pittis, a great guy who I met years later and who was working in social services in the Hamilton area. (This could be a complete lie, but I’m sure Glen will write in and correct me if need be.) His brother Al, was also a composite skipper, but was at the Mill Site. The junior ASM was George Cairney and the Troop Leader was Dave Wild. The troop leader was hired for the summer as a permanent part of each composite team. (The SIT programme didn’t start until later.) When I was a Troop Leader in 1961, I was paid $40 for the summer, and I was happy.

Regardless, the first order of business was to set up a camp at Hurst. We started by constructing large floorboards for the four youth tents and the two leader’s tent. We built these at the bottom of the hill where the bridge crosses the stream coming down from Hurst. Then, with a good crew, we picked up the finished floors, held them vertically, and carried them up the hill, past the yet to be built pavilion, through the bush,  around the bog, since the foot bridge had yet to be built, around the huge “erratic” stone, left by the glaciers and on to the site. The floorboards weighed a ton and it was far beyond exhausting. Having installed the first floorboard, we returned for the next. During this time of human suffering, I was introduced to a wonderful concept for taking breaks. When the floorboards became too heavy, a self proclaimed leader would shout “Quarter time”. Never one to withhold a comment, I corrected him by saying the expression was “Half time”. After a swift belt to the head, he informed me that with half time, there is only one break per project. With quarter time, there are three breaks per project. I have used the expression “Quarter Time” ever since.

Back to the floorboards: The site was very spread out and used about half the south shore of Hurst. Why we didn’t carry the boards and plywood to the site and construct them there, is way beyond my feeble brain. However, there is always a silver lining to any experience, and I learned a very important lesson: One can do absolutely anything in this world if you have the right people, enough people and the right attitude. What a lesson and I have used it all my life.

I probably learned a few other lessons; such as, never carry floorboards in the bush again, period, no matter what the team is like, and never carry floorboards in Black Fly season.

After the site was finished, we were then ready for living, breathing campers; so, as was the custom, the team went to Toronto for three days and came back on the bus with our first troop of 32. If you can believe it, the bus drove to the bottom of the hill where we built the floorboards. Even more unbelievable is the fact that I drove my father’s car up to the pavilion one day without damage. Obviously the roads were better then.

A lot of the composite programme hasn’t changed much over the years; but, some things definitely have. The first day or so was spent swim testing and teaching axe and knife safety, and, of course, long hours learning to light fires, cook food and clean dishes. Having done that, we usually had a day hike, an overnight hike, and a two night canoe trip, interspersed with days in camp for badge work etc. The cooking lessons paid off, but I’m not so sure the axe lesson did, since I remember a day later seeing some angered young scout chasing another terrified scout through the bush with an axe raised over his head hoping to imitate an Ann Boelyn episode. Fortunately I was on a nearby path.

The day hike would often be to High Falls where the campers always found the great spikes that the loggers, of a hundred years ago, used to build a log chute to carry the logs from Forlorn Lake to Holland Lake. Usually there were Cardinal flowers growing on the banks of the stream below the falls, and some times you might see a Whiskey Jack (Canada Jay) in the bush. Nothing beat standing under the falls and having the water crash onto you during a hot summer’s day.

The overnight hike was also called the pioneering hike, and the destination was usually Scraggle Lake (Moore Lake). When we arrived, everyone cut staves and with the help of a roll of binder twine, we constructed lean-to’s. (We would show them Running Cedar, which was Cedar tree roots, which could be used as twine. But we drew the line there and settled for Binder Twine) After covering each effort with freshly cut boughs, the campers had to lie under the lean-to, while the leaders threw a bucket of water on the top. Obviously those who got wet had a little more thatching to do. Nowadays, the environmental mindset would condemn such practices, but at the time, it was acceptable and the number of people doing the project over the length of a summer was not huge. Regardless, it’s probably a good thing that we’ve progressed.

The canoe trip, for those at Hurst, usually went to Drag Lake. It would begin with a hike to the Narrows at Holland Lake. Depending on the industriousness of the beavers, who damned up the culvert, we would have to tear apart the dam to allow enough water for our canoes to reach Minnie Lake. After dragging the canoes over another damn part way down the river, we reached Minnie and proceeded to the West end where we portaged to a puddle called Martin’s Pond. Three strokes of the paddle and we portaged again to the shores of Drag. We usually came out at Curry’s summer home (Curry Motors from town) and they very kindly gave us permission to launch our canoes from their beach. Then came a nice little paddle to the “Rock”, and a well earned swim, supper and rest. In truth, the canoe trip so far was really one long portage, interrupted by a couple of short paddles. That evening the youth and leaders, 36 in all, would often sit down in a row, back to front, and give the guy in front a back rub, while you received one from the guy behind.

The next day we got in our canoes and crossed Drag. This was a very long paddle, and depending upon the wind, very arduous. We landed at the far West end of Drag and walked up Dover Springs Road, coming out to the highway just past Stan’s. (It was Stan’s Texaco at the time) We’d head into town and let the kids buy an ice cream cone and then walk back to Stan’s. In behind Stan’s was a 100 foot Ranger Tower which was active at the time. When you drive up the hill from town you can still see the superstructure of the tower, but the cabin is gone now. In small groups we would all climb the tower and talk to the Ranger. He’d tell us about his duties and how he’d locate a “smoke”, as he called it. He also told us about the time that he saw a jet plane approach, and that the jet was so low, the pilot flew below the tower and the ranger looked down into the cockpit. What an education for all those kids, who were mainly city kids. Heck, what an education for all those leaders!

We then paddled the long trek back to the Rock and dined on scrumptious dehydrated food again. No one cared; we were exhausted. Well, except for two of us.

(I’m including an excerpt from the 1963 Thunderbird Yearbook. It was an advice column supposedly written by our wonderful nurse called Judy Cross. Great name for a nurse. Naturally she was called Red Cross):

Dear Jealous, You had better ask Scouter Cuddles and Lonesome. They seem to know all about these things.

Yes, George (George was ‘Lonesome’, and I was the other guy) and I struck out in a canoe after supper for Drag Lake Lodge to visit some of the female staff at the lodge. We were fortunate enough, and good enough whiners, to catch the sympathy of two ladies who gave us back rubs for a while. Of course, when word got around back at camp, some noses were out of joint.

At the end of the composite period, we’d usually stay up all night filling out badge cards, which the boys would take to their Troop Scouter at home. You can be guaranteed that the bus ride back to Toronto was a lot quieter than the way up.

The following year I was made Skipper and purposely chose Hurst Lake as my site. I loved the place.

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