The Deep Woods

The year 1952...I remember an experience that occurred when I first started work as a Scaler in the Hare Bay Section of Bowaters Woods operations. Previous to this I had worked with Scaler Harvey Budgell in Hawks Bay Bowaters for a month or two and was then transferred to Hare Bay operation in November. I spent a few days with the family in Brig Bay and on the following Monday I traveled down Ten Mile lake by motor boat to Camp 8. Arriving there I found that Wilson Moores, my co-worker was at Camp 6 to scale wood and to prepare a Settlement, and that I was to join him there. Camp 6 was built near the shore of Ten Mile Lake, and there was no road; its supplies and transport was by motor boat.

The next morning I walked the six miles to Camp 10 and had lunch there. This was new territory for me. A rough right-of-way had been cut and I was to connect with it for a mile or two and turn off to a trail that was a mile or so to Camp 6. Resuming my journy that afternoon, I walked along watching for the wide right-of-way, I came to a sharp turn in the portage road that I assumed went to Camp 11. In the direction I had been walking I saw only a large growth of tall grass, and it appeared to be a dead end. I proceded on my way.

The staff had told me that the right-of-way was not far from Camp 10. After walking about a mile in this direction I became uneasy that I had missed the right-of-way.(I later learned that the right-of-way began where I saw the tall grass. At the starting point there was a steep grade and the tractors had pushed the trees and fill down the hill to lessen the grade somewhat. This work was done about four years previous).

I rmembered hearing my brothers, Clyde and Pleman who cut wood at Camp 11, that a trail was used by the men from Camp 11 that went down to Camp Four Cove. There the workers connected with the motor boat transport. From there, about a mile or two along the lakeshore was a trail to Camp 6. I thought, should I go back to Camp 10 and check things out, or make the effort of finding the trail to Camp 4. I finally decided on the latter course, and that being settled I quickened my step. The days were now much shorter than in summer time, and by six it would be dark.

When I had traveled to where the sounds of the woodcutters from Camp 11 could be heard, I turned off the road and into the woods to intersect with the trail. I felt it should be about a mile away. In the tall woods I found some difficulty maintaining my sense of direction, the sun being already down toward the horizon and could not be observed. Finally I was approaching to what appeared at first to be a clearing and the setting sun came into view with a blinding glare. I was unprepared for the almost sudden changed of contrast, compared with the gloom of the deep forest.

It was a while before I realized that I was standing on the brow of a wooded mountain. The ground in front of me now sloped downward at a steep angle, and I was looking at the treetops that seemed to go tumbling down toward the terrain far below. I soon realized that I had come to the edge of "The Blue Ridge" a mountain that I had viewed from afar, in my childhood. Away in the distance I could see the Strait of Belle Isle, and the faint blue coast of Labrador.

I considered my present predicament, of being stranded in the deep woods with darkness approaching, and at this point having failed to find the trail that I expected to take me to my destination. But I turned to the task at hand, for darkness was fast approaching and I still had quite a distance to go.

It was now about five o'clock and the sun was already going down. In less than an hour it would be dark. I must find the trail! It has to be in this vicinity. As I began to look around, I realized with relief that I had crossed the footpath trail and the glare of the sun had prevented me from seeing it. Thankful, and greatly encouraged I started off along the faint trail, in a northerly direction. It was fairly dry and much of the way it was sloping slightly downward. As I went along, Ten Mile Pond came into view, shadowy in the gloom of late evening. This was welcome confirmation that I was on the right trail. In about a half-hour I arrived at the right-of-way that had eluded me earlier in the day, and soon found the trail that would take me to the camp.

This trail was rather wet and in places swampy which slowed my pace somewhat, and when I arrived at the camp it was dark. Removing my muddy boots I let myself into the forepeak, where the lamp had not yet been lit.

Having obtained my goal I realized how tired I had become, and lay down on a bunk, thankful that I had made it safely to the camp. The cookhouse staff was busy with supper arrangements. I relaxed, and drifted into light sleep until someone came to light the lamps and start the stove heater. When he came into the sleeping compartment to light that lamp, I saw it was Chesley Samson, the cook, my cousion and good friend. He was starlted to see me lying there. "My Goodness, Gracious, he exclamed, is that you, Ralph?" "yes" I answered. "Will I,m some glad to see you, I've been thinking of you out there alone in the dark woods, cold, scared...well thank the Lord you got here safely. You must be hungry, do you want your supper now?" I thanked him and said I would wait for the Skipper and Wilson.

While he got the fire going in the wood-stove, he talked, "They were pretty worried about you, you know. I mean, you not having been in these woods before. They were thinking you might have missed the trail and that you had gotten lost in the woods. They'll be real glad to know you got here okay. What time did you get here?" "About six o'oclok," I answered. "I'll tell them when they get here; they'll be glad to know you've arrived. He returned back to his kitchen.

The Skipper was Abe Gibbons, a soldier in World War 2, and Chesley's brother-in-law, as will, who served in the Forestry Unit. Several minutes later the door opened; Abe and Wilson stood there, smiling. Abe said, "So, the lost has been found." Wilson said,"Pleased to meet you". They wanted to know how I had got to the camp, and then we went to supper, together.

Wilson and I developed a good working relationship and I enjoyed the several months that I worked with him. I learned later that Welson served in the War also, but I never heard him mention it. Most of these men preferred not to talk about it.

It was probably in the year 2000 when I noticed that the area of my adventure was being harvested for pulpwood. Long forgotten memories came back to my mind, recalling the experience. Later on I thought I might go up and locate the actual area where this tender-foot travelled that day, of many years gone by.

Link to Wartime:click here.

Updated 7 2007