McNab’s Island is only accessible by boat, home to the ruins of both Fort Ives and Fort McNab, as well as many more stunning features. An interpretive tour by the friends of McNab’s Island is highly recommended.
Pictures were taken on tour in July 2019.
A gallery highlighting my 2 bikes (so far) and some of the places they’ve taken me.
The days and weeks move on as they always do, and while its still winter, it feels like its loosening some as March has made its way around again.
Sated, Ralph leans back in the old rocking chair. Tired, but the good kind, a day spent out in the open, a fire, good friends, food, and of course the inevitable memories.
Lets see, we were about 15 then I think, though the trips sometimes run together, that one was special. That’s when I met Dot.
“Hey Ralph! Up for a trip in the pond and a boil up? Nice and warm, but still tons of ice, we can maybe get some trout!”
“Hell Yeah” Lemme grab some salt pork for bait and the axe! Perhaps we’ll get a rabbit to cook up too.”
“Perhaps, but I’ve got the old standby anyway, kippers and caplin!”
The familiar trail of the long run lays ahead, and off they walk, comfortable together, past hap’s cap, where they pause, and look out over the harbour as always. Both thinking it looks smaller than it used to, but both aware that perhaps that’s not a bad thing, and that its big enough. Wise beyond their years.
The path splits off just ahead, one trail continuing, “the old road” they called it, but the pond is not that way. Following a brook, the side path snakes along till they emerge next to an old beavers dam, ice and and still some snow clinging on, and the icy glass layout of the pond ahead.
Stopping on shore they cut a couple likely alder branches, and notching them around the top to hold their line in place, they rig up some make shift rods.
Marching ahead, they walk out on the ice, following the shoreline, they circle around a small point to enter a sheltered cove. Laying their old canvas ruck sacks down, they move off a few feet, and then start the ice chips flying with each down stroke of their axes.
They’ve done this before, widening the hole at the top and the sides as they know as soon as they break through they only have a couple seconds to widen the gap before the entire hole will fill with water.
With a gush the water floods their ice holes. Baiting their hooks with some fat back pork and cheese, they prop their rods over the holes and move off to repeat the process, making 3 holes each.
Once done, they idly wander back and forth between their lines, checking for a bite, or giving them a jig here and there to attract a trout. Not necessarily an exciting process to some, but a relaxing, enjoyable one that a true outdoor lover can appreciate.
Sitting back on a flipped over beef bucket, exchanging stories, bragging; topics changing as fast as the wind. Si gets the first trout, followed soon by several more for each. Slipped on through the gills over a forked stick, between them they get 10 nice sized trout.
“Getting hungry Si?”
“Damn straight! How about you go ashore and get a fire going, while I pick all this up”
“Works for me!” Ralph replies, then heads ashore into the cove. A fire will be nice he thinks, and there’s nothing like a cup of tea in the woods!
Knowing exactly what he needs, first off he strips some papery bark from a nearby birch tree, and some dry moss from an old spruce. Then he walks up over the knob to where someone had been cutting wood or logs and finds a nice blasty tree top, dried to nearly cork, dried needles still attached, perfect to get a roaring fire going.
Gathering a few larger junks of wood, to keep some coals going, he drags it all off near the shore. Clearing away most of the snow in a sheltered nook, he stacks the moss and bark, snaps off some smaller branches from the top and gently lights the fire.
Soon, its roaring, and larger trees have been put on top; too wild and hot yet to use for cooking but there is something welcoming about the smell of the woodsmoke and the feel of a bonfire that warms you to the core.
The time has passed quickly, but Ralph suddenly realizes that its been much longer than it should have taken Si, he walks back out onto the ice to see him, and a surprise. Its Cooper, and with him, some strangers.
As they get closer, Ralph greets Cooper, and tries, failing miserably, to size up the newcomers without being obvious.
Direct and to the point, Ralph asks “Who do you have here Cooper?”
“This here is Aunt Maude’s sister’s kids. They’ve moved back to the harbour, staying with Aunt Maude for now at least. This here’s Jim, he’s 17, and this here’s Doug, he’s your age.”
Cooper moves closer to the fire, and says “We have a little grub, how many trout did you get? Enough for all 6 of us?”
“Well we have 10, so one each and can split the rest, but I dunno, since one of them is nameless, perhaps she doesn’t eat either?”
“Oh! You noticed her did you? Well perhaps a little since you haven’t looked anywhere else since we got here. Ralph this is Dot, she’s 14, and wants nothing to do with you.”
Blushing and mumbling, Ralph moves off and pokes the fire, then walks to the brook to fill the old apple juice can with water to boil for tea.
Coming back he finds that the others have gotten out the old enamel frying pan and have the pork rendering, trout cleaned and ready to go in. Ralph gets a long stout branch with a fork and positions it over the fire, hanging the apple juice can over with some attached rabbit wire.
Sitting alone on a log, he stares into the embers for a few moments, till Cooper yells “Come on bye, she’s not gonna bite you, and I was joking before. She may want something to do with ya after all”. With this, its Dot’s turn to blush and turn away.
Laughing Cooper digs into his pack and pulls out two bottles. “I managed to sneak off some of Dad’s lemon gin” he says “and half a bottle of this dog berry wine. Though to my tastes, I think it might be turpentine.”
Passing the bottles round, sipping and cursing and coughing over the rough liquor, they bond like teens have done and will do for hundreds of years. Stories flying, inhibitions loosened, Dot and Ralph are soon chatting like old friends, immediately a couple without anything further needing to be said.
Soon the “tea kettle” is boiling and a handful of loose tea flung in, the smell of fresh cooked trout wafting over their camp as well as that of kippers, caplin, roasted in brown paper on the coals.
Enamel cups and plates are passed around, the food is dished out and fingers and tongues are burned on the hot simple, but deliciously fresh food.
After everyone has eaten, they clean off their plates and cups by scrubbing them in crusty snow till they are clean.
Once done, Si and Ralph start to prepare their ruck sacks for home, when Cooper says “Wait boys, Doug and Jim have something I know I’ve never seen and doubt you have either. Heard about em, but don’t think anyone in the harbour ever had them!”
The two new boys look at each other and dig into their packs to pull out what at first looks like a snowshoe harness, till they see its similar but with a single blade at the bottom.
In awe, Si says “Are them skates? Like on the hockey?”
Well not quite like the hockey, but yeah they are says Jim. He proceeds to strap them on and stands up and tears off across the pond, followed closely by Doug to the whoops of the others.
When he comes back, Ralph asks “You think I could have a go?”
“Sure, but it takes some getting used to”
Over confident, and conscious of Dot beside him, Ralph grabs them and straps them on, dreams of flying across the ice like Jim in his head. Proceeding to stand up, he takes one step before his legs decide to go in totally new directions they weren’t designed to go in and he falls flat on his rump with a whoof.
The others break down in gales of laughter before Jim says, “I tole ya!”
With a little prodding, some encouragement and some practice, both Si and Ralph manage to make a few small excursions without breaking any bones, with Doug, Jim and Dot taking their turn to fly across the ice to show them what they have to strive for.
Smiling to himself, Ralph gets up out of the rocking chair where he’s been dozing and puts the electric kettle on.
Don’t taste nearly as good as it do in the woods he thinks. Dot was 14 then, 64 when she died.
Too young, but we had 50 years together, over 40 of them as man and wife. Had good kids of our own, and now grand-kids. I can see her in them.
The well worn leather traces creak as Bax’s old mare pulls the double slide in the long run. Ralph and Si sitting on an old bren full of hay for a seat, Bax up front giving the reins a flick now and then, though its not really necessary, the horse knows the path and routine as well as they do.
Its been a cold winter, but till now, very little snow, and the stands of birch and maple that Bill and Bax and Si’s father, Walt, had cut last fall before Bill went away to Millertown have just sat in their stack. But now a fine thick snow was on the ground, and it was time to get the wood out, god knows the woodhouse had taken a cutting this year.
“The boys are growing up” Bax thinks to himself, “nearly men, 12 and 11 now. Less time for riding on the old slides, more time walking behind” he thinks with a chuckle; with their father’s away for work, they have to shoulder a load too.
Flicking the reins once more, they pull off onto the side path, then Bax brings them to a stop. Standing up, he remarks “I think there was just as much creaking from my old joints as there was from them traces. Not sure how many more years we’re gonna be able to do this together boys, soon be just you.”
“Now stop that Uncle Bax” says Ralph, “Your only 62, you’ve got a ton of years left in you yet. Plus your too contrary to die anyway!”
“Mind your elders, you young pup! Now you and Si get the sled loaded, I’m gonna go check a couple slips I got over the way.”
As Bax marches off, Si and Ralph make there way to the stacks of cut wood. Picking up the large sticks and balancing them on their shoulders with an arm holding them, as their fathers and grandfathers have for hundreds of years.
Their feet crunch in the snow as they march back and forth. The horse looks small, but she can pull a tremendous load over the snow, and they stack the sled high, wood held in place with pegs inserted into the sled.
Meanwhile, Bax pushes his way through the old woods trail, following blazes on the trees, and the knowledge and “feel” of years to find his slips, loops of braided wire, tailed in rabbit runs, or in little trails of his own directed into man made rooms of tasty birch and twigs.
Rabbits can be plentiful, but come in cycles, some years there are barely any. That can make for a lean winter, as rabbit is a delicious addition to the staple of potatoes and salt fish, and any other game that may have been stored away or cold packed in the fall.
He doesn’t like to say it, but the arthritis makes these treks hard now, especially when the snow is deep. Of course that also works to cover the slips, but this time its been clear for a while, and some nice moonlit nights have had the rabbits running. Quite a few lie frozen on the crisp snow, great for the roaster, or stew pot or a pie.
The boys say little, comfortable with each other and their silence, but finally Si breaks the quiet. “He’s right you know. Grandpa died when he was 68”
“Yea, I know Si, but old man Sampson is pushing 90 and he’s still tailin’ slips too. Uncle Bax is gettin’ the arthritis bad though, not sure how much he can do like this anymore.”
“Yeah, I know, anyway, that’s enough for Blackie, lets go see if he got any rabbits.”
The follow the path of Bax’s footprints through the snow, to meet him coming back, red faced and puffing. “Dear god boys, you got the sled loaded already? I must be getting old, hauling a few braces of rabbits got me beat out!”
“Lard, Bax! There must be 20 there! Been a while since you checked em?”
“Well a week or so yeah, getting so I can’t walk in here all the time like I could.”
Grabbing a few braces each, the boys get the rabbits back to the sled and help Bax up on top. Grabbing the reins he gives a flick, and Blackie starts to pull, slowly at first but then surely, pulling the wood out the trail as the boys walk behind.
Back at the harbour, they unload the first load at Bax’s house, then turn around to do it all again.
“Your going to have to do it on your own this time boys, my hips are shot, I can’t make another trip today.”
Glancing at each other, they ease the horse around and make their way back to the woods, another first together, another sign of manhood coming on.
Two more loads they pull, one to each of their houses, then they take the horse back to her stable, water her and rub her down and give her some hay and oats for the night.
Returning to Bax’s, they see he has cleaned the rabbits, and has them cut up. Even has the boiler on to get ready to bottle some.
“See what I mean Uncle Bax? Too contrary to even take a break”
“Just can’t be idle boys, tis not in me nature, but I wasn’t able to muck the woodhorse around or start sawing any of that.”
“We’ll be back tomorrow Bax, we’ll get that sawed off and stowed in for you.”
“Not quite as cold a winter this year as it was that one”, Ralph says, “That’s a good thing too, cause along with his contrariness, I think I’ve got a touch of Uncle Bax’s arthritis too.”
“Ha, well you got the contrary part right anyway, can’t speak for the arthritis!” says Si as he stirs his tea. “But, yeah we’ve been lucky, hardly any snow either, though they don’t need it nowadays with the ATV’s and trailers. Mind you Blackie didn’t tear up the country like they do either.”
“How old was he when he died, Ralph?”
“72. He worked hard, the old bugger, course we did too, but not like then, and today’s crowd don’t know what work is. Never had to cut up the winter’s wood with a bucksaw for sure. He was a good man, still miss him.
“Yeah, he was more father to us than our own, with them gone away to work all the time, I miss him too, he made us work, but he made sure we had fun too.”
“Yeah, harbour isn’t the same without him. But the harbour isn’t the same anyway I guess. Still not sure why I hang on here. Prap’s tis just contrariness. I know I miss those kids when they aren’t around, so damn quiet!”
Silas looks at him appraisingly, “Don’t give up what you have just remembering what you had Ralph. Kids grow up fast, don’t miss out on the things that give you the most joy.”
“Si, your like a brother to me, I don’t like you being here all alone either.”
“Yeah we were pretty inseparable, weren’t we? Still are some I guess, but I’m not going anywhere Ralph, I’ve got nowhere to go, and I’m content. But you aren’t, you’re missing things. You can’t have it both ways, the memories of here won’t go away just cause you do, and while we may not always have a cup for tea together, the phone is there when we wants it, and its not like your kids are on the mainland somewhere. We’ll get together pretty often. Make up your mind old friend, only time I see you smile is when you talk about those grandkids, think on that.”
