Some Day the Sun Will Shine and Have Not Will Be No More (10 page)

“This has always been a good place for fish,” Bert said.

“I looked at the records about this place since my arrival,” I noted. “This is
an industrious place. No welfare here.”

“Oh no,” said the skipper. “We got good fishing grounds and good fish
killers.”

“I am getting a little thirsty,” Bert said. “Have you got a bottle of homebrew
around?”

“I was about to ask,” the skipper said with a sly look in his
eye, “whether you would like a little libation, but I was holding off a bit
because when you got a government man around, you got to be careful.”

We all laughed, and realizing (a little late perhaps) that this was really a
question directed at me, I hastily exclaimed, “No problem! I would love a drink
right now. Man cannot live by bread alone!”

“I have some ‘controllers’ liquor left from last year’s final coastal boat run,”
the skipper said. “Some good dark rum!”

Our eyes told it all, and soon we were sipping the good stuff and animated
discussion ensued. And the lies that were told . . . I suppose the right
question would be, What questions or issues
didn’t
we cover? There was
the weather, which meant at this time of year the wind, since this factor
largely controlled whether you could get out fishing or not; there was
Smallwood—no one talked of the government—it was all Smallwood and that he never
visited (well, he didn’t have to, what with old-age pensions, family allowances,
widow’s allowances, disabled allowance, and that was it); and the fishery, where
on the coast there was a good sign of fish and where there was no sign at
all—and this was all cloaked in second- and third-hand accounts. There was one
piece of news making the rounds that both Bert and the skipper had heard about
recently: there was a new net—a nylon gillnet, known to catch lots of fish and
not to deteriorate like the other nets—and it was getting a lot of talk around
the fishermen. Some saw it as a godsend while others figured over time it would
hurt the fishery, given that many nets would get lost in storms and would
continue netting fish that were never brought ashore.

Well, before we knew it, it was evening and now too late to get back to Mary’s
Harbour. In any case, we were in no condition to navigate at dusk and after
dark. Skipper was overjoyed that we had stayed so long, and scraping around the
kitchen in Aladdin lamplight, we helped him find some bread and some salt fish.
A few dry pieces of wood in the stove (we had let the thing go out hours before)
and a kettle of water and some black tea, and we were in business for a good
mug-up. We laughed at our situation as we staggered about,
each
telling the other two of similar circumstances like this that we had all
experienced.

Sleep came easy in the featherbed in Skipper’s upstairs bedroom. When we awoke
at six the next morning, the skipper was up and the fire crackling downstairs.
Peering out the window, we saw that the weather was ugly with a cold nor’easter
blowing mist and fog. Down the narrow, squeaky staircase we stumbled into the
warm kitchen. The kettle was boiled, the teapot was heating, and some leftover
fish and brewis in the pan on the stove told us breakfast was being
served.

“There’s a nice wind blowing,” the skipper said. “No one got out this
morning.”

“No,” Bert said. “I figure the fish are safe for a few more hours, but it
looks a bit ugly, all right. We have got to get back. I told the missus we’d be
back this morning for sure. Sort of thought we might get away late last night
once we had a few and got yarnin’. So we will have to get out in it.”

“Well, you’re going in the bay, and after a bit of crosswind for the first
while you’ll be able to go with it for the better part of the stream, I think,”
the skipper commented.

“Yes, it shouldn’t be too bad,” said Bert. “It might be too rough to get a
seal or duck, though.”

And so the conversation went. We finished our breakfast after a second cup of
strong tea and got ready to leave.

“Well, boys, thanks ever so much for coming, and it was nice meeting you, Mr.
Peckford. You have a few good stories of your own, for a young feller. The best
to you!”

So down to the stagehead we went, and climbed aboard the boat. It was cold and
the fog was settling in, and some “slop” snow was coming across the cove. But we
were determined to continue. Bert started the engine, I pushed her off from the
stage, and we were off. We had to head to the west, go around a few islands, and
then due west into St. Lewis Bay to Mary’s Harbour. Bert was at the tiller and I
went up to the bow so that I could have a good look as we steamed along. We had
only steamed for five minutes and the wet snow and fog had already enveloped us.
Suddenly, there was no land to be seen. We were going
to follow
the land to our south until we found the tickle, crossed the cove, then went
through the tickle and out in St. Lewis Bay. And home.

“I’ll slow her down a bit,” Bert shouted.

“That’s a good idea,” I shouted back.

With the boat now crawling along, Bert called out again. “Do you see
anything?”

“Nope,” I said.

We knew that normal steam time to the tickle would be about fifteen minutes. We
chugged along just off from the rocks, the land intermittently coming into
view.

I moved back toward Bert. “No, boy, that fog is right down on us, Bert. I can’t
see the land at all.”

“The wind has died down but the fog has got thicker,” said Bert. “Perhaps we
should cross over and see if we hit the tickle.”

So, gingerly we crossed the cove and I went back to the bow to see if I could
see land and the tickle. A few minutes passed.

“Oops,” I shouted, “there’s land—we’re going to ram into it!”

Bert did a reverse and we nudged the rocks. I eased the blow with the gaff in
three feet of water.

We had to figure out if the tickle was to the right of us or to the left—we
thought it might be to our left, or west—so we veered the boat over to port and
crawled farther along, with the rocks of the shore in view. The fog still hung
to the shore and the wet snow increased.

“We missed it, Pecky boy, we missed it—that damn fog and snow makes a bad
combination. We’re headed in Lodge Bay!” Bert exclaimed. He stopped the engine
and I gently helped bring the boat to a stop, nudging the gaff along the
bottom.

We were now getting wet—we really hadn’t dressed for this—as we both were
wearing only a windbreaker and pants. We had some rain gear in the cuddy, but
that was it.

“Well,” said Bert, “I guess we have a choice—we can continue to look for that
tickle or we can just go on up Lodge Bay to the settlement, go in one of the
houses, and wait this out.”

“I like that latter idea,” I said. “We are getting wet. We might miss
the tickle going the other way and get confused around those
islands and have to pull in where there is no shelter.”

“I think you’re right, Pecky, as much as I would like to give it another
try.”

So we began our slow journey up Lodge Bay nudging next to the rocks. We
couldn’t go very fast, and so it was an hour or more before we could make out a
stage and pull up to it and see a few houses on the shore. The fog just would
not lift and the wet snow kept coming.

Most of the houses were unlocked, and we just looked for one that had some dry
wood in the porch or in the woodshed. We had some matches (we both liked a
smoke).

“Now look there,” I said. “That’s a pretty nice place, and the woodshed has
lots of wood.”

“Okay,” Bert said.

With a few armfuls of wood we entered the house and started up a big fire in
the kitchen stove. It wasn’t long before it was sheer comfort in that house and
we began drying out.

“You know, I’ve seen this weather before and I would not be surprised if this
stuff lifted later this afternoon and we could make a dash for Mary’s Harbour,”
said Bert.

“Well, it sure doesn’t look like it now,” I replied. “But with the weather,
who knows?”

Bert rummaged around the pantry and found a couple of cans of Vienna sausage.
We opened them and gulped the down. We had some smokes left, so we both sat at
the kitchen table drawing on them and slowly took stock of our situation.

“Boy, that was quite a mistake I made there,” Bert said. “I have not made many
like that in my day. I could have sworn we would hit the tickle, but we must
have moved along faster than I thought. The fog makes things tricky, doesn’t
it?”

“Yes, Bert me son, ’tis tricky all right, but I’m glad the wind dropped,
otherwise that little bump on the shore back there would have been a big
problem. The gaff and a late reverse in the engine would not have been
enough.”

“Dammit,” said Bert.

“Bert boy,” I began with some reluctance, “I guess one of these
days you’ll have to get a compass.”

Bert snickered. “It wasn’t that we didn’t have a compass—we didn’t time it
right. That’s all.”

I realized this was a bad time to raise such things. Bert had been plying the
coast for years, and he had a good record, so I abruptly dropped it. “Yeah,
you’re right; it was the timing.”

It was now around midday, and we thought if the weather was to change it would
be in the next few hours, so we just busied ourselves splitting some wood in the
woodshed and entering some other houses to see if there was any canned food
about. We found a can of bully beef and a small can of beans. Not bad.

As we walked down to the stagehead together, Bert said, “Have you ever been in
this situation before? I don’t suppose you have.”

“No, Bert. I haven’t. Although last year in Green Bay we struck some bad
weather, but it wasn’t an open boat and we had a more powerful engine.”

“Well, welcome to the Labrador Coast,” Bert replied.

We got down and checked the boat at the stage and looked out the bay.

“There seems to be some light,” Bert announced. The snow had almost stopped.
“My son, give it another hour and we’ll be able to see all the way out the bay.
The wind’s coming round to western—good sign.”

And, yes, it seemed to be clearing.

“Let’s go up to the house and have that bully beef and beans. Then we can come
down and take another look,” I interjected.

“Yes, let’s do that,” Bert said.

On our way to the house, Bert seemed a little worried.

“You got a bit of a frown there,” I remarked.

“Just thinking, the missus would expect us home by now. I expect she will be
checking with Battle Harbour and Cape Charles . . .”

There was a radio telephone available for use by the general public in each of
the communities. It was always in some person’s home, but the public could
request its use.

“Yeah, I dare say Cape Charles has let everyone know we left
there this morning,” I rejoined.

We opened our bully beef and beans, found a bent-up saucepan good enough to
heat the food, and found a few old forks in a drawer. Boy, it wasn’t a bad lunch
at all.

“How much gas do we have, Bert?”

“We’re all right. We’ve got a half-tank and another full one,” Bert responded.
He looked out the kitchen window. “Yes, my son, she’s clearing up, just
look.”

We went out on the bridge and noticed what was happening. The bright sky was
now more in evidence, the snow had completely stopped, and we could sense a new
front passing through with cool air from the west.

“Let’s get the boat ready,” Bert said, showing a new burst of energy. Down to
the stage we went and got ready to leave.

“I wonder if I should see if we can find some more canned food to take with us,
Bert,” I asked.

“Yeah. Go up and check a few more houses. I’ll get everything ready. I’ll get
the rain gear out. At least it will keep us warmer going out the bay.”

By the time I untied the painter from the stagehead, you could see halfway out
the bay.

“Did you find any more canned stuff?” Bert shouted as we steamed away from the
stage.

“No,” I said, “I didn’t find a tin. I guess we were lucky in finding the
sausages, beef, and beans.”

Although the clearing was well under way, we still stuck fairly close to shore
as we steamed along the north side. Was it ever good to see land again! In the
fog, the land seemed so different, and loomed, seeming larger than it really was
as it came into view. A westerly breeze of ten miles per hour was bringing the
clearing, and we were a happy couple as we chugged along.

When we reached the tickle we smiled at how easy it all seemed now. How could
one miss it? We made the turn to the north through the tickle and into St. Lewis
Bay.

We had no sooner turned west in the bay when I heard Bert’s
shout. “Look to the starboard, quick!” Flying past was a small flock of ducks.
Bert jumped from the tiller and grabbed the shotgun. I leaped back to control
the tiller and slow the engine.

Gunshots rang out.

Bert was known up and down the shore as a good shot. Well, given that he had to
move very quickly, and the boat was still moving, I figured it would be
impossible to knock down a bird.

“Swing her around,” he shouted. “Swing her around, move the boat to the port,
swiftly!” I followed his instructions, and there floating in the water were two
dead ducks. Bert passed me the gaff and I leaned over the boat and hauled the
birds to the boat.