1938 Deckhand

S.S. MASTER 1938 Deckhand

My employment as deckhand on the Master, was my first full time job after leaving school in 1938. I had been living with my parents at Bloedel (Menzies Bay) doing odd jobs while looking for full time employment, but had never considered going to sea until one dark, stormy night in January. The skipper of Bloedel, Stewart & Welch's boom boat knocked on the door about 8 o'clock in the evening and when I came to the door, he said 'you are looking for work aren't you?' to which I said I was. He then said I've got you a job as Deckhand on the Master, throw some clothes into a bag and I will run you over in the company tug. Although I knew nothing about being a deckhand I accepted his offer, and he took me over to the other side if Menzies Bay where the Master was tied up at the Lamb Lumber Company's wharf. Apparently the deckhand had been climbing the rocks and had fallen and broken some bones. I was to be his replacement. This was the start of a learning experience.

The job consisted of two six hour watches while we were sailing or an eight hour shift while tied up. For this I received forty dollars a month and board, but then an ice cream cone only cost a nickel and gasoline was thirty cents a gallon.

A few experiences come to mind. On one of our trips we sailed into Menzies Bay to pick up a tow of logs. After waiting for weather the Skipper Joe_______, decided to sail as far as Duncan Bay to wait for the weather to improve. However after waiting for several days, and no improvement in the weather, the Skipper decided to go up Seymour Narrows, then through Okisollo Channel and the "Hole-in-the-wall". This would allow us to sail down the coast behind Savory and Texada Islands, thus avoiding the unsheltered waters around Cape Mudge, bearing in mind that our speed with a tow was only one and a half knots, which left us vulnerable when crossing open water.

After leaving Duncan Bay our first stop was overnight in Okisollo Channel. We left the next day while the tide was still running so that we would arrive at the Hole-in-the-wall at slack tide. Half way there, one of the securing chains on the boom came loose allowing the two sections of boom to spread apart. This had to be remedied before we arrived at the hole-in-the-wall. The Mate and I were let off on the boom, which I might add was covered with a foot and a half of snow, to try and secure the errant chain. To do this we cut the Tug loose so that it could sail around and push the boom together while we secured the chain. However while we were trying to secure the chain the boom was rapidly drifting with the running tide. To save us from disaster we had to reconnect the tug and drag the boom further up the channel so that we could try again to couple the chain. After several repeats of this process we did manage to secure the chain and still arrive at the "Hole" before the tide changed.

Another time we were tied up in Blind Channel waiting for the weather, when a tug and Barge arrived and tied up to the end of our boom. They had sixty tons of herring in their hold and one hundred tons in the barge. Our skipper went over to chat with the other skipper. When he came back he sent the mate and I over to get a tubful of herring - apparently he liked fish and had made a deal with the other skipper. What followed had a funny connotation. We had an exceptional Chinese cook by the name of Sam Maw. He always cooked what the crew liked and if you ever left anything on your plate, Sam would want to know why you didn't eat it. If you said you didn't care for it, you would never have it served to you again. As it happened, other that the skipper, none of the rest of the crew cared for fish. When the Mate and I delivered the fish to Sam, he said "what am I going to do with them", knowing that none of us cared for fish. We told him that the skipper wanted the fish cooked and served. When we sat down for supper the next day everyone was on the spot as the skipper was eating with us while we were tied up. Sam cooked the fish and as he was serving us he would ask us "you want fish?" and because the skipper was eating with us we all said yes, to which he put one lone herring on each of our plates, knowing full well that we didn't want to hurt the skipper's feelings. Sam was quite upset about the whole thing. The next day the Mate and I salted the fish down in a container and stowed it in the tiller flat - never to be mentioned again.

We used to take our tow to a mill at Dollarton, and then we would tie up at the Evans Coleman dock in Vancouver. The rest of the crew would all go to their homes until we were ready to sail again. I didn't have any family in Vancouver so they let me bunk on the ship and I used to go to a restaurant on Caroll Street for my meals. I can't remember the name of the restaurant but the food was good, and I still remember the counter. It was a solid slab of Douglas Fir about two feet wide by four inches thick by twenty odd feet in length.. As I recall there was no finish on the top surface, but was always spotlessly clean.

I spent my days getting to know Vancouver. Ken Forbes, one of our crew, knowing I was alone, used to suggest places for me to go and see, and how to use the street car system. If you knew the places to transfer one could travel around all day for six cents. When there was another boom of logs ready in Menzies Bay, we would fire up the boilers and put to sea again.

Another recollection that I have is my first trip back to Menzies Bay. We left the Evans Coleman dock about eight o'clock one dark rainy Sunday evening in January, and headed over to North Vancouver to take on fuel, before starting our journey northward. As we were passing under the Lion's Gate Bridge, The skipper told me to take over the helm and keep heading toward a light that was flashing in the distance, and to look out for 'deadheads'. The light in question was on Lasquetti Island. It was so dark and stormy that I couldn't see the bow of our ship, let alone deadheads. Anyway I did as I was told and took over while the Skipper went into his cabin for a nap I was about to find out that steering a tug under tow and steering when running light are two different things. Another factor in my discomfort was the Binnacle which was the only illumination in the wheelhouse this night. The compass had a bubble about an inch and half wide by three or four inches long and it was resting on the point. With the violent tossing of the ship the bubble kept breaking up into dozens of little bubbles that would float back to one big bubble only to be repeated with the next roll. I expect it was from looking constantly at this bubble action that I started to feel seasick. With some difficulty I managed to open one of the windows and still keep the ship on course. The fresh air revived me a little as we tossed and turned our way toward the light. Then we hit a big wave and listed about forty-five degrees. For a moment I didn't think the ship was going to right itself. This brought the skipper out of his cabin and he wanted to know what happened. Then he looked at me and told me to go to bed and he would finish the watch which only had a half hour to go.

I went down the forecastle and started to get ready for bed, when I started to feel like vomiting. I lay down with my clothes on and went to sleep. When the cook wakened me at five-thirty in the morning I got out of my bunk and when I stood up I felt like vomiting, as I had the night before. However a quick trip up into the fresh air saved the day. I couldn't believe the condition the ship was in. We were covered with ice to the top of the masts - we must have taken a beating during the night. I felt sorry for the mate and second engineer who followed my watch as they didn't have any relief and had to stay at their posts alone for six hours. This trip was the closest that I have ever been to being sea-sick. A night to remember!

While I was on the ship I used to keep a Union Steamship ticket in my wallet for a trip back to my home in Menzies Bay. Eventually I had to use it. In these depressed times we were frequently tied up for days waiting for a tow. On one particularly long session of waiting for a tow I ran out of money. As there was no indication that we would be sailing in the near future, I had to tell the skipper that I had no recourse but to quit and use my one way ticket home. As short lived as my experience was on the S.S. Master, I enjoyed the experience of learning and the camaraderie of the crew.

John James