ODDS ‘N’ SODS — Beast of burden

.BS.J. HUNTER

Imagine my shock when the cargo door to the Norseman plane was flung open and a frantic voice called out, “Get this damned beast out of here!”

It was 1946 and I was at MacKay Lake, surrounded by the glaciers of northwestern British Columbia. Pat Carey, the plane’s pilot, and a doctor from Stewart were vainly attempting to get the back-end of a horse through the opening as the float plane drifted close to shore.

We had prospected around the Upper Unuk River that summer and, based on our work, the company decided to continue with a winter program of underground development. This required an expanded freighting operation to bring in supplies, which were flown into MacKay Lake and hauled over 5 miles of rugged terrain. We could barely sustain a 10-man crew with what meager supplies we received, and the system would not meet the demands of increased traffic.

More seriously, winter was also coming.

Following a review of the situation, Charles Banks, my co-worker, decided to contact his old friend, Crawford, a pack-horse dealer in Stewart. Both agreed that a pack-horse would solve the freight problem.

The question was how to transfer the horse to the site. Pat and the doctor arrived at a solution: a horse of medium weight and possessed of a strong constitution would be tranquilized by the doctor and loaded on the Norseman for the flight to MacKay Lake.

When the day arrived, the people of Stewart assembled at the dock to see the struggling, frightened cargo preparing for the journey. (The pilot and the doctor were equally as frightened). Two injections were needed to quiet the horse, whose name was Charlie. Securely bound, Charlie was eased gently into the plane’s tight cargo bay, the doctor close at hand.

The trip over the mountains and glaciers was uneventful, and the patient was strangely still. When the party reached the lake and opened the door, however, all hell broke loose. We helped the doctor and Pat unload Charlie into the icy water near shore. Poor Charlie, bound and barely conscious, sank like a stone. Pat and the doctor were screaming at us to keep his head above water and cut the ropes. By some strange miracle, we managed to get Charlie to shore.

By this time, however, we were all suffering from exposure to the icy waters of the lake. We soon lit a fire and walked Charlie around.

He survived the ordeal, and a steady stream of supplies was transported daily between the lake and the camp by the valiant creature.

— The author, a retired mining engineer, resides in Vancouver, B.C.