ODDS’N’SODS — Persuasive measures

We had a fine camp at the Friend prospect near Zeballos, B.C., and a good crew. Unfortunately, a day came when our cook became bored and drank all the flavoring extract for its alcohol content, and told us loudly that he was quitting.

We were faced with a critical emergency. My first inquiries — addressed, naturally, to the tavern owner, the bootlegger, and the local constable, in that order — revealed that no unemployed cooks were about. I sent one of my “packers” to scout out other options. After several hours of loitering and beer-drinking at the newly opened beer parlor, he rushed to me with the information that the best cook in the whole of Zeballos, then the chief cook of the largest mine in the camp (namely, the Privateer) was in the beer parlor drinking.

“You don’t mean Ed Able?” I exclaimed. “Ed’s not only the best camp cook in these parts; he’s probably the best in British Columbia. I don’t know him, but I’ve heard of him all over the province from Stewart to Rupert and Bridge River.”

“Yes, we mean Able,” the packer responded. I asked if he had quit at the Privateer and was told, “No, but we might persuade him to quit.” I naively said, “OK, bring him here for a talk.”

But my packer, aided by a young engineer, said: “No, let us persuade him our way and at the beer parlor.” I consented, they disappeared.

Four hours later, my engineer returned to report on progress. He announced that Able and my packer were both too drunk to stand and that they were hanging on to each other, singing. Then he announced that he would get our company boat ready, take extra fuel for the engine, some grub and extra sleeping bags and thus be able to get away in about a hour.

I pointed out that it would be dark. We had never before made the 4-mile trip in our small open boat at night. The muttered response was, “Able might change his mind by morning.” I said no more.

The next morning, at 7:00, when I appeared at my Beach office shack, a scribbled note was on my desk. Its message was clear and alarming: Our company boat had left about midnight. The tide was out and it was tough going. It took three men to carry Able over the mud flats to the boat, and two more to carry the packer. I read the note with mounting concern.

For the first time, I wondered if Able had been aware of what was happening at any point in “the persuasion process.” No word came from the Trail or Mine camps the following day.

On the second morning, our boat and boatman returned. He reported that the night boat trip passed without problem, but that carrying the fellows was difficult. Finally, everyone had crowded into the Trail shack and slept soundly until noon the next day. Then they all got up. After an hour of drinking coffee, the two mine fellows and the new cook started up the trail on foot. They had covered only the first hundred yards or so of the 3-mile walk, when the new cook, Able, felt that his head was so big he couldn’t safely squeeze it between the big trees which bordered the foot trail. So they all returned to the Trail shack, where they rested in the bunks and drank coffee until dark.

At one point, Able’s head seemed to clear. He asked, “Where the hell am I?” The young engineer replied, with some poetic licence, “about 40 miles from Zeballos.”

To the question: “How did I get here?” the engineer had not committed himself beyond saying (again with poetic licence) “by boat.”

Two days later, I summoned enough courage to visit the Friend mine camp and face a sober Ed Able. To my surprise, he was in an amiable mood. He liked the clear air, quiet nights and even the mountain view. Yet he could remember none of the circumstances of how he had left Privateer and appeared at the Friend.

— One of North America’s best-known geologists, Frank Joubin is a member of the Canadian Mining Hall of Fame. He resides in Toronto.