Evan Saugstad: Stories from my life – a telephone pole, a grouse, a beer and a cigarette (part 1 of 2)

And now something completely different than what I normally write.  A few stories from my past.  

I was born in the Bella Coola General Hospital in 1955 and grew up in Hagensborg, the area being more commonly referred to as the “Valley”.  Both of my great grandfathers came to the valley in the early 1890’s with the Norwegian settlers. Both my mother and father were born there, and both lived their lives in the valley.  I left in 1980 for work and never moved back. Still go back for visits with family and friends.

My maternal grandfather owned a small farm within the boundaries of Tweedsmuir Park, some 30 miles up valley from Bella Coola, on the Atnarko River.  Closest neighbors were about a mile away, and after that, several miles to the next ones.

It was at that farm, called Belarko, that I spent much of my youth; most weekends and holidays once I was old enough to stop wetting the bed.  Nowadays that lifestyle would be referred to as “off-grid”; we packed our water, used a two-seat outhouse, lived with coal oil lanterns when the small generator was not running, wood and stove oil for heat, a kerosene refrigerator, and the great outdoors as our playground.  Access to the best fishing hole in the entire valley was through Belarko; known as Alger’s Pool on the Atnarko River.  

Growing up at Belarko with Grandpa Alger Brynildsen and Uncle Carl Peterson without the stern gaze of a fairly strict mother allowed myself and brother Greg to do some of those things that only youth can get away with.  Certainly helped that we had the trust and oversight of a grandfather, rather than our mother, or our grandmother, as she lived in town while Grandpa spent most of his time at the farm.

The Telephone Pole – I was quite young in this first story, likely eight or nine.  Greg, a year older, and I were at Belarko with Grandpa Alger, no one else around.  Can’t remember if it was a weekend day or summer holidays but it was late spring/early summer.  On this day the phone rang, which was not the norm, as it seldom rang for Grandpa.  His phone only seemed to ring when someone needed or wanted something, as this was a party line, and most did not tend to tie up the line with idle chatter.

The phone was one of those old wooden box types with loud bells, a receiver to talk into on the front, a hand crank on one side with a speaker on a cable to listen with.  As this was a party line, one had to listen to the series of longs and shorts to find out if the call was to your number, or someone else’s.  Cannot remember what Grandpa’s number was.  

This day it was the police calling from their Bella Coola Station.  Grandpa knew them; believe only two or three in those days, a corporal and a couple of constables.  Today it was the Corporal asking Grandpa if he could go out and blockade the Bella Coola Road (now Highway 20).  Someone had stolen a vehicle on the townsite and at last word it was headed east, apparently for Williams Lake.

Grandpa being grandpa, and a person well renowned as never saying no to anyone or asking the important questions like, “Is this dangerous”, or “What do we do if they don’t want to stay stopped”, said OK, will get the grandkids to help.  Off we went out to the road to see what we could do.

In those days the road was single lane and gravel.  It was graded so seldom that grass and dandelions grew in the center between the wheel tracks and alongside and down into the ditch.  Graded so seldom that during late spring and early summer, Lady Slipper or Lady Moccasins, a member of the orchid family, would also grow on the edge of road at Belarko.

The driveway joined the road in a swale that during some years at peak spring melt, a small stream would flow across the road and down the driveway and around the house.  Just beyond the driveway junction and as the road climbed out of this shallow swale was a section that had large boulders on each side of the road – a perfect spot to create a blockade, as one could not drive into the ditch to get around.

The BC Telephone Companies lines were alongside the road and recently a pole had been replaced near the driveway with the old one left lying on the ground to rot: a convenient piece with which to create the blockade.

The three of us rolled the pole off the bank and placed it across the road, and then set about waiting for someone to come along, but no one did.  Not a single vehicle, let alone the thief (didn’t use the word “alleged” in those days).

After about an hour or so, Grandpa began to get nervous as he thought about what we were doing.  The more he thought about it, the more he realized that a grandfather and two young boys may be no match for a pissed off car thief, should they ever get here.

With that in mind, we rolled the pole off the road and went back to the house.  About the time we got inside, the phone rang again, and it was the police saying they had found the car and driver and no further need to block the highway.

Always have wondered what would have happened if they had come along, although Grandpa likely would have known him.

The Grouse – one of the first things we were allowed to hunt was grouse.  We started out with Dad, Uncles Lloyd or Terry, or Uncle Carl using a 22-caliber rifle or 410-gauge shotgun.  If we were able to pull the hammer back on the 410, we were allowed to shoot.  First with supervision, then soon graduated to take the gun out by ourselves.  No one thought anything about country kids and guns, a far cry from today as some would call this “reckless endangerment”.

One day when we were about 12 or 13 and had nothing better to do, Greg and I decided we would try to fool the hunters who drove by the house.  We had gotten a grouse that morning so instead of plucking it for dinner, we skinned it and set about stuffing it with hay and paper to make it look real. Once completed, we attached some wires to its legs so it could stand and took it out to the road and placed it on the edge of the one lane gravel track.  We then went back to the yard and waited until we could hear a vehicle coming.

As the road was rough and winding, we had lots of time to get the 50 or 60 yards back from the yard and hide out in the bush beside the road and to watch.

First truck along was Herman Knutsen with his youngest son, Jim who would have been four or five at the time (today Herman is long gone, and Jim owns and operates the Rip Rap Campground and Cabins in Hagensborg – still often see him when visiting the valley).

Predictably, Herman stops and gets out to bag a grouse for dinner.

Normally one uses a 22-caliber rifle, or a 410 or 20-gauge shotgun, but not Herman.  He has his twelve gauge and with one shot, sends that grouse bouncing ass over tea kettle down the road.  Out jumps Jim, in hot pursuit and upon reaching the grouse, picks it up and turns to Herman saying “Daddy, it’s stuffed”.

Oh, for a camera, as the look on Herman’s face was priceless.  He was an old Norwegian, in his 60’s and without much humor, and on this day, less so as he had just wasted a shot shell and had been fooled to boot.  He looked around to see if anyone was watching as he knew who was responsible, but did not see us in hiding, walked back to the truck and sternly said to Jim, “Get in” and drove away.

His shot had destroyed the grouse so we couldn’t use it again. In those days no one worried about shooting on or along the road as there was so little traffic.

In Part 2, the “Deer” and the “Cigarette”.