First Bear Encounter & our

First British Columbia home

Chris, Loretta & Curtis standing in front of the Trailer parked in Hank Lowens hayfield 1970

Our First summer in BC was spent on the ranch of Henry (Hank) Lowens near Elko. We had the homemade trailor set up there in a hayfield near a creek. It was getting near the time when Curtis would start his first year of school and we thought we might want to get better accommodations for the winter as we was warned by the local folk that it might be a tough one.

Weldon Parsons, a friend I had worked with some during the summer invited us to come over to his place where we could put up a small cabin to live in for the winter. He was to not charge any rent and said we could have the run of the place. Deciding to go there and put up a cabin we knocked down the porch we had put up for the trailor at Hanks, hooked the trailor to the Scout and away we went to the Parson’s place.

There was a pretty big meadow that ran down near Rock Creek, a real nice size creek with the best water you ever saw. In later years I followed this creek upstream about 10 miles and found that it just poured out of a large hole in the side of a mountain which I thought to be very strange. Any way, that was about the best water I ever drank from a stream or creek. We pulled the trailor down to one corner of the field and set it up about 30 yards from the creek so it wouldn’t be so far to pack water.

We decided to build the cabin adjoining the trailor so we could use the kitchen already set up in it and the boys, Curtis and Chris could sleep in the bunks there. Loretta and I could sleep in the cabin. The time was late August and the weather was super nice and very warm. I started laying the floor logs which I was going to put ¾” plywood down on for the floor. I had the logs in place and was starting the floor plywood about the third day we was there. About ten o’clock that morning I had taken a break and having a glass of good Ice tea when I heard the awfulliest screams. Loretta had sent Curtis to the creek for a bucket of water and it was him screaming. I jumped up and ran around the corner of the trailor and Curtis nearly ran over me trying to make the trailor door. What I saw sent cold chills up my back. About ten feet behind Curtis was a Black Bear trying his best to catch Curtis. I was by now between Curtis and the Bear. I jumped up and down yelling and waving my arms at the Bear and he come to a dead stop as he put the brakes on. Reckon he figured this new human was much bigger than the scrawny kid he had been chasing and maybe he better think this over a bit.

While the Bear was thinking about what he ought to do I ran into the trailor and grabbed my 30-30 the only rifle I owned at the time. This is the same rifle I wrecked when I shot ole Jack horse a few years later. I got the rifle but couldn’t find any cartridges for it. I knew I had half a dozen or so someplace. Finally I found two in the silverware drawer. I shoved these into the magazine and chambered one. Easing back out of the trailor the bear was gone. Finally I see he had elected to climb a tree to look the situation over. I eased over under the tree and put a bullet thru his dumb skull and he come crashing down. Weldon had showed up about this time and said Curtis was a mighty lucky kid. Appeared that Curtis had took off running the moment he saw the Bear which he said later was standing on a log in the middle of the creek. Running from a Bear will induce the dumbest Bear to chase you but Curtis didn’t know this so he figured running was better than a bad stand I guess.

I skinned the bear out and gave the hide to Jack Ormiston who had it mounted into a rug. Reckon he probably still has this rug someplace.

This was my first Bear encounter but was not to be the last as I had killed more than 50 Bears before returning to live in Virginia in 1999.

We spent the winter there in that little cabin. It was toasty as long as we kept the puffing Billy (tin heater) full of wood. Every morning the water bucket would have about two inches of ice on it. I remember one night just before Christmas. The temperature was around 20 below and it was snowing blue blazes and adding to about two feet already on the ground. We had a nice warm fire roaring in the puffing Billy and its sides was glowing red. Curtis and Chris had been playing near the stove when we all decided it was bedtime. Loretta put the boys to bed in the trailor bunks where we had put down a thick layer of fiberglass insulation under their bedrolls to keep them warm. We used a big down sleeping bag on our bed which we would pull up over us to help keep us warm. We would usually listen to the radio which I had taken out of the Scout and put on the wall above our bed. I had run a wire out to the Scout and would hook it to the battery each night when I came home from work. We had no power or TV or any kind of electrical appliance.

Well, we all hit the sack that night and soon we were all sound asleep. About midnight I was awakened by a very strong smell of smoke. I jumped up to find the wall behind the stove was roaring with fire. It was flaming plumb up to the ceiling and was filling the cabin with smoke. I got Loretta and the boys awake in no time flat and she got them outside with their quilts and sleeping bags. It was much colder that the minus 20 it had been when we went to bed. I put my boots on and grabbed a coat and the water bucket and headed to the creek. AAAAh, the water had frozen over, quick, back to the woodpile, grab the ax, run back to the creek, break the ice, get a bucket of water, run back to the house, dump the water on the fire, run back to the creek, get another bucket of water, back to the fire, dump the bucket of water, back to the creek……..this went on for what seemed an hour but Loretta later told me I had used about 10 buckets of water getting the fire out and had done it in about 45 seconds..

Now the cabin was about as cold inside as it was outside as we had the door open for a spell and the place was all wet, Reckon my water bucket aim was not so good. I got the puffin Billy roaring again and we set there for a spell trying to figger out how the fire had started. Finally deduced that the boys had pushed a cardboard box over near the red-hot sides of the stove and this must have got the fire going. I reckon we was lucky. They say God looks after idiots and fools so I reckon he was looking after us that night.

Christmas that winter was about the poorest we ever had in monetary terms. We put up a nice Fir tree I cut beside the Cabin and Loretta and the boys made decorations for it with popcorn strings and tinfoil. I was building an addition to Jack Ormiston’s Motel that winter and I went up to his General Store and charged up some pots and pans for Loretta and a few toys for the boys. I sneaked these under the tree Christmas eve and believe it or not it made our Christmas. Man……………I don’t know how we made it them first couple of years. We wuz so poor that the lice wouldn’t even come near us. But I reckon it was fun as we didn’t give up. Curtis started school that winter and he would come home crying that the Canadian boys had made fun of his American accent. I had to go down to the school a couple of times and straighten out a few teachers and the principle. They didn’t like me before and liked me even less after the visits. I told them they was sissy Ass Canadians that didn’t have no choice about where they lived, that I was an American and that I had chosen to live in British Columbia. I got a few black eyes over the years dealing with diehard Canadians but I gave as good as I got. I think they respected you more if you was hard to deal with. I made many a great friend and a few enemies in over 30 years living there. Curtis and Chris got onto their lingo much quicker than I did and fit in sooner I guess.

Lots of things could be written about this first winter in B.C. and maybe I will when I get the urge.

Chris and the Cabin at Parsons place. This picture take one year after moving trailer off the place

We spent out first (1970) winter here

“Ted Bellamy”

Ted Bellamy owned and operated a Tie mill in 1969 when I first arrived in British Columbia. For those of you who have no idea what a Tie mill is and I imagine there are mighty few today that will know, a Tie mill is a Sawmill that cuts nothing but railroad ties and what that don’t make a tie is cut into cants. Cants are sawn about 4” thick by whatever width that is leftover after the ties are cut and are hauled to a stud mill where they are run thru a gang saw and sawn into 2 x 4s. Cants was always 8 feet long. Regular ties was 8” X 8” X 8 feet. Switch ties was about 16 foot long. I hated these ones and was always glad there wasn‘t many trees that was big enough to make switch ties. The slabs and sawdust is left to rot. Ted sold the regular ties for 5 bucks each. Don’t remember what the cants bought. He paid his help all $5.00 an hour regardless if you was a faller, buckerman, skidder operator, loader operator, truck driver, cantor man, or the tailer.

Douglas Fir, Ponderosa pine, known locally as Bull Pine and Tamarack, the only Evergreen to loose it needles in the fall are the most common timber used for ties. Occasionally a Jack pine is encountered that is big enough to get a tie or two from. One thing all these woods have in common is that when it is green it is heavy, very, very heavy.

I arrived in the East Kootenay, British Columbia about the first of May, 1969. Outfitter Ernie Goodwin had put me up for a few weeks till I was to leave for Edmonton, Alberta where I was to meet up with Stan Reynolds another outfitter who I had a summer and fall job with in the Yukon. Ernie was operating a front-end loader for Ted for the summer months till September at which time he would return to guiding & Outfitting. Ernie had his own guiding territory and operated his own business. Ernie spoke with Ted and ask if he could put a greenhorn to work for a week or two. I don’t know what Teds actual words were in reply to Ernie but after knowing Ted now for 30 years and eventually becoming good friends with him I can imagine his answer went something like this “Sure Ernie, bring’um on down Monday, we’ll put him to tailing the mill. The last fellow just quit after three days and he wuz a skookum built tough young feller. We’ll see if he can last longer than that.

I’ll have to stop here and explain what “tailing a mill means”. Ted was the sawyer and ran the mill. He had another feller turning the logs on the deck for him who was called the “cantor man“. The fellow tailing the mill had to throw all the slabs over into a pile and grab every tie or cant that was cut from the log and stack it in the proper pile so that the loader could come in and lift the pile (called lifts”) onto a truck for hauling.

There was two things working against you if you was tailing for Ted. First, Ted was one of the best sawyers in British Columbia and secondly the ties and cants were very heavy. Average weight of a tie or cant was upwards of 200 lbs. and some were heavier.

Ted tried his best to wear me out but the faster he sawed the logs the more determined I was to do my job stacking the ties and cants. Every time we broke for Tea & coffee I was plumb wore out and was glad for the rest. I outlasted the “tough” fellow that preceded me by about three weeks, until I had to leave for Edmonton.

In later years Ted and I became great Friends and hunting and shooting buddies. We would travel to distant Silhouette shooting matches together. I usually did the driving and Ted did the cooking. We had many enjoyable times together.

Ted had served in the Canadian Army during WWII and had fought in combat against the “Jerries” (Germans) as Ted called them. It didn’t bother Ted to talk about his experiences during the war as it does some. He told me of many encounters with the Jerries. He once shot down a German fighter plane with his Browning BAR which is a 30 caliber automatic rifle meant to be used against oncoming enemy troops, not airplanes. When I lived in Marysville, B.C. Ted lived about 3 blocks from me. He would walk over about every morning for coffee if I had no work that day and talk my ear off.

Ted had a great temper and used it often. Once we was at a shooting match in Lethbridge, Alberta and the wind was howling about 30 miles per hour for the whole weekend. Ted was shooting the 500 meter Rams and I was spotting for him and keeping his score. Ted was having a tough time hitting anything in that wind and was about halfway thru his 10 shots at the Rams when a big gust of wind blew Teds cap out from under his earmuffs. He turned and gave me the meanest look I ever saw him give anybody and said a few choice words that I never heard because of the howling wind. I thought for an instant that Ted figured I had jerked his cap off his head leaving the earmuffs in place. A group of onlookers behind us saw the goings on and had a big laugh. This about drove Ted over the boiling point and it took some time after that match for him to cool down. I remember that I slept in the Clubhouse that weekend with a couple of other shooters and we had to sleep on tables to keep the mice off us. It was cold and I had to get up every 2 hours and put more wood in the stove. The wind howled like a demon all night. I was feeling sorry for all those people that had to live on the Prairies all their life. A lot of them when they traveled to B.C. would always be falling down because they was so used to leaning against the wing that when they was someplace the wind didn’t blow they would lean anyway and just fall plumb over. Albertans was called “stubble-hoppers” because of all the wheat grown there. They in turn called people from B.C. “B.C. bush bunnies.

Four or five years before Ted passed over the Great Divide the Canadian government passed a new law requiring all long guns to be registered. Ted hated this law and was adamant he would never register his rifles. Ted never did register any of his guns as he passed on before the law was implemented. (In 2007 the government rescinded this law after spending billions trying to implement it) When Ted was on his deathbed I wrote a poem and gave it to him. His face lighted up with a big smile when he read it. I have included it here for your enjoyment.

I ask Ted in later years about the time I worked for him tailing his Tie Mill. He told me that he worked himself into a sweat trying to break me and that he couldn’t’ put the logs thru so fast that I couldn’t keep up. Said he actually missed me after I was gone off to Edmonton.

Ted built this wood-splitter about 6 months before he died. Each year including the last one, Ted would put up enough firewood to last the winter and more. Winters in B.C. was always six months long and tempetures could reach minus 40.

Ted was an outstanding fellow and I admired him much. So long Ted.

TED BELLAMY

TED GREW UP ON A RANCH

JUST NORTH OF CANAL FLATS

HE LEARNED TO SHOOT A RIFLE

HE PRACTICED ON THE RATS

HE CLIMBED ALL THE MOUNTAINS

HE HUNTED ALL THE GAME

LEARNED THE BEST THING A MAN HAD

WAS HIS GIVEN NAME

THE WAR CAME ALONG

TED SIGNED UP AN WENT

TO HELL A LOT OF ENEMY

TEDS EYE AN RIFLE SENT

ASHAMED TED NEVER WAS

OF THE MEN THAT HE HAD SHOT

HE KNEW IT WAS HIS DUTY

HE DIDN'T TALK ABOUT IT A LOT

TED WORKED AT A LOT OF THINGS

BUT AS A SAWYER HE WAS THE BEST

STRONG YOUNG MEN TAILED HIS SAW

AN MOST OF THEM PASSED THE TEST

TED ALWAYS LOVED HIS GUNS

HE SHOT IN ALL THE GAMES

HE NEVER EVER THOUGHT

THAT GUN LAWS WOULD'NT ALWAYS BE THE SAME

THEN ONE DAY THE GOVERNMENT

STOOD UP ON ITS HIND LEGS AND LIED

FORGET ABOUT THE MEN

WHO GAVE THEIR LIFE AND DIED

WE WANT YOUR GUNS AND AMMO

ALL THE GUNS THAT YOU HAVE GOT

IF YOU FOUGHT FOR OUR FREEDOM

YOU'LL STILL GO TO JAIL AND ROT

TED WILL NOT REGISTER HIS GUNS

THE GOVERNMENT CAN GO TO HELL

AND ALL THE IGNORANT POLITICIANS

CAN ALL GO THERE AS WELL

MY LIFE WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN THE SAME

IF TED I HAD NOT MET

I'M SURE HE'S BEEN TO OTHERS

A FRIEND I'M WILLING TO BET

I HOPE HE GOES TO A HEAVEN

WHERE'S THERE'S GUNS HE CAN SHOOT

AND IF GOD WANTS TO TRADE HIM

HE'LL SURELY GIVE SOME BOOT

I HOPE THERE'RE BE FRIENDS THERE WITH YOU

AND YOU WON'T BE ALONE

I WANT TO SAY GOODBY OLD FRIEND

WE'LL MISS YOU WHEN YOU'RE GONE

Your friend Richard

Including being ass bitten

Curtis 1974

British Columbia has very harsh winters and most construction work is more or less seasonal. I would always be out of work at least by Christmas every year. Sometimes a job would open up around March at the earliest.

During the long winter months I usually would shoot Coyotes, skin them and case the hides and by spring we would have a little nest egg when the hides were shipped to the Edmonton fur auction. Sometimes a good pelt with not too many bullet holes would bring $175.00 or more. Coyote were at their highest price around 1972 thru about 1977-78. Usually mine were shot up so bad I would get less money for my pelts. I would shoot them with my Elk rifle as I couldn’t afford a smaller caliber just for Coyotes. The 7 Mag was real hard on Coyote hide to say the least. I spent a lot of time sewing up the big holes blown in them with the Elk rifle.

The winter of 1974 saw me un-employed in December and I was hunting Coyotes again. Shooting Coyotes is best done over bait of some sort. Some of the local ranchers would call me when they had a dead cow or calf as they wanted to exterminate all the Coyotes. I would always put down a few Deer for bait at places I where I could just pull over the truck and shoot off the hood. It was real work to snowshoe very far in the deep snow so I hunted as much as I could from the roads.

One Saturday morning I was checking a Deer carcass above the bridge in the Elk river canyon. When I pulled to a stop I could see several Coyotes feeding on the Deer. I eased the rifle out and over the hood. The range was about 300 yards. I dropped a coyote with the first shot and the rest ran down onto the Canyon floor and stopped maybe about 400 yards away. Guess they was wondering what all the noise was all about and where their friend was . I knew the bullet would be about 3 inches low at that distance so I held the crosshair on top of the Coyotes back. The bullet knocked the Coyote down but it was up and running upstream toward the timber instantly.

I knew I would have a tracking job on my hands if I wanted that pelt so I made sure the truck was far enough off the road and grabbed my snowshoes out of the back. It didn’t take me long to cut the Coyotes tracks. There was drops of blood that was easy to spot in the snow. After about 450 yards the tracks disappeared into a hole in the ground. Upon a careful examination I determined it to be a Bear Den without a Bear in it. (good thing) I could see that it opened up to about four or five feet in diameter but I could not see the Coyote. The hole was too small for me to get thru but by sticking my head in as far as possible I could see a small tunnel off to one side. I figured the Coyote had dug this smaller hole and was now back in there somewhere. The Bear had dug the main hole partially under a big Fir stump and the ground around the other part of the hole was frozen solid so I couldn’t dig it out to make the hole bigger. I sat there for a bit trying to figger out the best way to get that Coyote pelt. Probably the Coyote was dead by now and if I could get down in the Bear den I might be able to cut a switch stick and twist it into the Coyotes fur and pull it out of the small tunnel. Maybe Curtis could fit into the entrance to the Bear den and pull the Coyote out of the tunnel with a switch stick which would be much easier than trying to enlarge the entrance enough for me to fit into. Ha….a good idea. Probably better get the 22 and Curtis to come back with me.

Getting back to the truck I headed for home about 10 miles away. Curtis was happy to go back with me after I told him the circumstances but Loretta wasn’t too fond of the idea. I grabbed the 22 Brno, and a flashlight and Curtis and I was off to the Bear Den.

Curtis and I made good time getting back to the Bear den and I could see that the Coyote was evidently still in there as there was no tracks indicating it had vacated in my absence. Curtis could just barely squeeze in thru the entrance to the den. I gave him the flashlight and told him to have a look into the little tunnel which he did. Dad………Dad……..its still alive and looking at me and was back out of the Bear den in a whole lot less time than it had taken for him to get into it.

Well I can tell you that it took a considerable amount of time to convince Curtis to take the 22 and pop the Coyote between the eyeballs. Up until now I don’t think Curtis had ever shot anything but gophers and he was not too fond of the idea. Figured he might not kill it and the thing would crawl out and get him. Eventually he decided to have a go at it. This time he crawled back down into the den with the 22 and put the flashlight on the Coyote. I could see him taking aim with the 22 and about the time I thought he would shoot he burst out in tears. Dad, I can’t shoot this Coyote, I’m coming out. No amount of cajoling would get Curtis back into that Bear den.

After all this I was getting a bit teed off. Reckon I’ll have to go back for the chainsaw and see if I could saw enough of the stump away so I could get into the den. So we hike back to the truck and head home for the saw. Loretta was happy enough to see that Curtis was still alive and even let him go back to help pack the saw in the event I did get the stupid Coyote. I kept reminding them that it might be 175 bucks in our coffers if I did get the critter. So back to the Bear Den once more.

I did manage to saw enough stump away so I could just barely squeeze into the den. Before I went in I looked around for a good switch stick. I finally found a sapling with some good stout limbs near the top and was cutting it with my folding Gerber which I kept razor sharp. I made a mis-lick with the knife and cut a finger nearly to the bone. Man, this was getting bad……………*#@. I wrapped the cut finger up with my bandana and crawled into the den. Curtis shoved the flashlight and 22 in behind me. I finally got the light to shine into the little tunnel and there sure enough was the Mr. Coyote, still alive and staring at me with hatred, but at this point the Coyotes hatred would pale in comparison to mine…… @&%^$@@**%@. A few choice words eased the pain in my finger a bit. I raised the 22 and put the Coyote out of it misery and I’m sure it was in misery due to being shot with a 7 MM magnum several hours before and us pestering the hell out of it now

The switch stick did the job and we got the Coyote. Turned out it was a small female and wouldn’t bring 75 bucks for its pelt. I took it home and saved the hide anyway. Ought to have made a rug out of it so I wouldn’t ever forget what I went thru to get it.

About two weeks later I was skiing along the North rim of the same Canyon about a mile up from the bridge over the River looking for Coyotes. I could see the North facing South rim from the top down to the frozen river. I finally saw several Coyotes about halfway up the South rim about 600 yards from me. I got a good rest on a fallen pine tree and let loose with the 7 mag. The one I shot at bit the dirt and slid down nearly to the rivers edge. I remembered seeing a skid trail angling down towards the river a few hundred yards back and made for it figuring I could get down it on my cross-country skis. I got down it alright……….It was pretty steep and the further I went the faster I went. Finally I came to a switchback and either had to crash accidentally on intent ally. I decided to go for the planned crash. I tried sitting down to slow my decent but I ended up flipping and flying thru the snow and trees, finally skidding to a halt amongst the Jack pines I got up and examined myself for damage. Wasn’t bad, only a few scrapes and bruises. I took the skis off and hiked the rest of the way down.

After getting to the edge of the river I could see there was fast water in the middle and the ice wasn’t frozen all the way across so I put the skis back on and made it downriver the mile to the truck. I drove over the bridge and parked on the South side of the river. Leaving the rifle in the truck I took my snowshoes for the hike up river to where the Coyote lay. It was easy going on the ice at the edge of the river. I finally found the Coyote and it looked dead enough so I tied him around the neck with my rope and the other end around my waist like so many others I had shot.

I was making pretty good time and feeling good about this one when something grabbed me by the ass and startled the dickens out of me. Good thing I had on several layers of clothes for the minus 20 degree weather. The darn Coyote had woke up from the coma the 7 mag had induced on him and grabbed me right in the butt. Reckon he had no choice as he was tied to me and could go but one way. I managed to get a snowshoe off and ward him off with it. He was chewing mighty hard on the end of the thing and nearly ruint it. I finally succeeded in knocking the Coyote over and standing on it til he expired. This was quite the experience. After that I packed my pistol even if it wasn’t agreeable with the law. In Canada you could own a handgun but could not take it off your property. Dumb law…..huh. What good is a gun if it ain’t loaded and in your hand?

I finally quit shooting Coyotes when the price went down to less than 75 dollars about 1977 but I sure has some times with them critters. So did Curtis. I’ll have to ask him if he remembers the Bear Den thirty years or so ago. Bet he does.

Today, 30 years later my grandson Mike and I shoot Coyotes for fun and a fifty dollar bounty if we can get it.