The End of The Line (Revised)

After High School, sometime during my last year in Dawson and beginning of McGill, 1976, I and the brother of my then girlfriend, shipped out from Montreal on the quest for a job.

"What have you got in mind?" He asked.

"Well Monty, I have a plan, but you have to have faith in me- and this will test us both." I replied.

He never knew how really scared I was.

The plan was to get on a train in Montreal and not get off until the end of the line - somewhere out west -presumably Vancouver. That train came upon a divide -one way to Vancouver, the other to Prince Rupert BC....North West, just under Alaska across from the Queen Charlotte Islands - Haida Territory.

We had about $150 dollars between us. It would last a few days, but the last thing I wanted, was to use it up and beg my way home to Chateauguay.

"So, OK, we're here," Monty said, "Now let's hear some more of the plan."

An hour later we were in the Office of Mr.Louis Arsenault, stationmaster of the Prince Rupert CN yard.

"Who 're you?" He looked us up and down and then back to the statistics on his desk.

"What do you take in your coffee?" I asked while looking around the office. My eyes settled on his stained coffee mug - apparently used for years, it sat over near a pile of yellowed news-papers.

"What d' ya mean?" He barked, still not lifting his head to look at us.

"I mean, what do you take in your coffee -one cream two sugars?"

The head rose, as stubby workman's fingers, yellow-tanned with years of nicotine, gripped the desk and pushed back, revealing a generous beer gut, well worn belt with a CN train buckle. The two day stubble seemed to grimace into a painful smile. The bleary red eyes blinked behind the coke bottle glasses.

"I know a number of Arsenault's back in Quebec" I ventured, "They are good people. So- ah, what time do you start work in the morning?" I asked.

"Why da-ya want ta know d'ese-'tings-fer-christ's-sake?" He demanded, all in one word, voice beginning to rise

Monty was gently starting to back out of the room.
"Monty - stay here for a second. This won't take long." I said.

"Mr. Arsenault you should expect to see me every morning as you start work. I'll have your coffee and newspaper all ready for you."

His eyes began to bulge.
"What d-y'a want?" He laughed, unsure of what the devil was going on.

"I want a job" I said.

"But d'ers no jobs." he retorted.

"That's precisely why you will see me every morning from now on. I will bring your coffee, newspaper, run errands, do what needs to be done. I will be your 'unpaid' assistant."

"I don't need any assistant". He roared, turning red almost to blue ... (blood pressure?).
"I can't pay you not'n anyways."

" That's OK ." I replied gently, " Something will turn up and when it does, perhaps you will think of me."

Next morning, we went back coffe and newspaper in hand- nothing. The door was locked from the inside.

We went back the day after -nothing. But this time the door was open.

On the third day -finally - a job..in Terrace down the track, a little west of Prince Rupert.

"OK, now you can get 'da hell outta my office and leave me alone." He said, sighing with some relief.

"Why?" I asked quietly, still sorting through some of his papers and moving his freshly cleaned mug and ashtray.

His jaw did a whip saw double-take. He could not believe what he was hearing.

"I gotta job for you! You fukin crazy or somtin'? " He shrieked.

" No, - you got Monty a job, and we thank you very much, so I'll see you tomorrow morning as usual, -until you get one for me."

H tried to swallow a choke or a gurgle.
He just stared at me and then at Monty and then back at me.
He just couldn't believe what was happening.

Monty gave me his last twenty dollars before getting on the train leaving Prince Rupert.

"Thanks - I 'll visit, but somehow, I don't think you will lack for 'friends' or enemies for that matter - so be careful."

















The Tamper Machine, I shoveled gravel in front of for 8-10 hours a day.














The Federal Fisheries Boat that Scott Johnson worked on upon the Skeena River. I met him a month after I got my job.









The beautiful yet treacherous Skeena River
























The Mobile Home four of my crew and I lived in at Tyee Station at the side of the track- which was the only thing in the station. It was more a 'stop' than a station.





















My Crew was composed of ex-soldiers from Portugal (some shell shocked I figure) after their respective terms in Mozambique after their days of colonialism had come to an end. We had Pakistanis and Sikhs in search of a better life. Oh yes, there were two bunks to a room. I had mine to myself for a few weeks, until a tall, mustachioed, muscle bound man stood in the doorway and noted my record player. He took over the other bunk.

I asked him how his left eye had clouded over to such a milky white -eclipsing all color?
"Oh it's dead, lost it in a prison riot." He peered at me from the good eye.

I could not think of a better time to put my girlfriend's picture up on the wall for all to see.




We used to enjoy going back into town to the tavern. It became rather activated when the Haida fisherman would come in after getting paid by the cannery for their catch. I learned to camp carefully with my glass of beer beneath the pool table until things would settle. Other rail guys used to be up for the fun.

Well that was a long time ago.
But I hear that either Beverly or Barbara Hague now run a fishing bout out that way. Remember Barbara's infectious giggle?