The North-West Staging Route
Part 6/7
(reprinted from the July/August 1957 issue of The Roundel)
By Flying Officer S.G. French
(The writer, whom we left in Part Five driving back down the Alaska Highway towards Edmonton, now nears the end of his trip as he reaches Fort St. John. —— Editor.)
“The entire city of Fort St. John owes its creation to flight. Around 1930, Stan MacMillan (later a Wing Commander in the R.C.A.F.), while carrying trappers and their dogs to various points in the north, landed at what was to become Fort St. John. (MacMillan will be remembered by many as the man who kept the world on edge through the winter of ’24. Early in the season he crashed near the Arctic Circle, and it was not learned until the following spring that he had spent the intervening months with an Eskimo family in their igloo). Later, in 1932, when Grant McConachie risked his neck one night by landing on Pickell’s field to pick up a man who had been badly injured in a sawmill, he discovered that this vicinity would be an ideal location for an airport. Charlie Lake was made an operations base for Yukon Southern, and “Red” Powell’s house became a headquarters for the flyers. May, Kubichek, Coote, Sheldon Luck, Simmons, Elliott, Goldie, Patrie, were among those who helped to establish Fort St. John.
In 1942, the Joint Board decided that it would be a good idea to have an interior bomber-base somewhere on the Staging Route. Fort St. John was chosen as an excellent spot at which to build facilities for such aircraft as the B-29 to land, and hundreds of these bombers subsequently came through there. Today Fort St. John has a large and busy airport, and I spent two interesting days as the guest of the kindly D.O.T. men who operate it.
I obtained most of my information from two sources; from Mrs. M. L. Murray, a remarkable elderly lady who runs, single-handed, the “Alaska Highway News”, and Mr. and Mrs. “Red” Powell, the doyens of the Yukon Southern flyers. Mrs. Murray told me about the exploits of the R.C.A.F., and the manner in which it nurtured this country by performing such “buckshee” services as snow-removal, by providing emergency medical care for civilians, and by flying in food for starving pioneers.
Mr. and Mrs. Powell related to me many tales of northern flying. They told me about Ernie Kubichek, who, while flying from their cabin at Charlie Lake, had his “plane flip over on to its back while going through the narrow Liard Canyon, near Nelson Forks. He had no choice but to continue on in the same position.
Again, there was the night on which Don Patrie’ was flying into Charlie Lake at Fort St. John with several passengers, including a game-inspector, a doctor, and a trapper from the Nahannie area. Fog was nestled down right on top of the waves. “Don dropped one flare’, Mrs. Powell said, “and thought he detected water below. With one flare left, Don yelled to his passengers: ‘I’m going down on this one. I’m sure I saw water.’ Down he came, and landed. His water turned out to be just a pothole in a marsh. When the fog cleared the next day, Don saw that a take-off would be almost impossible. He unloaded the aircraft, and even drained the fuel tanks, leaving only enough gas for a few minutes’ flight. He then took off, ran out of gas, and glided down to the Peace River.”
I mentioned earlier that the R.C.A.F. took over the North-West Staging Route on 16 July 1942. The first officer commanding the Route was “Con” Farrell. Wing Cdr. (later Group Capt.) C.M.G. Farrell was the C.O. of R.C.A.F. Station Bella Bella, B.C., when he was called to the Staging Route. Apart from his pleasing personality and his qualities of leadership, he had an excellent record from the Great War, when he won the D.F.C. while serving with the R.AF.
Con Farrell will long be remembered throughout the North. He, it was who spent the Christmas of 1933 forced down on a nameless lake between Fort Good Hope and the Arctic Red River, with the temperature at seventy degrees below and no radio; who flew into the wilderness and rescued Andy Bahr, the Laplander, and his party of reindeer herdsmen; who was himself rescued by another famous bush pilot, Matt Berry, after being marrooned at Snare Lake for thirteen days with some trappers whom he had been flying out. He it was, too, who once flew two sickly and sickening pigs to Cameron Bay in order to cut down the price of pork.
A letter which appeared in the “Ottawa Journal” not many years ago gives some insight into Farrell’s character:
“Truly he was the Santa Claus of the North. No words of mine can describe this man with the heart and courage of a lion.
“… 1 recall when Con was determined to get the Christmas mail through. Flying-weather was fine when he left the home base at McMurray, Alta. As he proceeded down the Mackenzie River, stretching its weary 900-odd miles from Slave Lake to Aklavik, with settlements nestled approximately 150 miles apart on its winding and twisting shores, a fog developed. . . Undaunted, he pushed on from settlement to settlement, following the sprawling river… He arrived in Aklavik in time for Christmas, with a day to spare, and there the weather really closed in and held him for several days.
“I’ll wager there were none along the river who did not rise and toast his health for such a feat. He made it a real Christmas for all of us.”
In the early days of the Route, the problems of life were many and varied. For several months R.C.A.F. personnel suffered considerable financial hardship. The extra allowance of $1.70 per day for officers and $1.25 per day for other ranks was insufficient to defray expenses in an area influenced by U. S. wage scales, both Service and civilian. Prices rose to unprecedented heights, far beyond the reach of the comparatively small salaries of our own Service personnel. Bottles of whisky were known to sell for as high as one hundred dollars. Eventually, an adjustment was made and an increase in subsistence allowance granted, but it was somewhat slow in coming.
The supply of winter clothing did not arrive at any of the units until four months of the winter season had elapsed. Hangar facilities were not available; therefore all work on aircraft had to be done in the open, sometimes with bare hands. This difficulty was eventually overcome by borrowing Jeep heaters from the U.S.A.AF. and by the procurement of engine-tents.
Freight and personnel were moved to and fro by one Lockheed 10 (no. 7634) flying under the most difficult and hazardous conditions in all types of weather. The aircraft was not provided with de-icing equipment, and its radio equipment was far from satisfactory. The aircraft was flown by Squadron Leader Ted Holmes, officer commanding Fort St. John. When Ted first reported to his new detachment he had to sleep in a D.O.T. hut. There were so many tired men and so few beds that the hut was run on the “hot bunk” system: every man had eight hours to sleep, then he had to vacate the sheets and let the next man in.
Preferring to sleep in no. 7634, Holmes serviced, loaded, and flew it all by himself, carrying supplies up and down the Route. Once he had to transport a 4200-pound power-transformer from Fort St. John to Fort Nelson. This necessitated stripping the Lockheed of everything, including its radio and some instruments. In the period between 21 August 1942 and 28 February 1943, he flew a total of 488 hours, covered 65,092 miles, and moved 117,110 pounds of freight.
In January 1943, Wing Cdr. Farrell was replaced as C.O. of the Route by Wing Cdr. W. J. (“Packie”) McFarlane. With an ever-swelling number of R.C.AF. personnel being sent to the Route, and with the increasing complexity of its operation, its problems became more numerous than ever. At the Route’s headquarters in Edmonton, work was hampered by a lack of facilities. Housing, as well as office and warehouse space, was at a premium in the suddenly bulging city. In order to meet its needs, the R.C.A.F. get up tents on the lawn in front of the civil Administration Building at the airport. These tents served for many months.
In the meantime, construction went on at the units. Airmen of No. 4 Construction and Maintenance Unit worked on the construction of such things as garages, coal compounds, and root houses. R.C.A.F. personnel even went into the wood-cutting business, supplying fuel for RCAF. and USAAF. alike.
It would appear that a serious attempt was made to provide recreation and entertainment for the airmen at these isolated spots. C.Morton Devitt and A. M. Hall, both of the Y.M.C.A., guided the general plan. The Air Force set aside rooms, which were magnificently equipped with reading and recreational facilities. Equipment for such games as ping-pong, checkers, darts, horseshoes, and volleyball was sent to the detachments as quickly as possible. Softball was the favourite summer pastime for most. Packie told me when I was in Edmonton that “friendly games with the U.S. and other teams were weekly features at all stations. An R.C.A.F. league was organized, with a team entered from each unit, and a splendid silver trophy was provided for the competition. All was in a state of readiness, but unserviceability of aircraft prevented the paying of any League games.
Films were shown as regularly as conditions would permit. Many entertainers were flown up the Route, stopping at each unit to entertain the airmen of the U.S.A.AF. and the R.C.AF. Three such shows were: the R.C.AF. Airmen Entertainment Group from A.F.H.Q., Capt. F. H. Armitage and his show “Dickens and His Queer Folk”, and Mrs. Catherine Craig and party. All donations were gratefully received; although, aS one ex-Staging Route airman told me, “some of those old who’s-who clubwomen who came ‘to entertain the boys’ were a bit much, bless their souls!”
As much of what I have already said would imply, those who preferred the more individualistic sports, such as hunting and fishing, were never at a loss for recreation — although it may be added that the hunters at Fort Nelson must have been rather frustrated during the first few months that followed Pear] Harbour. At that time, the only gun on the station was a .22 which belonged to Lorne Harlson, guide of the original survey parties. The libraries were the amenities most appreciated, for the winters seemed interminable, and their nights were long and cold.
The R.C.A.F. compiled a fine record of flying along the Route. In October 1942, No. 6 Communications Flight was organized at Edmonton, with Ted Holmes as its O.C. At its inception, Com. Flight suffered from a dearth of aircraft: No. 7634 and a few Norsemen scattered around the various units — all of them constantly on the go carrying supplies and people — made up its total strength. The Flight’s flying was not restricted to the Staging Route alone. Flights were made to such widely separated points as the Aleutian Islands, Fairbanks, Anchorage, and, when the Canol Pipeline was being built, to Norman Wells.
One day when Ted Holmes was winging his way down the Route, he was radioed to turn around and proceed to Fort Simpson in order to pick up a package from the Mounties. The parcel turned out to contain the first Japanese balloon to be found in Canada. Released from enemy submarines on the Pacific coast, these balloons were about fifty feet wide, made out of fibre paper, with a gondola below carrying explosives. Their purpose was to land in the forests, explode, and set fire to the gas — and, of course, to the forests. About forty of these were found throughout the war. A few were shot down by Mustangs while in the air. The balloons were largely failures; only a couple of fires were started. They occasioned only one fatality — and that not until after the war. An Oregon minister was strolling in the bush with several children, when they spotted an unusual-looking object dangling from a tree. One of the party, a young girl, ran forward and somehow or other caused it to explode. Thus did the costly Japanese balloons claim their lone human life.
Before many months had passed, more aircraft were required to meet the growing demand from the detachments for rations, equipment, and personnel. The Com. Flight was not large enough to take care of all the flying, and therefore, in April 1943, No. 165 (Transport) Squadron was formed. By June, three Lodestars and a Dakota III, together with the necessary aircrew and groundcrew, were at work on the Route. Hangar and office space for No. 165 Squadron was made by the erection, on a rough lumber floor, of a large marquee behind the T.C.A. hangar.
Eventually, No. 165 changed over to Douglas DC-3 transport aircraft. Operating like a first-class commercial airline, the squadron never had a serious accident. Over ninety per cent of its trips were made within ten minutes of the scheduled time. Except for one period of three weeks in the autumn of 1944, when record-breaking ground-fog conditions obscured almost the entire Route, they never cancelled a flight. Up to the end of 1944, more than 20,000 passengers and nearly 6,500,000 pounds of freight had been flown over a distance of approximately 1,750,000 miles. By 1945, most of the personnel flying with the squadron were men who had returned to Canada from operational duties overseas, and the majority of them were wearing either the D.F.M. or the D.F.C.
The Communications Flight did not cease to exist with the advent of No. 165 Squadron. It continued to operate with its smaller aircraft throughout the war, normally logging more than 100,000 miles a month over a vast territory in the North-West. ;
Before taking leave of Fort St. John, I feel that I should mention a story that is still told of Packie McFarlane and Ted Holmes — one which I am quite sure that neither of them will mind my repeating.
When, in January 1944, the Route passed from the control of No. 4 Training Command, Edmonton, to that of Western Air Command (N.W.A.C. was not formed until June), “Packie” McFarlane was a group captain and Ted Holmes a squadron leader. On those occasions when they happened to find themselves together at the end of the day’s work, long discussions of “shop” were apt to occur between them over the odd pre- (and, no doubt, post-) prandial. After the two old friends had brooded together for a time over the insuperable obstacles placed in their way by officialdom, the criminally inadequate comprehension displayed in Ottawa of their problems, and the general sorry pass to which the whole Air Force was rapidly coming, Packie would turn to Ted, eye him solemnly, and Say:
“Ted, you’d be better off dead.”
“Yes, sir,” Ted would reply, “I would.”
This invariable ritual having been duly carried out, the evening would progress thenceforward along more jovial lines.