In the late summer of 1972 I started a job prospecting in the rain at Meares Island, British Columbia.
“If I fall into that lot I’ll get badly hurt”, I warned myself, as I came to and looked down from the top of the cliff into the tangle of evil Devil’s Club lurking pointedly below.
A time there was, 40 years ago, when two-way radio was the only way to communicate in remote places. Life in mineral and geotechnical exploration bush camps – fancy with wood floors/canned oysters for snacks/carpentered loos; or more commonly: primitive with pine-top carpets/PBJ for supper/bough over a pit privy – depended on battery-operated radios….
Halifax, Nova Scotia was enveloped in a blizzard when I disembarked from the M/S Lundefjell in February 1969. I had rarely seen, felt, played in or hated snow until I emigrated to Canada. They do good snow in Canada