We had moved to Alberts Point on Humbuck Bay in mid-August. For us preschool kids this was to be our home until the end of winter fishing in mid-April. It was an idyllic place to grow up. Lots of freedom. Morning until evening with so many things to do. From the radio and overheard conversations, we knew there was a war on and that things were going badly for the Allies. Every night on the 6 o'clock CBC news, the somber announcer would report to a hushed Cookhouse crowd another success for the Nazis, Japanese or Italians. The radio was only used at specific times and then only briefly - the camp only had one radio and one EverReady battery to last all season.

My parents were good friends with JB Johnson, Lawrence Stevens, Joey Arnason and many other Gimli fishermen on nearby Fox Island. Nearby meant 8 miles by boat. So one beautiful calm evening my parents loaded my brother and I into my father’s skiff. Now I must tell you that outboard motors were expensive and few fishermen had them. My father’s brother Hannes had got a line on a sportsman in Winnipeg who had a 4 1/2 H.P. Champion who only used it on the Red River on Sundays after church.

My father proudly pulled the cord and the mighty Champion motor roared to life. The trip would take 1/2 hour and we would be back for 9 o'clock coffee. We had a great visit. For Robert and I it meant lots of cookies. The news was discussed and the conversation filed to be repeated to the waiting gang at the Cookhouse.

All went well until we rounded the Point out of sight of everyone. Then the motor died. My father pulled and pulled to try and start it to no avail. So in true fishermen fashion, he put us kids under a blanket in the bow. My mother had a seat of honour in the stern. He proceeded to row the 5 miles home. Now my father had a beautiful tenor voice and he sang to us under the stars as he rowed along. Better then any variety show even though the words were scrunched between the creaking of the oar locks.  Along the way my mother asked why the spark plug was broken. In the old outboards, the spark plugs were exposed. My father came over to take a look and un-screwed the plug - it was hanging together by one wire. With mother’s help, he took a spool of seaming twine and wrapped the Auto-Lite plug like a pig in a blanket and screwed it back in place. One pull and our mighty machine roared to life.

Needless to say, our crew at the camp was starting preparations for a search when they heard the putt-putt of the outboard. It was late and so we were bundled off to bed. In the Cookhouse, strong coffee was poured with the whole crew anxious to hear of our adventure and the world news. There was much discussion.

As for the Champion outboard with the wounded plug, it worked for the rest of the season with the jerry-rigged spark plug. Might have been two seasons. I still have the old outboard in my garage. It has a new plug now. And it works like a charm.

February 2020