Ingenuity was just part of daily life.

My grandson Ben (age 11 years) and I were making a “Whatzit” or whatever a grandfather and grandson make in the workshop on a lazy afternoon at the cottage. We had used some scrap lumber, some long ago metal items stored in a Blue-Ribbon coffee can and an assortment of nuts and bolts, all kept from other projects, “just in case” they could be used. We admired our creation briefly. Then Grampa said put the tools back where you found them, so you will know where to look for them the next time they are needed. I put the rest of the of metal junk assortment (its origins now long forgotten) back into the metal coffee tins and glass jars, ready for the next session of creative engineering.

I laughed as my mind harkened back to my pre-school days. Every August in the late 30s and early 40s, our whole family would empty the rain barrel and put the key under the mat. We would walk the four blocks to the Gimli harbour, and leave Gimli on the boat The Roddy S or the Barney-Thomas. We would travel the seven hours around Hecla Island to our fishing station at Albert’s Point on Humbuck Bay. This was to be my brother Robert’s and cousins Beverley and Eddie’s home until winter fishing was over in the first week in April. A wondrous, free-wheeling, adventurous place which could easily double as Tom Sawyer’s second home.

Fall fishing in those days was labour intensive. A fisherman would row his flat-bottomed skiff as far as he could, set his nets then row back. The process would be repeated each day - come wind, rain, sleet or gale, the nets had to be lifted. The catch would be brought ashore, dressed and packed in ice awaiting the freight boat’s next visit.

Early in the century Ole Evinrude had invented a Mix Master of sorts that you attached to the stern of a skiff. No need for oars - just put in gasoline. The idea of using such a contraption commercially quickly caught on with the Great Lakes fishermen. On Lake Winnipeg, the enterprising Kristjanson Brothers (Hannes & Ted) were also tired of rowing and they bought a used 2 1/2 horsepower Champion outboard motor. It proved to be a winner. They were fondly called “screw tops” because they were started by wrapping a cord around the fly wheel and pulling the string to start the motor. The use of this motor allowed the fisherman to go out further and to set more nets. If the wind or current was against you, no problem.

All went smoothly until one October day - while travelling back to the station, the screw top’s propeller hit a dead head (a submerged, water logged log). One blade of the outboard broke off and the fisherman had to row ashore. Immediately the other fishermen gathered around to see what happened. As 10 or 12 weather-beaten men gathered as if at a viewing of a corpse, my grandfather pushed into the circle. He studied the problem for a moment. Then went out back of the cook shack where an old Findlay wood-burning stove had been discarded. He took one of the cast iron lids of the stove. The men like pall bearers at a funeral awaiting the minister’s instructions were still there. He took the damaged propeller off the outboard. He traced the outline of the good blade with a sharp nail onto the cast iron stove lid.

He handed the lid to the hired man along with the only hacksaw. There were no power tools in those days. Between them and others they laboriously cut out a new blade. Many hours with a bastard file produced a passable and balanced blade. More labor was required to hand drill a hole in the blade. Foraging through some old tobacco tins produced a useable bolt. This was used to attach the new blade to the spot where the old blade had broken off. The propeller was reattached to the out board. Now the moment of truth. A cord was wound around the fly wheel. The motor started and after a couple of coughs it was put in gear. The machine ran like a top with very little vibrations at all.

The outboard motor received a new propeller later that fall. The outboard gave the Kristjanson brothers yeoman service for many years. When it was retired many years later, it was proudly displayed in my Father’s backyard museum, and the story of the cook-stove top propeller was told many times. These days they call modifying something and using it for another purpose “up-cycling”. For the fishers on Lake Winnipeg, this sort of re-purposing and ingenuity was just part of daily life, and everyone had a shed filled with coffee cans and jars of “just in case” junk. So, if you ever find that you need an 85-year old, 2.5 horsepower motor, my brother Robert still has it.

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Ken Kristjanson

December 2014