Up the Gatineau! Article
This article was first published in Up the Gatineau! Volume 1.
Up The Gatineau
Mrs. C. R. Holt (Bertha Wilson)
Captain Gatineau, of the French militia, may not be mentioned in the Canadian history books, but this river, named after him flows on. Was he, like the river, fascinating, turbulent, noisy, cool, deep, calm and treacherous’? My day-dreaming takes me back some 50 years to my childhood on the Gatineau.
One lived “up the Gatineau” or one came “off the Gatineau". My mother used to say that anyone coming off the Gatineau was good stock. My home was at Cascades, so named because there were four waterfalls within two miles on the river. The Gatineau Power Company changed all that in 1926-27 when they built the dam at Chelsea. My memories are pre-dam!
The old Cascades, and Kirk’s Ferry, were inundated and the highway and CPR tracks were rebuilt above the flood line. Houses were moved or torn down; some were set fire to before the flood waters reached them. The old highway followed the river down as far as Tenaga, with the railway tracks close by.
How well I remember the trains — in the summer, two trains daily to and from Ottawa often with standing room only. Cottage people moved out to the country early in May and commuted to work; even the children travelled the trains to school. A book of tickets lasting a month cost $3. Old George, one of the brakemen, was a favorite among the commuters and is remembered for calling out: “Don't forget your parcels."
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The weekends brought much more excitement: five trains on Saturdays, and on Sundays, to accommodate the picnickers, the guests, the holiday boarders. The Gatineau was the natural place to plan a day's outing to get away from the heat of the city. It was so convenient, so beautiful. Sunday night was the climax of the busy weekend, as we gathered at the railway station, mingling with the crowds, as they awaited the train to Ottawa. Often we would hop on the train and go to the next stop, for 15 cents, and walk home in the soft, balmy, moonlight night. The day of the automobile and paved roads had not yet arrived.
On Saturdays there was usually a ball game. Every village had its baseball team from Alcove to Chelsea. The Toronto Maple Leafs never had more avid supporters than the followers of the Gatineau League. After these games there was dancing at the respective club houses.
It took one hour for the train to travel from Cascades to Ottawa, and if by chance someone in a car “beat the train” he was considered a hero. One of the expressions used then, if a car was travelling very fast, was: “He was going 40 miles an hour”, the way one would say “90" today.
There were very few automobiles, but wherever men gathered you would hear them boasting about the power of their particular car, as men do today. It was quite sensational if a person made the hills on the “Loop Road” in high gear. To make any hill in high was the ultimate in power. This made quite an impression on my child mind, and as we often sang the children's hymn, “Jesus Loves Me", of which the third verse reads: “When at last I come to die, take me home with Thee on high.”, this meant only one thing — high gear!
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We all learned to swim at an early age in this treacherous river. We knew of the dangers and always respected the river for what it was. The logs floating downstream added to our enjoyment. Log—rolling until we were flung into the water, swimming to sand-bars and timidly looking into black swirling waters where the eddies had eaten away the sand and there was a sheer drop into the bottomless river — these sights put fear into us.
Crossing the river to pick raspberries on the mountainside was a yearly expedition. And it was done not without risk. The treacherous current on the far side, floating logs, undertows and swirling eddies had to be taken into account before attempting to cross. Boats had been known to be swept over the falls below the crossing. This happened to strangers who did not know the river.
One of the last things that happened in the autumn was the rivermen, or “boom-men" as we called them, clearing the logs off the river banks and putting them in mid-stream to flow to the mill before freeze-up. This was known as “The Sweep". And these men did literally sweep the river of all the logs, working from the head of the river right down to the mill in Hull.
When they arrived at Cascades, their tents were usually pitched on the river bank about a mile upstream from my home, and when someone would bring the news, “The Sweep is here!" it would mean exciting days ahead for us.
We always visited the cook in camp during the day. He knew why we were there. A big plate of shanty beans wasn't long in being offered. These beans, like none you had ever tasted, had been baked in a large iron pot buried in the hot ashes of a bonfire the night before. A fresh doughnut or pie ended the feast — these cooks knew how to feed hungry men and curious children.
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The big excitement was, of course, the river full now of floating logs and more being added as the men worked. From our verandah we would watch the logs come booming like thunder over the rocks as the water carried them through the rapids.
“Look, here comes a big one", someone would say, as our eyes were held spellbound to the scene before us. Often the men had to work close to the roaring waters and we would watch them, fearing for their lives. A slip off a log, or a delayed jump from log to shore, could mean death.
Finally, when the last logs were freed and camp was broken up, the big river-boats had to make the treacherous run through the rapids. This called for a great deal of skill and experience by the oarsmen. Their lives depended on keeping the boat straight on course or around the big rocks as the current carried them downstream.
We would send out a wild cheer as each boat, with the rivermen in control, manoeuvred the boats through the rapids and around the rocks until the current carried them to safer waters.
I don't recall there ever being an accident with a river-boat. The men were experts in navigation, and reading the mood of the Gatineau was their life work.
O fascinating river, in a day-dream I can see you."
This article was printed in The Ottawa Journal in 1966 and they have graciously consented to its reprinting herein.
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