Interesting Family Stories and Poems.
These are some interesting stories that I have received or heard about through my research. Thought they should be added. If you have any stories of your own, feel free to e-mail them to me, and I'll try to get them on as soon as possible.
About thirty years ago, a canoe trip included David Smith; Sandy David and John Pert, Max Lewis, Max Estabrooks, and Jack MacKinnon. They decided to stay overnight in a deserted logging cabin in the Tudook deadwater area. While there David Smith found this poem in one of the cabinets in the old cabin. Evidently some unknown logger had a close brush with death and lived to write about it.
The Story of Colters Crew
It was in the early spring
The log drives just began
Colter sent us all upstream
To bust a big log jam.
Buster Norrad and Alton were there
George Mckay and Lancy too
So was I, the youngest guy
That made up Ashely's crew
On the upper side of the jam
The water was twenty feet high
The logs were all packed so tight
That the lower side was dry
We pulled and pried and swore a lot
The log jam still held tight
Said Alton Norrad "The hell with this
We'll use the dynamite."
So we began to wire it up
We'd blast it down to size
Buster sat in the dried up creek
He said he'd supervise
We finally had it wired up
It was all set to blow
We all got clear of the blast
But Buster was to slow.
The dynamite blew the dam in two
We heard an awful shriek
As the water and logs came tumbling down
And washed Buster down the creek.
Lancey jumped in after Buster
Who was floating round the bend
George jumped in to save him too
But forgot he couldn't swim.
Alton ran to the waters edge
To get a better view
The bank was out from under him
And Alton went in too.
Into the cold water he fell
And disappeared in the fog
Come to the surface and floated away
On a twelve and a half foot log.
George ws out there drowning
His hands still flared the air
When Alton floated by on that log
He grabbed George by the hair.
Lancey held onto Buster
He knew their chances were slim
Just on top of the water falls
He grabbed onto a limb.
Now Alton and George came floating by
And with no way to stop
Bumped into Lancey and Buster
And they all went over the top.
They were all knocked unconscious
And couldn't move a limb
When every time someone floated by
I was there to pull him in.
After a while they all came to
Everyone seemed all right
Their clother were all wet and ragged
They were a pitiful sight.
The next day they went to Colter
To report the job was done
Colter said "That's good my boys
We've got another one."
Their faces turned all pale and white
When they found out what was in store
And Ashley stared in wonderment
As they all fainted on the floor.
Some people may not believe this
And will wonder if it's true
A few of the facts are stretched a bit
But I wouldn't lie to you.
Author: Eldon Norrad(June 11, 1951-Sept. 1998)-son of Peter and Lois Norrad.
CHILDHOOD MEMORIES OF CHRISTMAS
Each year as I stand by my Christmas tree
And see all the presents that were given to me
It brings back memories of days I have known
When I lived in New Brunswick in my old country home
We kids were so excited when Christmas drew near
We could hardly wait until it was here
The day before Christmas my sister and me
Would go out to the woods and cut down a tree
We could drag it home with such pride
Ma would open the door and we'd take it inside
We had no fancy trimmings like city folks do
We strung popcorn, and cranberries, make paper chains with glue
When we were all done we looked at the tree
The day before Christmas went so slow as days do
When you are expecting Santa to come down the flue
At seven o'clock into bed we did creep
We were soon lost in slumber both peaceful and deep
As soon as the rays of the bright morning sun
Put the darkness to flight and the stars one by one
We jumped out of the bed so eager to see
What Santa had left under the tree
There was books and games we were pleased to see
And bags of candy were tied there on the tree
There was for the girls some dolls and toys
And of course there were always sleds for the boys
We laughed and we sang in our innocent glee
And called to Ma and Pa to come quick and see
How Santa has come for sure in the night
And brought what we wanted and left before light
Those years passed too quickly down memory lane
And only in dreams can I live then again
But these memories I cherish from another time and place
Memories so precious that time can't erase
New Brunswick will always be my real home
My heart will go there when I'm alone
author Evelyn (Taddy) Norrad
Borrowed from Shirley Spencer's book
Miramichi Tom
Here's to her man what has run the river
From Juniper down to Newcastle
He has braved the dangers with never a quiver
And now resides in his York castle
Down McKeil Brook way and push and be damned
He poled his great canoe
Down Rocky Brook and Tugledge too
He bounced and scraped and slammed
So here's to the man who saw them all
the camps along the way
May he ever be tall and bent the call
On the river of yesterday
author Bill Lucardi...to Tom Hunter from his american sports
borrowed from the Hunter Family Tree
Sile's Boot
Don't you despise me because I am here
Sile Standish wore me for many a year
we splashed through the river on many a fish warden route
Til'my sides they grew thin and my sole it wore out
The heels turned around were the toe ought to be.
When Bob Orr wore me, I wore a great smile
But my color soon changed when they gave me to Sile
when Sile pulled me off and gave me to Jack
I threw up my hands and turned on my back
Said I danced the Clog on Parker's Ridge
And looped the loop on Palmer's Bridge
So now I am hanging beneath earth and sky
To be pitied and laughed at by all passers-by
Said never was a boot that ever was pegged
Could survive what I did on the the end of a leg
author unknown..Borrowed from the Hunter Family Tree
"SANITARIUM"
BY RAY NORRAD
On a varnished wooden plaque, Ray had sketched a picture
of the camp he helped the boys build in Eddie Munn's back field
in Taxis River. Under the picture he wrote the following poem:
In a Taxis field way out back
Lies this little wooden shack.
All week long alone it lies
Only birds and clouds in its skies.
From high above the sun will scorch
And dry the woodpile on the porch.
Flowers swaying in the wind.
Only silence from within.
Then school is done for two days.
Boys break the silence on their way.
Every Friday they will come
To the shack they call "The Sanitarium".
Two days and nights the rafters ring.
They play guitars and loudly sing.
Hinges squeaking to and fro.
In and out to the outhouse go.
Boys and noises scampering about
Till 4 a.m. when the lamp goes out.
The weekend is done, they know the rule
Because tomorrow its back to school.
Alone again this little shack sits
Day and night its fire not lit.
And it breaths not a word
Keeping secrets that its heard.
Lying idle in rain and sun
Till the boys come again to the
"SANITARIUM".
I found this letter while reading through the Atlantic Salmon Journal(Summer 2001) and thought it should be included:
As an ASA and ASF member for 30-plus years, I would like to pay tribute to a super guide. Clarence McKay who worked the S/W Miramichi all his life. In October of 1998 our party arrived at Clarence's camp all "juiced up" for our annual trip. He stopped in with a toaster and said he would pick up our licences and be right back. He failed to return. Four hours later he was found slumped over his four-wheeler, dead of a heart attack at 63.
What a loss! Our trip was further saddened by attending this funeral to say good bye to a friend and a great guy.
Recently reading Art Lee's article "Upstream Angle" brought to mind the same method Clarence shared with us in 1967. After a morning of blanking out, he suggested we try casting upstream and race the fly downstream. What a surprise! The tree of us caught five grilse and four salmon that afternoon in the same water using a #6 fluorescent orange bucktail with Jungle Cock(we called it the Shrimp Fly). In those days it was a four-fish limit and all were released. He called it the "bagging method". It works-we still get food results when all the standard methods fail.
I could write pages on tricks like that Clarence shared with us. My log shows we caught 1537 fish over the years and a lot was because of his expertise. We were lucky to hook up with a guide, Garth Hunter, who was a friend of Clarence's and our success continues. Suffice to say Clarence McKay was a super guide and anglers like Austin Buck, Charles Anderson, George Spiridis and many others sure will miss him.
Joe Spader
Pt. Pleasant Beach, NJ