This email started as a private reply to Bob McLeran about life near the
St. John River, Bay of Fundy Canada, but I though some of you might be
amused, so here it is:

I honeymooned in Chance Harbor, New Brunswick (20 miles west of St. John)
back in 1970.  My wife's sister had spent the summer there with relatives,
and one day she jumped in the water and the tide was out and she hit a
submerged rock that wasn't there an hour earlier, and cracked her skull
open.  The fishermen sewed her up with the same stuff they fixed their nets
with.  So we were sent to go make sure she was OK.

There was no doctor, instead some of the fishermen were very good at
setting broken bones and sewing up wounds, and any medical condition less
than that was simply ignored.

We spent a week in "Uncle John's house", John had died 20 years previously,
and his little shack was used as a guest house for the rare visitors.  It
was in Chance Harbor, about 75 miles down a dirt road.  There were no
utilities.  Lights were oil lamps that would make an antique hunter go
crazy.  Water came from a puddle in the dirt right in front of the house,
it was beautiful crystal clear spring water.  Heat was the wood stove.  You
get the idea.

We used the outhouse at the house next door, it had a loaded 30-06 rifle
leaning in the corner, in case there was a bear problem, or a moose was
spotted by someone using that outhouse.  Ya never know when your next meal
would come from, and the nearest "real" food store was on the other end of
that 75 mile dirt road.

There was a gas station, the tank sat in someone's front yard and you
turned a hand crank to get your fuel.  On the front porch was a normal
sized clothes closet with shelves, with a few canned goods for sale there.
The owner of that store was not able to come outside, she was 80+ and
stationary, so I went to the house next door and the guy there walked back
with us and showed me how to pump the gasoline.  You pumped your gas into
some jerry-cans to measure it and then poured it in your car and then
granny would give you credit until you had money again.  Every few weeks
the farmer would bring his tanker pickup truck to refill granny's tank.
She was also the unofficial postmaster, (someone would go get the village's
mail once a week or so and dump it in granny's cardboard box), the news
outlet, the local hangout, and the liquor store.  Liquor was white
lightning, made right down the street.

There was no traffic, you rarely met another car, but fatal accidents were
common, the white lightning whiskey took a major toll of the rusty pickup
trucks.

The village dock was about 40 feet up in the air at low tide with ladders
down to the 2 fishing trawlers.  The dock had a wall on top of it
protecting from high tide on the seaward side.  It struck me as
preposterous.

The village, about 20 houses, was on a bay several miles across, which
turned into a rocky dry hole at low tide, really bizarre.  The people had 2
sources of income, the salmon run which was about 2 weeks, and then the
blueberry picking.  The farmer would send a flatbed truck to go get the
entire village to go pick the blueberries, and everybody, men, women,
children, including me went.

There was a nice sports field, but instead of bleachers, they had a dozen
chairs and some logs to sit on.  The sport in winter was hockey of course.
In summer the field was used exclusively by the fishermen to spread out
their nets so they could repair their rips & tears.

The people were amazed by my 600 dollar car.  It was the finest vehicle
they had seen, and the word went out that "Annie had snagged a rich guy
from the city" and they were all envious.

On Saturday nights, the kids would "go downtown", which was Dipper Harbor
and included some 40 houses, not just the 20 in Chance Harbor where we
were.

There was no one-room schoolhouse, instead school was held in the teacher's
livingroom.

The people were wonderful, we had dinner in a different home every night
and we were welcome everywhere, it was really very very nice!  The meal was
almost always deer or moose, etc.  Hot moose sandwiches with gravy on
homemade bread ... is actually pretty good!

In the years since then, civilization has probably arrived, but somehow I
doubt it.  The Google Maps satellite view still shows about 20 houses,
though there are now 10 fishing boats instead of the 2 when I was there.
There are paved roads now, and it is 20 miles from St. John, but back then
it was 75 miles on dirt roads.

The country is spectacular, the 40 foot tides are stunning, and I think I
will need to add the St. John River on my future travel plans list.
Somehow I have the hankering for a nice hot moose sandwich!

Fred
Tug 44

As always that was a great story Fred. What a great place to have spent your honeymoon.

A healthy and prosperous New Year to all  Great Loopers.

Graham Pugh
Kando 11
New Bern NC
----- Original Message -----
From: fred@tug44.org

This email started as a private reply to Bob McLeran about life near the
St. John River, Bay of Fundy Canada, but I though some of you might be
amused, so here it is:

I honeymooned in Chance Harbor, New Brunswick (20 miles west of St. John)
back in 1970. .com/mailman/options/great-loop_lists.trawlering.com

On this New Year's eve, thank you for such a nice story for this almost 75
year old boater.  Brings back many memories, sincerely, John.

-----Original Message-----
From: great-loop-bounces@lists.trawlering.com
[mailto:great-loop-bounces@lists.trawlering.com] On Behalf Of fred@tug44.org
Sent: Saturday, December 31, 2011 1:30 PM
To: Bob McLeran
Cc: Great Loop List
Subject: GL: Spring on the St John River, NB

This email started as a private reply to Bob McLeran about life near the St.
John River, Bay of Fundy Canada, but I though some of you might be amused,
so here it is:

I honeymooned in Chance Harbor, New Brunswick (20 miles west of St. John)
back in 1970.  My wife's sister had spent the summer there with relatives,
and one day she jumped in the water and the tide was out and she hit a
submerged rock that wasn't there an hour earlier, and cracked her skull
open.  The fishermen sewed her up with the same stuff they fixed their nets
with.  So we were sent to go make sure she was OK.

There was no doctor, instead some of the fishermen were very good at setting
broken bones and sewing up wounds, and any medical condition less than that
was simply ignored.

We spent a week in "Uncle John's house", John had died 20 years previously,
and his little shack was used as a guest house for the rare visitors.  It
was in Chance Harbor, about 75 miles down a dirt road.  There were no
utilities.  Lights were oil lamps that would make an antique hunter go
crazy.  Water came from a puddle in the dirt right in front of the house, it
was beautiful crystal clear spring water.  Heat was the wood stove.  You get
the idea.

We used the outhouse at the house next door, it had a loaded 30-06 rifle
leaning in the corner, in case there was a bear problem, or a moose was
spotted by someone using that outhouse.  Ya never know when your next meal
would come from, and the nearest "real" food store was on the other end of
that 75 mile dirt road.

There was a gas station, the tank sat in someone's front yard and you turned
a hand crank to get your fuel.  On the front porch was a normal sized
clothes closet with shelves, with a few canned goods for sale there.
The owner of that store was not able to come outside, she was 80+ and
stationary, so I went to the house next door and the guy there walked back
with us and showed me how to pump the gasoline.  You pumped your gas into
some jerry-cans to measure it and then poured it in your car and then granny
would give you credit until you had money again.  Every few weeks the farmer
would bring his tanker pickup truck to refill granny's tank.
She was also the unofficial postmaster, (someone would go get the village's
mail once a week or so and dump it in granny's cardboard box), the news
outlet, the local hangout, and the liquor store.  Liquor was white
lightning, made right down the street.

There was no traffic, you rarely met another car, but fatal accidents were
common, the white lightning whiskey took a major toll of the rusty pickup
trucks.

The village dock was about 40 feet up in the air at low tide with ladders
down to the 2 fishing trawlers.  The dock had a wall on top of it protecting
from high tide on the seaward side.  It struck me as preposterous.

The village, about 20 houses, was on a bay several miles across, which
turned into a rocky dry hole at low tide, really bizarre.  The people had 2
sources of income, the salmon run which was about 2 weeks, and then the
blueberry picking.  The farmer would send a flatbed truck to go get the
entire village to go pick the blueberries, and everybody, men, women,
children, including me went.

There was a nice sports field, but instead of bleachers, they had a dozen
chairs and some logs to sit on.  The sport in winter was hockey of course.
In summer the field was used exclusively by the fishermen to spread out
their nets so they could repair their rips & tears.

The people were amazed by my 600 dollar car.  It was the finest vehicle they
had seen, and the word went out that "Annie had snagged a rich guy from the
city" and they were all envious.

On Saturday nights, the kids would "go downtown", which was Dipper Harbor
and included some 40 houses, not just the 20 in Chance Harbor where we were.

There was no one-room schoolhouse, instead school was held in the teacher's
livingroom.

The people were wonderful, we had dinner in a different home every night and
we were welcome everywhere, it was really very very nice!  The meal was
almost always deer or moose, etc.  Hot moose sandwiches with gravy on
homemade bread ... is actually pretty good!

In the years since then, civilization has probably arrived, but somehow I
doubt it.  The Google Maps satellite view still shows about 20 houses,
though there are now 10 fishing boats instead of the 2 when I was there.
There are paved roads now, and it is 20 miles from St. John, but back then
it was 75 miles on dirt roads.

The country is spectacular, the 40 foot tides are stunning, and I think I
will need to add the St. John River on my future travel plans list.
Somehow I have the hankering for a nice hot moose sandwich!

Fred
Tug 44

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