Bridge To Bubbled Waters

 The original walkways across the small creek at T'sek hot spring, in my memory anyways, from what I understand were put in by the Army Engineers from Camp Chilliwack. They were constructed of poles  which someone later covered with asphalt shingles.

 By 1996 it was time to replace them. In September, according to my journal, I prefabbed the first of the replacements at home a week before, staining it then taking it down and pulling out the old one, then assembling the replacement in one long day.
These two before and after pictures were taken the same day.

It served for two years before being nearly destroyed by a falling tree in June 1998.
The story of this event that was nearly the end of me was the subject of one of my first blog/stories published here in Nov. 2011, Trees Behaving Badly.

I pulled the broken deck, squared and leveled the base once more, and saw milled new decking all over and rebuilt it to its former glory.

After 14 hard years of near daily use,  coast mountain weather, and about 80 thousand pairs of running shoes, sandals, flip flops, gumboots and snow boots, and numerous people on their hands and knees I'm sure, it was time for a refit.
   To the surprise of many, I actually do work on occasion. But only when I have to, and I like to keep the duration short. Well, first thing....I need to take my nice clean little saw mill out from its warm dry storage area, after I move all the junk I've got stored on top of it out there. Then I'll have to go out and level it up some place and drag a heavy log over and with no little amount of effort roll and heave said log up on mill, accompanied by a lot of loud words no doubt, a job that would made be easier if my tractor were not of the incapacitated variety. I'll have to repeat the process several times, after which I get to clean up the big sawdust pile and heap of bark slab mess, take the mill apart, clean it and put it away, then re-pile everything back on top of it.
It is that point, I'm ready to start my intended afternoon project.
To hell with that. There was a time when it was important to mill my own wood, but I've got over it. These days I prefer to shop locally and support the local economy, and save a whole lot of wear and tear on myself. I'll just take a run downtown and pick up my order like people do out there in the city.
My friend Cedric down valley at the tiny community of Skatin has himself set up with a little mill and a machine for moving the wood, so I conveniently headed downtown with my little trailer rattling along behind.

I took the Skatin off ramp, being Sunday there wasn't much traffic.

In fact I didn't see anyone, even Cedric. I found my order and hand piled it on my poor old converted motorcycle trailer, half flattening the tires. These where the longest cuts, he would have the decking ready for me a week later.

Next time I smartly waited until I knew he was home for sure and we had some fun with his little machine.
I talked him out of all the long bark slabs from the job and he piled that on top of the load of heavy decking, I'll buck that up and sell it to the campers later in the year when it dries.

I off loaded the works back at home. Then re-loaded one almost complete bridge. I picked a week day when I knew there wasn't going to anyone around, backing it skillfully beyond the barriers and down close.

The old 22 foot walkway has served us well all these years.
I had hearing protection on and I fired up my chainsaw, letting it idle while it warmed up. I figured what the hell, I had to take one last picture. I put the Husky down and took the camera from my belt.
And there it is, for everyone whom has had a T'sek experience in the last 15 years. They have all left across that walkway, wearing the cedar decking thin, and have all carried their particular memory of the hot spring with them via this route. I have probably been over it 5000 times myself.
I walked out one last time and looked around, then pushed hard on the hand rail with my boot until it broke loose from the rotten log, then made a pass with the chainsaw the length in both directions and it fell into itself. I brought the winch line from the quad down, then dragged the better part of it out to the day use area in two trips. I went back and fired all the loose broken up old boards out of the way and got to work.
   I certainly know when to pick my days to work down there. It was more of a job than I expected of course to join all the beams together to equal the span across the hot spring outflow creek. I only saw a handful of people the whole time, and poor Andrew showed up just when the heavy lifting came up.
I nailed down the rough cut decking with galvanized nails and cleaned up the area and raked out any evidence of my being there then hurried home to salvage what was left of my nap time.

The far little 22 foot bridge, the bouncy one, is going to be replaced, and be recycled into something else.
I will sure miss bouncing on it every time I cross.
I'll get to it at a later date, or not. I'll have to check my schedule.

Princess ChYk, Monster Slayer.

   Monsters still exist out here in the valley of the Lodge.
Everyone has their own idea of a monster, and I have mine.
They routinely pass by on occasion, under cover of darkness usually, but as a rule give my immediate area a wide birth. In all the years I've been here, I've managed for the most part to coexist with every one the area's various monsters. My scent left behind on my normal every day wanderings over the years and body language have have earned me a territory and a position up near the top in the local hierarchy of critters that use the area. That is, until recently.
   I don't worry about monsters myself so much anymore since I grew up, it is unlikely there are any around out here that would be willing take me on. There have been a few two legged ones down at the campsite over the years whom have thought different, but that's going to have to be a different post.
It is my cats that cause the concern, being a few more notches down the natural food chain than myself.
   In the past few months a particular monster decided to help me with the cat infestation problem he figured I had around here. I may be part cat myself and always picked up on their reaction when letting my babies out. Monsters have a right to make a living too, but they need to stick to their normal prey envelope.
Cats and campers are off the list, and in that order. I would consider a selective cull of campers some weekends, but only if I had a say in the selection process.
   Due to its nature, a monster will let you see it only if it chooses too.
You can go looking for a monster in earnest and never find him,  I know that for a fact.
When at all possible I try to avoid them, but I've looked for a few in my lifetime.
Some monsters were imagined, I hope, like the bastards that lived in my closet when I was a kid.
Some were very real, that I had to deal with out of necessity in remote locations.
One so called 'monster' I spent a part of my life searching for fell somewhere between myth and reality, and in the end, I decided to just wait for one to find me. But that's going to have to be another story too.
There was a monster of more pressing nature.
    The most dangerous to those closest to me are in the same feline form, only many times larger, able to take down prey many times its size. Capable of anything mine are, only quicker, and deadlier. It survives by cunning, and predator stealth.
This particular specimen began to case the yard several months ago from the cover of the wild beyond the yard lights. He began to grow bold, hanging silently around during the day as well. There were a few sightings on the road out behind here by people heading to the hot spring. Those poor Asian folks in the Mitsubishi van were so excited I'm not sure if they will ever be back.
It seemed this demon had decided to challenge the two leg that lives in the log pile next to the creek, letting himself be seen with his new bold, indifferent attitude.
   I had my old motor home rented out for the Easter weekend and wandered out back of the shop to look inside before I took it down to the campsite. As they often do, the cats follow me.  ChYk appeared on my heels and climbed up on the dash inside while I puttered with something at the door. Soon I look up and see she is still up on the dashboard and staring intently at something out the window.
"Whatta ya got there ChYk, a bird, or a chipmunk?" I asked her, which usually would have got a response.
In fact, it surprised my cat inner self that if that were the case, she would have jumped down and gone by me to have a better look from outside. I pressed my tongue against my teeth and made a clicking sound to get her attention. She ignored me.
I curiously took a few backwards steps towards the front of the motor home to see a bird, or hear a squirrel going up a tree. My broken down old tractor was broke down right there and I stopped and listened. Surprisingly, it was dead quiet, strangely so. I looked up at ChYk, whom I could see through the windshield. I did a few little things and noises to get her attention.
She ignored me, and the hair fluffed up on my inner tail.
  Right then, from my left, the other one, the chicken of everything orange cat ChUk, walks calmly out from under the motor home. He meanders casually towards me with out a care in the world, which struck me as odd considering the way ChYk was acting. I looked up at ChYk once more, through the windscreen I can see her tail is fluffed up about three times its normal size, and I went on heightened awareness.
Right then this great friggin' monster explodes from under the tractor and makes several bounds towards ChUk. I reacted on an instant and still the monster was already going by a few paces away.
I lunged and yelled and I saw ChUk react and scoot back underneath the motor home.
Monster landed right where he just was but hesitated going under. I came right in with a boot and it took off like it was going to press the attack on ChUk from the other side of the motor home, it stopped there and spun and stared at me. That may have been the first time it was aware of me at all. I still had a pretty good head of steam going and I let out this huge loud roar of "GO AWAY!!" Monster jumps in the air and scrambles effortlessly to the edge of the clearing, stopping once more to see if I press the attack. Probably not very often in the wild he has been challenged, not like this anyways. After a few minutes of hollering myself hoarse and getting all scratched up thrashing around in the bush trying to get another indication of where he may have gone I decided I had probably scared him enough.
Just like a monster, he has vanished. Bastard.
    I was already pretty puffed out from yelling and my fight with the vine maples but I ran back to the shop for something suitable for monster chasing, returning in minutes to find an even emptier forest. I looked, and looked, and sneaked around and checked every monster hang out spot I knew of. Vanished.
I went back to console a stuttering ChUk, fluffed up several times his normal size.
"Nice to see you again ChUk" I said to him, picking him up and holding him close.
This had got a little personal. I had to get this guy, or he was going to get all my cats. I feared it would be like trying to hunt down a ghost. I spent an hour every day in pursuit of it, to no avail of course.
He would strike or be seen when you least expected it, and if he is that bold when I'm standing right there, what will happen next time when I'm not.
   A week went by. I caught sight of him one afternoon between here and the campsite, I was on the old trail on my quad and I noticed him crouched there as I blasted by and skidding to a near stop burning a donut and came roaring right back at him and skidding up as he disappeared on one bound. He was on this side of the road, between there and the river. I hunted everywhere for it. Vanished once more.
   By chance that afternoon I had burned some grass on the field out front, and had come inside to relax while I started warming up an early dinner. I came from the kitchen area to the desk and computer, where I sit now, checking my mail when I hear a faint scream for help from outside.
I jumped up immediately and hit the door to the front deck, down on the lawn I see the monster has ChYk in his clutches near the base of a tree, she had obviously headed up it and had been hauled back down and was now fighting for her life on the grass. "Daddy!" she cried.
I took off like a rocket across the deck, watching my feet as I ran down the steps so not to trip and I hit the ground running like I've only run a few times before in my life.
I did not yell this time, maybe I was afraid it would get up and run off to the woods with her. I hit the lawn and swung right around the willow tree. I'm conscious of ChYk howling and fighting, but my entire being is focused on the tawny form that has her in his claws, not hesitating to jump right in there, with my bare hands if necessary. I rounded the tree and leaped in the air, and as I was flying silently in slow motion through the air, I was thinking my own weight will not be enough with such a formidable monster, when I land,  I will have to stomp on it as hard as I can. I came down hard with both feet on its ribs and stomped with all my weight, flattening it out and knocking the wind out of it. I was off balance when I landed and  slipped off its ribs and my feet went out from under me,  I fell  backwards, landing on top of the monster with another thump and grabbed on as ChYk wriggled free. I saw a grey form shoot from the scene and that was a good sign she could leave so quickly. When I ran out here I hadn't really had a good plan once I got here, other than to retrieve my cat, that done, I was trying to scramble off the damn thing backwards without leaving my privates too exposed when monster, getting his breath back, decided he had enough too, standing up and bucking me off on my back. It stood there as if to say "WTF?", and gave me a loud hiss as I scrambled to get back on my feet, kicking at it, hissing back, and baring my teeth like some deranged wildman. I was pissed. To his credit, and great restraint, he made no attempt to rip me to friggin ribbons.
It wasn't quite sure what the hell to think about me, but no one wants to fight a crazy man. Monster and I squared off in the orchard. It finally occurred to me, I had a firearm in the shop.
"Sit, stay," I said, pointing my finger at it, "Don't go away".
He showed little fear, walking with me towards the shop.
I came out the door set for action. Again, in what was only seconds, it has vanished.
I checked all around the shop, and thought he must have hit the bush. I stood in one spot, where I could cover the most bases and stood perfectly still. I was thinking I was wasting my time and he had split for the hills to come and strike another day. It was then, I saw a slight movement under the shop, in a place that I always considered a safe spot for my cats, that no monster could fit under. I knelt down and tried to adjust my eyes to the darkness. I clicked my tongue in my cheek to get it to look at me and drew a bead between the eyes. He didn't feel a thing, but I gave him another to make sure. I was going to have to go under there to haul it out so I gave it another just to make damn sure it didn't come to as I was tugging on it.
I hauled it up into the back of my pickup with a thump, and took it away.
It broke my heart to have to destroy such a beautiful creature, but life is like that sometimes. "I told you to go away", I said to it later.
    I got a terrified ChYk out from under the house an hour later, a little chewed up and poked all full of holes. She got a fever from the infection and it didn't look good there for awhile and thought she might have a broken leg, but after a $600 trip to the vet in Whistler for stitches and some expensive pills,  two weeks later, she is just about back to normal.

 Princess ChYk, she fought the monster, and lived to tell about it.
  
  


 

March 15 My Birthday Today, And Others.

 Folks consider this an important date in one's life.
The one day of the year to celebrate your coming into this world, but after you have had a whole pile of them, they sort of loose their appeal I think.
None the less, on March 15, this day back in 1954, in Mission BC, a child came into this world. His ambitious, studious nature carried him on to higher education, with great success in business affairs. Pragmatic, philanthropic, and a goal orientated member of his church and community.
A charismatic leader of men, and the desire of women.
About the same time, down on the second floor, my Mom had just given birth to me. According to my older siblings, the doctor's words at the time range from "Good lord!" to, "Good luck with that!". Mom says I arrived when I damn well felt like it, and still not sure if I was worth all the hassle.
Truth of the matter was, I arrived before the doctor got there.
'Going to make his own way in life.' were his actual words, before running off to catch up with his foursome.
Well I never had much in common with that other chap, but all in all, things have worked out alright sofar.

 I blew the dust off some old journals from years ago that I had almost forgotten about, and had a good chuckle seeing what I was doing on birthdays of past.
Just a few sentences, my entries brief usually, and not much detail, and often understated.
I can still read between the lines though.

 Like this entry on my birthday in 1995, scrawled quickly by candle light under a mosquito net out in the remote wild lands of Central America. I know I had a few Caribbean rums in me before hammock time, and was no doubt played out from the days activities.

I see I had turned 41. I've drawn a little smiley face sun to signify the weather that day.
'Son of a bitch it hot today...' it starts. If it was hot and uncomfortable enough to mention right off, you can rest assured, it was.
It seems that a lot of my journal entries from that adventure start with, 'Sonofabitch.....'
'Accomplished quite a bit.' I state casually. That means I survived the day in one piece.
'51 guys on job today.' That's a lot of people running around with no little amout of dangers, then feeding, entertaining, and housing them out there in jungle land.
Never a dull moment for sure.

 Other entries, like 1991 when I was in the motorcycle business, are more urbane.

I see I just turned 37, and I thought I was getting old! I wish....
Coral Ann, the thoughtful and charming secretary had brought in a birthday cake she had made. I took advantage of the sunny day to clean up back of the shop. I probably would have gone out for a steak dinner that night, and giving the bone later to my best girl Fang.


   My beat up 1981 diary describes my 27th birthday in the rough and tumble gold town of Dawson City Yukon, holed up in the Eldorado Hotel while I waited on parts for a gold drilling rig my partners and I were using to test some ground way in the hinterland beyond the Indian River. But for the meantime, I was cooling my heels in town, watching HBO in the room, writing in my journal and waiting for a reasonable hour to go down to eat before partaking in the real entertainment for the evening, the legendary Sluice Box Lounge. Anyone who was anyone in the gold mining business frequented this establishment while in town. More deals were made, more business was done, and more brain cells were killed there than anywhere else in town.
   I had a celebratory glass or two with dinner, so by the time I made my grand entrance through the swinging doors of the Sluice Box Lounge I already had a pretty good dose of personality showing.
I started in telling everyone that would listen that it was my birthday, bringing on what seemed like trays of shooters and liquors with attractive names like Sluice Juice, Moose Drool, and Sled Dog Milkshake. Names that are pronounceable, and easy to order even when you have had too many.
   The Sluice Box Lounge, at the time, was home to a strange and well known Yukon tradition. As the sketchy story went, in the olden days out on one of the gold creeks, a miner had froze a toe, which he self amputated. The toe sat for decades in an alcohol filled jar behind the bar at the Eldorado hotel. At some point, a severely pickled customer decided to add the preserved toe to his drink, thus, to the amazement of his friends, whom probably came up with the idea in the first place, drank the first of what was to become the famous Sourtoe cocktail.
The story goes from bad to worse, some character actually swallowed the toe, and believe it or not, someone else had a preserved toe and donated it to keep the tradition of the Sourtoe cocktail alive.
It is that nameless person that I have to thank for the following life experience.
   I don't know if the Sourtoe is as much of a tradition, as another way to have a good laugh at the expense of some poor brute that has been primed just right. Back then you had to be sponsored by some well meaning person, certainly no self respecting inebriate would order one for himself.
Debra's parents worked out on the gold creeks, and she did the late shift behind the hotel bar. Over time she had developed a keen eye for young smart asses in the proper state of mind for a good toeing. She carefully brought the jar down after a brief consultation with Capt. Dick Stevenson, a local character, river boat captain, and keeper of the pickled toe.
   My recollection gets a little spotty around this point in the evenings fun, but I recall a crowd gathering while Capt. Dick fished in the murky alcohol with a pair of tongs from the hotel kitchen. Getting hold of a blackened object, he shook it off and dropped it into a fresh rye and seven that sat before me on the Eldorado bar, pushing it down into the ice with a tobacco stained finger, and giving it a stir.
I stared cross eyed into the drink for a period of time, before leaning back and addressing the crowd.
"Make mine a double!" I said, getting a great laugh out of them all.
The enthusiastic on lookers gathered around is to ensure you don't try to cheat and put your glass down before you get to the really good part with the toe in it, and to give you the bums rush towards the swinging doors if it looks like you might get sick, where the disgraced toe partaker would find himself sticking head first into the snow bank out front.

I awoke the next day in my room, backwards in bed, older, and very much wiser.
On my desk I discovered a diploma for my performance the evening before, signed by the famous Capt. Dick himself, which I still have.
Someone there knew how to spell my name properly, it sure wouldn't have been me.
Good chance its the only diploma I'll ever get so I display it proudly.
It proclaims me to be, "... a person capable of almost anything."
At any rate, I hope to have plenty more birthdays, even though  I may not go out and celebrate them anymore. I may have a birthday cocktail now and again, but no more drinks containing body parts.
Bottoms up.







             

Rainy Inside Day, Nearly Housework

Its a little wet today, some Pacific storm passing over.
I'm afraid to go outside for fear of drowning.
Good day for us cats to hang out inside and conserve energy.

I just wish there were room enough on the table for all three of us.
I suppose this is a good day to do some housework, time to pull some stuff down and dust my junk. I often say the biggest packrat around here lives inside the cabin.
I have always liked my 'stuff'.
Sometimes I get to admiring and fondling things I often don't get much actual housecleaning done. But not today, none of that fiddle farting around sitting down and looking at things and reminiscing and not get anything done. I need to stay focused on the job and have a productive afternoon while the rain pounds on the metal roof and I don't feel guilty about being inside.
Where do I start.....

 I reckon I could get the ladder and bring some items down from the gable end. Sounds like too much effort for hardly any dust. The snowshoes were used by my Dad prospecting in the 1950's, I used them in the 1980's prospecting in Yukon.The old hand saw is from 1900. It belonged to nature writer named Winson, whom was quite elderly when my folks bought his acreage straddling the 49th parallel near Sumas. He and his wife spent their few remaining years living in a small cottage Dad had built for them on the property, and I have vivid memories of him. The quiet old man always fascinated me, the fact that at one time, he wrote books and articles, made a huge impression on me.

This is from his collection, a native tool for pounding, or grinding, bought or traded on a field trip. Many items from his estate have been passed on down to me, it fits my decor I guess and is some of my favorite stuff. I may write more about Mr. Winson here sometime, so I don't want to go on too much right now.

I've got dusting to do, a job that would be easier if it were not for all the clutter around here.

 These long retired old traps have hung on the lodge wall from the beginning.
People often don't recognise what they are and sometimes poke and handle them.
They are tack-welded in the open, unsprung position.

 This old blasting machine has some family history. A number 50, means it can ignite 50 charges.

There is a Ralph Trethewey in the states that is noted for his intricate hand carved game figurines.
I'm lucky enough to have one of them. Apparently we aren't related.

 There were several relatives that made names for themselves in past generations. There was a great 'uncle' William that my Dad was named after. He planned and sold lots in the early town site of Mission BC. Then found spare time enough to design and patent an improved brake system for trains. In the late 1890's he promoted a remote silver mine not far from here on the shore of Harrison Lake called the Providence Mine, discovered when his brother Joe had been horse logging there.

One of Will's original share certificates.
1897 Providence Mine Harrison Lake BC

Providence was certainly on his side several years later in the rowdy staking rush into the wilds of northern Ontario, discovering a rich silver lead or two pretty much within days of arriving.

                                               Original Trethewey shaft. 1904 Cobalt Ont.

His Coniagas Mine was a big producer of rich silver ore, the likes of which is seldom seen these days.

 This is some of the original surface samples taken at discovery in 1904. There is more metal than rock.
The pink shade you can see is called a cobalt bloom, associated with the deposit.
The town that sprang up around this and other early discoveries was named Cobalt.
Great Uncle Will sold out and went onto many more ventures and adventures. He had a large experimental farm outside of Toronto where he held one of the earliest air meets in Canada.

This photo of the day needs new glass but shows Count De Lessops of France, and Wilbur and Orville Wright in Will's pasture.

                                         

 William's brother Joe followed him to Ontario, making a bundle on the sale of the Coniagas and returning to BC to carry on  mining, ranching and logging in grand style.
The house he built in Abbotsford has been turned into a museum.
http://www.historicplaces.ca/en/rep-reg/place-lieu.aspx?id=5880

 Plenty has been written about some of these characters of past.
I'd like to write about them and some other relatives of mine here some day.
There were several successful, driven, A type personalities in past generations.
I don't know what the hell happened to me, the gene seems to have clear skipped me completely.

My, this housework is taking longer than I figured, it would be a lot easier without all this clutter around here. I think I better just have a tea and plan for when I really do tackle dusting the logs.
I'll  go put the kettle on, and contemplate the matter further.

                         Antique chopstick holder.

Where was I.......

                                Miniature cedar stump. I've lost the little axe that was stuck in it.

                                Painted rocks. Traded by a hippie girl for camping years ago.

                                

 This is an African penis protector. It is so. Brought back by someone whom has been there in what I assume must be the land of brambles. It didn't come with instructions, and I can only hope its a new one.

 These old fire extinguishers are neat. "Turn upside down and play on fire" it says.

 

This is a scary looking thing. A old broad axe for squaring timbers. It came from Nahun, which was a stop for the steamers that plied Okanagan Lake in the early 1900's.
That reminds me of the time me and....oh never mind.

 That never comes down, its secured up there and is quite heavy. That is a woolly mammoth tusk, dug up in my Yukon mining days in a past life. Things like that would sometimes turn up in the frozen ground during the gold mining process.

These soldiered tin cans are from the Klondike gold rush era, found where miners camped while transporting outfits around the Whitehorse Rapids 1897-1899.

Those were sure fun days up there in Yukon. Yes sir, If I could live any time over again, it would be then.
Then with today's gold price of course, which is $1000 more an ounce then us 'old timers' got back then.
I remember the time I got that D6 cat stuck way the heck off in the middle of nowhere, and that first 1000 oz cleanup we did in June1980 was an experience I will never forget.

 Funny the things two legged packrats keep around.
The pocket watch hasn't worked for 30 years, I used it operating bulldozer at the remote mine site, it reminds me of stopping and turning my back to the wind then cracking open my thermos while the machine idled. The miniature anvil was handmade from a section of the original narrow gauge railway built up Bonanza Creek over a hundred years ago.

We never imagined back then someday they would make reality TV shows about what we did out there.



I damn near forgot about my machete hanging up in the library.

 In pre 911days I carried these on the plane back from Central America.
A long and a short, and well used.

 That was an interesting adventure down there.
Other than the getting malaria part, I could have done without that.
Lots of crazy things happened there, I recall the day we got word the tree fell on a worker way out in the  bush towards the coast, boy, that was a long day.

I remember the day these were taken, on an event filled overland trip to the southern boundary with Mendoza, Armando, Luis and our hero One Eye Santos. Several stories came about years ago about this day. If I wasn't so busy thinking about housework, I could dig them out and post something.


What have we here...

Don't get me going about those damn things.


Well I have to admit, this housework planning and little informational museum tour has tuckered me out, and I may need to relax for a spell.

Hey, ChYk, slide over a little will you.

Hot Spring House 1859-1866

    In the Spring of 1848 news of a gold discovery in California raced around the world. Some time after a William Stein left Ireland to seek his fortune in the new land. From the wild and woolly port of San Fransisco he made his way to the foothills and up the San Joaquin River.  He did better than some, and was reported to have "...holdings on the tributary named Stanislaus....", beyond Sonora, and near an area known as the Mormon Diggings.  Gold rushes are always short lived, and by 1855 things were winding down.
In 1858 a Hudson's Bay trader far up the coast in what would one day be Canada sent 800 oz. of placer gold to the San Fransisco mint for refining. The news went through the region like wildfire.
The first boat loads of miners began arriving in the new colony of BC that summer. Stein arrived early on, making his way up Harrison Lake to Port Douglas and the Lower Lillooett river during the early stages of the trail construction. He got as far as the hot spring, his hoteliers instinct taking hold. By mid April the next year he had made a proposal to the Justice of the Peace for British Columbia, Charles S. Nicol at the bustling tent city of Port Douglas. From there Nicol wrote a letter dated April 22 1859 to Col. Moody of the Royal Engineers, out lining Stein's proposal, "... to rent, or lease the site of the hot spring." He called it  "A natural curiosity", and recommended Stein's proposal, "...as it would be a great advantage to have a bath house".
He stated that Stein had already commenced building a rough sort of bath house. Stein had  engaged the services of an Irish handyman, Goodwin Purcell, to assist him, and a rough roadhouse had been in operation since the previous season.  Stein's guests used the hot spring for free, others paid 1 shilling, soap and towel included. Exactly what the local inhabitants had to say at the time about the taking over of their T'sek has gone for the most part unrecorded.
   Hotspring House as he named it,  was a popular stopping place at mile 20 of the Portage route during the early days of the rush. Judge Begbie rode in one day with his assistant Arthur Bushby. The junior Bushby had a romantic, or otherwise attraction to one of Governor Douglas's daughters, Agnes. Begbie  named the spring St. Agnes Well.  I'm pretty certain the local inhabitant's eyes were rolling around with that one too.  A later survey showed two bath houses at the spring, and an 'L' shaped cabin and an orchard on the other side of the road. No known images exist of the roadhouse or baths. An Italian photographer, Carlos, or Charles Gentile, came through with a government survey of the route in 1860.

He took this known shot of Port Douglas, and another of the 29 Mile House roadhouse where they got on the paddle wheeler to the north end of Lillooett Lake and I find it hard to believe he did not set up his camera at the hot spring.
Possibly out there somewhere is a box of glass negatives with an image of a bath house.
  Anyone heading to the upper Fraser gold fields in the early period of the rush would have passed this way, including the first batch of camels they brought into the country. They got off a barge towed by the stern wheeler Flying Dutchman at Port Douglas in May 1862, then driven up the old Portage route for packing further north in the Cariboo.

An English tourist, W Champness, mentioned stopping overnight at the hot spring in his 1862 book, To The Cariboo And Back, "...at the inn we enjoyed what our Yankee companions called a 'square meal' of the characteristic fare of the colony of bacon and beans, the latter are imported in barrels from the States."
"...here, also after our toilsome march. we indulged in a good wash, the only really cheap comfort obtainable in British Columbia.

In November 1862 William Stein married one Frances (Fanny) Morey (1843-1928). Miss Morey was the daughter of Sgt. Jonathon Morey of the Royal Engineers. She had been fifteen when the family sailed from England arriving in Victoria in 1859.    In 1862 there is some evidence that the Hot Spring House was sold to a Mr.J.L Smith, whom owned a string of roadhouses on the original route, including the Douglas Hotel, and the 29 Mile House.

In 1863 a welsh miner named Harry Jones stopped at Hot Spring House,"...we headed for the hot springs where a stopping place was kept by a man named Smith. We layed our blankets on the floor of Mr. Smith's barroom and slept comfortably...".

Stein took over the next roadhouse located at 24 Mile, naming it Stanislaus House after the river in California, when the previous owners had been jailed for theft from freight wagons.

1863 brought the opening of the Fraser canyon route, and traffic on the inefficient Portage dropped off over night. Smith sold the springs back to Stein, and moved on to establish the Clinton Hotel in Clinton. I assume  then William and Fanny moved back to make a go of the hot spring property, despite lack of traffic on the old trail. Stein, held on for a number of years, still clinging to the hope he could attract customers to his bath house. In June, July, and August of 1865 he placed the following advertisement in the British Columbian.

In her memoirs, Susan Allison, the wife of an early Okanagan settler, mentioned a trip to the hot spring as a young women  A friend, a Mrs. Landvoight, had a severe case of rheumatism and her doctor had recommended a trip to the 'Hot Spring". As it was quite a rough trip, Susan Allison was invited to come along for company. She was just recently arrived from England, "...and nearly danced for joy I was so eager to see more of this new and strange country".  Apparently Mrs. Landvoight had failed to notify Mrs Stein of their pending arrival, "...and the poor little woman was surprised and altogether un-prepared".
The young pioneer housewife made the best of it, cooking up trout and grouse for her unexpected guests. Susan Allison described the hot spring source, "...it just gushed out of a solid rock from a round hole like an auger hole, at the source there were open ditch's that convey it to the baths, which were rough wooden affairs in a large shed partitioned off, we sampled them at once, and found them refreshing, but nasty to drink".

She described them going for walks, one in particular "...we often walked to it and sit near the pool water during the heat of the day...".

I know that spot well, it is where I reside, and I like to sit by that same pool in the heat of the day.  She made mention of natives on horse back that gallop by the road house. Mrs. Stein described them as, "not friendly". Well I am not surprised, after experiencing a full blown gold rush through their territory, plus getting a bath house built on the spiritual  T'sek site.

Business continued to drop and William Stein left the hot spring in the care of his helper Goodwin Purcell, and moved to New Westminster, taking a lease on the Hicks Hotel, and putting the property up for sale on May 5 1866.

That's a little tough to see. The copy reads....

The hot springs property that cost me $3000 is now for sale at the low price of $1500. The springs being on the main road to the Bridge River mines (no humbug about those diggings), would be invaluable to a good physician. Apply on the premises to G. Purcell. Or to W.E Stein, Hicks Hotel, New Westminster.

The lower part of the ad reads....

W.E. Stein, formerly of the Hot Springs on the Douglas  Portage, having leased Hicks Hotel on Columbia in New Westminster, wishes to inform the travelling community in general that the above, being a large 3 story building, will be found one of the most comfortable houses in New Westminster. Meals and beds, 50 cents each, and drinks, 12 cents.

Despite what he thought was a give away price, there were no takers, and eventually abandoned the property. The original 40 acre pre-emption was taken over 30 years later by the  former handy man, Goodwin Purcell. Goodwin had stayed in the country, married a local woman and traded out of the old abandoned town site of Port Douglas. He had the property surveyed in 1897 and added more land.
Goodwin died in 1906 at 91, and it was from his descendants that title to the historic property passed to the Trethewey family  in the mid fifties.

        T'sek circa 1957  Hot spring structures, clearing above was road house site.

                                          T'sek, 2012

The area of the old road house is evident in the clearing at the south end of the hot spring campsite.It has been washed by  river flood several times but there is still the odd evidence such as old square hand made nails and stuff.

 Arthur Bushby did marry Agnes Douglas in the end, shown here during a picnic on Burrard Inlet. He was made Register General of Deeds for the colony in 1861and they lived in New Westminster, before moving to England, and it is unlikely she ever visited the hot spring named in her honor that Spring day in 1859.