Water Chase
Authors: Marjorie A. Clark
COPYRIGHT ©, 1961, BY
THE MOODY BIBLE INSTITUTE OF CHICAGO
Printed in the United States of America
Donald
P
ETER DENT leaned on the railing and watched the water foaming away from the bow of the “Chinook.” It was hard to believe that he was really here, feeling the cool dampness of the spray laden breeze against his face, traveling in a boat that was taking him northward to the green-firred islands of the Pacific coast.
Everything had happened so quickly — meeting Donald Harris at camp at The Firs, sharing the same cabin, making friends with him and then being invited back to Donald’s home in Vancouver for a visit. Best of all, the visit included a two weeks’ cruise up the island-dotted straits between Vancouver Island and the coast of British Columbia.
Donald came to join him at the rail and pointed to a settlement to their left.
“That’s Campbell River, and Dad will have to go there on business tomorrow,” he said. “Right now we’re heading through the passage into Gowlland Harbor.”
They were close to the shore. Reaching over the rail, Peter could almost touch the rocks that dropped steeply into the water at each side of the passage. A few minutes later they had entered a large enclosed harbor, and the water was as calm
as a lake. Most of the shoreline was thickly wooded, with here and there a small clearing and a house.
The “Chinook” eased in beside an old wooden dock and Donald sprang lightly ashore. Peter threw him the rope to make the ship fast and then joined Donald on the dock.
“I’m going up to that house and see if the Henderson boys are home,” Donald said, pointing to a big white house at the end of the wharf. “They’re usually around. Want to come?”
Peter shook his head. “No, I’ll just sit here in the sun and wait for you.” He watched Donald set off at a dogtrot over the weather-bleached planking, then turned to look into the cool, clear-green of the water below. Donald’s father and the skipper were talking, probably making their plans for the next day, but Peter couldn’t hear what they were saying. He knew the trip included a visit to some of the camps of the Northwest Logging Company of which Mr. Harris was president, but that was all. Donald had said something about picking up the payroll at the bank in Campbell River before they went farther north, and he presumed they had come into Gowlland Harbor because it was a good place to spend the night.
Peter looked up at the thud-thud-thud of rubber-soled shoes against the planks of the dock.
“They’re across the bay at the Homewood Bible Camp,” Donald said, “but Mrs. Henderson suggested we take Bill’s dinghy and row over. Like to?”
“Sounds like fun!”
“Okay. I’ll tell Dad we’re going.”
They set out across the quiet waters of the harbor, past tiny tree-covered islands toward sloping yellow fields and a long narrow floating dock. As they neared the shore Peter could see log cabins among the trees above the fields.
“Have you ever been here before?” he asked.
“No, but kids from the coast come here to camp. They have a good time, according to the Henderson boys.”
They tied up the boat and ran up the dock to the trail.
“It seems awfully quiet. I don’t see any boys,” Peter said.
Donald glanced at his watch. “The only time camp is really quiet is meal time. They must be eating. Let’s find the dining room.”
A hum of voices was coming from behind the largest cabin. They walked around and stopped short. Tables were set out on the grass under the towering firs and, as Donald had guessed, the boys were eating. They stopped to stare at the newcomers and Peter and Donald grinned. Suddenly one of the boys stood up.
“Donald Harris! Where did you come from? I didn’t recognize you for a minute!”
“Hi, Don!” Another boy smiled and waved.
“Hello, Bob and Bill Henderson!” Donald said easily. “All you other kids too! As you heard, I’m Donald Harris from Vancouver. We just came in on the ‘Chinook,’ tied up at Henderson’s wharf. This is my friend from the States, Peter Dent.”
As Peter nodded and smiled a tall young man was making his way toward them.
“Hello there!” he said holding out his hand to Donald. “You’re the son of the owner of the ‘Chinook’? Glad to have you visit us. I’m John Baird, camp director.” He turned to greet Peter. “Good to meet you Peter. Can you boys visit for a while? We’d like to have you at our fireside meeting tonight.”
The boys agreed to stay, and at Mr. Baird’s invitation were happy to join the other boys at supper. They had a wonderful time that evening, hearing about Homewood Camp and telling of some of their experiences at the camp they had attended at Bellingham. In fact they almost forgot they weren’t campers until they heard the “Chinook’s” whistle sounding out across the bay.
“That’s Dad! We’d better get moving!” Donald said.
They rowed across the harbor quickly. “I wish we could stay there for a couple of days,” Peter said, as he watched the little dock fade into the distance. “It looks as if it would be as much fun as The Firs, even if they don’t have water skiing and things like that.”
“Yes, it would be fun. Maybe if Dad has to stay at Campbell River for a few days we could spend the time at camp. We’ll ask him.”
That night they told Donald’s father all about the camp and the wonderful time the Henderson boys were having there, at the same time making it clear that they wouldn’t mind spending a few days there.
Mr. Harris laughed. “Haven’t you boys had enough of camp for one year?” he said. “I have
to spend the day at Campbell River tomorrow but will be back by night. The next day we’ll leave for Rock Bay, Kelsey Bay and then on to Gilford Island with the payroll for the logging camp. But I don’t imagine we’ll get away before the middle of the morning. As long as you can be ready for me to pick you up day after tomorrow, you can stay at camp.”
“Thanks Dad.”
“Be sure to check if it’s all right with the director, Donald. They may not let you come for a short time like that.”
“I don’t think he’ll mind,” Peter said. “The camp isn’t overcrowded.”
“Be sure to take enough money with you.”
“Yes, we will.”
“Well then, if you don’t come back tomorrow evening I’ll know you’re staying overnight at camp.”
“Right!” Donald said. “We’ll be leaving early tomorrow morning to get over there in time for breakfast.”
Bidding Mr. Harris good night, they went off to their bunks.
Peter
N
EXT MORNING Peter and Donald were up long before other sign of life aboard the “Chinook.” They climbed into the dinghy and were soon pulling toward the camp. Sleeping bags were stowed in the boat just in case the director agreed to their their spending the night in camp.
“A whole day! Won’t it be fun!” Peter exclaimed.
“Night will be more fun I bet,” Donald said. “Bob was telling me yesterday that sometimes they let two or three boys sleep in the hay in the barn.”
“In the barn? With the cows?”
Donald grinned. “No, nitwit! There’s a ladder at the back of the barn leading to the hayloft. Bob showed it to me. When there are more boys than they have sleeping room for in the cabins, that’s where they go.”
“More fun than bunks, I guess. With a sleeping bag it wouldn’t be too scratchy.”
They each took an oar and rowed faster. The harbor looked like a lake in the morning sunshine, the water glittering and faintly ruffled by a cool breeze.
Although it was still early a score of boys came racing down the wooden jetty to meet Peter and Donald as they neared shore.
“Hey there, you kids!”
“Hi!” Peter called back. “We can stay all day!”
“And night too, if there’s room!” Donald called.
Bob Henderson took the painter of the dinghy and tied it to a wooden piling as the boys stepped ashore.
“Bet you’ll get a job,” Bob said.
“What kind of a job? We’re on vacation you know!” Donald said.
“Oh, helping around the place. We all have to work.” He jerked his head toward the kitchen. “Bill’s on KP today. I helped with the cows and got through early.”
Peter stared at him. “You mean you milked cows?”
“Yep! This is a different kind of camp, you see. Away up here in the islands we have to look after ourselves.” They walked up the winding path and Bob pointed toward a vegetable garden. “This is the camp garden; we help in that. Over there’s the barn. There are chickens for eggs, cows for milk, pigs for meat.”
This was a new experience for Peter and Donald, but they enjoyed every minute of the day, even the work which they were more than willing to do. There was a Bible study class in the morning, a long swimming and sunning period in the afternoon and then a hike through the woods before supper.
Peter looked around in surprise as they hiked. He wasn’t used to country as wild as this. No homes or settlements and they seemed miles and miles away from any town! Bob and Bill told him something about this island called Quadra. Their
grandparents had been among the first white settlers to arrive on it.
As long as he was with others who were singing Gospel choruses, sometimes shouting ahead, Peter didn’t mind the dense forest, but he wondered if he would like walking along this trail at night. They climbed under fallen trees, over stumps and logs, pushing their way through the bushes which overgrew the path. At last they came out to some big rocks.
The rocks were covered inches thick in soft green moss, still warm from the sun. Peter sank down on it, looking at the tiny flowers which poked their heads through the green carpet. “Isn’t this stuff wonderful?” he sighed contentedly.
But he wasn’t allowed to enjoy it long. Mr. Baird’s shrill whistle was summoning them to gather where they would eat their sandwich supper and have their evening devotions.
After the meal and a few games the boys climbed to a high rock overlooking the Straits. All around were tall trees, quiet in the evening air. Over the mountains on Vancouver Island the sun was slowly setting in the splendor of pink and gold, and the cloud colors were reflected in the water far below. Peter thought he’d never seen anything so beautiful. He sat down on a moss-upholstered rock and listened to the boys as they sang choruses.
