The heading of an article about Expo 67 in an American magazine referred to it as "the Big Blast Up North." That year I had my own blast up North far away from Montreal's crowds and pavilions; a fishing experience down on the Labrador. By 1967 the Labrador saltfish industry was winding down as the factory fishing super trawlers and fresh fish processing had been ongoing since the 1950s. We were floaters living on board our vessel where we salted our catch on board and at season's end brought it back to Newfoundland. My father-in- law was to be skipper, and his family relatives had purchased the Arachat and outfitted her for the voyage. <br /> School was out, and on June 24, Dora drove me from Gambo to Lewisporte where I spent the evening reminiscing with a friend from University days. Towards midnight he drove me to the dock to board the coastal boat Bonavista. When I purchased my $7.50 Fisherman's ticket, my friend was curious as to what it included, to which the purser responded, "Just his passage." I looked around at the steerage section which seemed rather crowded with families and chose to hang around the first-class section. The next day the purser approached to inform me there was a cabin I could have. I mingled with some American tourists, and played with the piano in the state room. The purser kept telling me I did not look like a fisherman. <br /> One dreadful fear I had was seasickness. As a young lad back home, I joined my classmate and his father on the squid-jigging ground once and was sick for two days. As we rounded Cape Bauld, crossing the Strait of Belle Isle heading towards Mary's Harbour the seas were violently rough. I was sitting alone enjoying my evening meal while many were outside leaning over the rail; it was such a relief to have my sea legs. <br /> <br /> On June 28 we reached Indian Islands, Groswater Bay, but the Captain could not make contact with the Arachat. He finally reached a crew member of the Donna MacKensie who took me to the Arachat. I soon changed into fisherman's gear and started to cut throats, went to haul the traps; finally settling into deckhand. I was kept busy filling the boxes to keep three splitting tables going at full throttle. I also assisted the cook prepare for a crew of 16.<br /> By July 12 our catch began to diminish; a decision was made to move North with 600 quintals salted down. It was no easy task taking up two cod traps and gear and storing it neatly to be used efficiently later up North. We had our two skiffs in tow as we motored slowly along, stopping at Cape Harrison and Ailik. After passing snow and icebergs, on July 15 at 2:30 we entered Hopedale where some crew members sent telegrams while others climbed the cliffs to quench their thirst at the American base. <br /> <br /> The next day we moved off Hopedale to a place they called "The Railroads" where there were reports of a good sign of fish. The next morning July 17, all hands were on deck at three, and by 9 A.M. two cod traps had been set. We had a very busy week while working long hours with insufficient sleep. Some crew members had to be treated for slub-burned hands, others were a physical wreck. We had 2200 quintals salted down. But once again the traps produced diminishing returns and plans were underway to head still further North toward Nain to a place the fishermen called Cut Throat. <br /> It was now August 10 which meant it was decision time for me. I had to be in Gander by September 1, since I had a teaching position there. I had just received word that I was a father, for the first time, of a son born a week earlier which gave me an added incentive to go home. This meant more responsibility, as we would need to set up an apartment and arrange living accommodations. If I travelled further North it might be more difficult to arrange transportation home. My father- in -law knew a guy from Centerville working at Hopedale and made arrangements for me to stay with him overnight. The next day, August 11, I got the small Grenfell Mission plane to Goose Bay from where I made connections to Gander. <br /> <br /> In retrospect this trip was more rewarding than visiting Expo. The vigorous work and long days of sunlight were good for body, mind and spirit. I also had confirmation of the purser's earlier evaluation of my not looking like a fisherman to acknowledging that I am not a fisherman. There is no correlation between a piece of chalk or textbook to foot ropes or net mending. I gained a greater appreciation of the nuances and the art of fishing. Even living in close quarters with a group of men requires tact, give and take, while enjoying the friendly banter that helps lighten the burden. One also has a greater appreciation of our heritage; and of our ancestors who toiled to scrape a living from the sea, often against great odds, but always managed to maintain a sense of humor or dance a jig.   Submitted By: NULL