1974 The Saga of ‘Canthook’ Jack
This is not an obituary. That has already been written. It is only a short story about a man who was as much part of the outdoors for the greater part of his life as were the rocks, the trees and the streams. And there are very few of his generation or his type left.
Jack Fetterley was born near Huntsville on October 21st, 1889. Once he showed me about where the house he was born in would have stood. It is right where the overhead bridge goes over the railroad on the Huntsville by-pass. I never did think of asking him where he had attended school, but like a great many of the boys of his day and age his education was regulated by the condition of the roads in the winter, and how much work needed to be done at home. He did tell me that he went to the woods to work in lumber camps when he was fourteen.
Today not many would think of going away back in the woods, with perhaps just one trip out during the whole winter, that at Christmas. Work was hard and the hours were long, but it was the only work available for young men at that time. A great many of the men who went to the woods in the winter season had farms, but these did not provide enough income to keep a family for twelve months, and as I said the shanty was where most men went to work. Then there was the sawmill which ran only in the summer and these men too, or most of them, went to the woods after the mill was finished cutting logs.
Most if not all boys who lived on the farms at that time learned to use an axe and pull a crosscut when quite young. There was always wood to be cut, and in those days everyone pitched in to keep things going. So when young men went into the woods to work at logging, they were not exactly greenhorns. Now there were other jobs besides making logs, but in most of the work, some knowledge of a saw and axe was necessary.
Jack soon was proficient in any of the jobs he tackled, but it was in using a cant hook that he excelled. Perhaps today few people know just what a canthook is, as they are not used so much by woodsmen now. But it was a flexible hook with a long handle, and with this tool logs could be rolled to the required position. At that age of logging, the logs were cut in the late summer and early fall. These were pulled to cleared areas called skidways, and then piled in at times quite large piles. To get these logs up so high, a chain called a decking line was so placed that when pulled by horses it rolled to the top of the pile, or where the men in charge wanted. There were times the log ascended without any trouble, other times it would go faster at one end than the other. That is where the men, one at each end of the log, used these canthooks to keep the log headed in the proper direction. Again, when the logs were being loaded on sleighs on the “log haul” the same method was used to load the said logs. As in making skidways, the line was placed around the log, and the work of putting the logs, some of them quite a height, was done by the horses. Besides making certain the logs were loaded in a neat manner, the man on the top of the load was responsible for making sure that the load balanced on the bunks. He had to be able to gauge the size and weight of the log, and this had to be done quickly. If the load did not balance so it would swing and turn properly for the many bumps and turns, it might go off the road, and hold up a lot of loads. And at this work, Jack was tops. So much so that he was given the nickname “Canthook Jack” and it stuck with him for many years. Indeed there were many people years ago that knew who Canthook Jack was, but would have to admit they did not know Jack Fetterley. In the last few years I have heard the nickname used only a few times. There is still a man in Huntsville who worked in the woods many years with him that still asked about him by that name, but the present generation did not know he was well known by another moniker.
As well, he was an expert river man when logs were being brought to the saw mills by floating them down the rivers. This was cold, dangerous work, and seldom a day would pass that a “driver” did not take a ducking. Then there was the danger of log jams. If the water was not just right, one log caught on a rock or some other obstruction, and unless a man was there to clear it, in a few minutes more logs were blocked, and in a little while there would be a pile of logs jammed high, and the drive could not advance until the river was cleared. And it was on these jams that he was so good. I have talked to several men who drove the river with him, and all said he would be the first man on a jam, and the last off. Seems he could find the key logs and could break jams in much less time than men with more experience. Too, he could wade fast water and keep his feet where others could not work. Indeed, one jam on the Magnetawan was almost his last. He had two or three men with him, and they finally got the logs started, and as usual he saw to it when suddenly the rest of the jam broke and he thought for a few seconds he would get caught in the logs. There was one long log, perhaps a boom timber, and the weight of the logs and the water forced this log to clear the rest and as it swung around caught him on the buttocks, and deposited him on the other side of the river. His helpers were frantic, for when they reached shore, and it only took seconds, there was no Jack to be seen. The roar of the water and the grinding of the logs made it useless for him to call, but finally one of them looked across the river, and there he sat, calmly smoking his pipe. One of his axioms was, “if you have time to stop, you have time to sit” and he used it when the occasion arose.
As a comment, I too went to work in a lumber camp a few weeks after I had turned fourteen, and in the next couple of years met and worked with many of these old timers. They worked hard, lived rough lives, with very few of the amusements we now take for granted, but it might surprise many to know that most of these hard-bitten old men still retained the simple faiths they were taught as children, and incidents like I have described help to strengthen those beliefs.
The first I heard of this man was the first year Brennan’s drove logs down the Magnetawan River to Kearney. When the drive was on, parties used to get the democrat from the livery stable, drive to Tuckers Dump (near where the road turns off 518 on the way to Butt Lake), eat a picnic lunch and watch the logs coming through this fairly fast stretch of water, I believe then it was called the Oxbow. It appears an argument stated as to whether a man could ride a log down this fast rapids. Then just when they were talking, around the bend came a large log, and on it was our friend, his peevee stuck in the log, one arm around it, and he was filling his pipe. I heard it discussed that evening, and all I knew was that Canthook Jack had ridden a log through this very fast, rough water.
The next time was in a store, and I heard the storekeeper talk about Canthook Jack to a woman from the country, and sort of kidding her a bit about having or going to have him in the family. I can always remember that little old lady saying, “well, he may be a rough character, but it looks like he is going to get our Pearl”. He did, and they had a long pleasant life together, though she passed on a number of years ago.
There are many stories told about his quick wit and his friendliness. A great part of his life was spent during the summer as a fire ranger. That was when men had to do a lot of patrolling in the woods, and keep trails that might have to be used to get to forest fires well cleared. Another old timer, Chester McConkey had a beat near Ravensworth, and it had been planned that the two would meet at the Township boundary, I believe once a week. Jack had further to go and often was late. Chester did not relish the idea of waiting in the woods, especially when the flies were bad. So once when Jack arrived he was a bit off colour, and said he would not wait as long again. So he simply stated he would make the trip same day next week, and said, “ Jack, If I am here first next week, I will place this pole in the crotch of this tree.”
“Fine.” Replied Jack, “and if I am here first I will knock it down.”
His friends were legion. He simply liked everyone. I think I only heard him complain once, and that was a few years ago when he was trying to operate his small farm. His complaint was that no matter how early he got started he never seemed to be able to get a much done as he had planned. This when he was in his late seventies, when most men would not even be trying.
The life he chose, in fact about the only one available was not one that produced much financial gain. There were a great many like that, men who had to work all their lives with not much hope of becoming much better financially, but this man had achieved the blessing of blessings; he was contented and happy with what he had. I think the nicest thing I heard about him was from a conversation one of his daughters had with my wife. The topic about present living was being discussed, and this girl, who has a large family of her own simply said, “ well, when we were small we did not have a nice house like some other people had, we did not have a lot of nice things, or the best of clothes to wear, but no children ever had a better Mom and Dad.”
So almost the last of the real old time woodsman has gone. Lumberjack, river driver, axeman, sawyer, canthook man, teamster, hunter, and at times guide and trapper. He did them all, and well. There are men in the woods today perhaps producing more, but they do it with their machinery, not with their hands. I do not know why this has suddenly come to memory, but one of Service’s poems was entitled, “Song of the Wage Slave.” As this man in his dying plea asked of his Maker, “Not by my sins wilt thou judge me, but by the work of my hands.”
This could fit many of the old timers who have passed on. So long, old friend. We will miss you. Have a pleasant journey, and enjoy a long, peaceful, well-earned rest.