Island Journey With the Evangel 6 A
Life in Larsen Bay Part One: Winter in the Village
The large cannery in Larsen Bay gleams in the sunset, November, 1956. In my opinion, this is one of my father Norman Smith's best photos. Kudos to that little Argus C3 and Dad's great eye for composition!
Author's note: from the summer of 1952 to the summer of 1957, the village of Larsen Bay was the winter home of the Evangel and the Smith family. I was born in May of 1953, so Larsen Bay was my first home. After 1957 we visited there regularly and for extended stays every summer, until the Evangel was sold at the end of the 1964 season (see the article called Larsen Bay, 1964). Dad continued to visit by plane for several more years. I visited Larsen Bay again in 1998, to spread some of Dad's ashes in some of the places where he had ministered, and that is the topic of another segment (see Return to Larsen Bay, 1998). Our simulated island journey pauses for a two-part series on life in my first home, spending the winter of 1956-57 in the village before continuing to the north-end. This part of the story would be better told by my older siblings, because I was only five years old when we moved away. But since we went back for extended visits every summer for many years, I too have a lot of great memories of Larsen Bay. Therefore, I am also combining and compressing events, and adapting details to tell this as a coherent story. As a tale of challenging lifestyles and environmental hardships, our winters in Larsen Bay would rival anything out of the Little House on the Prairie books. I hope I can do it justice. Whenever I fail to adequately explain, the photos may help to fill in the gaps.
About the picture: This panorama is from 1953, spliced from two slide images, shows the Alaska Packers Association cannery on the right and Larsen Bay village on the left, and the very first snowfall on the tops of the mountains. The long dock is beyond the buildings to the right. The little hill on the point overlooking the cannery, where Dad took these two pictures, was a favorite place for Easter Sunrise Services as well.
Winter in the Village: Coming Home to Larsen Bay
As the Evangel turns from Uyak Bay into Larsen Bay, every rock and tree looks familiar to me. I am home, and anxious to see my friends and visit my toys. It will also be a relief to be off the boat and to sleep on a bed for a change. The Larsen Bay cannery, owned by the Alaska Packers Association, has what was once the longest dock in Alaska. The cannery is huge, and makes me think of what a city might be like (having never seen one). After tying up, we all grab things to carry, the first and most necessary things we'll need for staying ashore. Dad and Noel will get the heavier things by getting our wheelbarrow, which we stuck in the shed when we left. I am still a little kid in the late summer of 1956, so I think the hike from the dock to the village is very long indeed. As I pass down the narrow walkway between two of the buildings, I pass by a row of roaring diesel generators. I can feel their radiator fans blasting me with heat, and the smokestacks are not nearly tall enough to keep the diesel fumes from nearly choking me. This part of the walk has scared me since I was an infant, because it is so noisy. I race forward, and only relax when I'm around the bend a little and I can walk on the beach trail. The beach grass on either side of the trail grows sometimes higher than my head, and I feel momentarily disoriented, but I soon break out of the green and onto the shoreline, where the trail leads along a small bluff, up a little rise, and on to our place.
About the photo: This is a view of the center of the village at high tide, taken from the Evangel in 1956. The chapel is in the center right, the small shack we used as our home is to its left, and the old schoolhouse is to the right. The large house on the left with the light-colored roof is Dora Aga's place. The stairs went down to the community well, which was almost at tide level. After high tides, we would have to wait until the water cleared. The hill behind the village kept most of the houses out of direct sunlight for several months in the winter!
As I walk on the shore trail, on past the bluff, can see Edith Swan's little gray house, the one that used to be the school, and just beyond is the chapel with its gleaming white cross atop the bell tower Dad built. I go a little past that to a ramshackle tarpaper shack that has been my home for my whole life. It is a cozy place for me, but oppressively small for anyone with adult height, because there are only a couple of places where they can completely stand up. This trip home for the winter will be very exciting, because in the spring we are going to start moving into a much larger new home, a building we call the warehouse, built directly behind the chapel. But for now we go to back to the little shack that is the only home on land I have ever known, and begin to settle in for what always is a long and challenging winter. But because we are used to it, we certainly don't think of it in those terms. We're just home!
The cannery store at Larsen Bay, in a 1966 photo. With minor changes, the old cannery looked much the same through the end of the 20th century.
Someone goes back toward the cannery to pick up our mail, several weeks' worth of unread letters, and likely as not, a few packages of things some church has sent us. I go with my sister Robin to the store to pick up a few things that we'll need for eating at home. We pick up some flour and sugar, and I buy some Smith Brothers (there's Trade and Mark under their faces, so I think that's their names!) licorice cough drops with my allowance. I'm a sailor home from the sea, and I'm hitting the town with my "pay". There's been no place to buy anything since we left Kodiak, and while nothing compares to the big stores there, I know everything I like and how much it costs here in my hometown. The store is also the most likely place to meet friends, and I run into Stanley, who is there with his older sister. He'll come by later, and probably bring Roy, the other boy my age. (Both of them have cute sisters, but I am far too young to notice something like that!) Mom and Dad do not get a lot of their supplies from the store, because it is very expensive. A freighter coming to pick up the hundreds of cases of salmon that the cannery has processed will also drop off several pallets of canned goods for us in a few weeks. We will eat mostly that until spring. The local hunters always share their bear, seal and deer meat, and there will be fresh fish to catch for a little while yet, but nobody has refrigeration or freezers, so cans are our staple diet. But Mom needs the flour and sugar because she knows that our rhubarb patch needs picking. There will be some pie as soon as Mom can get the shack's oil stove running again.
The tarpaper shack we lived in for five years in Larsen Bay was really a series of shacks strung together.
Norman and Joyce Smith in the kitchen of the shack, in 1952. The rest of the house was only about as high as the door beyond Norman. The only heat was from one oil stove in the kitchen, and there was no insulation.
Back home, I help unpack a summer's worth of material by taking the things that are mine and putting them on or under the crib I still use. I'm too small to do much of the hard work that everyone else is doing, but I'm almost too big for that crib. There will be no space for a proper bed until we move into the warehouse. I am old enough to get water from the well, and Mom gives me two gallon-sized buckets and has me make a couple of trips. The well is between the shack and the chapel, down a set of long steps to a grassy area almost at the tideline. I simply dip my buckets in the little spring and get them as full as I can. It is a long haul up those stairs, even with two small buckets, and by the time I reach the shack the second time, the handles have dug quite a crease in my little hands. I pour the water into a large can in the corner of the kitchen, and Robin and Jerilynn also come in with larger buckets. Mom gets down the white Purex bottle and puts in a capful or two, and I get to stir it. The pungent chlorine smell is a little jolting. After sitting for an hour or so, the water will be great for cooking and safe for drinking.
About the picture: Joyce Smith (a bit surprised in this photo) in the kitchen of the shack in Larsen Bay. Blazo boxes (wooden crates that each formerly held two square five-gallon kerosene or pressure appliance fuel "Blazo" cans) serve nicely as our kitchen cabinets, especially when lined with oilcloth. Blazo boxes were the modular furniture of the villages in the 1950s, and could also serve as stools or end tables. The warming shelf of the oil stove behind Mom holds a lantern that uses Blazo fuel.
In the shack, the stove is heating nicely, and Mom is busy cutting up some rhubarb stalks. She has nearly completed the pie crust when my friend Roy appears, and we go outside to play for awhile. There's a big pile of old lumber near the chapel, which will eventually be used to complete the warehouse, but for us it is part pirate ship, part teeter-totter. We stay amused until Mom calls me for dinner, and Roy runs off in search of his own. Supper is one of my favorites, and a classic Joyce Smith simple recipe: one can of Dennison's meat balls, one can Standard Brands creamed corn, one can of Dairigold condensed milk, and one can of water for each. Corn chowder, a Larsen Bay delicacy. Of course, supper is just as likely to have been canned sauerkraut or something equally hard for a kid to like, and by spring, we'll be craving anything fresh and uncanned.
The Evangel, tied to the long dock at Larsen Bay, spent most of the winter there from 1952 to 1957.
Daily Life in the Winter:
It is delicious to be back in my own home, although I love the Evangel just as much. After some hot rhubarb pie, it's time to go to bed, and I sleep well, considering that it's the first night in weeks that I haven't felt the gentle (or not-so-gentle) pitch of the Evangel. After a few bustling days of unpacking and getting one last thing off the Evangel, our life begins to settle back into its winter rhythm. There are frequent trips to the well, occasional trips to the store or to the Evangel (which is now tied securely in a secluded corner of the huge dock) and church services have begun again in the little chapel. Almost every night our little kitchen table is filled with neighbors, adults one night, a bunch of kids the next, and it's amazing how busy we stay in a small town far from anything. We get the mail every few weeks when the Shuyak comes to town, and because the churches in the lower 48 are supporting us, we get tons of boxes of interesting things. (I like to help burn the empty boxes!) Come Christmas, we will have collected enough gifts for every child in town, and most of the adults.
The entire school population of Larsen Bay, winter of 1952-1953, stand squinting in the sun outside the old schoolhouse. The fact that the Smith children moved to town made it possible to get a school teacher.
A more efficient way to carry water! Here, one of the Carlson boys comes back from the well using a nifty yoke to carry two full buckets. (From a 16mm movie frame) In the early 60s, a well was drilled, and a hand pump was placed at the crest of the hill, making life a lot easier.
But living in the village in the winter is very hard work. Somebody has to break the ice with a hatchet to get any water from the well most mornings, and it is far too cold at night to go out in pitch darkness and sit yourself on the drafty hole of the outhouse (which we call by its native name, "nooshnik"). Therefore, we use a "honey bucket" (which isn't!) which is a five gallon round oil can with the top cut out and a carved wooden seat, half-full of water and a bit of Pine Sol, which Dad carefully takes to the beach to dump every morning. Unfortunately, the fresh mountain scent of that cleaning product will never have that connotation for me.
Being little, I am of very little assistance with most of the tasks of daily life. I am too little yet to roll an oil barrel (although before I'm eleven I will master the art, using mostly well placed shoves with my foot!) I can't help with the laundry much, although I can help carry the clothes to and from the clotheslines that come out from the side of the chapel. We always have to carry extra water, and heat it on the stove for hours, then start the generator so we can use the wringer washer. I have been taught to stay far away from the rollers! Washing clothes takes all day, and if the weather is cold, our clothes will freeze on the line before they can dry. So we are grateful for the wringer, that squeezes most of the water out for us.
We have only a few fresh food items available in a land without cold storage and with very infrequent and expensive new shipments in the cannery store. We have potatoes, apples, oranges, and onions as the four basic "fresh" foods that will tolerate the near-freezing temperatures of our shack. That supply is usually long gone before we are able to go back to Kodiak for more civilized shopping in the spring. Once, a large freighter pulls in to the cannery, and we are invited aboard for dinner. I am given a banana, and try to eat it skin and all! It feels smooth like an apple, not bumpy like an orange, so I make what I think is a logical conclusion!
One thing I like to help with is baking bread. Mom teaches me to add the ingredients just when she asks for them, and I love pouring the packets of yeast into our big aluminum mixing bowl. Then I even help to punch down the dough when it rises the first time. Nothing smells better than homemade bread baking!
About the picture: A Bible Club meets around our kitchen table in the shack. On the oilcloth tablecloth is a cardboard replica of a house from Bible days. The girl just below the radio and clock is my sister Robin, about seven years old at the time. The calendar says October, 1953. Activities like this after-school club kept us busy in the long and difficult winters.
About the picture: We often had visits from our neighbors in our little shack. Here, three men try to solve one of those little puzzles with the rolling BBs (remember those?) Once again, our "Blazo" box shelves show up in the photo, filled with dishes and whatever food we don't want to freeze. Other food is stored in various corners of the shack. The rest is stored outside in an unheated shed. The little oil stove, our sole source of heat, is to the left of the shelves.
Our Winter Entertainment:
Entertainment (after the press of all the missionary activities) for the Smith family includes board games by the hissing green light of a Blazo lantern, listening to the battery-operated all-band radio, or running the lightplant for a few hours of bare-bulb electricity. The generator uses expensive gasoline, which is in limited supply and needs to be reserved for the use of the chapel services and for the outboard motor on the skiff. The hours we spend listening to the radio are very memorable. Shortwave is the most fun. Being so close to Russia, we pick up Radio Moscow a lot easier than the Voice of America, and in the Cold War fifties, that makes for some interesting discussions around the kitchen table. But whatever entertainment that may provide, we are regular listeners to HCJB ("Heralding Christ Jesus' Blessings"), the voice of the Andes, from Quito Ecuador, the most powerful non-governmental radio station on the planet. I'm sure we pick it up when it's broadcasting in other languages, but we have memorized its schedule of English programming, and always catch the Haven of Rest and the Back to the Bible Broadcast. There's also an afternoon "Children's Treasure Chest" that sounds like it's run by missionary kids in far off Ecuador. That gives us a different sense of a world community! And early every morning, Dad makes his instant coffee, nibbles on a few graham crackers with peanut butter, and tunes in KFQD, an Anchorage AM station that reaches us just fine, thanks to the thirty-foot copper aerial that Dad has strung out behind the shed.
A scary group on Halloween, 1954. A group of village kids pose with mostly homemade masks outside the shack.
A group of kids hanging out at our kitchen table in the shack in 1953. My brother Noel is on the left, Robin is just below the radio, and I am the infant on Joyce's lap on the far right.
My favorite entertainment is when Dad spends a little gas with the lightplant, and we turn on the clunky tube-amp record player with the really big speaker, the one that we use for blasting out the soundtrack to our filmstrips, and play a few records. I am absolutely mesmerized by the sound of a good red-vinyl, 10-inch long playing record! We have a stack of albums by the Haven of Rest Quartet, which help me learn a zillion hymns by the time I reach Kindergarten. We also have two or three albums by Mantovani, including a 1949 opus that has my favorite music: "The Laughing Violin" and "The Bullfrog". I am blissfully unaware of the lowbrow nature of Mantovani's "dinner music." It's pretty, and we like it! I have memorized every nuance of that orchestra's playing, and will always love orchestral music as a result. Sometimes we play one of our few 12-inch LPs, a somber and melodramatic "scrapbook of sound" called "Hark the Years", which plays narrated audio clips from the 1890s to the 1930s to lurid Hollywood music. I love that record, too, and end up learning a lot of history that way. The sum total of our available entertainment for the winter probably does not equal the amount of time a modern kid in Brooklyn or Berkeley would spend in front of the TV on a good Saturday morning. But it is all I know, and it satisfies me. Nobody else I know even has a record player!
My passionate attitude toward music has a down side, for at my last birthday, I got a little tabletop record player and a stack of little golden records. I love the records, and even like the "Suzy and Johnny" cutsie Christian ones that Mom and Dad play sometimes for the other kids. Of course, I am the most careful four year old operator of a phonograph on the planet! However, I don't like my little record player at all; next to the big, beefy sound of Dad's record player, my little tin box sounds like a piece of junk, and I say so. I think my parents are a bit shocked at my discerning ear. Larsen Bay in the winter of 1956 is no place to become a technology snob!
The author, left, with Stanley McCormick and two of his sisters, outside the shack in the fall of 1956.
Everybody heads for the beach below the village at extreme low tide to go clam digging! (16mm movie frame)
The little chapel is a center for regular activity, all winter long. There are clubs for the kids, three services a week, and lots of special programs with village participation, for practically every holiday. If you saw the frigid and austere surroundings of Larsen Bay in the winter, you wouldn't be surprised that we'd find ways of filling the time. But I have to say I love the church services run by Dad and Mom. We got new hymnbooks in 1955, green Southern Baptist Broadman Hymnals, and I have memorized almost every song. I love "When We All Get to Heaven," "Trust and Obey," "Glory to His Name," "Wonderful Words of Life," and dozens more. Being young, I'm not past misunderstanding a few of the lines. I can never understand the first line of "Moment by Moment," which says, "Dying with Jesus by death reckoned mine..." and I once completely misunderstood a verse of "We're Marching to Zion." The verse says, "Let those refuse to sing who never knew our God..." and I promptly started looking around to see if anyone wasn't singing. I asked Mom about it after the service, and she said that's not what it meant. But what I get out of these hymns is a lot of personal, vital theology that will stay with me for the rest of my life. "Then let our songs abound, and every tear be dry!"
This picture is of the congregation circa 1953, plus Sootball the dog. In the mid-50s, Dad built a bell tower.
About the photo: the chapel got its new bell tower in the mid-1950s, with a bell that came from Norman Smith's first church in Washington. Notice the clotheslines. Clothes could dry outside, but they would also often just freeze. Our laundry was done by hand, or only when Dad would start up the generator and use the wringer washer. Hot water was heated on the stove for that purpose. The process took many hours to complete.
<P>A worship service in the chapel at Larsen Bay, summer of 1953. Kodiak Baptist Mission superintendent Bill Stone and his wife Zelma are on the far right, with my brother Noel Smith beside them.
The Smith family celebrates Palm Sunday, 1957 in the little chapel. Joyce Smith is playing one of the first electric pianos, a genuine, tube-powered Wurlitzer with sound from electrified tuning forks.
Our New "Warehouse" and a New Direction
My older brother and sisters are away most of the day at school. Noel and Jerilynn are in the upper grades, and Robin is in the middle grades. The village is far too small for a preschool, but Mom makes one, and she invites some of my friends in to color and sing and play with toys. The big kids are in their first year in a brand new, two-room schoolhouse, built just up the hill from our new warehouse. And every day I can hear Dad pounding away in the warehouse, putting up the walls and running the electrical wiring for the times he runs the generator. How he got the materials for the warehouse is an interesting story. The thick, corrugated "tin" (actually galvanized steel) plates that coat the roof and sides of the warehouse, as well as nearly every plank and beam, have been scrounged from an abandoned cannery at the mouth of Larsen Bay. The cannery was far too deteriorated to repair, and Dad got permission from the owners to dismantle one of the larger buildings and use whatever he could. I remember the noise of the guys up on the roof, and the danger of removing the heavy building materials from the rickety old buildings and stacking them on the deck (actually, the roof of the cabin) of the Evangel. One of the few times I've seen my mom petrified was when I was walking on a loose plank and nearly fell in between the ancient pilings and sagging cross braces into the dark green water beneath the dock. From then on, I walked in places that Mom said were safe, and didn't go near the dismantling operation. But Dad has scrounged some wonderful, solid stuff from those old buildings, and our warehouse will stand solid for many years to come.
Top photo: the old Uyak cannery as it looked in 1915 (notice the sailing ship!) From an old postcard. Bottom photo: the abandoned Uyak cannery in 1956. Harvester Island is in the background.
Uyak cannery, left, and the warehouse in Larsen Bay built from the materials. The wonderful old building materials made a very solid warehouse and home for us.
As the spring approaches, our warehouse nears completion. I finally get a guided tour, now that nothing can fall or break off anymore. The warehouse is two big rooms with high ceilings. After years of ducking his head in the shack, Dad has designed ten-foot ceilings into this one! The front room will be our new home, and the back will have space for doing and hanging the laundry as well as lots of storage space. There are Blazo boxes floor to ceiling along three walls of the back room, and I quickly learn how to climb up them to retrieve some treasure without causing the whole stack to topple. But the front room is a wonder. There is green-painted plywood on the floor and four feet up the sides, to handle tough use. There is a nifty arrangement of strung wires with blankets over them to serve as individual rooms, and as promised, I have a bed. There is a large table made out of beams and plywood, that is big enough for all my friends to sit around without feeling crowded. And in the corner is a very nice oil stove, ready for use. Best of all, the nooshnik is just a few steps outside the door. Maybe we won't have to use the "honey bucket" so much now!
Clockwise from top center: the new school, the shed for storing the Evangel supplies during the winter, our outhouse (nooshnik, in local language) and the new warehouse, early spring, 1957 . The object draped across the shed and nooshnik could be a temporary power line, to provide electricity as Dad and Noel finish the building.
The day comes when we move into the warehouse, and I think we all enjoy being in one big room instead of being in what amounts to one long hallway. In the shack, everyone at the back of the house had to march through all the other little rooms, making a way around beds and dressers and boxes, just to get to the kitchen. It was bound to be hard for anyone (like little baby me, for example) to get a good nap! Now, even though we are all in one big room, the curtains between the beds make for a slightly more private, yet still communal, existence. In the morning it is one of my jobs to pull aside all of the curtains to give us more floor space. We can even push the beds against the wall and have lots of room for activities. The windows on three sides are high up, and the ceiling is white, so even on cloudy days, there seems to be more light in the house than there was in the shack.
It could take weeks for letters to arrive in Larsen Bay. Here, the Shuyak, licensed mail carrier, makes an early-morning departure from Larsen Bay. It was on a two-week (weather permitting) schedule. The Shuyak was one of the few boats insured for year-round use. The Evangel and most of the fishing boat fleet were insured for only part of the year.
Robin and Jerilynn at the little village post office after the Shuyak came in.
My pleasure at my new home is to be short lived, for one day Dad and Mom get a letter (probably mailed a couple of months before) from their Mission Board bosses. The letter is informing them that we will be living somewhere in Washington State, where all our relatives live, for the 1957-1958 school year. My parents will be speaking in various churches, and having some time to visit the family, and we will be living in a city somewhere with running water, a telephone, electricity all the time, and cars whizzing by our front door. I can't even conceive of the situation when it is explained to me. But the rest of the letter states that the Evangel and our family will then be based out of Ouzinkie, because the Baptist orphanage there, Baker Cottage, is going to be closed down. We are to move in and run a village ministry from it like we've been doing in Larsen Bay. It is a big shock to us, but the consolation is that we can always come back to Larsen Bay and the chapel and our new warehouse, when we are traveling with the Evangel. So our new warehouse never gets to be much else than a summer cabin for us. I put all of this out of my mind when Mom reminds me that we still will have all summer to live on the Evangel, visit the villages, and spend time at Camp Woody. Besides, Mom says I will like my grandparents in Washington, whom I've never seen.
After moving to Ouzinkie in 1958, we often returned to Larsen Bay. This is a Vacation Bible School in 1960. The following year we put white siding on the bell tower. My sisters Robin and Jerilynn are in the back row on the left. I am in the front row, in a white shirt and jacket. My brother Kelly was a toddler and was probably taking a nap. Brother Noel was already away at college, and working for the summer.
Summer of 1961. Kelly is in the foreground, as Dad and sister Robin work on the chapel.
Back to Sea!
By the time school is finally out in early May, I am ready to go places and do things on the Evangel again. We spend a few days cleaning and repairing the boat. The first few hours on the boat are musty, clammy ones, for the stove must be restarted and run for awhile before it gets comfortable, and it never completely loses the musty smell, since underneath the floorboards is a bilge that is never completely dry. But I don't care about that, because I know the Evangel will be shipshape in short order. The most exciting moment is when the batteries are all charged up and it's time to start the engine. The whine of the starter goes a bit too long, but the engine catches, sputters, and growls to life. The puffy white smoke in the stack changes to nearly invisible, the engine settles into its proper rhythm, Dad likes the way it is staying cool, and we go up on deck, untie ourselves, and head out somewhere. I can hear the clunk and clatter Mom is making as she stashes the canned goods and puts away all our clothes in the big bins under the cabin benches.
About the picture: This is a 16mm movie frame of Norman Smith and Nick Malutin getting the Evangel ready to sail again in the spring. Dad has the old Northern shortwave radio and the battery in the wheelbarrow, and Mr. Malutin carries the long bamboo pole wrapped with a copper wire antenna. The old gray schoolhouse and the chapel's bell tower are just visible in the upper left-hand corner of the photo.
The Evangel on the beach near the point in Larsen Bay, getting ready to be painted. Norman Smith inspects the planking and the joints, and does all the necessary repairs before heading out again.
Before we take the boat out for any long trips, Dad will pull the boat up on a sandy beach near the cannery and scrape and paint her with copper bottom paint. Sometimes the paint is bright turquoise color, and other times it is a deep rust color, depending on the brand and availability. We don't hire anything done on the boat if Dad can do it and the rest of us can help. I learn to scrape paint as well as anyone, and before I can comfortably master penmanship, I will have mastered painting (follow the grain of the wood, so the paint gets into every little crease in the planks). I am allowed to paint anywhere except near the edges of another color - someone else does that. Dad sometimes has me paint the rudder and the metal rod that holds the rudder in place, because there's nothing close to it that shouldn't be painted. When I get a little older, I will master the fine art of painting around the windows and other more advanced skills. Soon, the bottom is sparkling, the superstructure and hull glisten with bright white paint and San Juan green trim (named after the color of the hulls of all the San Juan cannery boats out of Uganik). The decks have a new coat of gray paint mixed with sand, to help keep us from slipping. The boat looks like new, at least for a few weeks. No boat stays looking nice for long in the harsh environment of the North Pacific, but we keep that boat looking as nice as anyone's.
Soon the tide comes in far enough to float the Evangel, and Dad fires up the Lathrop engine, carefully pulling away from the beach and into deep water. Dad pulls out a rolled up chart from the slats above the wheel in the pilothouse, checks his compass, has me run back and check the rpms on the Lathrop's big dial back in the engine room, and we head down the bay and out to sea once more!
To proceed with Evangel voyages, follow the links to:
Heading Back Out to Sea (the Evangel at Harvester, Zachar Bay and Village Islands)
Life in Larsen Bay Part Two:A Larsen Bay Photo Gallery
Larsen Bay, 1964(The last voyage there with the Evangel)
(Still Under Construction)Link to Larsen Bay, 1998 (a return to my first home after 34 years)
Written by Timothy Smith, web author. See the About Me page for more information. Always feel free to send me comments, suggestions or corrected information about this article or any of the articles on this site. (Write to: Tanignak@aol.com) This article and website is © 2005 Timothy L. Smith, Tanignak Productions, 14282 Tuolumne Court, Fontana, California, 92336 (909) 428 3472. Images unless otherwise listed are from the collection of Rev. Norman L. Smith or the Timothy L. Smith collection. This material may be used for non-commercial purposes, with attribution. Please email me with any specific requests. You are welcome to link to this site.
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