B  Last Year of Baffin Island  A
Activities by the Geographical Branch,
1966–1967

The most successful Baffin Island season to date—that of 1966—was augmented by advances in many other areas in Canadian government geography. The newly designed desk-size Atlas of Canada1 was beginning to take shape. A study had been completed on the impact of tourism on the economy of Prince Edward Island; it included a map of the extent of shoreline loss to public access due to land purchases for private summer cottages, especially by the rich of New England. A regional study of the Cypress Hills was in its second season. The Minister of Transport had strongly approved the first phase of investigation of the Prairie railway branch line system by Tony Burges. Professor Alice Coleman (University of London), director of the Land Use Survey of Britain, whom I had tempted to join us during her sabbatical leave, was well into a collaboration with the National Capital Commission and the City of Ottawa in a study of city, greenbelt, and surrounding land-use and land-planning problems. There were many other geographical activities.

The third meeting of the new national advisory committee on geographical research had been held in May 1966, with a second round of research grants awarded to academic geographers. And I was being invited to give lectures—on both the Baffin Island program and the general work by the branch—by university departments of geography across the country as well as to local service clubs. So I remained confident that my plans for the branch would meet with success.

Major changes afoot in the department

The department—now the Department of Energy, Mines, and Resources, as of June 1966—was changing rapidly, however. Dr. van Steenburgh had officially retired but was retained for a year in a science advisory capacity. The new DM, Dr. Claude Isbister, was an unknown quantity to me. Nevertheless, I was hopeful because of slight contacts through our mutual membership in the Ottawa Unitarian Congregation, our church, although I perceived him as a somewhat remote personality. Below the deputy minister level, there were four assistant deputy ministers (ADMs) to oversee a much enlarged departmental structure. Dr. Jim Harrison, as ADM for Earth Sciences, remained as my immediate superior. The Inland Waters Branch was now part of a much larger structure, with its own ADM whose responsibilities included the newly formed Bedford Institute of Oceanography and a Great Lakes water research institution. This placed glaciology beyond the immediate purview of “earth sciences,” let alone the Geographical Branch.

On the positive side, relations with the growing number of collaborating federal institutions and the universities were excellent. Then, in early December, Dr. Van invited me into his office for a chat. He presented me with a surprise report: the Organizational Study of the Department of Energy, Mines, and Resources was dated July 1966, but with a notation to the effect that it be made available to a restricted readership only in December 1966. This report was purported to have been based, in part, on interviews with all departmental senior officers, including branch directors. Dr. Van smoothed over my objection that I had not been interviewed by reminding me that there had been three meetings of the National Advisory Committee on Geographical Research as well as the extensive formal discussions of April 15 and 16 that he had chaired and for which I had prepared the very extensive minutes. He pointed out that the new report had not proposed any move or changes for the Geographical Branch. Nevertheless, it contained a somewhat alarming, for me at least, “Recommendation 19,” which read as follows:

Careful consideration be given as to the proper role of the Geographical Branch and a determination made as to whether or not it is really a support function and whether its divisions would be more appropriately located in various branches of the department.

Dr. Van then produced for me a copy of the much larger Part 2 of the report and went over the more specific statements relating to the Geographical Branch.

It is not possible on the strength of the investigation … to make any firm proposals as to the proper role and organizational location of the divisions of the Geographical Branch. Such proposals would require detailed study of the functions of this Branch. For the present, it has been recommended that the Branch be located under the Assistant Deputy Minister, Earth Sciences. It is, however, quite evident that some serious thought should be given to this problem.

There followed a longish paragraph that discussed the branch divisions of Economic Geography, Physical Geography, and Toponymy, concluding with an encouraging statement

that careful thought should be given to the problem and a decision made which will be in the best interests of both the Department and the staff of the Geographical Branch.

Dr. Van urged me to discuss Recommendation 19 with Jim Harrison, pointing out that Jim was a personal friend, not an adversary, who held me in considerable esteem. He assured me that I should feel free to reason with Jim, but, as a partially retired advisor, he (Dr. Van) had no formal authority. He thought that any final decision would likely be made at a much higher level. He urged that there was no need for me to worry, that the very significant progress of the branch had been clearly recognized. I was to be given a full promotional step, retroactive to the beginning of 1966.

In this manner, the position of director of the Geographical Branch was placed on the same level as that of the Geological Survey. Furthermore—and much more important to me, as it had been the issue of a long personal struggle—the “geographer” professional service steps were to be upgraded, in terms of salary brackets, to match those of all other disciplines in the federal civil service. Dr. Van advised me not to discuss the content of the organizational report, but told me that I should feel free to relate the obviously morale-boosting news about salary levels. He also thought I could inform members of the National Advisory Committee about the salary scales. Nevertheless, from all this it was apparent that I was due for a hard winter, although Dr. Van advised that I should remain optimistic and do all I could to shield my staff from any unnecessary concern—or, as I read him, keep the difficulties largely to myself.

This critical meeting was followed up by a most convivial one with Jim Harrison. Jim also assured me that I should not worry but confessed that he could not resist reiterating his earlier offer for me to serve as head of a large new Division of Quaternary Research within the Geological Survey. Again I refused, but this time I acknowledged his considerable compliment. He assured me that my personal future prospects remained very bright.

A surprising invitation

Then, in an almost surreal circumstance, early in the new year I received a startling telephone call from a Jim Archer, Graduate Dean at the University of Colorado, Boulder. He was on a personal mission to recruit a new director for the university’s Institute of Arctic and Alpine Research—and I was his preferred candidate. Would I accept an invitation to visit Boulder? I explained that I was a Canadian by choice (that is, an immigrant), that I already had a most challenging position, and that I had no wish to leave Canada. However, I allowed him to persuade me to accept an invitation to give a lecture on the Baffin Island project and spend three days on the Boulder campus. When he said that the invitation was to include my entire family, I replied that I would rather come alone as I did not want to create a sense of personal obligation.

I left Ottawa for Denver on February 13, 1967. The morning temperature at Ottawa’s airport was –30.6°C (–23°F). The next morning, Boulder was enjoying bright sun, its impressive mountain backdrop, and a temperature that was about 26°C (80°F) higher than that in Ottawa. For three days I was treated royally—group dinners; a day’s visit to the Mountain Research Station in the Front Range, at three thousand metres; and an overwhelming response from a large audience following my lecture. I was finding it very hard to say no to Archer’s job offer. So I devised a response that would make me totally unaffordable: a demand for six new faculty positions, support staff, financial support for a new quarterly scientific journal (complete with editor), and a new building. To my acute embarrassment, all of my “conditions” were accepted as reasonable. But why me? I was told I had received exceptional recommendations from Dr. A. Lincoln Washburn and Professor J. Ross Mackay, senior colleagues and advisors.

Dean Archer personally drove me to the airport the final morning (as, indeed, he had met me on arrival), although I left him with a firm refusal. But as the following weeks slipped by, I began to rethink the situation in view of certain dark clouds that had begun to gather on the horizon. Two things happened, one minor, one major, that proved influential. But so far as I could see, they were not connected.

One morning toward the end of February, Bob Code, director of personnel, telephoned to say that the Ives family had been accorded a considerable honour. We had been selected as one of the first of twelve families in a new federal government program for a full year’s total immersion in Québecois culture. He knew that I would receive a strong welcome from Université Laval and this would be an excellent opportunity for all of us to become proficient in French, which in turn would greatly improve my prospects for advancement in the civil service.

The second was a late-March telephone call from the deputy minister, Dr. Isbister. He calmly informed me that the Geographical Branch was to be disbanded and that I should begin to consider my personal future. I was aghast. This, for me, came completely out of the blue. I protested, only to be met by a gruff statement that there was to be no discussion. He urged me to take a week to think it through, and then to arrange for a meeting with him—but to keep my decision strictly confidential.

After six days, I telephoned the DM’s secretary and asked for an interview. I was told to try again the next day as he was too busy. I tried for three days and was rebuffed at each call. On the final try, I asked the secretary to inform Dr. Isbister that unless he responded, I would call a full staff meeting that afternoon and deliver the bad news. That quickly brought him to the phone. He reminded me that the decision was strictly confidential and would remain so until the following August. I explained that he had put me in an impossible situation. I felt a strong obligation to my staff, and I was sure that several of them would want to apply for university positions. I was amazed to hear him say that was why he wanted the decision kept confidential: he didn’t want to lose research staff to the universities—at least, not until so late in the year that anyone who wanted to apply would be too late. Upon my protest that the situation was morally intolerable, he asked if I knew the meaning of the word “insubordination.” This both alarmed and angered me. I found myself trembling but told him to send me an instruction in writing and I would give him the pleasure of flouting it. I said I would go ahead with a full staff meeting that afternoon. The last words that I ever received from Dr. Isbister were these: “Ives, as far as I am concerned, you no longer exist.” This was completely beyond anything I could have expected. Was I at risk of being fired? I called in my secretary, Donna, and asked her to set up a full staff meeting for that afternoon.

A major reorganization—and the response

The afternoon was decidedly tense. Everyone was shocked, although I assured them that nobody was in danger of losing their jobs—that it was “simply” a question of departmental organization. I also reminded them that, after a long struggle, the formal “geographer” job classification had been upgraded to match that of the Geologist scale and every other professional scale in the civil service. I admitted that in calling the meeting I had defied the specific instructions of the DM, and that I would explain the reasons for this privately to anyone who might wish to know. Understandably, I had several requests for private interviews.

After the meeting, I worked with Donna to prepare telegrams, with longer follow-up letters, to send to the chairs of all Canadian departments of geography and to members of the National Advisory Committee, whose volunteer service over the past two years I judged to have been mocked. I added that neither I nor, to my knowledge, any single geographer had been consulted about the decision to dismember the branch. Copies were delivered by hand to Dr. Isbister and Dr. Harrison.

Within several days there was an immediate response from across the country. The minister, the Honourable Jean-Luc Pépin, was deluged with telegrams and phone calls. Many demanded a full explanation, others an urgent reconsideration. All condemned the decision and especially the way in which it had been made. Dr. Harrison asked me to his office. I was very nervous; however, my feelings were immediately relieved as he sat me down and cordially poured coffee. Then he made an inevitable remark, to the effect that I had certainly created a stir. My breach of confidentiality on such a large scale had caused an enormous reaction. The minister was extremely upset; Dr. Isbister was outraged. Dr. Van, at least, and as usual, had provided some light relief (for Jim Harrison, that is—not Isbister). Jim said that during the immediate high-level conclave in the DM’s office, Dr. Van had half-laughingly reminded the others that he had warned this was not the way “to handle Ives.” Nevertheless, Minister Pépin had telephoned Jim and asked him to let me know that he, the minister, wanted to see me in his office on Parliament Hill. Pépin had explained that his secretary would notify me directly of a time and date.

I couldn’t help asking Jim whether my portending visit to the minister’s office would take place in the formal custody of a red-coated officer. He replied that it was likely the minister would try to smooth things over for me and ask for suggestions on how to mollify the Canadian geographical profession. Jim explained that I certainly shouldn’t worry too much, although I should not expect any further contact with the DM. Jim saw me out with a warm handshake, a real act of friendship, and sent me back to my office, where I then tried to unravel what was happening.

Pépin had been appointed Minister of Energy, Mines, and Resources only a few months earlier. At the time, I had written him a formal letter of congratulation; it had included information about the branch’s adoption of Samuel de Champlain as our Canadian geographical hero and about our use of Champlain’s famous astrolabe as the model for both our new branch shield and the cover of the Geographical Bulletin—a copy of which I had enclosed. Pépin’s response had been rapid and extremely warm, applauding our adoption of Champlain and concluding with the following line:2

Your new symbol represents a challenge to all members of the Geographical Branch—to follow in Champlain’s footsteps is not an easy task.

—Jean-Luc Pépin, 16 January 1967

Within a week of my meeting with Jim Harrison, my nervousness had by no means abated as I approached the minister’s office. I should not have worried. I was received agreeably, and I found myself in the presence of a singularly attractive person of distinguished bearing. There was a choice of tea or coffee, together with a plate of cookies. The minister expressed his personal regrets, while at the same time indicating that I had certainly caused a great commotion and a lot of extra work for him. He then went on to say that he hoped I would help him to come up with ideas on how to appease the universities. He also explained that there was no way in which the decision could be reversed and that it had been made prior to his appointment as minister.

There followed a relaxed conversation in which the minister posed numerous questions concerning my views about geography and Canada, but especially about what he could do to help close the rift that had been created. After some discussion, he agreed to intervene with the upper administration of the department to ensure that $30,000 would be budgeted to enable the 1972 International Geographical Congress to be held in Montreal.3 Next, he would do all he could to support the National Atlas program and the Geographical Bulletin. He explained that Dr. Harrison was enthusiastic about the Baffin Island project and that its continuation was assured. Finally, he accepted my request that he offer to make a speech during the annual meeting of the Canadian Association of Geographers. Conveniently, the 1967 meeting was scheduled to be held at Carleton University (in Ottawa) within a few weeks. In order to prepare and to say the “right things,” the minister asked if I would write a draft speech for him. As I was taking my leave, he wished me a good summer in Baffin Island; he then expressed surprise and disappointment when, in thanking him, I explained that, with regret, after my final visit to my Arctic paradise, I would be moving with my family to Boulder, Colorado.

That was the only time I met with the Honourable Jean-Luc Pépin. A few days after that personal meeting, he sent me the final text he intended to present to the Canadian Association of Geographers. I was elated to see that he was accepting practically all of my suggestions as his commitment in writing. And he had added a variation on one of my favourite quotations for his concluding remark, thereby identifying the source of at least some of his commitments, as my enthusiasm for this quotation was well known:

As Mrs. Malaprop says in Sheridan’s The Rivals, “I would have her instructed in geography that she may know something of the contagious countries.”4

From Baffin Island to the Colorado Rockies, 1967

The 1967 field season proved an extremely strange experience for me. First, considering the logistics, the total number of personnel, and the number of contributing institutions, it was the most ambitious and complicated operation of the entire seven-year Baffin period. The air support included the usual early season DC-3 on ski-wheels, with the first group of staff reaching the field at the beginning of May. On this occasion, there were two Spartan Air Services Bell helicopters, the second chartered jointly with the Canadian Wildlife Service, which had a team camping in the Nettilling and Amadjuak lakes area on a study of the summer nesting ground of the blue goose. David Harrison was the chief helicopter pilot and Jim Crawford the second. (Fig. 51)

Fig. 51: Inugsuin base camp in 1967. The double helicopter charter of 1967 greatly intensified the fieldwork, easing the pressure to move personnel and equipment to distant field camps. (Photo: August 1967)

Our late request for a second helicopter, however, resulted in an unusual turn of events. Spartan didn’t have one available; it was necessary for the company to purchase a brand new Bell 47 G4A (with a more powerful engine). David had to fly down to Fort Worth, Texas, in May to pick it up and fly it back to Ottawa. As the Canadian registration did not come through in time, David operated all summer under the U.S.-registered N7919S. Tom Murray, our prized engineer and baker of fresh bread, was not available this summer. Jim O’Shaughnessy ably took his place and serviced both machines from the Inugsuin base—but didn’t bake us fresh bread for dinner.

A Cessna floatplane joined us for the later open-water period. (Fig. 52) As in 1966, CCGS d’Iberville was made available in September for more extensive submarine mapping along the northeast coast. Mike Church pushed the field season to its extreme limits by continuing his work on the Ekalugad sandur until he was picked up by icebreaker in October.5

Fig. 52: The Cessna proved a great support during the open-water season, and where landing possibilities could be located, it significantly reduced the cost of extensive dependency on the choppers. (Photo: August 1967)

The federal institutions collaborating in Baffin Island in 1967 included the Inland Waters Branch, the Bedford Institute of Oceanography, the Canadian Hydrographic Service, the Surveys and Mapping Branch (for extensive air photography leading to a series of excellent 1:50 000 topographic maps), and the Geodetic Survey for radio-echo sounding and strain rate determinations on the Barnes Ice Cap.

All these activities related to the core of the Geographical Branch operations. Contributing universities included (and university personnel came from) Queen’s, McGill, York University, and University of Manitoba, as well as Nottingham and Southampton, in the U.K., and Yale, Maine, and Wisconsin, in the United States. Thus, many academic disciplines and technical surveys were accommodated under the general branch leadership; hence the personal sense of strangeness that I am sure was felt by many of the participants. The fate of the branch had been sealed, and it would cease to exist as an entity before the end of 1967. After my departure for Colorado, Dr. Keith Fraser undertook the onerous duties of acting director. While Canadian government research activities on Baffin Island were to continue for several more years, many of the principals left Ottawa. Even a number of Canadian students chose to follow suit, several completing their postgraduate degrees at the University of Colorado. The total number of participants in the 1967 season was logged at thirty-eight, of whom five were women.

The DC-3 flew north from Ottawa on May 10 with Martin Barnett and Doug Christian, our excellent first full-time resident base camp manager, who were in charge of the supply flights. Olav Løken, along with his Barnes Ice Cap group, worked intensively across the south dome between mid-May and the end of June. Most of the others were in position with helicopter support by the end of June. Olav returned to Ottawa in late June and I did not arrive until July 21. John Andrews operated very much “off-centre” and unusually late in the season. He spent the period from September 11 to September 22 making a reconnaissance of Broughton Island, some 150 kilometres south of the main field area. This was the first phase of what had been intended as a major extension of the research activities on southeastern Baffin Island.6 Thus, for the period from late June until my arrival on July 21, the expedition ran itself. The operation went remarkably smoothly. While many of the personnel were Baffin veterans, Doug Christian and David Harrison played vital roles by maintaining a gentle control over the many camp moves that were needed.

Glaciology and hydrology

The 1967 season included studies of ice thickness, surface movement, and mass balance of the south dome of the Barnes Ice Cap, undertaken by Olav and several assistants. Maximum thickness at the south dome was 550 metres, while the underlying bedrock surface varied between about 300 and 550 metres asl. This confirmed the work of previous years farther north that showed the ice cap sits on an undulating plateau with surface characteristics comparable to those of the surrounding ice-free areas. Surface movement was determined as very slight, ranging between 2.29 and 24.19 metres in the course of the previous twelve-month period. Again, there was further confirmation of the asymmetric nature of the mass balance, with higher accumulation along the northeast side of the ice cap. Strain rates were also determined along all three margins, and evidence was obtained that implied some form of glacier surge had affected the southwestern margin in the past.

Work on the Decade Glacier, under the direction of Alan Stanley of the Inland Waters Branch, repeated that of 1966 and recorded another year of negative mass balance. Hydrographic and climate stations were maintained on the lower Decade and Inugsuin rivers, as well as at the climate station high on the glacier.

Roger Barry spent the period from June 26 to July 16 working between Inugsuin base camp and the Barnes Ice Cap. He established three unmanned climate stations, one on the crest and one each beyond the southwestern and northeastern margins. He also undertook to improve the instrumentation and recording capabilities of the short-term climate stations at base camp, Ekalugad Fiord, and other locations. The anticipated data were intended to feed into a synoptic climatology of Baffin Island. Roger was on sabbatical leave for the year from the University of Southampton, U.K.7

Glacial geomorphology

This season saw a total concentration on the Home Bay area of the northeast coast. Cuchlaine King, assisted by Lyn (Drapier) Arsenault and Mary (Strom) Millest, worked from seven campsites extending from the high mountains of the midsection of Henry Kater Peninsula to the outer coast. Their work involved tracing the multiple moraine systems and surveying raised marine beaches and the marine limit; they also collected numerous mollusc shells for radiocarbon dating.

John England, assisted by Tim Sookocheff and Patrick McLaren, undertook similar studies throughout the Home Bay fiords to the south, extending the work begun the previous year by John Andrews and Jane Philpot. Together the combined work of the two seasons would provide extensive data for mapping the profile of the deglacial marine limit and drawing isobases (contours) on lower emergent shorelines throughout the Home Bay area (the shorelines were tilted up toward the southwest). Efforts were made to match different sea levels and late-glacial retreat phases that showed the pattern of withdrawal of the outlet glaciers onto the central Baffin plateau.

Mike Church, with four assistants, extended the 1966 study of the Ekalugad sandur (glacial outwash plain). With support from Surveys and Mapping Branch staff, a detailed topographic map was made of the sandur and surrounding valleys. Mike’s work included detailed studies of river discharge, silt content and sedimentation, pebble counts from numerous localities, and the maintenance of a climate station. As an example of the data-intensive nature of the work, 148 points across the “old” and recent sandur surfaces involved over 46,000 measurements on more than 14,000 sandur cobbles. Mike’s research eventually led to his doctoral degree in UBC’s department of geography (Church, 1970). A version was also published as a monograph by the GSC (Church, 1972). (Figs. 53 and 54)

Fig. 53: The challenge of collecting samples from a fast-flowing river in Baffin Island. A homemade breeches buoy. Mike Church is being pulled across the Ekalugad River by June Ryder and Penny Crompton. (Photo: August 1967)

Fig. 54: The Ekalugad Camp in 1967. Mike Church, in background. (Photo: August 1967)

June Ryder, assisted by Penny Crompton, continued her work of the previous year with minute survey and measurement of talus slopes and alluvial fans throughout the Ekalugad area. June and Penny also joined with Mike’s group during periods of intensive water and sediment sampling.

Submarine survey

Doug Hodgson worked from CCGS d’Iberville in September to greatly expand the submarine mapping that Olav had initiated in 1966. Between Pond Inlet in the farthest north and Broughton Island in the south, 5,700 kilometres of survey was completed. This included 3,200 kilometres offshore and 2,500 kilometres along the fiords. The greatest depths were recorded for the Scott Inlet trough, which demonstrated more than seven hundred metres of glacial overdeepening.

Biology

Pat Webber, with three assistants—John Richardson, Bill Phillips, and Ron Irvine—undertook an intensive plant survey in the Home Bay area during the period of June 30 to August 24. Along with his earlier seasons’ research, this completed an extensive survey of north-central Baffin Island botany, in addition to the lichenological investigations. I enjoyed a prolonged field visit during which Pat demonstrated his immaculate approach to recording the lichens and vascular plants. It was his recollection, he said many years later, that it was during this field visit that I persuaded him to join me in Boulder, Colorado (P. J. Webber, personal communication, June 2013).8

Another aspect of Baffin Island botany was taken up by J. A. Parmelee of the Plant Research Institute, Canadian Department of Agriculture. He was able to visit many of the DEW Line sites and our base camp on Inugsuin Fiord, completing a survey and extensive collection of the fungi of this hitherto mycologically virtually unknown area of central Baffin Island. Parmelee collected over 500 specimens of phaneogams and cryptogams along with soil samples for laboratory identification of soil fungi; he also collected 450 specimens of mosses. The mycological specimens were to be deposited in the Canadian National Mycological Herbarium, and many duplicate specimens were to be distributed as part of the normal herbarium exchange program. The vascular specimens were for deposit in the Phanerogamic Herbarium; both herbaria are housed at the Central Experimental Farm operated by Agriculture and Agri-Food Canada.

The nunatak hypothesis and mountain photography

The 1967 expedition provided my final opportunity to examine mountaintops for evidence of the former presence of ice age glacial activity and to extend my catalogue of landscape and glacier photography. The generally excellent clear weather of the previous two seasons was not repeated, although David, as usual, proved able to grasp every opportunity, especially with a more powerful Bell 47 G4A machine. Especially worthwhile flights were made along Ayr Lake, Clyde Inlet, and McBeth Fiord with repeated summit landings. One particularly unsuccessful operation involved an attempt to re-examine the outer coast immediately south of Clyde Inlet. As we approached the coast we ran into severe turbulence, which forced us to abort any further flight into that area and take refuge on the shore of tiny Bute Island, just off the outermost southern cape of Clyde Inlet. Conditions kept us pinned down there for over twenty hours. On July 16, we were able to escape and struggle our way to the Clyde River settlement. As a result, we had a rare opportunity to photograph several of the local people and purchase a large number of Ookpiks (the entire stock, in fact) from the Hudson’s Bay Company store.9 Then began a very dicey flight back to base camp. The weather remained ugly and very dark, and we had not been able to acquire a satisfactory supply of helicopter fuel at Clyde. But two ten-gallon drums of fuel had been cached just beyond the halfway point. Given the still turbulent weather and the riskiness of even one extra landing, however, once we got to the cache David preferred to just keeping going, having calculated that we could get to base camp on the remaining gas. (Figs. 55 and 56)

Fig. 55: Fog forming over Inugsuin Fiord. Rapid development of fog over the fiord water was a constant threat to helicopter and floatplane operations. (Photo: August 1967)

Fig. 56: Rapid development of the fog reaches serious proportions. (Photo: August 1967)

Last 1967 field engagements

August 19 provided a delightful surprise to everyone present at the Inugsuin base camp—with only a week to go before the season’s end, it was a very exciting day. The Canadian Coast Guard ship Wolfe suddenly appeared round the corner of the fiord. No one had been aware that it was coming, and all stood agog on the beach as the ship slowly drew near and anchored well away from the inshore shallows. David took the occasion to broaden his helicopter tactical skills with his own first-ever landing on the deck of a ship. He then siezed the opportunity to ferry several of our group over to the Wolfe, our women students creating considerable interest among the ship’s crew as their presence was a complete surprise. There followed the unloading of fuel and supplies for the following season.

My own final month on Baffin Island had been largely taken up with visiting the field camps, taking additional photographs, and working closely with Doug Christian and David to attempt to satisfy all the understandably heavy demands for helicopter support. Once again, the entire summer operation worked smoothly and was accident-free. All personnel were back in Ottawa by the end of August, except for Mike Church, who was determined to extract as complete a sediment discharge record as possible, and Doug Hodgson, who cruised home with the d’Iberville, having recovered Mike and his assistant from Ekalugad Fiord on the way south. (Fig. 57)

Fig. 57: Twilight of the Geographical Branch Baffin Island expeditions. Goodbye to the DEW Line. (Photo: August 1967)

My farewell to Baffin Island and (for now) Ottawa

I returned home to a few very hectic days. Pauline had already completed the major share of preparing all of our personal effects to be transported to Colorado and coaching our three small, anxious children for their decidedly unwilling departure from their Ottawa home. My last formal actions were to bid a very sad farewell to the Geographical Branch staff and to visit Dr. van Steenburgh. He wished me well, expressed his regrets that I was leaving, and cheerfully projected that it would not be too long before I returned. Little did either of us imagine that it would prove to be thirty years. I was never to see this wonderful gentleman, scientist, and administrator again.

My final official visit was to my ardent sparring partner, assistant deputy minister Jim Harrison. Jim also expressed his regrets and astonishment that I was prepared to leave Ottawa and the department—how could I take such a course when a great career with the federal government was open to me? I couldn’t provide him with an adequate explanation, although I knew in my heart that I couldn’t accept the loss of the Geographical Branch. But I did take the opportunity to make a final request: Could I take the Geographical Branch shield with me as a personal memento? Jim readily agreed that I could but cautioned that the shield was not his to give; technically, it was the property of the Department of Public Works. Yet he thought it appropriate that I should have it and, with a familiar provocative grin, advised that I take it down off the wall overlooking Booth Street early one Sunday morning when there would most likely be no one about. He promised to post bail for me if I was caught by the authorities! We shook hands and he wished me good luck. His parting shot was that he hoped to see me back in Ottawa before many years had passed. It was not long thereafter that, despite the difficult administrative struggle, or perhaps because of it, I found that over the years I had earned a most influential friend.10 I only regret that he did not live long enough to review this manuscript.

Early the following Sunday morning, George Falconer and I raised a ladder against the wall on Booth Street. George held the ladder to keep it from slipping, and I climbed, spanner in hand. My feet were on the second rung from the top before I could reach the top bolt holding the shield to the wall. I worked loose the bolts. As the shield came free, I realized that I had not thought through what I was attempting to do. It weighed much more than I had realized and was bulky into the bargain. I swayed dangerously, clutching the shield to my chest, and almost fell backward off the ladder, dropping the spanner, which narrowly missed George’s head. The street was deserted. I inched my way down the ladder clasping my precious prize. It travelled with me to Boulder, Colorado, then in 1989 to the University of California, and finally back to Ottawa in 1997. It was to my great pleasure in September 2008 that the Atlas of Canada team, from the Surveys and Mapping Branch, welcomed me into their midst and allowed me to “repatriate” the shield to the people of Canada. At last, my long criminal career was at an end. (Fig. 58)

Fig. 58: The shield of the former Geographical Branch is returned to the staff of a branch remnant—the National Atlas group, Surveys and Mapping Branch, Department of Energy, Mines, and Resources. (Photo: June 2003)