Men drowned in Charlie Lake.
I posted about Colonel Lane of the 341st and his problem—getting a supply road up to Ft Nelson to support the 35th. At mid-May he thought he had found a solution—rafts up Charlie Lake would bypass the 12 most difficult miles of sucking muskeg. The 74th Pontoon Company launched a broad, flat raft, equipped with several 22 horsepower outboard motors, riding on three pontoons. And on May 14, loaded with a radio car, a small angle dozer, two officers and fifteen enlisted men, the ungainly craft motored out onto the lake.
Local Canadians could have warned Colonel Lane—had it occurred to him to ask.
Storms occasionally visited Charlie Lake—often quite suddenly– and, when that happened, the winds churned the placid mill pond into raging surf. On May 14th one of those storms came to visit. Two hours out, just a couple of miles from their destination, the violent combination of wind and waves capsized the raft and pitched its passengers and cargo into the icy water.
A survivor, Corporal Robert Wooldridge, described the accident in a letter to his sister from his hospital bed.
At 8 o’clock, I was ordered by Lieut. Nelson to take my radio
car down to a lake and load it on a pontoon float . . . there was
a Caterpillar and gas cans [on the pontoon] . . . it was only eight
inches out of the water supported by three flat pontoons . . . we
had to go against the waves all the way . . . as we rounded the
last bend in the lake . . . the wind was the strongest and we
started shipping water faster . . . we put all hand pumps to use.
The Major [Turvey], a Lieutenant [Hargis] and myself were
inside the car keeping warm . . . trouble started and the Major
got out . . . he ordered us to head into shore.
As the pontoon under the Caterpillar started turning broadside
of the waves, I could see it would sink . . . we got out of the car.
I just put my feet on the raft when the whole thing went over and
over. The command car was tipping towards me so I jumped and
swam as fast as I could to keep from being pinned under it . . .
The Lieutenant couldn’t swim and was yelling “please save me”.
A mile upstream was a little cabin and the trapper eating his
breakfast had seen us bobbing in the water . . . so he hopped into
his row boat and came after us . . .he rowed so hard the oar cracked
. . . he made three trips and I was in the second.
Gus Harden, Swedish Army veteran, had made his way to Fort St. John and Charlie Lake fifteen years before. Not much happened to disturb the tough old trapper’s routine. On the morning of May 14, 1942, though, he watched the progress of the raft through the window over his breakfast table with mounting concern. When the raft disappeared, leaving “some black things bobbing around”, he grabbed his small skiff and rowed to the rescue.
Lane had spent May 14th north of the Lake, locating a path for his regiment. When he returned to E Company, a horrified Lt. Strain informed him that the raft had swamped and sunk. Some men had drowned.
Lane hurriedly gathered some men and found a pontoon boat. With long poles they pushed themselves along the shore to Gus’ cabin. In broken English, the old trapper explained how he rescued the five, but lost Lt. Hargis. On his second trip two men hung on the side of his boat. One could not hang on any longer and dropped off. He said that the other men yelled out “That is our Lt. Hargis. Save him if you can. He is the best ever.” Gus went out again but could not find him.