The Boating Near Miss With A Happy Ending

THE AMAZING JACK MCVITTIE AND THE BOATING NEAR-MISS ON A BEAUTIFUL MUSKOKA LAKE

     This is a story about misadventure with a happy ending. Historians may read it, and decide amongst themselves, that it is unworthy of inclusion, in the general chronicle of town history. I won't dispute their opinions, in this regard, but it will never thwart me from presenting the story as it is, because of what a second or two of time, gone differently, might have meant for the history of both town and district; as it is very much a story about the near loss, of one of Bracebridge's most progressive, enterprising citizens, critically important to investment in the local economy. If Bracebridge had lost J.P. McVittie, in a boating accident on Lake Muskoka, that day, history as we know it, in this town, would have been denied much of its ink. The ink we historians have given to J.P. McVittie's work and investment in both Bracebridge and Muskoka. A legend would have been denied its full living tenure.

     We had only lived in Bracebridge for a short while, after a move north from Burlington, Ontario, in the late winter of 1966, for reasons of my father Ed's employment. He had been recruited to be part of a new management structure, for one of Bracebridge's, and Muskoka's, historic lumber businesses. Ed was to become a manager of Shier's Lumber Company, working with an old family friend, from Southern Ontario, Robert Jones, who had just, a short time before this, purchased the company from the Shier's family. One of two major inroads the company was making, at that point, was in the development of prefabricated roof trussing, as a better, stronger, more efficient way to build a home. Certainly a worthy innovation for a region known for its heavy winter snow. We had a company car, because our own had died upon our arrival in Bracebridge, and this Shier's advertising vehicle, had a small version of one of the actual wood trusses, mounted on the car's roof racks. Yes it was a car that caught the attention of fellow motorists and pedestrians, and at a certain speed, it began to hum with air vibration. The second inroad of the company in Muskoka, was the real estate component, which heralded a new development period for the small town, of only 2,500 residents. The first property pitch my dad made, was selling lots with new cottages, built by Shier's Lumber, in the Sherwood Forest area, off the Fraserburg Road, on the south branch of the Muskoka River. I would often go with my dad on Sunday's, when he was on duty, as the sales agent for Shier's; and with the insects, and the river, preferred that I stayed close to the car. He might also stay there, if the cottage that was being used as the model, that week, didn't have either heat, on really cold days, or air conditioning, on hot summer days. The bugs in the late spring were unbelievable to city slickers like us, and you couldn't walk very far, unprotected, without being covered and painfully drained of blood. This is not a pleasant memory. I don't have any idea in retrospect, if Ed even sold a single lot or cottage, and this bush assignment only lasted for about four Sunday's that spring, thank God.

     There was a Saturday, that same summer, when Ed called my mother at home, to see if I would like to go on an afternoon boat cruise with him, Bob Jones and his son Robbie, to see some lakefront property for sale on Lake Muskoka. As I didn't have many friends at that point, I was jumping with joy to do something different, than just whipping a tennis ball up against the house, and trying to trap it in my fielder's mitt.

     Ed came home with the company station wagon, with the trademark Shier's truss, on top, and he was so excited about the trip as well, that I wasn't even securely seated, before he was already driving down the street; the door hanging open, and me yelling at him to stop. We drove through town, and down the huge hill, on the south side of the Bracebridge Falls, and down almost to the confluence of the North and South Branches of the Muskoka River. We had to travel past the Shier's Lumber Company on the east side, and we stopped a short distance away, just before the bridge, where there was a designated dock for the use of lumber company patrons. In years after Shier's ceased operation, it was used by the fuel supply boat, "Peerless".     Cottagers often came to town by boat, and for Shier's customers, it was a short walk up the road, to get to the main showroom. Here, we loaded into a sparkling Minett-Shields wooden launch, that had formerly been owned by the Shier family, the name which I have forgotten (this boat is still owned locally) and in great condition. It was a beautiful boat and an incredibly bright, sunny, and hot afternoon.

     If you have never navigated the Muskoka River, at a slow speed, from the falls to the mouth of the river, at Lake Muskoka, it is a long, winding, time-consuming but picturesque adventure. Bob Jones was driving the wooden beauty, and we were all enjoying the sites along the way. I overheard a conversation between Bob and my father, about meeting with a fellow by the name of Jack McVittie, at his cottage on the lake, but the names didn't help much, as Ed and I knew very little about local geography. Almost nothing when it came to knowledge of the Muskoka lakes.

    Outside of learning not to drink too much, in the way of beverages, without a clear idea when the washroom breaks were upcoming, I also picked up a valuable lesson about sunburns, and reasons why you should rub lots, meaning layers upon layers of suntan lotion, on your exposed skin, before taking a boat cruise. And here's the other thing about that! Early on in the cruise up the river, the sun was stinging my exposed arms with heat. There was no way of shielding from it either, and I was also wearing shorts. The sun was beating down, and as a temporary, and stupid measure, I started hanging my arm over the side of the boat, enjoying the sensation of cold river water washing over my skin. I'd even go from side to side, in order to cool off each of my arms, roughly the same way. What, of course, I didn't realize, was that the water droplets, were magnifying the sun rays, and while temporarily soothing, was actually serving to broil my flesh. By time I got home, I was lobster red, and my mother nearly fainted. For four hours in that boat, I was doing roughly the same thing, from departure at noon, to arrival back, at dinner time; and when the trip was over, the pain was like nothing I had ever experienced before. My mother just started screaming at my father for not making sure I had lotion on, or long sleeves, but it was my fault entirely; as I had taken the lotion in the car, but not in the boat, or the long sleeve shirt I also left behind when the tour began. I felt bad for Ed, because he was burned almost as badly, and on the top of his head. He thought I had put lotion on, and I probably lied to him, as kids do, about being thorough with the application. Boys will be boys. But being sun burned was of much less concern that day, as compared to the memory, of coming within seconds of death, by impact, or death by accidental drowning. It happened like this:

     J.P. "Jack" McVittie deserved to have a book written about him. He was a legend in Bracebridge, and Muskoka, even in the mid 1960's. He had a strong personality, and an even stronger determination to do what he wanted, and whether it was speculation on real estate, canoeing alone on an isolated northern lake, in the middle of the bush, or prospecting in the barrens of this country, every one it seemed, in that locale, knew his name. His name was attached to sections of the local landscape, like "McVittie Island." He was known for his entrepreneurial skills, such as his major investment with former town mayor, George Parlett, in the future development of South Muskoka Curling and Golf Club, in the late 1960's, some seeing it as a risky project at a precarious time, which spawned much spin-off development in Bracebridge; yet, just as much, being known and respected, for his keen environmental stewardship in Muskoka, and interests and actions in re-forestation, of areas left barren by clear-cutting. To those close to him, he was respected for his benevolence and personal kindness, behind what others believed was a hardened, gruff character. The man we were about to meet, was well revered for his land investment choices, and there was probably a deal being considered by the owner of Shiers Lumber, at that time, to secure some of these lakefront lots for future cottage development.

     We met Jack, presumably at his cottage / home, although it's very vague to me now. I clearly remember him telling Bob Jones, that he couldn't take the Minnet-Shields launch, into the alcoves we would have to navigate, in order to get close to some of the cottage properties he wanted to show them. So he invited us into one of his fishing or utility boats, presumably, with an outboard engine. It wasn't a big boat, possibly cedar strip, now that I think about it, versus aluminum, and the five of us, fit into it comfortably. Of course, I was pretty burned by this point, and I knew I was in trouble, as the redness got brighter and brighter through the rest of the afternoon.

     Jack navigated us, by turning the outboard engine, (which I had never seen used before), and we slowly moved away from his dock, leaving the wooden launch behind. The smaller, narrower boat, skimmed through the water quite fast, and I was still, at this point, running my arm in the water, because it felt so darn cool and refreshing. We were listening to Jack describing the properties we were passing, and some of the cottages owned by people he knew. We came to one property, a few nautical miles along the shoreline, that he wanted to show Bob and my father up close, which meant Jack was going to bring the boat in for a landing. It didn't look like the best place to pull up tight to the shore, as there were a lot of protruding rocks, such that I had to pull my arm in frequently, to avoid injury. There was a high rock face, and very inhospitable looking rocks dotted along the shoreline. I wasn't a navigator, so my observations were casual, and only meant something to me. I did think that this man must have been a fantastic captain, because he was able to weave in and around these protruding, sharp rocks, without hitting any.

     I may have thought to myself, that he was travelling a little fast, considering the obstacles. The four of us, however, were not watching Jack, because we were looking forward at the property now directly and close ahead. If we had looked back, at the pilot, we would have seen the intense activity, of him trying to disengage the engine's throttle, which as he said later, was "wide open," or something like that, referring to the maximum output of the engine. He was trying to get us through the obvious rocks, and figure out how to cut the juice, to slow the boat down. When we got way too close, for the speed we were travelling, at that moment, we saw Jack with a worried look on his face, trying to fix whatever it was, that had caused the throttle to get stuck wide open. I never saw the man panic, or anything close to over-reaction, but regardless of his apparent confidence, all on board prepared for the impact against the rock face, directly in our path. We'd look back at Jack, and then at the shore, and once again; but at this point, in our collective fears, it was a matter of awaiting what seemed an inevitable impact. And, I suppose, reacting accordingly, when we were flung into the water. I couldn't swim. "Hang on Teddy," yelled my dad, over the roar of the engine. I knew then, we were in trouble, because my father was a die-hard optimist, and a former sailor of the North Atlantic Squadron. If he thought we were going to hit the rocks, I had no reason to doubt him. But then, I didn't know Jack McVittie, who apparently, was also die hard in these dire situations.

     I mentioned this story, to Jack's long time friend, George Parlett, at a lunch several years, at the curling club, both men founded, and I remarked that throughout the near tragic event, which probably lasted for no more than a minute, Jack showed no signs of panic or resignation. George nodded his head, recognizing Jack to have been a confident, stalwart character, who would never give up on a responsibility. At that moment, instead of showing us some interesting Muskoka lake real estate, he was tasked with the responsibility of saving five lives, one being his own. At the speed we were travelling, any impact was going to be severe, and the water was deep. So it was potential, that if we hit the shore, with no soft landing in evergreens possible, we would be knocked unconscious, with broken bones, and cast into the water to either sink or swim.

     I remember looking to the rear, one last time, hoping the pilot had been able to fix the problem. As I looked back, I saw Jack violently turn the outboard engine, so the boat made a sharp, immediate change of direction, at literally the last moment, to the right, with a rough downward gouge into the water, that brought a flood of water overboard. I don't have any idea how we managed to get through the exposed rocks in the water, without so much as a scratch on the bow, or how we didn't hit the shelf of rock below the cliffside, that only had a few inches of water over top. I saw this, as we were wrenched in the boat, side to side, tumbling off our seats. I remember seeing these shallows sparkling in the afternoon sunlight, as we whipped a wave of water at the shore, as if we were on water skis. The passengers wound up on the bottom of the boat, having slid from the bench seats, but a few bruises and a wet behind, were infinitely better, than what could have been the end result, of a collision with an unmovable rock face.

     When we all got back up, and re-seated, Jack shut down the engine, and after clearing his throat, and standing up to get a better look at the engine, told us the throttle had jammed at full speed, and he wasn't able to do anything about it, except navigate us out of the way, as quickly as possible. There wouldn't have been more than several seconds to react, and he was bang on, when he made that decision, to not worry about unjamming the throttle, to instead, make a sharp turn at all cost. This could have meant, that we tumbled out of the boat into the water, and possibly getting hit by the propellor. But at this point, hitting the wall of rock would have seriously injured all of us instead. So Jack McVittie made the right decision, and navigated us safely through dangerous, rocky water, back out to the main lake, relatively unscathed.

     I told George Parlett, that Jack had definitely shown his experience on the water, by the way he reacted to an emergency situation, where, for us, it looked like there was no safe way out of trouble. Once again, he agreed heartily, Jack McVittie was both stalwart and proficient at whatever he set his mind to, and on this day, by happenstance, it was the lives of four new friends and himself, he saved with his evasive reaction. If on that day, we had hit the rock face, Bracebridge history would have been seriously affected, as Jack McVittie had a lot of investment yet to bestow, in a town on the verge of expansive new growth. As for the passengers, we would have lost an air force pilot, with Bob's son Robbie, and a future writer, in Ed's son "Teddy." And the local lumber scene would have been minus one of its most historic businesses. But we lived to tell the story, of how Jack McVittie saved us from the grasp of the grip reaper, by an evasive procedure that was nothing less than miraculous. It was another of my numerous near death experiences, so believe me, when I tell you, how lucky I feel, sitting here now, tapping at this keyboard, in a comfortable studio, in uptown Gravenhurst; thinking back to that boat tour adventure, bordering on the catastrophic, with one of the legends of Muskoka, saving the day.

     My mother ran me a bath that night, and even though it was cool, I cried in pain from the extensive sunburn on my arms, legs, neck and face. But dammit, I was alive.

     Son Robert just handed his old dad, a bottle of water, because I looked thirsty, he said. I looked at his six foot frame, and wavy hair, and thought to myself, oh what a lucky man I was. This lad hovering over me now, is alive, because of the capabilities of Jack McVittie. So is the young fellow, Andrew, hitting the drums in the other room. Oh how history would have changed, from what it is at this moment, if not for the efforts of the courageous captain, of a tiny boat in great peril. This is how I came to know J.P. McVittie, a man and family well documented in the chronicle of Bracebridge, Ontario.

     Thanks so much for visiting with me today. Please join me again for more Muskoka tales and recollections