It was a little frightening. I walked with Ken and Luc rather timidly through the engine compartment of the lead locomotive with its pistons whirling and the constant side to side vibration that only barely distracted me from the deafening din. Suddenly though, we walked through the door into the engineer’s cab, and he greeted us with a huge smile. “We’re just coming into Prince Rupert”, he said. “Along the left you’ll see the posts in the harbour with a bald-headed eagle on each one”. 

Looking through the train engine windows, it was a beautiful site. The Skeena River on the left with its small boats and hundreds of magnificent eagles crowning the post-heads were sticking out of the water; the highway and the high hills surrounding PrinceRupert were on our right. “It’s another sunny day in Prince Rupert”, offered the engineer. We all laughed at that comment as a light misty rain was falling outside the train and the clouds seemed very low to the ground. “Prince Rupert is Canada’s wettest city”, he stated, “but if you look in the distance straight ahead, you’ll see some sunshine breaking through the clouds, and a partial rainbow begging to peak through”. His observation was right, as some sunlight could be seen darting through the clouds, but I would never go so far as to admit that it was a sunny day. Little did we know, in the days ahead, it was forever misting in Prince Rupert and that’s what made everything grow. 

We were met at the train station by a very helpful lady who introduced herself as Susie, the owner of the Totem Lodge where we were staying. She threw our luggage into the back of her F-150 pickup truck, and told us to hop in. “Don’t worry about the seatbelts. Nobody uses them anyway. Just squeeze in”. Fortunately, Susie was a wispy woman, but I might add, strong as an ox. We got as close to one another as we could, but it was a tad crowded. “Hope you like my truck”, she said, and there are many folks who would love to have one just like this”. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but my Dodge Dart was far more comfortable. 

Naturally, Susie enquired about our golf clubs. “Do you government guys take you clubs with you when you do your business”, she said with a sly, I-told-you-so kind of attitude. “We’ve taken them across Canada with us and played golf between public hearings”, said Luc. “We are reviewing passenger train service on behalf of the Canadian government’s transport regulator “. “Commissioner Griffith will be checking in later this week”. “We have four days here in Prince Rupert over the Canada Day holiday”. (As the Hearing Commission Secretary, we looked to Luc to be the “official spokesman” for our work duties). “If you have some time and want to put those clubs to good use, I’ll introduce you to Irv, and he’ll get you into the Prince Rupert Golf Club”, said Susie. “We might have a little free time for golf”, said Luc. 

But before we could find out who Irv was, we were at the motel’s front door. Susie grabbed a couple of suitcases and threw a set of clubs over each shoulder. We followed her into the hotel, and she showed us to our rooms. “No need to sign in, you’re government guys – they always pay. I have a key here for each one of you. I’ll go down to the wharf and get you some fresh fish”, she said. “I’ll even cook it for you if you like”. We looked at each other, wondering who this woman was and why she expected to cook for us. We had always eaten at local restaurants. “That won’t be necessary; can you recommend a good restaurant close by?” asked Ken. “No way, I want your first meal in Prince Rupert to be the best one you’ve ever had”. We looked at each other again, then Luc added the hook that started us on one of the best culinary experiences of our entire trip. “I’ve been told I make the best French onion soup in Matane, he admitted. Can I contribute that to our meal?”. Well who could ever turn down those two offers? Susie asked Luc for a list of necessary ingredients for his soup. “I’ll get everything”, she said, “you guys just get yourselves settled in”. 

What a meal. Susie was a great cook and Ken just happened to have a few bottles of wine left from our last session in Smithers. By the end of the evening we felt that Prince Rupert was the greatest place on earth. Surprisingly, as we looked out the fogged-up windows, we realized it was still daylight. 11:00pm and it was bright enough to see everything! It was gray and misty outside, but obviously we were in the land of the almost-midnight “sun”. We were anxious to see the local golf club, even though the weather outlook for the next few days was cloudy with a chance of rain. Susie told us about the course. She seemed very proud of it. She said it was a Centennial project for Canada’s 100th birthday. “Closed the dump, covered it with some sandy soil dredged up from the harbour, and the following year we had Canada’s finest nine-hole golf course. It’s lush and green all the time”. 

Next morning when we went down for breakfast Susie was waiting to greet us. She told us that Irv would be here any minute. He had to stop off at the Commercial to pay his bill. We had no idea at that moment that the Commercial was anything other than the local bank. As we ate our breakfast, we noticed this obviously ancient green four-wheeled-drive Land Rover with a canvass covered back pull up in front of the motel. The driver quickly closed the door and walked toward the motel. Susie, as usual, was ready to greet any entrant. “Irv”, she screamed. Irv literally picked her up off the ground, circling round and round til I thought they’d both fall over from dizziness. Then he carted her over his shoulder toward our table. Irv set her down and walked up to us. “Hi, I’m so happy to meet the government golfers from Ottawa. Folks just call me Irv. I don’t use my last name. My father was Irish and he also called himself Irv. He left, so I’m the only Irv around now. My mother is Tsimshian from the Kitsumkalum tribe. She’s an elder with Ganhada. Our family are longstanding fishermen along the Skeena. We own the cannery a few miles down the road from here. I don’t fish, though, I’m a heavy equipment crane operator and I work mostly in Alaska during the winter. I make enough money there in winter that I can play golf here all summer. I love golf”. 

We all introduced ourselves, but our intros seemed so mundane by comparison with Irv. Irv took it all in, though, looking each of us straight in the eye when we spoke. And he didn’t miss a word we said as we later found out. It was like he couldn’t get enough of our company and he just kept talking about Prince Rupert, his family, and of course about golf. There was something special about Irv. You had to like him. He had a strong but friendly handshake grip, an infectious smile, and when he spoke, you listened. He could have been a politician. But he didn’t look like one. In fact, he looked a lot like Willie Nelson: sleeveless muscle shirt, headband and ponytail in back. The headband was incredibly ornate, stitched in the finest detail. 

We eventually sat down and ordered breakfast and during that time Irv gave us a hole-by-hole description of the club. He knew everything about it: the length of each hole, the fairway slopes, bunker locations, the size of the greens, where the drainage flowed, what the stimp reading was for the greens (“after the first cut”, he clarified); it’s as if he was the greenskeeper or more likely the original course designer. 

“You guys free for a game now?”, said Irv. Commissioner Griffin wasn’t due until the next day, so we scrambled to our rooms, grabbed our shoes and clubs and brought them back to meet Irv who immediately threw them into the back of his Land Rover. Everybody slid in. “I’ve had this Rover 88 for many years and while it’s not comfortable, it’s been everywhere from here to Alaska. I even ran it on cooking oil for a few miles on the Dempster highway one time when I ran out of gas”. No one questioned the validity of that statement. If Irv said it, it must be true. 

When we got to the club, Irv introduced us to Mac Hammond, the club pro, and he promptly freed up some space for our foursome to play. Irv told us Mac was once the Canadian junior golf champion and learned his trade as an assistant at Capilano in Vancouver. “We both have a bit of the Irish in us”, said Irv, “but he’ll never admit it”. Everyone at the club knew Irv and everyone seemed to love him. He’d say hello with that big smile of his and whoever it was had to tell him their latest news. He asked about their family, and some facts that only they would know about. He recalled everything. 

And it took forever for us to get to the first tee. And forever again to tee off. “Before you start, guys, I have a few things I have to tell you about the course. First, it was made in 1967 by covering up the old dump. From time to time you may hear or even see exploding cans. If you hear a little whizzing sound, best to try and get away from the area until the can comes down. If it smells like propane, best to not smoke nearby. In fact, it’s best to just pick your ball up and move ahead a few hundred yards”. “Another important thing: Grass grows quickly here. If you get down on your hands and knees, you may be able to see it grow”. Irv was serious, and before we had a club in our hand, we all had to get down on all-fours to watch the grass grow. We felt quite silly, but you know what? You could actually see the little grass blades moving and splitting as we watched. To this day, when I tell people about grass growing in front of your eyes in Prince Rupert, they all smile and ask if it is a joke. Believe me, it is no joke. They cut the greens and the fairways there twice a day. If the sun comes out long enough and its warm enough, you get the feeling you are in a greenhouse with plants growing everywhere around you, With all the rain and constant humidity, anything can grow there, and plants grow big! For example, I came across a gigantic plant in the rough that had the unmistakable odour of skunk. “Skunk cabbage”, said Irv, “Best to keep away from it. It’s everywhere. It’s also big enough to hide your ball. If you hit it into skunk cabbage, take a penalty, forget your ball and move on. And take a shower later if you decide to search for your ball in that cabbage. That smell stays with you.” I’d seen “skunk cabbage” plants before, but I’d never seen them that size, or with that pungent an odour. Best to keep your ball out of the rough, we learned quickly. 

The last thing Irv told us was that the birds watch us as we play. “The most impressive is the Raven”, he said. “Keep your ears open and you’ll hear what they have to say about your game”. We weren’t sure what that meant but we were anxious to start. No more questions, for sure. Enough with the lecturing please, Irv, and the on-all-fours views of grass growing. 

I must admit, it was an enjoyable round. And Irv was like a play-by-play announcer and personal caddy. “Hit at that big Pine about 150 yards out and it will roll a mile”. Of course, he could do it, but somehow our balls seemed to go the other way. Fortunately, though, the fairways were wide, and we kept away from the rough. I can only remember hearing two aerosol explosions that day and they were a good distance away from us. No propane odours, thankfully, although I was quite conscious of sniffing the air regularly when I got to my ball. The grass kept growing but we paid no attention. After a while you even got used to the sound of greens mowers buzzing and fairway mowers cutting, keeping that green growing stuff so nicely trimmed and fast. 

Ken was a good golfer but was occasionally inclined to let his temper get the best of him. On the sixth hole his drive hooked badly and he loudly vocalized: “Oh Shit!”. We were used to his expletives, and ignored him, but a short time after he spoke, we heard a Raven call back: “Oh Shit…Oh Shit”. Clearly it was the bird talking. The Raven sat there atop a very tall Sitka spruce, his black eyes glaring down at us. 

Every shot Ken took after that you could hear the bird scream, “Oh Shit”. Ken started to lose his concentration, shots were going wildly in every direction, and sometimes even into the skunk cabbage. He began to swear again, only to be mimicked by the bird. Irv told us that Ravens can make almost any human sound and are great mimics. “They are very smart, he said, “and will try and play jokes on you. They are fun loving. In the winter, I’ve seen them slide down snow on a house roof. They also like to pick up things. People with dogs are very vulnerable as the Ravens think its great fun to steal a dog’s ball, or other toys. They don’t seem to be hurtful like their brothers, the crows, who have been known to pick up kittens and drop them in the woods, or worse. At this course, many people have lost their ball on the green when Ravens pick them up. They’ll bring them back eventually, sometimes to you but more likely to people standing on a different tee or green. Frankly guys, I’d say we have no more than ten minutes before the young birds gather round in a gang to tantalize us”. 

Luc thought this was hilarious. “Could a B.C. Raven speak French?”, he asked. “Merde”, he cried out, only to be echoed back with a northern British Columbia Raven version of the French pronunciation. “Murd…Murd”, the Raven called. It was a game now, and soon the Raven was joined by several others. “Oh Shit…Oh Shit”, “Murd..Murd”. 

Irv turned to us and said, “Guys, it’s time to go in. The birds will never shut up now”. No indeed. They kept the chorus going as we walked back to the pro shop. And they kept loudly and pointedly lecturing us for using foul language as we left the course. Still, it was an amazing round of golf at the Prince Rupert Golf Club. 

But… there was more to this day. 

Irv was quite a character and we still had much to experience with him in Prince Rupert. “Let’s go for the best pizza in the north…at the Commercial”, said Irv. Obviously, the Commercial was not a bank. Back into the Land Rover we went and soon we arrived at the back of an old wood-sideboard building with a small set of steps descending from the back door. “I’ll get some beer”, said Irv, and he quickly mounted the stairs and went through the door of the building. It didn’t take him long to come out with a cooler bag filled with bottles, none of which had a label. “These guys make great beer”, said Irv. “We can get some inside, but I know you’ll want to take some back to the motel”. 

Irv left the Land Rover at the back, and we walked to the front of the building. Sure enough, a sign needing some fresh paint but still legible read: “Welcome to the Commercial Hotel”. Inside there were several people laughing and obviously enjoying themselves. We walked through the doors, Irv following close behind. The room went silent. Suddenly, Irv shouted from behind us, “Its okay, they’re with me”. Everyone raised a hand and yelled “hi” to Irv. He quickly went ahead and sat on the cushion seats against the wall of a table near the kitchen area. Surprisingly, he didn’t take time to speak with anyone directly. “It’s my special spot”, he said. We followed him to the table, half expecting to find a brass label with his name on it. Ken and Luc sat on either side of the table next to Irv, and me in the chair across from him. 

Irv called the waitress by name and told her to bring out four beers and an extra-large combo pizza. “Let my friends taste the best pizza in British Columbia”, he yelled. Everybody smiled, gave a few “yah, yahs”, then resumed their noisy chatter. When the beer came, I was surprised. No label, just a brown stubby bottle. But was it good beer! Just as Irv had said. We drank and talked about the golf and tried to figure out when we could play again. 

As I sat there, I noticed the lady and man at the table next to me were getting louder and their voices were not happy. The lady suddenly stepped onto an empty chair at the same table and wacked her table mate hard across his head with her purse. “I’m a lady” she yelled, but clearly her behaviour was anything but. The man rose from his chair, now wearing a slight cut on his face. At that moment, Irv got up quietly as we looked at the scene nearby. Then he said firmly to us, “Time to go, guys. Follow me”. Irv walked quickly toward the kitchen, the three of us close behind. In the main eating area, chairs were being thrown. A regular Wild West fight had erupted. Irv looked at the chef and asked, “That combo pizza done yet?”. The chef opened the pizza oven door, pulled out our pizza and put it in a box before handing it to Irv. “I’ll pay you later”, he said, and he led us out the backdoor. Into the Land Rover we jumped and back to our motel we went. All the while we could savour the great smelling pizza lying on the seat between Luc and me. I couldn’t help but wonder as we drove along, though, would the Commercial be in any condition to sell pizzas again after this evening’s brouhaha? 

As we sat eating what was truly one of the greatest pizzas we had ever eaten, guzzling the no-name beer, Ken asked, “Irv, how did you know a fight was going to start?” “I spend a lot of time at the Commercial”, he said, and I’ve learned two things”. “First, always sit with you back to the wall and watch what going on”. “Second, when someone stands on a chair, it’s time to leave – quickly!”. 

We played several times with Irv on the Prince Rupert course in the next few days as Commissioner Griffin was called away and we had to postpone the hearings for a week. Ken didn’t utter a swear word during those games, claiming that the Ravens would put a curse on his game. Luc happily didn’t lose another ball, claiming the skunk cabbage in the rough had cured his slice. And I had one of the great rounds of my life on a misty, rainbow-filled day in Prince Rupert. All in all, it was an outstanding golf experience. 

We left Prince Rupert with some great memories and two large mason jars of salmon to take home, courtesy of Irv’s family’s cannery. Unhappily, though, we never heard from Irv again. It would have been valuable to have him around when we told the story of the Ravens, to refute the nay-sayers; or to show others how we got down on all-fours to see the grass grow on a sunny day in Prince Rupert.