The Depression hit the farmers and merchants of the Peace River District hard. Early in 1937 my dad was sent to push sales for his company, and to try to collect on a few long overdue accounts. He had to cover the whole area so we drove up; 405 miles. A brand-new 1936 Ford coupe, Alberta license number 388. He kept that number his whole life. Lots of different cars, but always the same license number. Coupe means 'cut' you know. One bench seat. No back seat at all. Not even a storage space behind the seat like later 'Salesmen's Cars' had.
In those days the road went straight north through Westlock to Smith, then across to Lesser Slave Lake, and along the railway to McLennan and Rycroft before coming down to Grande Prairie. It was paved to St. Albert. There was a bit of gravel from there to Westlock. The rest was just plain mud. Good old Alberta gumbo.
I don't remember any snow, so it was late April or May. Spring break-up. Spring run-off. Spring mud. From much later I have the indelible mind picture of the buses from Mayerthorpe, Lac La Biche and Athabasca arriving in Edmonton totally covered -- I mean absolutely lathered -- in mud. Well of course we got stuck. Over the years we have been stuck lots of times, but this one sets itself apart.
You mustn't think I am exaggerating. Fifteen years later I was out hunting, well within what is now the City of Edmonton, and came across a car stuck on 118th Avenue. The driver had just left it and walked out. When you got stuck in Alberta gumbo you were there until it dried out. Or until you could get someone with a team of horses to pull you out. I've had to be pulled out by a team myself, although not on a main highway.
Well we passed Smith and the road got worse and worse. We made it to Slave Lake, where it goes right along the shore for miles and miles. The water was still rising, but you know my dad. We kept going, and that's where we got stuck. Only we weren't so much so much alongside the lake as in it. The ground to the south was all swampy and the swamps were overflowing and really we were on a kind of causeway surrounded by water. A causeway of mud and not very much above the level of the lake. We were up to the axles in mud, the fenders were packed with mud, it was getting dark, the water was getting closer and closer, and we weren't going anywhere.
So Dad announced that someone would undoubtedly be along in the morning with a team of horses and pull us free. We would just sleep in the car. Four of us in a two-seater car with a great ruddy gear shift lever in the middle. This isn't fiction, so we have to recognize the calls of nature. Modesty wasn't the only problem. One false step and you were up to your ah-hum in muddy water.
I was by far the best off. First, I was too young to have any sense of danger. Then, there was a tiny platform above and behind the seat, between there and the rear window. A three year-old could just fit up there nicely. My sister had the worst of it, sitting up between Mom and Dad and with the gearshift right in the way. Anyway, we did stay there all night, and next morning someone did come along with a team of horses. Probably he knew there would be cars stuck in that spot. People were giving him two bits a car or something like that. A nice bit of change for a farmer in those days. And we finally got to Grande Prairie.
