Finally, I would like to thank the Canadian Forestry Association and the contributing forest industries which supported the publication of this book.
Clarence F. Coons, 1983
Kemptville, Ontario (written 1983)
by Dave Lemkay
The story you are about to read is the combined writing of two fine gentlemen who never met one another. Clarence F. Coons and Harry B. Barrett, nonetheless, are now joined as collaborators in this wonderful history of the Alligator Steam Warping Tug. Their respective personalities, professions, and life experiences would have made them great friends had their paths crossed.
Alligators of the North is now that meeting, but regrettably not in person. Clarence passed away suddenly at his home in Kemptville, Ontario, in 2006. He had retired ten years earlier from a long and colourful career as a forester with the Ontario Ministry of Natural Resources, but continued voluntarily with things he was passionate about — maple syrup, farm forestry, Stanley Steamer cars, and vintage tractors, to name a few.
His work to chronicle the development of the Alligator Steam Warping Tug is perhaps the pinnacle of these endeavours. Harry B. Barrett of Port Dover, Ontario, says that, even though he never met Clarence Coons, he has come to know him while researching the files and manuscript that Clarence had assembled on the Alligator tugs back in the 1980s. Having had this insight into the nature of the man, Harry has said that he feels honoured to be able to add his personal touch to such a worthy project. Having known Clarence Coons myself, I am sure that he, too, would be honoured to know that in these circumstances, his years and years of interviewing, cataloguing, and writing the history of the Alligator would be embellished a quarter of a century later by an esteemed historian and kindred spirit from Norfolk County. Harry’s partnering in this project was initially discussed over dinner at the Erie Beach Hotel in Port Dover, Ontario, on a balmy September evening in 2008.
I had travelled down from the Ottawa Valley with boxes and binders of files and black-and-white photos extracted from the Coons’s study, with the blessing of Clarence’s widow, Joyce. These and a complete compilation of West & Peachey boat production by John Corby1 were pored over and handed off to Harry. It was agreed that his challenge was to “emotionalize” this technical archive and produce a written work that was more accessible to the general public.
Strictly in technological terms, the Alligator Warping Tug, was, in its time, what we would call “high tech” today. Introduced to forest operations in 1889, it revolutionized the transportation of timber when the river drive was the only feasible way to move harvested timber from the forest to market and mill. In the 1880s, some 234 eastern Canadian rivers were being driven2 by as many timber companies, floating millions of logs, often hundreds of miles. The vagaries of topography and ferocity of rivers or headwinds on lake tows were precursors to fierce competition at the timber slides at the rapids along the route and loading coves for right of way. It was critical that the timber got to market and that it got there early to realize the best prices. Time was money and latecomers were subjected to waning prices or no timely sale.
When the Alligator was introduced to this milieu, it catapulted the industry into the age of steam. It’s fair to say that the Alligator had no less an impact on the forest industry than the post–Second World War introduction of the chainsaw and skidder, and since this manuscript was originally written, the computer that allows foresters today to scientifically manage the resource and even monitor forest health from space.
In international media coverage of the day, much was made of the Alligator’s novel amphibious quality, specifically that the scow could be winched over land to the next lake or headwaters of the next tributary. In terms of time, this overland capability could drastically reduce non-productive relocation of the steamboat and its crew along the waterway. However, it is important to understand that the real value of the Alligator’s warping mechanism, the winding of a mile of steel cable on the drum, was most advantageous when applied to long tows of log booms across large lakes. Utilization of the Alligator replaced the tedious, back-breaking task of kedging booms of logs by horsepower and even manpower, with the power of steam.
So much of our Canadian history is anchored in the harvest of our vast endowment of forests. We celebrate and glorify this heritage as the genesis of our country’s economic well-being, the impetus to early settlement, and our reaching out to the world with fine forest products. The lumbering and sawmilling era across Canada has spawned a wealth of legend and lore and music that rings out with songs of the shanty, the bravado of the river drive, and the brawls at the stopping places along the way. Although life wasn’t easy for the forest man or the river driver, it was packed with adventure and danger on a daily basis. Into this early scene came the Alligator, cele- brated in this book as the iconic and ubiquitous workhorse of timbering days in the forests of much of eastern Canada. The dedication and hard work required to chronicle this saga, given by people like Clarence Coons and Harry Barrett, has finally come together to pay fitting tribute to this most significant of inventions, the Alligator Warping Tug created by West & Peachey of Simcoe, Ontario.
Enjoy.
Dave Lemkay, Ottawa Valley
General Manager, Canadian Forestry Association
The publishing of this book is a legacy project stemming from the designation of Norfolk County as Forest Capital of Canada for the years 2008 and 2009.
“This is the forest primeval, The murmuring pines and the hemlock”
—HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, “Evangeline”
When Columbus “discovered” America in 1492, the whole of northeastern North America was covered in forest. The aboriginals living there were primarily nomadic in nature, hunting and fishing and supplementing their food supply with the berries and fruits that grew in abundance. Those living along the north shore of Lake Erie were known as the Attawandaron, or as Champlain called them, the Neutrals, who traded with both the Algonquin to the north and the Iroquois of the Mohawk Valley to the south. The Petuns, or Tobacco Indians, occupied lands southeast of Lake Huron, so called because they grew tobacco, which they traded as far west as the Pacific coast. These people lived in more permanent villages, growing corn or maize, beans, and squash, as well as pumpkins, sunflowers, and potatoes. As soil fertility declined, they would simply move on and develop a new site.
In the mid-1600s, the Neutrals were driven from their traditional lands. Those who survived were absorbed into the Wyandotte Nation, west of Lake Huron. The north shore of Lake Erie, referred to today as the Carolinian Forest Zone, was vacant and known as the Iroquoian beaver-hunting grounds, land that the British coveted for settlement. By the 1790s, when Lieutenant-Governor Simcoe was charged with bringing white settlers to what was known by then as Upper Canada, the area had been taken over by the Mississauga from north of Lake Ontario.1
The early settlers, many of whom were United Empire Loyalists, took up lots along the lakeshore as the lake proved to be the major access to the outside world. Roads were slow to develop and those that did exist were little more than rough, single-track forest trails in the early days of development. Simcoe encouraged men who had served in the British forces to settle in Upper Canada, as he wished to ensure a large complement of able settlers trained in the art of war and loyal to the British Crown as members of the local militia units. Simcoe did not trust the Americans, and as the War of 1812–14 demonstrated, his fears were well-founded. An enlisted man received one hundred acres of undeveloped,