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About the islands in Rips |
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| Above is the island where Rips is set. It is one of hundreds on the St.Lawrence River. Prior to my grandfather purchasing this island in the 1950s, it was owned by a French-Canadian fisherman named Jean Deschamps and was referred to locally as Johnny's Island or Deschamps' Island. Deschamps sold when he got too old to manage the rigors of island life. Among other things, he used the island to keep fish in a pool he had dug out and connected to the river via a narrow sluiceway. Deschamps was a legendary sturgeon fisherman, and his son told me that one day his father caught a massive sturgeon that weighed more than 200 pounds. He towed it to shore and showed astonished admirers. It was the old man's crowning achievement, and from that day on, he never returned to the island or to his life as a fisherman. | Above is Harold V. Owens, my grandfather, and the first of four generations of St. Lawrence River island visitors in our family who grew to love and admire the great river. He bought "Duck Island" in 1943 only a few months before his youngest son, Peter S. Owens, was shot down in a B-17 in Papua New Guinea. |
| At right is Joe Hart, a riverman and guide who worked for my grandfather, Harold V. Owens, and who was another local legend. Joe was a spirited rogue who spoke English with a thick French accent. He was my first teacher about life on the river. Like Deschamps, he ran a "nightline" and caught sturgeon. On many evenings as a child, I would go with Joe to check the nightline. He nearly always landed several sturgeon, eels, and assorted smaller fish, carrying on a constant commentary, telling jokes, needling me, answering my constant questions about fish and the river. |  |
Peter's body was not found for more than 50 years. Peter, an exuberant sportsman who never visited the islands, was never mentioned in my grandfather's extensive island log books. It was a loss too overwhelming to write about in a chronicle often filled with great wit and good humor. When my grandfather "Gamp" died in 1967, Peter had still not be recovered. My own father Jack learned of the discovery of Peter's downed plane, but he, too died, before Jack's own DNA conclusively identified his brother's remains. |
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At left Joe shows me how to navigate a boat that he built for me. It was my first boat among many. One of my first great adventures was a solo journey to Deschamps' Island, a mile north of "Duck Island" where my grandfather, my father Jack Owens, and Joe built their first camp on the St. Lawrence. I went with a friend to spend the night in Johnny Deschamps' old one-room camp. The wind came up, and it was a scary journey and a spooky night. Eventually that camp burned down, and when Deschamps' Island became mine in 1981, I built a new camp on the west point. |
| For me, Rips evolved from my life on the St. Lawrence, from memories of rivermen like Joe Hart and my experiences on the river islands beginning in my youth and extending through my whole life. It was a world always dominated by the river, its storms, its calm moods, its dangers, its wildlife, and because the islands were always so primitive, I was always curious about how life must have been hundreds of years ago. It seemed then and now on my own island (formerly Deschamps') that I'm thrown back into ancient times. With no electricity or running water, no TV or modern conveniences, the island even today is much as it used to be in 1760 or 1812 or 1940. Early in the morning before the hum of motorboats and shriek of jet skiis or when the winds come up or storms strike, the river is dominant, primordial, indomitable, and a natural force that has preceded humankind and will extend beyond us. As with all great rivers in the world, it is bigger and more enduring than people, capable at any moment of killing us or beguiling us with its beauty, charm, and serendipity. Continued on... |
Copyright Peter Owens, 2000
Contact: Peter Owens, powens@cape.com
Last revised: 8-29-2000
