Odds `n’ Sods — A trip to Elliot Lake

Land Rovers in the 1950s were rugged and rode hard, as I found out during a childhood trip in northern Ontario. We swayed and bumped over miles of rough road from Spragge to Elliot Lake during what became a test of endurance for our party of five adults, two children and a couple of dogs.

We were travelling to the new uranium mine at Elliot Lake where Rusty Evans (my father) and Franc Joubin were to meet Joe Hirshhorn, who held an interest in the project. Joubin’s wife and daughter were also with us.

For what seemed like hours, we lurched over rut and pit while dust seeped in through the sliding windows. Halfway to Elliot Lake, we stopped to stretch our legs. The road where we rested cut through an embankment and, as a diversion, Joubin led us children up the slope to an outcrop of soft red rock.

“See this?” he asked, touching the outcrop with his foot. “It’s called float.

You come upon rock like this and you know there’s uranium nearby.” My sister and I both knew that Joubin helped discover the uranium deposit at Elliot Lake, and now we were being treated to a geology lesson from him.

Before long, we climbed back into the Land Rover. We arrived at the mine hot, dirty and tired. Hirshhorn and his wife, along with American presidential adviser Dean Acheson, met us as the Land Rover pulled in. They arrived by helicopter.

The first order of business was a tour of the mine. I stuck by my father’s side, expecting to be among those going underground. My father sent me back, however. I swallowed tears of disappointment. In the bush, I went everywhere with my father.

When at last the mine party returned, we went in to lunch. A table had been laid in the cookhouse and, after spending the summer in a tent, the setup looked grand.

We were served juicy T-bone steaks, which I adored. With a 10-year-old’s hearty appetite, I attacked the meat until all that remained were inaccessible bits clinging to the bone. I picked up my bone to finish off the meat that way.

“Susan,” my mother said in a firm voice. “Put that down and use your knife and fork.”

“That’s all right, Diana,” said Joubin, intervening. “She can pick up her bone. It’s acceptable up to age 16.” Everyone laughed. I chewed at my bone with satisfaction, and decided that Franc Joubin was a smart geologist.

— The author is the daughter of an exploration geologist and is married to a professor of geology. She resides in Hamilton, Ont.