OB Haspeck’s leather boots crunch through deep, crusted-over snow near the peaked wooden roof of the old schoolhouse. A raven cocks its head at him and gurgles a quizzical morning greeting as he skids down to the creek where he gets his water. He returns through dense, mossy woods to where a thin sliver of wood smoke rises from the -chimney of the cabin he calls home. Just beyond lie the decaying fragments of -buildings that tell the tale of Pacific, a ghost town perched on the north shore of the Skeena River, 40 kilometres east of Terrace. Haspeck, 59, first came here in the 1970s, during Pacific’s hippie commune era, and has been the town’s lone regular resident off-and-on for the past several years; “People tell me ‘Bob, you're too social to be out jn the bush, you should come oul,’” he says. “But it’s a good place to sit and write.” Haspeck scribbles in his journals, drinks in the nature and solitude — and measures the passing years through Pacific’s eroding skyline. -. Today he leads visitors on an impromptu tour of town, Starting from his cabin. But little more than sticks and debris mark the final resting places of landmarks like the old Ni- choll Hotel, Thomas McCubbin’s general store, ‘or the roundhouse that used to spin steam loco- noes around so they could be parked in their Stalls. All have collapsed under the weight of snow, or been dismantled or burned as safety hazards. . Haspeck points to an open clearing covered with snow. ” A gap in the snow reveals layers of flooring and roof pancaked flat. This, Haspeck says, was the old community hall, a structure about the size of the Terrace Co- op building. He used to walk through it to reach the rail- way tracks — up until the day he came back from a trip to Terrace and could see through where it “used to stand and realized it had collapsed. “It doesn’t look right,” he remembers thinking. “Somebody changed the scenery.” _ Haspeck thinks the schoolhouse will be next. “It will probably go down too this year if we get another big dump,” he says. But the next time a building falls, Haspeck won't be here to witness it. He’s packing up his few belongings, journals and poetry volumes, getting ready to trek out and leave the town of Pacific to its ghosts. , eg Pacific was shiny and new in 1912 when the Grand Trunk Pacific railway laid ribbons of steel up the Skeena valley. The land between Kleanza and Legale Creeks had been homesteaded by Danish immigrant Jens Anderson in 1909. The railway chose the spot for the town arbi- trarily — it placed its divisional points every 125 miles and that’s how far the site was from the terminus at Prince Rupert. Pacific therefore became the main marshal- web reedaa ling point for ihe trains that had almost. overnight replaced riverboat travel'up (he Skeena."” ~ It was a regular stop for rail travellers and home for railway workers at a time when the place downstream that would be called Terrace was little more than a couple of farms. The community was small but lively. A mile-long slough of the Skeena was the raf- ting pond and skating rink for the children. Entertainment ranged from dances and piano- side sing-alongs to games of pool and poker at Nel Thompson's pool hall. It was Thompson, another immigrant from Denmark, who built the community hall. “Very enjoyable dances were held there,” re- counts former resident Ruth McCubbin in her history of the town. “People came by train and speeder for miles around.” But by 1958 the renamed Canadian National Railway had built an spur line to Kitimat and re- located its marshalling yard to Terrace. Like other old townsites on the forgotten side of the river — places like Doreen and Ritchie — ‘Pacific rapidly declined as it became clear fu- ture settlement would be on the highway side of the Skeena. “Thompson fell ill and left his town in the early 1970s, McCubbin says, passing away in Terrace. tt ie It was the spring of 1977 when Bob Haspeck first heard of a place called Pacific. An advertisement in the Mother Earth News leapt off the page at the 22-year-old university student in London, Ontario. It. called on people from across the continent to come together for a happening in the west coast woods. “it was going to be a hippie gathering, basic- ally,” he says. “People came from all over North America.” The only requirement for those who came was that they bring a small quantity of water from wherever they live. Organizers would then conduct a ceremonial blending of the waters from all parts of the world BOB HASPECK savours the landscape on one of his last days of living in the ghost town of Pacific. He's been there off and on for the past seven years. JEFF NAGEL PHOTO Farewell feeshig tor aah A ghost town’s most loyal resident says goodbye. >, ~~ By Jeff Nagel PACIFIC | resi- dents.. Garth Griffiths and Jack Anderson’ ride on the rail- way tracks in the town’s early days. Pacific was founded in 1912 to serve the -railway. Taking the train remains the best way to get to the decaying fown without a lang hike or a boat trip across the Skeena. on the May long weekend. Haspeck loaded up his backsack, filled his bottle of water and took the train west. The happening itself was a wild and organic experience, pretty much as advertised, but am- plificd by dancing, wine and dope, Haspeck re- calls. THOMAS McCUBBIN's general store was one of several businesses that served the town of Pacific in the 1920s and 1930s, There was also a hotel, restaurant and community hail. ded and everybody took a sip. “It tasted salty’ because there was: water from Alaska from the ocean and a little bit from. Ru-. pert and from Haida Gwaii all mixed in toge- ther,” Haspeck says. He went to Smithers after the weekend was THIS SAUNA was built in Pacific by the new arrivals who came ta try to establish a com- mune on the banks of the Skeena River. over but came back in July to join the others planning to forge their west coast Utopia. “We spent the summer trying to set up the commune,” he said. They fed on the salmon bounty of the Skeena River and talked of barter systems, alternative energy and forming something called the North- west Nation. But such efforts were common in those days and for every successful intentional commuity, many more fell by the wayside. Pacific’s idealism also faded and the group splintered that summer. “The people there just weren’t communily- minded enough,” Haspeck says. “A community is a community. People help each other. And that wasn’t happening.” Others tried. Patti Barnes, now the librarian at Northwest Community College in Terrace, was among nine people who formed the Mid Skeena Land Co-op and bought most of the town in 1978. They stayed there until about 1981 when they too left. aan Coffee brews in the battered metal percolator Haspeck found at the side of the railway tracks. The cabin is meticulously clean and an oil drum style wood stove keeps it toasty. This is a simple life — no electricity, no refri- geration, no running water. Oil lamps or candles illuminate the winter night, except when Ha- speck turns them out to watch the stars. It’s also isolated. VIA Rail trains can be flag- ged down three times a week. Otherwise it’s a 10 kilometre hike out along the railway tracks to the logging bridge across the Skeena and the high- way. Haspeck has wintered here since 1994, when he retumed to Pacific in search of a quiet, con- templative spot to write. He’d worked in the oil patch in the Peace River until he was injured and then got a taste for solitary life serving as a caretaker for fishing lodges. ‘A hermit Haspeck may be, but he’s not with- out. need.for human contact. e His,.lifeline, to the outside world, is CBC ‘Radio, ‘which delivers both the news and occa- “sionally” ‘personal messages, Lisiénérs to CBC’s - Message service for people in remote areas with- - out Phones will recognize Haspeck as “Bob at “Pacific.” . He's also-a hockey addict. He wears his old _minot hockey coach’s jacket with pride over his “fleece and. jeans and listens to Canucks games ‘on the radio. His ability to remain isolated was sorely tes- “ted on Sept. 11. “Haspeck drained several D cell batteries that week listening to CBC reports of the terrorist de- struction in New York city and its aftermath. On the day of the attacks a trio of young _ Mushroom pickers walked into Pacific along the railway tracks, oblivious to the colossal news. Haspeck rushed out to tell them and debrief with them. They shrugged and walked on, somehow un- caring or too young to comprehend the magni- tude of the events without the aid of television. | A couple of weeks later Haspeck cracked and made the hike out along the tracks to catch a tide into Terrace. “[ had to come into town. I just couldn’t take it any more.” Recently he also felt the pull of family ties. Worried about Haspeck’s health in such an isolated spot, his daughter this winter persuaded him to leave Pacific and move to Nanaimo to live with her. * Haspeck packed up and headed out in late January.’ ~~ But he says he’ll savour memories —~ like the ~ time he saw a fox atop chest-high snow staring in “at-him through his kitches window, or when he Waters from around the continent were re blen- and his dog fought off an attacking bear on the tailway tracks. Or simple pleasures, like spotting the place where a moose bedded down for the night. “Y see things out in nature that most people never see,” he says, as a light snow begins to fall. “I’m going to miss it.” A CUP of morning coffee and listening to CBC radio is part of Bob Haspeck’s routine of life _ at Pacific. He's had close encounters with wolves, bears, foxes and other wildlife there.