Radio Digest (June 1932-Mar 1933)

28 The ARCTIC LISTENS By Margaret Hastings An isolated trapper's cabin with the aerial hung from trees H TELLO the North!" I wonder how many people who listen in realize just what this phrase means to their far Northern neighbors. Most people get a "kick" out of hearing their names announced over the radio, but the Northerner tunes in, hoping to hear his name, for a far different reason. To him, it means a message from loved ones, news from home. I am familiar with the "new" North ; the Slave and Mackenzie River valleys. I do not know the older part of the North, around Hudson's Bay as I have never lived there, but am sure that conditions are much the same in both these remote districts. Until 1930, mail was brought by steamer in Summer, and by dog team in Winter, from two to six mails a year, depending on the location of the settlement. Now it is brought by aeroplane approximately once a month, but in the Fall, during the season of freeze-up, and in the Spring, during the season of break-up, several months elapse in which the only communication with the "outside," as we refer to civilization in the North is by radio. Business communications and urgent personal messages are of course sent through the Government Wireless Stations, operated by the Royal Canadian Signals. They handle commercial business, connecting with land lines at Edmonton, Alta., and can assure the sender of delivery in any fort which boasts a station. This service has been a great factor in the development of the Far North ; but many of the smaller settlements which have no station and also the trappers out in the bush, rely on the broadcasting stations for all news. Even in the forts, everyone looks forward to Northern Broadcast Night as many personal messages, not important enough to warrant the expense of sending over the key may come through the courtesy of the stations which provide this feature. During the periods of "break-up" and "freeze-up" this broadcast is particularly appreciated. As the rivers afford the only highways (planes using skiis in Winter and pontoons in Summer; never wheels), any mode of travel is impossible at these times. They are periods of complete isolation. The aeroplanes penetrate farther and farther North as the rivers tighten in the Winter or as the ice clears in the Spring. Last year a mail plane from the "outside" landed at Fort Simpson the same day the ice stopped running, but anxious as they are to bring the mail, the fliers cannot leave until they receive word that there is a safe landing. This information is furnished by the Royal Canadian Signals Radiotelegraph Service, which for a very nominal charge will also supply any pilot with complete and accurate weather reports taken by trained observers. Speculation as to whether or not reception will be good starts the day before the Northern Broadcast. If the Northern Lights are brilliant — quivering curtains of color shooting across the sky — the night preceding the broadcast, a feeling of depression prevails as this gorgeous display of lights generally is Royal Canadian Sign a 1 s Radiotelegraph Station at Fort Simpson, N. W. T. an indication of very poor reception twenty four hours later; but if conditions seem favorable, any person possessing a radio set may expect friends to drop in to hear the broadcast. Some excellent music is tuned in but it fails to compel the attention or hold the interest and the reason is apparent. It is nearly time for the Northern news. Everyone is expectantly waiting ; watches are consulted frequently, and two or three sit at the table, pencils poised, ready to jot down messages as they come in. At last the announcement is made, and the first letter read is for Bill W. at Fort Liard. "Who is he, I don't think I know him," someone says. "Oh, of course you do: he is the policeman who went in last Summer." A message for Mr. L. at Great Bear Lake. "Oh be sure to get this ; it's for Jim. He may not hear it, but we can take it down and send it on to him at the first opportunity." Another letter. "For you, Jack!" and all are elated at someone present being fortunate enough to receive a message. So we listen eagerly, not prompted by curiosity but by interest and friendship. If the message contains good news, we rejoice; if it brings bad news, we grieve. All joys and sorrows are shared in the North. There are so few white people in all that vast area that we somehow feel like one big family, bound by ties which bring us much closer to each other, though separated by hundreds of miles, than friends would be "outside" in the hurry and competition of a bus}' world. When the magic hour is over, we listen to music and perhaps dance to orchestras from big hotels. Who cares if the nearest theatre or any other place of amusement is over a thousand miles away with no railroad to bridge the distance? We can and do enjoy the splendid radio programs; music, lectures, stock and (Continued on page 46)