The Ice Roads

One Mans Experience Driving Canada's Northern Ice Roads

As told to Duff McCutcheon of Highway Star Magazine.
Drumbo, Ontario driver GRADUS VANDEN HEUVEL has a thing for new adventures, and he describes what happens when you speed on Ice Roads. When you're driving the ice roads up in the Northwest Territories and those frozen lakes start to talk, it can spook the most hardened driver And with good reason, even with five or six feet of ice beneath you, you’re still sitting in a fully loaded 62-ton B-train or maybe even a 90-ton heavy hauler. When that ice starts to creak and moan, you develop a pretty healthy respect for nature, according to Gradus Vanden Heuvel, a Drumbo, Ont. trucker who decided to take on a little adventure last winter hauling supplies up to the Jericho diamond mine in the Northwest Territories."You have to remember that you're driving on floating pavement; not everyone can handle that," he says. I've seen guys turn around the first time they heard the ice crack. That was it for them. They couldn't handle it. You're driving on top of water and you have to respect it. You hear a crack, you watch. If it opens up you don't have a lot of time to jump out of the truck." And if you get wet when it's -50C, your chances of survival are pretty slim unless you can get into another truck ASAP. Vanden Heuvel's a long-time trucker who started driving almost 30 years ago in his native Netherlands. And he's not one to work for others. He had his own trucking company in Europe and promptly built himself another one - Legacy Express - after arriving in Canada eight years ago. But after selling his eight-truck fleet to his son Ton recently, the 49'-year-old Vanden Heuvel conceded the boss's chair for a chance at driving way up north with ice-road specialists RTL Robinson in the Northwest Territories.

There are some significant challenges to driving on ice, and in the Arctic in general, and his new employers were pretty strict in their testing and training. Vanden Heuvel first had to travel to Edmonton to undergo a medical test to ensure he could handle the rigours of northern driving, as well as a pretty serious road test, before taking an extensive training course. "You go into a class and they show you pictures of what can happen, and explain what happens underneath the ice when you're driving along. And they really stressed the importance of staying with your convoy," he says. "If a driver breaks down, you stay with him. If it's -50C, it doesn't take long for a broken truck to freeze up and the driver with it."
And then he picked up his truck - a specially spec'd "Western Star with a belly tarp and closed front - and drove straight north to Yellowknife to begin the adventure. Most of his work involved hook-and-drop trips driving B-trains to supply mining crews at the Tahera Diamond Corp.'s Jericho mine, a 720-km one-way trip from Yellowknife over ice roads, with portages between lakes. The trips were always done in convoys, with at least two trucks and a maximum of five. "You have to stay 500 yards apart for weight safety, and there's 20 minutes between each convoy.
Maintaining speed limits was also very important and strictly enforced," says Vanden Heuvel. "You get caught speeding, you're done. No second chances." Further south, where the ice was thinner, loaded trucks kept to 25 km/h, further north 35 km/h, and at the furthest reaches where the ice is thicker drivers could do 40 km/h. Empty southbound trucks could do 60. And you might think that ice would be a fairly smooth surface, if a little slippery, but in fact it's very rough, according to Vanden Heuvel. "There's pressure cracks, ice ripples, it's just like a washboard."Now, 720-km trips might not sound like much to the southern driver, but considering the speed limitations, it can make for a pretty long haul and driver convoys break them up by driving from camp to camp spaced out along the route.
"You drive about seven hours to the first camp, another seven or eight to the next one - it's about 21 hours altogether. The camps are set up for the drivers. You have your meals there, take showers, do laundry, maintenance. You sleep in the trucks, which you have to keep running non-stop. When you're sleeping you have to rig the engine so it's running at 1800 rpm just to keep the cab warm."

Challenges:
"For me, the biggest challenge was nature itself," says Vanden Heuvel. "It's white, it's open and it's a very harsh climate. You really have to be aware of what you're doing because if you make a mistake, it's not a forgiving environment." He recalls driving through snowstorms that were like driving through a solid sheet of white with zero visibility. "There's snow banks on the side of the road that are six ft high, but you can't see the difference between the road and the snow bank when you're driving in those conditions. You actually have to focus your eyes inside the truck to adjust to what's going on outside." And it's cold. During his time in the north from February to April, the average temperature was -50C and he says the coldest temperature he experienced was -68C with the wind chill. "You have to be able to handle the cold - I wore two pairs of thermal underwear, regular pants, insulated coveralls and a jacket over top. You take a deep breath in that kind of cold and it feels like your lungs are being pierced with needles."
What about breaks? Ice-road drivers don't have to worry about making it home for the weekend, because there are no breaks. You sign up for the season and you're working seven days a week. Vanden Heuvel says he got one break when he was snowed in for three days during a particularly brutal snowstorm. And he knows of one veteran ice-road driver who was once snowed in for 16 days - unpaid. There's also the risk of breaking down or getting stuck far from camp, and drivers always keep a four-day supply of food with them in their trucks.

The Plus Side:
It's gruelling work in one of the harshest environments on earth, "...but when you see the sunrises and sunsets and the wide-open tundra, it's just amazing. You're well above the tree line and the polar latitude," says Vanden Heuvel. "You see rocks, tundra, wolves, ravens, caribou, and wolverines, which have absolutely no fear, so when you're around them you really have to watch them." He even saw an upside-down rainbow one day, which he believes was formed because of all the ice crystals in the air. And the Northern Lights, of course, were stunning. And then there's the all-important consideration of salary. Vanden Heuvel admits that the job pays pretty well, but stressed that he went for the adventure, not the money. "Everyone wants to hear about the money. I didn't go for the money," he says. "It was an adventure and the money was a bonus. But it does pay well. If you work hard you can make a year's salary in three months. But you're working non-stop, seven days a week."

Meanwhile, back home in Drumbo, Vanden Heuvel's now back working with his son as a driver and maintenance guy. He drives a regular route between the Kitchener-Waterloo area an hour west of Toronto and Ottawa or Montreal in his Volvo and has become something of a minor celebrity for his northern exploits. His adventures have been written up in the local Ayr News, as well as in a Dutch trucking magazine. But Vanden Heuvel doesn't let it go to his head – he's too busy planning for the next season in the north.

Moonshine Tradition

Popcorn Sutton Comments on Local Moonshine Tradition

By Henry Mitchell
While visiting Chatham during August 2002, Popcorn Sutton made several interesting observations on the local moonshining tradition. Sutton, of Maggie Valley, North Carolina, was in town to participate in the fourth annual The acknowledged senior spokesman of western North Carolina moonshiners, Sutton is the author of an autobiography entitled Me and My Likker. Sutton is well-known for the craftsmanship of his custom-made stills, seen at demonstrations throughout the Appalachians. Commenting on local stills displayed at the Moonshiner's Jamboree, Sutton bluntly stated, “They'd be liable to kill you. They're making them out of galvanized sheet metal. Even if it was copper, it would have to be clean, with none of that green stuff on it.” Further questioned on choice of construction materials for stills, Sutton said, “Back home, I make mine out of stainless steel. Some of these here are so bad they even use a car radiator instead of a worm [condensing coil]. Oh, it'll work, but it'll kill you.” “It's just the cheapest way to do it. These fellows can go into business for three hundred dollars. The way I do it costs ten thousand.” “I reckon that's why they say this Jamboree's ‘In Memory of the Moonshiners.’ Around here I guess they're all dead from drinking their own stuff.” Sutton further mused that the language of moonshiners is for the most part universal, but that there are a few local variations. “What we call a ‘still’ in North Carolina is a ‘pot’ in Tennessee. And here they call it a ‘submarine’ or a ‘black pot’ or a ‘black pot submarine.’” Asked about his experience, Sutton laughed, “Oh, I've run more whiskey than Jack Daniel.” From his occasional brushes with the law, Sutton speaks charitably of North Carolina law enforcement officials and local members of the legal profession, but not so of “alche-hol enforcement agents.” Where does he get his name “Popcorn?” “Years ago in a barroom I busted a popcorn machine, and had to pay for it. Since then, that's what they call me. It's on my car titles and everything.” With that description, one's imagination tends to run toward the idea of a wild-west-movie brawl, but this incident was a private misunderstanding between Sutton and the plastic dome popcorn machine which took his money and didn't give him popcorn! Nowadays Sutton has his own “salon,” (not “saloon”), a popular antique shop in Maggie Valley. “People come from all over. Just ask anybody in Maggie Valley where to find Popcorn Sutton, and they'll tell you where I am!”

Fire call leads to moonshine bust:
By: Robin Murdochn, Katie Allson Granju
Firefighters responding to a Cocke County fire on Tuesday discovered much more than they expected On property belonging to Marvin "Popcorn" Sutton, they found everything needed to make moonshine,as well as dozens of jugs of the finished product. Three large stills were in operation, and a building on the property was on fire. Sutton now faces two charges stemming from Tuesday's bust. Before his arrest, Sutton had gained a certain notoriety for his popular books and videos teaching others how to make moonshine. According to one of Popcorn Sutton's videos, he's gotten in trouble for moonshining before - in 1974, and again in 1998. He's expected to appear before a judge on these most recent charges on May 9 2007.
Marvin "Popcorn" Sutton has made a name for himself in the moonshine business. Being a household name in illicit alcohol carries a cost. A judge earlier this week sentenced Sutton to more than $3,000 in fines and two years on probation. That's after investigators found three large stills, 37 half-gallons of a clear liquid believed to be moonshine, and plenty of moonshine-making materials on his Cocke County property in late April. Popcorn has built a devoted following with his videos that give step-by-step instructions on how to make the illegal liquor.