Early Days in the Forest Service Volume 3

THE BEGINNING OF THE UNITED STATES FOREST SERVICE AS I REMEMBER IT
By Dean R. Harrington
(Retired 1945)

1907

My father, Lewis C. Harrington, who is still living, was among the first to be appointed forest guard in 1907, along with many others, among them Louis Fitting, Ray R. Fitting, J. L. Gross, Lew Brundige, Tom Crossley, and George Trenary. The first forest guard (or Forest Ranger) examination was held in the town of Kooskia, Idaho. It was a field affair and the requirements were:

I don't recall that anyone failed the examination. This new organization of forest guards caused so much excitement that most of the town folks turned out to watch the new appointees go through their paces.

Major Frank A. Fenn, who was Supervisor on the Bitterroot-Idaho National Forest, and whom the entire community admired and loved, conducted the affair. The rate of pay wasn't very high, $75.00 per month, they to board themselves and furnish their own horses, tools, tents, etc., but the challenge of the new organization made it all worthwhile.

My father was slightly handicapped, as he had three teenage boys to leave behind. However, he managed to have a small house built for us in East Kooskia, where we could batch and go to school. It was located about one-half block from Major Frank A. Fenn's home and Mrs. Fenn was a wonderful person. She and the Major kept a pretty close watch over us. Mrs. Fenn would often bring us a homemade cake and also made arrangements for us to attend Sunday school. We were always there! She also would arrange for one of us to walk to town with her daughter Ilene when Ilene took her music lessons. There was about one-half mile of wooded area to walk through and we did enjoy this assignment.

The Major was kind to us but he was also very strict, and as he was on the school board, when we played hooky from school and were sent to the Major, we remembered it. There would be no more nonsense for a long time.

About 1908 or 1909 things began to pick up around the small town of Kooskia, Idaho. Two railroad companies, namely the N.P. and the O. R. & N., each decided to run a survey up the Middle Fork and then up the Lochsa to Montana. It was here I began to get acquainted with the forest, and to some extent the Forest Reserve as it was called then. I obtained a job with the N.P. Company surveyors at Camp One. My first assignment was axeman, which consisted of cleaning brush ahead of the transit man, at $45.00 per month. After a short while I was promoted to rear flagman, which was certainly much easier work. One time they ran out of flat-headed tacks to drive in the hubs and they used hobnails. It certainly was difficult to hold the rod on them. Then I nodded for the topography man for a few weeks. It was also my job, after a full day's work in the field, to boat the supplies, the mail, and any overhead across the river to Camp One. As the river rose to flood stage it became very swift and difficult to manage the boat.

One Saturday several of the survey men wanted to go to town, some twelve miles away. We decided to build a cedar raft and ride the river instead of walking. Eight of us worked together, built the raft, jumped on and took off down the swift water. Si Lawerence, a Nez Pence Indian, handled the rear paddle and I handled the front. Things went fine until we reached Maggie Bend. There the raft started to fall apart. Luckily, we had a rope tied around the center of the raft as it was the front, or my end, that came apart first. We managed to land the thing about three miles above town and walked in the rest of the way. Some of the men related our experience to the foreman on our return to camp and that put a stop to any more such doings. A short time later the topography man, with whom I worked, wanted to cross the river from where we finished our day's work and walk back to camp on the pack trail. He thought this would be much easier than going back over the survey line or footpath. We selected a piece of driftwood, made a paddle and pushed a log out into deep water. When we hit the swift water the log rolled us off, so we paddled and swam but kept our log and made the opposite shore, dripping and cold. The field records were soaked and in bad shape. That was the last time we tried this type of shortcut.

When the snow was pretty well out of the high country, the N.P. decided to put in five camps. Their idea was to bring in the equipment and supplies for these camps by boat, so they sent for several rather large boats from the coast. I am sure, by the looks of these boats, that they weren't properly made for the rough, swift waters of the Clearwater River. The N.P. was going to tow the boats by man power, ten to twelve men per boat and one man with a long pole to keep them out in the stream. This idea ended in disaster at the mouth of Bear Creek, or the start of Black Canyon on the Lochsa River. Here, after many difficulties, they swamped their boats and lost all the food, but by quick work were able to save most of the camp equipment. Now plans were changed. They decided to put the camps in by use of pack trains. The O. R. & N. didn't try the boat business. They were using packstock from the start and had most of the available local packers working for them.

Finally the N.P. hired Macky Williams and a second man named McDaniels, both packers, from Grangeville. At this point, I was selected to carry messages, commissary supplies and mail to the camps as I had three head of horses. I was also to take men into the different camps and bring those out who wanted to quit. The packing idea was fine, but there were very few trails into the country. The old Lolo trail was used first, but it was mainly along the divide, so to get down into the river elk trails were brushed out and the camps put in. These trails were not much more than footpaths and the Forest Service did not have men or money available for trail cutting. The railroad companies put in their own trail crews and cut a trail up the river. It was a shotgun trail for sure. It would go along the river once in a while, then climb out and over several high mountains.

It was soon apparent both companies were pushing hard to be first to complete and obtain the right of way. They became very uncooperative with each other and the battle of "first-come, first-served" was on. If the O. R. & N. had built a trail or bridge they wouldn't let the N.P. use it, or at least they would try hard to prevent the use. It became so bad they would camp a man and his tent on the bridge and wouldn't let a pack train cross unless it belonged to the company that had built the bridge. Result: Two bridges on each creek that needed them.

Then the O. R. & N. hired a man with a pack horse to get ahead of any N.P. train and delay them by stopping in a place where they couldn't get past. Some days no progress was made at all. At one place, I remember well, they had built a trail over a sheer rock ledge by using short drill steel and leaving the steel in the holes, then laying a log on these and building a trail. The N.P. pack strings made it over this trail going upriver, but on the return trip the trail had been dynamited into the river.

I was with the N.P. pack train on this trip. George Trenary, a forest guard, was also with us. We had to build some steep trail around the point and then by putting a rope on each animal and attaching it to the saddle we took a dai\lly on a tree and slid them back to the trail one by one.

A half mile farther we came upon the character who had done the dynamiting. George Trenary immediately put him under arrest. We gave him the name of "Johnny-Behind-the-Rock." After he was under arrest he wouldn't walk, so we had to furnish a saddle horse for him. He had several other names given him by the packers, which I won't mention here. This arrest, at last, put a stop to the trouble of being blocked on the trail.

The beef that was supplied to the survey camps was taken in on the hoof, butchered as needed, and distributed by the butcher to the camps.

I believe every kind of packing known to man was used by different outfits that summer. The general procedure was two men to a pack train, the head packer heading the bell mare. All the horses were turned loose and the man in the rear tried to keep the string moving, which was a hard job. If a horse in the center decided to take time out to graze, he would throw a rock and holler until his voice played out. W.E. Perry, who had two or three pack strings working, furnished BB guns for his rear packers. Then if a horse stopped to graze they would give him the buckshot treatment. The Rinshaw-Linder string was different. They had a well-trained stock dog and would send him up to heel a horse that would stop to graze. The Macky Williams and McDaniel strings were mostly led, turning them loose only where danger existed to rolling the string. There were many horses crippled or rolled during the summer, due to the dangerous trails and difficult work.

W. E. Perry tried burro packing. He bought a full string of burros, and of his packers I well remember Art Smith. He later packed many years for the Forest Service and is now buried at the mouth of Packsaddle Creek, just a short distance above Avery, Idaho, on the St. Joe Forest. This burro packing was short-lived. I think they made only about two round trips and were out of burros. The story was that the burros got "mountain fever" and died, or the packers had to kill them. At any rate you could see saddles and burros all along the trail.

The saddles used were mostly the old sawbuck type. However, there were also the old Spanish type and the McDaniel's halfbreed packsaddle. McDaniels had taken the trees from the old sawbuck saddles and used horseshoes for the forks. They were made very similar to our present day saddle. This was the only outfit that cargoed the load in side packs and used the box hitch and no-top packs. The Decker Brothers later copied this type of saddle and claimed the name of the Decker Pack Saddle, which is used in Region One. However, great improvement was made in the tree and pack saddles throughout, but I think large credit should go to Oll Robinette, a blacksmith at Kooskia, Idaho. He devised the new tree from cottonwood which, I believe, is still used. Also, he made up the saddle forks from round iron. A harness shop in Stites, Idaho, turned out the halfbreed covers and the other leather work. Mr. Robinette later worked for the Forest Service, making saddles and shoeing pack stock.

Following this season and the 1910 fire season, packing became quite an industry. Lumber companies and the Forest Service contracted much of their packing to private packers and a big changeover was made from horses to mules. The Decker Brothers went into the business in a big way and the Stonebracker boys from Stites and Orofino, Idaho, got into the game. Methods of packing changed and the strings were led and handled by one man.

The railroad survey was completed by early fall and the camps packed out. As I remember, the N. P. completed the job first; however, they did have an advantage, as they were running location line only and were using the old Milwaukee Railroad preliminary to tie to. The O. R. & N. were running both preliminary and location. After all that had happened, nothing was ever done about building the railroad on this route.

My last assignment for the N.P. was to take my helper, Si Lawrence, and saddle horses for a party of six, with a full camp outfit and go in over the Lolo trail to Bald Mountain; then drop down to the Lochsa River and meet the railroad overhead who were coming through on an inspection trip from the Montana side. We made our trip on schedule and met the party where the river trail forded the river. The ford was full of large boulders and one of the inspection party was about midstream when his mount stumbled and the rider slid off over the horse's head. The water was swift and drifted the man downstream away from his mount.

He finally got his arms around a big rock and held on until my Indian helper rode out, gave him a rope and towed him to shore. These men, as I recall, were out from St. Paul, Minnesota. I have always thought they were more on a lark than an inspection trip, but "I could be wrong." After all, I was just a guide.

1914

The fall of this year I returned to the Selway Forest, this time hiring out as a firefighter for the Forest Service at Kooskia, Idaho. Fourteen miles from Kooskia, at the old No. One Station, the road ended and from there we hiked to the fire. We went by way of Pete King, Rocky Ridge, Bald Mountain, then down the Lochsa River. We forded the river and climbed almost to the top of the divide on the opposite side, arriving at the fire six days' travel time later. The fire wasn't too large, perhaps forty acres in size, but not burning too briskly. It didn't take long to put a control line around it with just the small crew at hand, but we stayed to let the fire completely burn out. Part of the fire crew was taken off the fire line and used to improve the pack trail and cut some badly needed new trail.

This was a late fall fire and we stayed too long, getting caught in a heavy snowstorm. Snow fell a full two feet, yet we stayed, waiting for the pack string and orders to go out. When the Decker Brothers pack string arrived we broke camp, but they didn't have pack stock enough to carry everything. So most of the food supplies were left behind.

The first day packing out we made it to the Lochsa River by noon. Here I asked the fire foreman if I could leave the outfit and go down the river as I knew the surrounding country and the old survey trails. We were pretty well out of the snow down on the river. His answer was "No," that he wanted to keep the crew together and go out by the Lolo Trail route. We made Bald Mountain in the afternoon, arriving about dark. Climbing up we hit snow again and the wind was blowing hard. All the bedding was wet by this time. We did manage to get some food cooked, using the small lookout station on Bald Mountain. The cooks were inside and they passed the food out the window to the crew. There was a small log cabin down a bit from the mountain top and this is where the crew was to put in the night. There wasn't room in this cabin to make down any beds, so we took some shakes off the roof to let the smoke out and built a fire on the earth floor in the center of the cabin. We dried out as best we could, sitting up until daylight.

We went back up to the lookout for breakfast. The cooks made up a small lunch for us to carry. This was the second night the pack stock were tied up to prevent their leaving. I could see this was going to be a slow, hard trip and a wet one, as the storm was still bad and a strong wind blowing. The trees all looked lopsided as the snow stuck to them on only one side.

Having received a negative answer from the foreman before about leaving, I conveniently forgot to ask him anything more, and after breakfast a young fellow, Pete Grant, from Nez Perce, Idaho, and I left the crew and struck off on our own. We walked from Bald Mountain to Rocky Ridge that day. The snow was knee-deep all the way. We made it to a cabin on the North Fork of the Clearwater side of Rocky Ridge just as it was getting dark. Here we found two men who agreed to let us stay the night. They also fed us, for which we were thankful. They didn't have any extra bedding but they were drying out some extra tents and flies, so we used these and they did break down and give us one double blanket from their bed. We slept on the floor. It was hard but we slept sound. The next morning we had breakfast and got a small lunch from these men and left. We walked from Rocky Ridge to the mouth of Pete King Creek and on to the Lochsa River that day. We found a forest pack camp at Fish Creek Meadows. They had a lot of food and gave us a good dinner. We stayed this night with Lew McNair at his cabin at the mouth of Pete King Creek. The next day we arrived at my father's cabin which was twelve miles from Kooskia. Here we rested and waited for three days until arrival of the fire crew and pack string we had left at Bald Mountain. Knowing the country, I have always felt it would have been much easier to have made the direct descent down the river.

1917

My next experience was on the Nezperce Forest in the summer of 1917. The Forest Service was sending out a crew from Kooskia to a fire on Coolwater Ridge. I signed up as a firefighter. We had a fire foreman by the name of Engle and were to report to the Forest Ranger at O'Hara Ranger Station. I believe his name was Howell. It took two days' travel time to arrive at the fire on the Selway River side of Coolwater Ridge. It was approximately 50 acres in size but not burning too briskly. The fire camp was established above the fire on a steep hillside. We worked two or three days on the head end of the fire and were making slow progress toward control.

Two men in our crew decided to quit on the fourth day and left by going down to the Selway River, instead of going out over the pack trail. About two hours after they left the fire camp, three new fires showed up below the one we were working on. These fires spread quite rapidly and soon went around and over part of our fire lines. I was asked by the fire foreman to scout the fire and make a map as I traveled around the edge.

I tried traveling around the outside of the fire for two or three hours and soon found this a dangerous assignment. I was chased out a few times and my map was becoming worthless as the fire progressed. Finally I went up to a high point where I could see out over the fire and mapped it from there, returning to the fire camp about dark. I could see the foreman was very worried and concerned, with the fire still progressing. We had supper and all went to bed, but you could hear the fire below camp, especially when a tree would crown out with a terrific roaring sound.

About 2:00 a.m. the fire foreman came to my bed and talked to me in whispered tones. He told me he was going to bury the camp at daylight and take the crew out to the Coolwater Lookout Station on the divide. This he did by digging a hole and putting in all the camp equipment, food supplies and tools. Everything except enough shovels to put dirt on top, all the men were empty handed as we left for the divide.

There was a telephone at the lookout and the foreman called the Ranger at O'Hara Station, who instructed him to take the men and tools down a ridge along the pack trail, start making a new firebreak along the ridge top, and that he would send in another camp outfit. This was when the foreman had to tell him he had buried all the tools along with the camp. Here is where I thought the telephone lines would be the next to burn from the hot words that went back and forth over it. The Ranger finally told the foreman to take his own packsack and come on down as he was through, and to leave the crew at the guard station.

A few minutes later the phone rang again and the Ranger asked for me. He wanted to know if there was a possible chance of going back to the fire camp and at least salvage the fire tools. I told him I thought there was. He told me to go to a grazing permittee cow camp, get this man and his pack stock and make an effort at least to get the tools out, as he was strapped for tools short of ordering from Spokane. I found the man and his stock and together we managed to get the entire camp packed out that day as the fire had not yet reached the camp. The Ranger showed up in the afternoon. Very quickly a new fire camp was established and a new foreman put in charge.

The Ranger asked me if I would be willing to go to the Falls Station on the Selway River, as his man there had injured his leg and was sent out to town. I was somewhat reluctant to take this job and I told him I would prefer to stay on the fire as I thought the fire wages were more attractive. He eased my concern by saying he would pay me the fire scale and the same amount of time I would get if I were to stay on the fire, since he was going to pay me out of fire funds. So I accepted and returned with him to the O'Hara Station. The next day I hiked upriver to the Falls Station where I finished out the season.

This was the most lonesome job I ever had in the Service. My duties were to check in three times a day on the phone, cook for the packers or firefighters when they came along, patrol about four miles each way from the station and keep the loose rock picked up out of the trail. While there was a cabin here, there was no cookstove, so I had to cook on an open fire.

The cabin was of log construction, well built, and had a wooden floor, but the packrats had taken over and at night it was extremely difficult to sleep. I began a scheme to exterminate the rats. I plugged all the holes in the floor but one. Over this one I constructed a trap door and tied a rope so I could close it from my bed. This worked fine. I could trap them inside the cabin and then get up and with a club for a weapon I would chase them until I could corner and kill them. I remember getting 34 of them before things quieted down. I guess all forest personnel have had some experience with rats but this was the worst I had seen.

Trout fishing was the best here. We carried water from the river just below the falls. I kept the fly rod at the end of the trail and any time I wanted fish I made a few casts and took them back fresh. The fish were so plentiful that it didn't take much time.

As the season came to an end with the first fall rains, I was told to put the camp in order and come out. On my way to Kooskia, at the forks of the Selway and Lochsa Rivers, I found a cedar-pole river drive in progress. I think this was the first and only cedar-pole drive ever made down the Clearwater River. I contacted the foreman and asked for a job. He asked if I'd had any experience on river drives and I answered "No," but that I had worked in the woods and small sawmill operations and thought I could work on the rear as I knew how to handle a peavey. To my surprise he told me I could go to work. I went on to town to purchase a new pair of calked shoes and returned to an experience I will never forget.

The crew was made up of men of experience on river drives - from Marble Creek on the St. Joe Forest and from the Priest River area. They were rough, quick and fast on foot. The foreman was "Black Dunk" McDonald. He put me on the rear crew which was helping to get all the poles back into the river that had lodged on the bank, rocks, or islands. The cook tent was on a large raft and followed the drive, each day tying up at night. They fed five-times a day and good food. It was hard work and dangerous as the poles would jam up, backing the water up, and the pressure would cause some of the poles to jump a considerable distance and start the dam again.

I think the foreman, McDonald, must have been in partners with the employment agency in Spokane, because he kept three crews - one coming, one going, and one working - with the exception of what he called the White-Water men. These were the boys out in front who tried to keep the poles from jamming up. The foreman's usual procedure in firing men was to single out one man, right after breakfast, and tell him he could go down. Then he would ask, "Do you have a partner?" If the answer was yes, he would say, "Get him and he can go with you." If the answer was no, he would say, "Just wait a minute and I will get you one." He always sent them down in pairs. How he let me stay with the drive to the finish I'll never know. I always felt my turn would be next, but I stayed until the drive reached Kooskia. It took 40 days to drive 24 miles and the water was very cold when we finished.

We lost our cook raft, or "wanagan" as it was called, at the Three Devil Rapids. We broke a jam there and the water went down so fast it left the raft high and dry on the bank. The crew was unable to get it back into the river. Here again, the pack stock was used to move the cook outfit and camp. To my knowledge these were the only Forest Service poles taken out of this drainage by this method and I am sure the cost, plus the breakage, made this method prohibitive. Considerable cedar posts and shingle bolts were rafted down this stream, but only in high water.

1919

The next time I came back to the Nezperce Forest was after my hitch in France in World War One. I left Grangeville in May 1918 and returned in June 1919. I headed for the Salmon River country and landed a job with the John Day cattle ranch, helping to put the stock on summer pasture on forest range at the head of Slate Creek and in the John Day Mountain area.

Then I borrowed a partly broken, good saddle horse, and went back to Camas Prairie near Grangeville. I was to have the use of the horse for the breaking of him, provided I would come back in the fall and help gather the beef. I harvested near Grangeville, sewing sacks on a stationary threshing machine. When we finished I rode into Grangeville. Here I met Macky Williams, the man who had packed on the railroad survey. He said he was glad to see me back and informed me the Forest Service wanted him to furnish them a string of mules and packer for a fire job on the South Fork of the Clearwater River, at the Castle Creek Ranger Station.

I took the job, hiring out myself and the saddle horse. He told me the Service was having considerable fire trouble in the Elk City area, where he had his best stock working. We rounded up what mules he had left. They were mostly work mules and a pretty hard-looking outfit, but we got nine head together and loaded out at Mt. Idaho, a short distance from Grangeville. I told Mr. Williams I thought some of the stock were in poor shape for a heavy pack job. His reply was just to get them on the payroll. I packed the fire camp and supplies to the job. Here, again, I met Forest Ranger Thomas Crossley. I hadn't seen him since 1907.

This fire was in an open yellow pine area and not too hard to put under control or to stop the ground spread; however, the crew remained for a long time letting the fire burn itself out. I had a two-day pack trip for supplies and it seemed this crew was always out of foodstuff. The firefighters were mostly local stump ranchers and I have always thought they, or at least part of them, got all their winter's food supply from this fire job. I could be wrong, but if not, they certainly were good, healthy eaters.

The fire foreman was Jeston McCarthy. When the job was over he returned to Grangeville with me and the pack string. When we went to the Supervisor's Office to get our fire timeslips taken care of, the supervisor asked McCarthy how he was able to get in so much time, as his slips showed from 20 to 22 hours for each day's work. He snapped back with, "By God, I was timekeeper, that's why!" I didn't have any trouble with the supervisor, as my time was by the day scale.

I left there the next day with the idea of a short visit with my father. He lived 12 miles above Kooskia, Idaho, on the Middle Fork of the Clearwater River and some 36-mile ride which I could make in one day. On my way out of Kooskia I met a sheepman named McKenzie. He told me he had a band of sheep on Coolwater Ridge, between the Lochsa and Selway Rivers and asked if I would like to take a few days and help him trail them out to the railroad at Kooskia. He would ship them from there to Condon, Oregon, the home ranch. I agreed to help him and the salary would be $5.00 per day. I told him I would visit at my father's, take another look at the country where I had fought fire several years before, and would be up to the sheep camp the next day.

I reported as promised, but found they couldn't trail out as the railroad couldn't deliver the sheep cars yet. It turned out to be a mighty long wait. A full 30 days later, when the cars finally arrived at Kooskia, we came in with the sheep.

They had a herder and a camptender on the job, so there wasn't much for me to do. I did help build a counting pen, or corral, and every other day I would ride down to the post office at Lowell to get the mail and check on the car outlook. One day, after we had counted the sheep, the owner said there were 18 head short and that they must be back along the ridgetop. He wanted the camptender and me to ride back and see if we could find them. He suggested I take one of their horses to ride and let my horse have a rest. Well, I didn't tumble that they were playing a trick on me so I caught the horse and saddled up. The camptender said I wouldn't need a bridle as this horse performed better with a hackamore, and I took him at his word. When I put my foot in the stirrup to mount, I suddenly knew I had been tricked. I was able to stay on, but this horse sure knew how to buck. We wound up, down off the ridgetop in a bunch of alder brush. I called back for them to bring the axe down and swamp us out and we would put on the rest of the show. When we got the horse out I rode him a few miles back up the trail. Naturally we found no sheep and the camptender finally confessed they weren't really short any sheep, they just wanted to see some fun. They had bought this horse near Pendelton, Oregon. He wasn't supposed to be good enough to keep in a bucking string, but he certainly was good enough to make you ride to stay on top.

We finally received word that the sheep cars were available, and it took but a few days to trail out. After the sheep were loaded they begged me to come along, with an offer of year-round work at $125.00 per month. I would have gone but I didn't own the horse I had and had promised to come back to the Salmon River.

1922-1924

I stayed on the Salmon River with the cow outfit until 1922. Then I moved to Coeur d'Alene and worked in a logging camp. In 1924 I made application to pack for the Coeur d'Alene Forest. There I packed for two years, 1924 and 1925. I took the Ranger exam in 1925. It didn't appear there was much chance for me, but I liked the packing job fine. We had good stock and fine people to work for, but the job was seasonal and that year it was hard to find work in the wintertime.

In 1926 I was offered a trail foreman's job for Ranger Helmers, out of Prichard, at $125.00 per month. This was a good job; we were using a small crew and a plow unit. During the summer a large fire got going on the Magee district. Supervisor McHarg sent word for me to bring my packsack and report to him in Coeur d'Alene, which I did. He told me he wanted me to take over the Magee district and he would try to get my appointment through, but he couldn't promise anything for sure. With a short briefing on the condition of the fire, the number of men on it, who was in charge, the danger spots, etc., I told my family goodbye and was on my way to Magee Ranger Station.

I recall telling McHarg the fire was quite large for quick control unless we got a good break in the weather. He said to do the best we could. On arrival I found things pretty well organized; but on the second day we had a high wind and a fire blowup in Independence Creek. One camp was abandoned. The next morning I had men and equipment scattered from the fire to the Ranger Station. Someone must have been awfully hungry because they had carried a slab of bacon from the fire camp some seven miles and it was hanging on the barn door. All the men soon gathered together and a new camp was put in. In due time this fire was brought under control, and mopped up to the point of safety. Then we packed our equipment out and returned it to the Spokane warehouse. My appointment came through on August 24, 1926.

I remember a fire camp cook on this job, who kept ordering a keg of dill pickles. I checked invoices and found we had been sending in plenty of pickles, yet each day the order came in for a keg of dill pickles. So on my next trip to the fire camp I checked through the camp food supplies and found plenty of canned dill pickles. I asked the cook, a Mr. White, why the continuous order for a keg of pickles. He said, "I don't want the d---ed pickles, I want the keg." Evidently he wanted to make up a batch of home brew.

I was happy to become a part of such a fine organization as existed on the Coeur d'Alene Forest. The years went by fast. We were busy with improvement work - new lookout towers, trails, roads, telephone lines, and plantings. We also had a new project, the white pine beetle infestation. We also had our share of fires each year. However, it was all interesting.

In the fall of 1927, Supervisor McHarg called to tell me that Mr. Winton of the Winton Lumber Co., his two daughters and son, were coming over to Magee on a pleasure and fishing trip. The fishing was excellent in this area at that time. When they arrived about 3:00 p.m. we greeted them and asked them to have cake and coffee, after their nine-mile ride on horseback. They made their plans for the following day's fishing. We put them up at the station and in due time had our evening meal. The two girls occupied a small tent I had erected for my family when they had a chance to visit the station during the summer. Their horses, as well as ours, were turned out to graze. One horse was kept in the barn.

About dark it started to rain lightly, but all were soon bedded down for the night. Everything was quiet until 9:30 or 10:00 p.m. when we heard one of the girls screaming. The other daughter came running into the station asking for Mr. Winton, and stated she thought her sister was having an attack of appendicitis. We were all up within a few minutes and soon Mr. Winton came back from a quick talk with the girl. He asked me if we had the man power on hand to carry the girl on a stretcher to the end of the road, some nine miles. I told him I had only a very few available, but we could take her out on a stretcher between two saddle horses.

Mr. Winton quickly contacted his doctor in Coeur d'Alene, ordering him to come to the end of the road by car, and from there by foot until he met us on the pack trail. He thought they might have to operate on our way out at a tent camp we had set up on a road project. We phoned ahead to the camp for them to get water heated, etc.

Since all our stock except the one horse were out in the open meadowland, I asked my packer to try and bring them in. The night was pitch dark. It was difficult to tell how many horses and which ones he was able to get into the corral. Luckily he managed to have two horses in the bunch that we could use on this kind of job, and by the time the packer had rounded up the horses, we had made a stretcher. Assistant Supervisor Sanderson was also there and he and I got the stretcher rigged up and made a short trial run to see if it would work, and more important, to see if the horses were willing to work in it.

Then we loaded the girl onto the stretcher and took two extra men with us, each carrying a gas lantern. We made fair time. The only thing that really slowed us up was the rest of the Winton family, wanting us to stop so they could check on the patient, give her a kiss and reassurance.

When we met the doctor he delayed us only a few minutes while he gave the girl a quick exam and a shot to ease her pain. He told Mr. Winton it would be much better to take the girl on to the hospital rather than to think of treatment out in the mountains. We had no trouble on the trail. On switchbacks we had two men take the rear end of the stretcher until we were all the way around, then the stretcher was given back to the rear rider again. We made the end of the trail about daylight. The girl was loaded into the ambulance and they headed for the hospital, then we returned to the Magee Station. Miss Winton reached the hospital and the operation was a success. The fishing trip was a failure, but all were happy.

We finally had the road built through to the Magee Ranger Station. This was a big help from the standpoint of bringing in district supplies, but it also brought many fishermen, campers, etc., which gave us some trouble from the danger of campfires, smokers, etc. We had been fairly free of these worries before and, of course, in due time it depleted the good fishing, which was the best I had seen anywhere.

Although 1929 was a dry year we didn't have too much trouble. We had a few fires and were able to handle them quite well. I had one in Spruce Creek on the head of the Coeur d'Alene River that caused some alarm. It was 40 acres in size when controlled. I had put all available men at my command on this fire and by evening of the first day we had it under control. In the afternoon a plane flew over the fire and the observer thought one side of it wasn't yet under control. That night I received some 28 men I hadn't ordered. They reached my small fire camp about midnight. I asked the foreman of these men why they had come. He told me Major Kelley was in Coeur d'Alene and he and the supervisor thought we needed help.

While the fire was quite safe at this time and I was sure I could mop it up with the crew I had on the job, I still had the new crew bed down and we would see how things were at daylight. By morning the fire was almost out, but I kept the new crew and gave my men the morning off to rest up. I took the fresh crew out and we did a real good job of clean-up on the fire. We even cut down some green trees that were inside the fireline, limbed them and burned the brush. By night we had the fire area clean and safe. The next morning I let the new crew go.

Since this fire was class C size, it would require an inspection from the Regional Office. Mr. Shoemaker and I made this examination some ten days later. He wrote an elaborate report, all the time questioning me quite a lot about cutting down the trees and burning the brush, and why I didn't turn the crew back without putting them on the fire since we had it under control when they had arrived. Finally I told him that since the men had been sent to me with the idea of making sure of control of this fire, I felt it would be better for me, and also the fire, to make darn sure it was out and cleaned up. It's very difficult in my opinion to make a good analysis on a dead fire.

Things went along fine for the next few years. I enjoyed my work and I enjoyed all the force on the Coeur d'Alene Forest. I had bought a home in Coeur d'Alene and had begun to feel that we were getting some place.

1931

While 1931 wasn't considered a bad fire year, we did have some hot, dry weather the last of August and the first of September. A small cloud drifted over my district, we heard the thunder and saw the forked bolt of lightning come to the ground. It set two fires about 8 miles apart. The lookouts called in within a few minutes. There was no rain and both fires started to spread fast.

I started seven men and a plow unit to one, and two smokechasers and a trail crew to the other. Then I rode horseback to the one where I had sent the plow unit. I reached it in short order. It was rapidly spreading in a 1926 burn, due to heavy fireweed and downed timber. We were making good headway with the plow unit until afternoon, then we got some whirlwinds which caused it to jump our lines in all directions. I had a portable phone so called the station and ordered 40 men. We were able to cut the spread on the head end of the fire with the few men at hand and the plow unit. At dusk the 40 men ordered arrived and we were able that evening to work down both sides, and the fire was dying down. With the coolness of the night I was sure we would gain control by early morning.

Just about dusk I lost a man from a falling snag. This, of course, was a sad affair. I had talked to him about 10 minutes before and warned him of the snag that was leaning toward where he was working. He told me he was aware of it and had a large, green Douglas-fir with a forked top that he could get behind if the snag fell. It did fall and came down in the forks of this green tree, but the top of the snag broke and fell endways, pinning him beneath it. We made a stretcher and started out with him but he lived only a few minutes.

About 9:00 p.m. I rode up to Hamilton Mountain Lookout where I could get a look at the second fire and have good telephone communication. I could see from the fire's behavior that the crew wasn't making any headway toward its control. I called the station and learned from my alternate that my conclusions were correct. He told me they were sending 75 men and Ranger Bishop from Coeur d'Alene. I thought they should have more men and asked him to get the supervisor, Mr. Simpson, on the line. I told Mr. Simpson that from what I could see I thought it would be wise to call out the Ohio Match Company men and send at least 125 of them. This fire wasn't slowing down. It was in a 1910 burn and the debris and windfalls were heavy, with lots of standing dry timber. This fire was on a ridgetop, with steep side slopes. You could see what was happening. As soon as a snag would burn off it would slide down the mountain, scattering fire all the way.

Supervisor Simpson firmly told me he thought the crew being sent was adequate to handle the fire. I added that since my fire was in fair shape I would like to turn it over to Hank Ogston, a scaler, and go over on the other fire myself. He objected to this, saying I had the worst fire of the two as they had scouted them by plane that afternoon and for me to go back to the fire and make sure it didn't get out of control, which I did. Two days later the fire I was on was almost out. I contacted the supervisor again. The McPherson fire was still spreading fast. This time he agreed that I could go over on that fire as crew foreman and take the Ohio Match crew with me. I was to report to Mr. Sanderson, Assistant Supervisor, who was in charge.

Two days later this fire jumped the Coeur d'Alene River and made a run of eight miles in seven minutes. I was camped on the river, and when I saw what had happened I pulled all my crew down to the river. I sent 10 men to try to save our camp by use of a Pacific Marine pump. I told them to get all the bedding, tools, etc., under the kitchen fly and to keep it wet. I left my crew on a large island in the river and told them to stay there. I waded down the river and the only air you could get to breathe was down about 6 inches from the water. There were trees and large embers falling all around and it was hot. By throwing water on your back or ducking down in the river you could stay cool for a short period but within a few minutes your clothes would be dry again.

I was also worried for the safety of Howard Flint and his small crew that had been sent to handle a small spot fire that had shown up earlier, as he was now in the direct path of the fire. I had sent a reliable man to warn him of the danger but I had not heard from them. I finally made it to our campsite by staying in the river. Here I found that the men were doing a fine job of keeping things wet with the pump. The cook was standing out in the river, waist deep. He was holding a slab of bacon in his hand and asked me where we would go from there. I remarked we weren't going any place at the present time.

The fire was just like a cyclone. Large trees and snags would twist off and were carried into the air. Others were uprooted. The green cottonwoods at our camp were catching on fire from the extreme heat. The gas tank on our pump was so hot that the gas was squirting out the air vent. We held a dishpan over it to prevent sparks falling on it. It was an extremely difficult task to fill the gas tank; however, we managed to keep the pump running and saved our entire camp.

When evening came and things quieted down, I got my crew and tools together again, except for two men who had left. Later I found they had made the Ranger Station at Magee and had spread an alarm that I had been burned up along with several others. About dark Howard Flint and his crew came in. He had seen what was happening and had pulled down to the river also. He had with him the lad I had sent to warn him.

We put in the night here and the next morning the pack trail had cooled down enough that we were able to get the pack string through and move to the McPherson ranch. Here we planned a new attack. Several crews had been sent in from the Montana side. I heard later that some of those men had a narrow escape as they were caught in the run of the fire. The next day Frank Jefferson arrived at the head of the fire and on the downriver side. I had the upriver side and was able to drive a line some 5 miles up the edge of the fire. This line we were able to hold. I believe it was on the second or third day I got word from Jefferson by messenger to pull 50 men from my crew which I had out on the fireline and bring them to his camp, crossing through the fire. My men didn't like the idea, because all their personal belongings were back at the fire camp. But finally I got them to consent, with the promise that I would make sure we would be able to save their possessions.

We finally wound up this fire with some 1200 men on the job. I was told later that several decadent hemlock trees burned throughout the winter and were cut down and put out the next June.

During the winter we held a postmortem on this fire in the forest headquarters at Coeur d'Alene. The Regional Office boys were there Kelley, Jefferson, Stockdale and others. The question often came up as to what else could have been done to prevent the spread of this fire. I don't remember what the final answer was, but I have always thought we might have prevented it if adequate man power of seasoned men had been dispatched in the first days. It was stressed by the Regional Office that we make an effort to adequately man all fires and that it was cheaper and better to have too much help than not enough. After this I followed that procedure and found it worked out to my advantage. As I look back now, I feel that we should have planned a controlled burn, when conditions were favorable, on some of those old 1910 burned areas, then cleaned them up and planted them; but here, again, man power and money were lacking.

During my first winter on the Coeur d'Alene I was working in what we called the "bullpen." This was a large room in the Supervisor's Headquarters where scalers and Rangers from outlying districts had space during the winter months. As I recall, I was working on my District Ranger filing case. All the other men ordinarily occupying this room were on leave or out for the day, except a timber salesman by the name of Johnson. "White-Pine Johnson" he was called by all. He was checking scale books and was in charge of the Ohio Match sale on the Little Northfork of the Coeur d'Alene River. He laid his scale book down upon his desk and said, "Young man, you are working too hard." I stopped and looked at him questioningly. Then he said, "I want to give you some advice on how to get along in the Forest Service." I said, "Fine." Then he began by saying, "You must keep your head cool, your feet warm, your eyes open, your mouth shut and learn how to spell the word approximately." I laughed at the time, but later found out that he was so right.

1932

In the spring of 1932 I was transferred to the St. Joe Forest. I was somewhat saddened when I heard the news. I liked the Coeur d'Alene, my work and the personnel, and had bought my home here. But I took the assignment and moved my family to St. Maries, Idaho. Here I met another fine group of men. Paul Whalen was Supervisor, Frank Foltz, Assistant Supervisor, and Bill Daughs, W.W. Renshaw, Chas Scribner, Walt Botts, and Al Williams as Rangers. I can't remember all the office force, but I do remember Mr. Hellman was there and he was a big help to me in getting started. My assignment was on the Clarkia district. This was a new district made up mainly from the Potlatch Lumber Company Fire Protective Association area.

The Forest Service was to take over the Association - lock, stock and barrel - which included pack stock, tools, cars, trucks, and furnishing the Potlatch Lumber Company with fire protection for payment of 15 cents per acre by the Association. Fire protection had been costing them some 22 cents per acre for the years before. This looked like a losing proposition, and since you can't contract the Government into a deal like this it was undertaken on a trial basis, with a provision that if we ran out of money we would call a meeting and find out where we would go from there. We also had a deal whereby if the Potlatch Lumber Company would clear up the back taxes and deed all cut-over lands to the Service, thus bringing the forest ownership up to 55% or better, we would further reduce the fire protection cost to the Association.

The first year was a trying one; however, the Potlatch people were very good to us. They let us have their headquarters building at Clarkia for a summer station. I tried to contact the men from the fire protection association to get my guard force lined up. I was able to get some of them for trail crew work; their packer and a few others would be on telephone line work. No one wanted to take on any lookout work. I found out the reason. I wanted to place them on top of the lookout point, one man to the station. This hadn't been the practice under the Association, so I had to import some men. I was able to get three who had worked for me on the Coeur d'Alene. Well, this caused a fuss, as we were in the depression and someone started the rumor that the three men were Canadians. I knew better and didn't pay much attention. The boys had been born and raised down in the Clearwater country, and had worked on the Selway and Coeur d'Alene Forests. True, their father and mother had moved to Canada and the boys had wintered there as they couldn't find work here. I didn't let this political move bother me. I had the three working on early spring trail and telephone maintenance.

Major Kelley came in to my station late one day. We visited for a while, had supper, and about 8:00 p.m. the three men came into the station. He asked who they were and why they were so late coming from work. I explained I had them on telephone maintenance work and they had decided to finish the job to Elk Mountain lookout that day rather than kill another day on it. They also had brought in a lot of poor connections they had taken out of the line, just to show me the manner in which the line had been maintained in previous years. I wondered how the line could have been used at all. Then Major Kelley said to me, "You keep those men working and I will answer any of the political squawks from now on."

We finished the first season without much trouble from lightning fires, but we had several man caused, including campers, sheepmen, lumbering and debris burning, winding up the season in late September with four class "C" fires at the same time. I was able to man these fast and gained quick control. As I recall, we had $1500 left in our protection money at the end of the season, which the Association gave to the Service.

The next year we took the job for 7-1/2 cents per acre. The last I heard we were doing the job for 4-1/2 cents. It's probably less by now.

1933

In 1933 we got the CCC and WPA, or ERA. Anyway, we had to have two packers for each string, two cooks for each job, putting to work everyone who was available. We were swamped getting out plans for roads, telephone lines, towers, snagging job's and all other types of forest projects. Some of the CCC camps went on blister rust work. Everyone was scratching the bottom of the barrel for overhead.

Along with the rush of things, we got a new supervisor, Ray Fitting. Supervisor Whalen was transferred East. Assistant Supervisor Frank Foltz asked to be transferred. Renshaw was sent back to the Avery district from the Supervisor's Office. We were really "all shook up."

I didn't worry too much since I had known Mr. Fitting since my early school days and was sure I could please him. At least I could try.

I got a CCC camp stationed at Clarkia. We used the town buildings, as this had been a lumbering town. It was vacant now due to the fact that all logging in this area had shut down. We were to build a road from Gold Center, above Clarkia, to connect with a road being built from Ranger Ralph Hand's district at Round Top. This road would follow the divide between the Little Northfork of the Clearwater River and the St. Joe River. Another camp of CCC was at Emida. This camp would work partly on my district and partly on Ranger Daugh's district, called the Palouse district. Blister rust drew a large quota of the CCC for summer work. The blister rust also maintained a headquarters at the Ranger Station or the old Rutledge Headquarters, with Neil Fullerton in charge.

We got things fairly well lined up and the camps in, with some projects going. The blister rust was to put in three spike camps in Emerald Creek which was some three miles from our headquarters, across country, but to be able to put them in they had to truck all supplies down the St. Maries River to the town of Fernwood across the river, then truck back up the other side, a round trip of 24 miles. Neil Fullerton found an old logging road that was usable except for two small, steep pitches, which would take about one day's work with a dozer to eliminate. This would save a lot of time, plus wear and tear on trucks, by cutting the distance down to about a 12-mile round trip.

I had a dozer and an operator not in use, since my clearing crew wasn't far enough out to permit blasting, and besides my powder had not arrived. We decided to take the dozer and clean out the road to Emerald Creek. We just got nicely under way and who should come up but Supervisor Fitting. He heard the dozer working as he drove up the highway, so he went in to see that the deal was. He talked to the dozer operator and his helper, but didn't stop them. Then he drove direct to the Ranger Station. I was out in the woods that day so he didn't find me. Neil wasn't so lucky. Fitting was really mad and gave Neil a real going over, then he went to my office and gave my alternate "Hail Columbia" and left me a four-page memo. I won't write the words he used, but he also said to get that dozer back on the approved road job by tomorrow and "I don't mean maybe." When I returned that evening I could see something had happened by the look, not only on Neil's face, but also my alternate's. They told me the sad news and showed me the memo. I read it over and said, "If we have to move it back by tomorrow we'd better put on a night shift and finish the job." Which we did. The next day the dozer was back on the approved job.

Mr. Phil Neff from the Regional Office arrived the next day. He had an assignment with the blister rust I told Phil the spot we were in and showed him the memo from Fitting. We went over the road the next day. He said he would handle this situation as Koch, Kelley and Fitting were coming up to look over the blister rust setup. He took them all over the new road and I had to go with them. When he got to the point where we had used the dozer, he stopped and we all got out. Phil said, "Now here is a really good piece of work. It will save many miles of useless travel during our rust program over the next few years." Everyone agreed. But the top remark of the day came from Mr. Fitting who casually remarked, "That is the reason I had this job completed first."

I have always thought Supervisor Fitting could see the advantage of this road from the start, but I think he was put out because we hadn't presented the thing to him in such a way that he could take action to have it done.

The CCC program was a blessing to the Forest Service. At last the time had come when we had manpower and equipment to work with. At first, of course, roads had high priority, but other needed improvements such as lookout towers, telephone lines, blister rust and timber-stand improvements, planting and many others were sandwiched into our construction programs and we had a vast supply of trained young men for use in fire suppression.

Some of our projects on the St. Joe Forest, like most other forests in this area, had to close down during the winter months. But we had five camps on the St. Joe River where road building could be carried on during winter weather. So we moved most all our men to this area. The fall of 1933 was very wet. The main body of men on my district were sent to the winter camps early, leaving me a small crew to put in drainage culverts on the Clarkia-to-Roundtop road.

When we were ready to transfer these camps, the Army decided to truck the men to St. Maries and then send them up the St. Joe River on the train. I talked to the camp commander and asked him not to send the truck drivers with the first consignment of men as I would need them to bring the trucks back from the depot in St. Maries. He agreed to leave them. But on the day they were to leave the truck drivers, he came over to the Ranger Station and informed me he had transferred them all, that they had been instructed to leave the trucks at the depot and board the train, and the Forest Service would have to figure out how to get the trucks back.

Well, I called Supervisor Fitting and explained the deal. He told me to keep the trucks in Clarkia if that was the way the Army felt and let them walk to St. Maries. I went over to our CCC camp and had a talk with the Captain. I asked him why he hadn't kept the truck drivers as agreed to previously. He said this was an Army order and he had to have the trucks at St. Maries, and we would have to find drivers to bring them back. I told him the trucks were not moving under those conditions and they would remain where they were until he changed the orders. After the air cleared and the camp commander put in a call to Supervisor Fitting, he agreed to leave the truck drivers for me. I went along to St. Maries to make sure he carried out this promise, and he did.

During the winter we had a forest training program for the CCC camps. I was assigned the five winter camps. This program was designed mostly for on-the-job training; however, many other subjects about our natural resources, timber, watersheds and wildlife were worked in. I am sure a lot rubbed off on at least some of these boys. The World War I Veterans Camp wasn't very interested as most of them were hard-rock miners from Butte, Montana. Since then I have met many men in other walks of life who are proud to have been in the CCC, and I think today we need some such opportunity for our young boys. They need an opportunity to become better acquainted with Mother Nature, and learn to appreciate the many things she has to offer. The Forest Service has many jobs that need doing.

During the winter of 1933, in late December, we were on the receiving end of a high wind and a warm, heavy rain that lasted several days. The St. Joe and St. Maries Rivers were soon in flood stage. The St. Joe flooded out many small farms, drowned many livestock, and washed out the Milwaukee Railroad above Avery. One train went into the river. I was then at the Avery Ranger Station. We had plenty of trouble saving the barn at the station as it was built on a fill section with a small creek going under it via a culvert. So much debris was washed down that it was difficult to keep the headgate or grill open. The river caused one CCC camp to flood also. I helped get the passengers, mail and luggage to Avery from the train that went into the river. They made up another train at Avery and I rode this to St. Maries. We made it fine until we got to the flats above St. Maries. Here the water was some three feet deep over the tracks. One man waded ahead of the engine to see if the track was washed out. The water drowned out the fire in the firebox. A log drifted under a box car that had the baggage in it. This was uncoupled and left there. We finally made St. Maries at 1:30 a.m. on Christmas Day, wet, hungry and tired.

The day after Christmas, the Army officers arrived in St. Maries from Fort Wright. They had chartered a boat at Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, had made it this far and planned to go on up the St. Joe River, but this was impossible. The river was so high they couldn't get under the railroad bridge. The river was also full of drifting timbers and other debris. The Army was excited and concerned about the CCC boys and their food supplies, and was making this trial run to see if supplies could be delivered by use of a boat.

They came to the forest headquarters at St. Maries - I don't remember where Supervisor Fitting was that day. But, anyway, I talked to them and explained we would have to wait until the water went down sufficiently to let the railroad repair their tracks. They all thought this would take too long and there was still a possibility that the railroad bridge across the St. Joe River might go out. They asked if it would be possible for the Forest Service to pack into the camps, using our pack stock. I told them this would be impossible because all the lowlands were flooded and the high country was covered with deep snow. I suggested we wait a few days because the weather at this time of year would likely turn cold and stop the heavy runoff. I also explained that the men had some rations in each camp and also some at the Avery Ranger Station. I knew the boys wouldn't starve for a few days. I told them they could fly in and drop anything that would be needed for an emergency. Also, I told them if worse came to worse they could have the foreman take these men out by walking them across the divide to Wallace. All the Army would have to do would be to give the word and those young men would be over the hill in no time. Their final decision was to wait a few days, and as it happened it really was only a few days till the Milwaukee Railroad was back in business and things began to settle down to normal.

1935

The winter of 1935 was one of extremely heavy snowfall on the St. Joe. I remember we had a game count going and it was ideal for this as game was concentrated on winter ranges. Just before Christmas a heavy, wet snow and blizzard hit the area and a Northwest Airlines plane crashed on the St. Joe. I was instructed by the Supervisor to take a small group of men and make a search for this plane. With me were several other forest officers - Neil Fullerton, Elmer Marks, Walt Bott, Chas Scribner, and a few temporary men, including Dave Brown who was a radio operator; also a group of Spokane men who were good on skis.

The best information we had was from the Army. From Fort George Wright they had searched the day following the accident and thought they had spotted the plane at the head of Big Creek near Cemetery Ridge, where several men lost their lives in the 1910 fire. We also knew the plane had been over the town of Elk River during the night. They were burning an old lumber yard there and the plane had circled there for several minutes. The telephone operator had reported this to Spokane and the control tower, had contacted the plane and instructed Mr. Livermore, the pilot, to fly west and come into Spokane on the Pasco beam.

We also had a report from Clarkia that the plane had been heard going toward Elk River and also that it had been heard returning. I had a man on game count in Marble Creek who had heard the plane flying over and back. We had a spike camp working on road construction near Calder on the St. Joe River. They were working a night shift with the aid of heavy flood lights. The men here had heard the plane which came down into the canyon fairly low and departed toward Big Creek at about 2:00 a.m. The control tower had contacted the plane at about this same time and was informed by the pilot that he had picked up a leg of the Pasco beam. This was the last that was heard from them.

With this information we got our outfit together, good bedding, camp outfit, and personal belongings. I hired a packer by the name of Noel Farrel, and a local cook. We packed into the forks of Big Creek. There was a log cabin here about 18 x 24 in size which we used as a base camp to work from. The Army search plane that thought they had spotted the crashed plane gave the approximate location as being in Sec. 36, T47N, R3E. So our first search was made in this area. We combed or stripped this section, with no results. The weather remained cold, with much snow and high winds causing heavy drifting. It was so cold that icicles would form on your hair at the back of your neck; also on your whiskers where your breath would freeze visibly. It was almost zero for several days and visibility consisted of a small circle of about 50-foot radius. Ranger Chas. Scribner was sent to Spokane to accompany any search plane and drop us any information at Cemetery Ridge lookout if by chance the weather cleared so plane reconnaissance was possible. Meantime the ground search continued.

We spent Christmas Day searching, and Christmas Night we decorated a small spruce tree at our cabin by removing the labels from empty cans and hanging them on the branches. The packer hung his silver-mounted spurs and bridle and other makeshift decorations on the tree and it was real pretty by the light of our huge outside warming fire.

The first day the weather cleared the plane was located by Ranger Marks in Sec. 23, T47N, R3E at about 5500' elevation, almost at the top of the ridge. The plane had sheared off several snags. It was covered with about 18 inches of snow and was badly burned. The bodies of the pilot, Livermore, and his co-pilot, Haide, were above the plane and not badly burned. We left things as they were and returned to camp where we radioed in the information and made arrangements to return the following day and remove the bodies and mail. A United States postal inspector arrived at camp.

In the dark, early the next morning, I took the postal inspector by horseback to the end of the trail, where the snow was so deep we couldn't use the horses. We tied them at this point and took to the "bear-paws." We had a steep climb to the top of the ridge and some 5 miles to snowshoe. This gentleman had never had on a pair of "Bear-paws" in his life, but he was game.

We reached the plane somewhat later than the rest of the crew. We had orders not to remove anything from within the plane, as an investigative team was on the way in from Wallace, Idaho; also the deputy sheriff and coroner would reach there by noon. But the postal inspector who was with me gave us permission to search for any mail outside the plane. We uncovered seven sacks of mail and other parcel post packages that were thrown clear of the plane. We also uncovered the bodies of the pilot and co-pilot. They had been thrown through the windshield of the plane, as the nose section of the plane had broken and doubled back under the plane. Both were thrown out with such force that the seats they were strapped to had torn off and come out with them. Haide's body was some 16 feet above the plane, and Livermore's was about eight feet in front of the plane and behind a tree that had come in with the force of the plane. I was told later that they hit the mountain top at about 200 miles per hour.

We got things pretty well together, but we couldn't move the bodies until the coroner arrived. We waited. No one had arrived by noon. We radioed in for permission to move the bodies but were instructed to wait until 2:30 p.m., then if no one arrived, to move them out.

I was anxious and so were the rest of the crew to get off the mountain before dark: We were ill equipped to put in a night here and we had a heavy load to take out with us. Besides, I had this inspector who was slow on showshoes, and it was cold with the snow drifting badly. Close to 2:30 p.m. the deputy sheriff and the coroner did arrive. When they got within talking distance one of them greeted us with, "Who the h-- gave you permission to do any digging around this plane?" The swearing continued. I was certainly taken by surprise, but I held my temper, which was warming me up even in below-zero weather. I finally said, "If you want to know who gave us the authority to do what we have accomplished here, you go up there and talk to that man by the fire." We had a fire going and a piece of canvas for a windbreak built for the postal inspector, "But first," I said, "I hope you will take time to pronounce these men dead and give us permission to load them on the toboggan as we want to get moving." They did so and my crew wasted no time getting started for camp. Then they talked to the inspector and he brought them down to earth in a few short but to the point words on what Uncle Sam could do about the mail.

I got my pack and, with the postal inspector, started for our base camp. We made the end of the trail where we had left our saddle horses. My man was "all in." I didn't think he would make the last mile as it was down hill and steep. He was falling often from stepping on his snowshoes. I helped him all I could. We left the bodies of the men at the end of the trail for the night. When we reached the horses and I got him aboard, I began leading his horse. We had only started when he said he couldn't ride due to cramps in his legs. I knew he wasn't in any condition to walk farther, so I told him he would just have to ride.

When I got him to camp I took him into the cabin, let him sit down on my bed while I unlaced his boots, and he fell over and was sound asleep before I could get his shoes off. I was afraid he would have a heart attack.

The next morning I returned with my packer to get the two bodies which we loaded on one mule and returned to camp, loaded the camp outfit and left for Calder, Idaho.

The inspector was pretty sore and stiff so I started him down the trail ahead and told him to take his time and he would soon limber up. I also told him if he found he couldn't walk, we would soon be along and he could ride a horse. He said he would prefer to walk. I received a nice letter from him later thanking me for my patience and help.

We got the bodies of the pilot and co-pilot to the railroad depot and shipped them to Spokane. I was glad this assignment was over. I never did hear the final answer to the cause of this accident as determined by the inspection team. The last I heard was that they thought the pilot had circled the town of Elk River so long that his compass was 80 degrees off. They also thought Livermore may have decided to return and get on the Wallace beam; however, I think the compass was off and he thought he was on the Pasco beam. I will never know how he missed all the high mountain tops on his trip from Wallace to Elk River and back.

1937

My last two years on the St. Joe were full of surprises and were somewhat hectic at times. My district at Clarkia was turned over to my alternate of one season, Art Greeley. I was moved to the Supervisor's Office, assigned to fire control and some phases of the improvement program, which were not clearly defined. We had all new Rangers on the forest except Chas Scribner and Edd R. Helmers, although Helmers was new here. He had been on the Coeur d'Alene for several past years.

We had several forest timber stand improvement programs going, which consisted of snagging and preparing burned areas for future plantings. These areas were to be reburned under a controlled burning program. This controlled burning was rather new to most of us, which resulted in not too good practice in laying out the areas. I mentioned several times to the supervisor that we should consider how we were to control these planned burning jobs. I was told in each case that if we couldn't handle a fire when we had man power at hand and could pick our time to burn, then we were poorly trained in firefighting.

While we experienced no serious trouble in our planned burning projects on the Joe, I do feel control of these projects would have been much easier had we been more careful in laying out our control lines. To obtain a good, clean burn it is necessary to do the job in extremely dry weather; therefore, good control plans should always be used. I used several different methods. One burn was a small area near Boville, Idaho. We burned this area at night. I set the center of the area first. When this fire got going in good shape, it created a draft from all sides then we fired from the control lines, or outside area. This turned out perfect and a good burn was accomplished.

Another area was near Emida, Idaho. This was a large area taking in almost all the Charley Creek drainage. Here I first burned from the control line on the top side of the fire area at night when the natural draft is downhill, letting these fires back down into the slash area and giving us a wider control line. The next day we burned from the creek with good success.

Another area near Boville contained heavy snags in not-too-steep country, but it involved careful control methods due to the railroad and some private land along one side. The supervisor and I looked the area over and decided on the date to burn, the number of men required, tools, etc. I was to remain at the area, look it over and plan how I would do the job. The supervisor returned to St. Maries and was to have the agreed-upon number of men and equipment on hand at 10:00 a.m. the following day. When the crew arrived we had only half that number. I asked the CCC Superintendent how come the shortage in manpower. He said that he had all the men that he had been instructed to bring. Fortunately I hadn't yet set this fire as I was somewhat doubtful about the control even with a full crew. I put these men to work, touching up a few weak spots in our control lines, then I drove to St. Maries in the afternoon and contacted the supervisor in his office. He was surprised to see me, or at least he acted like he was. He asked how the burning was going. I told him it wasn't going and it wasn't going to go as far as I was concerned unless I could get the manpower that we had decided upon. The next day I had a full crew and I could have used a few more. This was a hard fire to handle. Monk DeJarnette was on this fire with me and he got smoked up so bad he couldn't see to drive his car the next day. On control burn jobs it is safer to have too many men than not enough.

Perhaps most forest personnel have had some experience with bear in connection with their work. I have had several but would like to mention one that occurred while I was burning road right-of-way debris on the Round Top district of the St. Joe. During late June or the first part of July, I was to perform a general inspection on fire prevention and control on the Round Top district. The supervisor asked me to check the work of a crew that he had clearing a road right-of-way from Breezy Point to Marble Mountain lookout, a distance of some eight miles. He said he and Fred Thieme had instructed this crew to windrow the debris from the clearing in the center of the right-of-way, and burning was to be done in the fall. Construction of the road was to follow the next spring or summer.

I spent a day or so on this job. There was considerable heavy timber involved - hemlock, spruce, fir and some pine. The crew was falling this timber up and down the roadway, leaving it in tree length and only trimming off the top branches. Some of the timber was held off the ground by the lower branches, leaving lots of air pockets. The job looked good when the top branches were limbed off and piled on top of the timber; but from the burning standpoint, I didn't think the timber would dry out enough to burn in one short session. To burn it green would require piling it more compactly. But I didn't change any instructions to the crew.

Upon my return to the supervisor's office, I contacted Ray Fitting and told him I thought we should change the instructions to the crew and have the timber sawed up and the debris put in more compact piles, otherwise it wouldn't burn. I told him the crew was making good progress as far as slashing out the roadway was concerned. Well, I guess I said the wrong thing. He looked over his glasses at me and said for me not to worry about the burning job, that it would burn all right. So I passed it from my mind.

That fall, in late September, Ray came to my desk, looked over the top of his glasses and said he would like to talk to me in his office. I went with him and out of a blue sky he said, "I want you to go to Round Top and burn that right-of-way debris." I was somewhat surprised, but said, "Fine. I'll use the clearing crew that is on the job, I suppose." He said, "No, I don't want to stop the clearing crew and that is what I wanted to talk to you about. You don't need a crew at all. You go up there, wait until it rains about two inches then set that debris at the Breezy Point lookout end, and it will burn just like lighting a twine string at one end and it will burn clean. But be sure to wait until there has been sufficient rain to prevent any ground spread and I don't want any scorching of the roadside timber.

At this point in our conversation, I asked about some help to do this job. He informed me I wouldn't need any help and shouldn't have any trouble if I followed his instructions. I was extremely doubtful and more than a little worried.

The next morning I rounded up my field clothes, sleeping bag, burning torch, gas, etc., and I stopped by the office. The supervisor took one look at me and asked where I was going. I said, "To Round Top and do that burning job." He warned me again not to burn until there was sufficient moisture to prevent any ground spread.

The next day about two inches of light snow fell. I figured this would stop any sparks and also prevent any spread. I started burning and the first half or three-quarters of a mile the brush had been piled and the burning here went just fine. I wasn't having any trouble and I completed this stretch the first day. The next morning I hit the green timber and the windrow brush would not burn. I tried all day with no luck. As far as I could see I was just making a mess of the job. The piled branches would burn off the top, then I had these big full-length trees remaining, only blackened; I couldn't get the things to burn.

I finally decided to telephone the supervisor. I told him that this just wasn't going to burn and if he wanted it done this fall he would have to put a crew on and repile the entire job. He said it must be burned as construction was to follow the next spring and if I needed a crew why didn't I put one on, but not to interfere with the present clearing crew, as he wanted to push the clearing as far as possible.

I got the Ranger to pack in a camp, tools, and food. I went to Wallace, Idaho, rounded up a few men and a cook, and got back on the job. We set up camp at a small spring along the pack trail. There was a small log cabin there with a porch on it but no door, so we hung a piece of canvas for a door. This cabin was used for our cookhouse; two tents were put up in front of the cabin for sleeping quarters. After we had been here a few days we began to have trouble from the bears. They had taken a ham and our bacon from the porch of the cabin during the night.

I told the cook to move the bacon inside the cabin where he slept. He had a folding canvas cot that he made up at night, then he would take it down during the day as we were crowded for space at mealtime.

The first night he moved the smoked meat inside, sliced a large breadpan of bacon for breakfast and had it on the worktable just above his bed. In the middle of the night I heard the cook hollering, "Hey, that bear is in here!" It sounded like he was a long way off. I found out later he was inside his sleeping bag with as much of it pulled up over his head as possible. I quickly jumped up, and so did my neighbor in the next bunk. He had a flashlight and I had a 12-gauge shotgun loaded with bird shot.

We went to the door of the cabin, pulled the canvas back and flashed the light on a huge black bear standing with his hind feet on the cook's cot, eating the bacon from the work table. He got down when the light hit him and started toward us and the door. My partner put out the light, pulled the canvas around himself, and I stepped back under the porch. The bear came outside and started down the path toward the spring. We shined the light on him again when he was about eight feet away and I let him have the bird shot. We went back to bed. The next morning we looked down the trail and there the bear lay dead. The charge had hit him in the flank and killed him instantly. We had bear meat for several days for those who cared for it. Our packer wanted the hide. This bear, I am sure, would have weighed 250 lbs. The cook said he was larger than that.

I finished up this burning job in about three weeks. We had no rain, but it snowed at different times. We had to repile the entire job and saw the trees into short logs that could be managed by hand. The burning never got out of the right-of-way and there was no scorched timber along the road.

When I got back to St. Maries and got cleaned up after a month of dirty work on this job, I went to the office and told the supervisor the job was completed. He said, "I thought you must have taken up a homestead up there." He thought the cost of burning was too high so he charged most of it to clearing costs. I still think the method would work in pole-sized stands of timber, but not in large timber.

*****

I have always been proud that I had the privilege of joining the Service and working with a lot of fine people. There were a lot of hardships in the beginning; a lot of learning we had to do, and through it all the Forest Service emerged as a fine, efficient organization.

There are many grand memories for all men connected with the Service. The span of fifty years is incomparable: from riding horseback to fight fire, to dropping smokejumpers from planes.

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