Early Days in the Forest Service Volume 3

FIREFIGHTING EXPERIENCES
By J.C. Urquhart
(Retired 1957)

During the fall of 1914 I was serving as a waterbuck for a threshing machine near Nez Perce, Idaho. During the last half of August we could see columns of smoke rising from the mountains to the north and northeast. There was much talk among the threshing crew of the fires in the mountains and the demand for men to fight fire on the "Forest Reserve."

When we finished threshing the last of August I returned the four-horse team to the owner and next morning walked to Greer where I had heard one could get a job as a firefighter. That afternoon Forest Supervisor Charles Fisher reached Greer on a saddle horse. He told me if I wanted a job to fall in with the gang that would get off the train and go to a fire camp as directed. The train arrived moments later and about 75 men got off. Fisher herded the crew to the back of the depot, pointed to the old Greer grade and told us to start walking. He said cars might meet us at the top of the hill but if there were no cars to keep on hiking. There was one chap in the crew I knew, a man from Julietta. He was sober. We started up the hill together. When we reached the top of the hill there were no firefighters or cars in sight. We kept on hiking. We were finally picked-up by an Abbott automobile and I had my first car ride. Next morning we rode from Weippe to Pierce and were told to proceed on foot to a fire camp near the Oxford Mine. Next day we walked over the top of Elk Mountain and down to the North Fork of the Clearwater to a point likely near the mouth of Morgans Gulch. We passed two other fires and fire camps enroute. During the next five days I learned something about firefighting. A snowstorm the night of September 7th put an end to the job. After we had dried out clothes and bedding, we walked to Oxford Camp. Next morning we were told to walk to Pierce, a distance of 15 miles, where we would be met by cars and taken to the railroad. We reached Pierce at noon. There were no cars and as nearly as could be determined none were planned for. I walked another twelve miles to Weippe alone that afternoon where I was paid, then caught a ride on a freight wagon to the Parker ranch. It had required 2-1/2 days to travel from Greer to the fire.

I preferred firefighting to harvesting. The hills appealed to me. I decided to seek employment with the Forest Service the following summer. The spring of 1915 I was hired for trail construction work by John W. Long, Ranger at Oxford Ranger Station. We were assigned to build a trail around the north side of Pot Mountain to open up a fine stand of white pine. The foreman was John (Slim) Snyder, an experienced trail foreman, capable woodsman and a good hand with men. The lookout on Pot Mountain was the Ranger's half-brother; the smokechaser, Bert Mosley, was the Ranger's brother-in-law. Bert was a husky, bow-legged ex-cowpuncher and freighter. He wasn't fond of walking.

About the middle of August Bert arrived in our camp, located about 12 miles north of Pot Mountain, at breakfast time carrying a fire pack. A fire had been discovered from Pot Mountain and reported to be on Twin Creeks. Supervisor Willey had directed Mosley to proceed to the fire, picking me up enroute. We were told to take three days' grub to be sure we had enough and if we ran out we were to go to Bertha Hill, a point manned by the Clearwater Timber Company.

We took off down the divide between Rock and Lightning Creeks. Shortly after leaving camp we found a hole in the timber through which we could see the fire. It seemed a long way off to me.

Negotiating the steep-sided, chisel-bottomed, brushy North Fork Canyon without a trail was good experience for men not used to a backpack. We waded around or climbed over the cliffs in Moscow Bar Canyon and elsewhere, depending upon depth and current of the river. When we reached Twin Creeks we could see no evidence of a fire. I volunteered to climb the ridge below lower Twin Creek and take a look. I could find no fire in Twin Creeks. Looking back at Pot Mountain I was convinced that the fire we had seen from the vicinity of the trail camp was downriver and well beyond Twin Creeks. I returned to the river and reported my conclusions to Bert.

The next morning, our third day out, we arrived at the mouth of Isabella Creek. At first we could see no smoke. Later we discovered that a large white cloud north of us was smoke. Our problem of finding the fire was over. All that remained to do was go to it and put it out. We traveled up Isabella Creek for a distance, then took what seemed a direct route to the fire. (With more experience I'm sure we would have chosen a better route.) We were soon in a single burn on a steep slope with many standing dead trees and snags, a tangle of windfall on the ground and brush and reproduction so thick that we had to part it and push through to make slow progress. We reached a point near the bottom of the fire at dusk, excavated places to sleep and made a dry camp. After sweating profusely all day we soon exhausted our water supply and before morning drank what canned milk we had left. Thirst, the crash of falling timber and the roar of the fire kept us awake much of the night. On the morning of the fourth day after finding water and having breakfast we started trenching the fire. We had probably built more than 100 yards of trench along the lower side of the fire when two burning trees slid over the trench. Soon there was about an equal amount of fire on both sides of our line. We saw that two men almost out of grub were inadequate for the job. I volunteered to go around the fire and estimate the size in order to provide a more comprehensive report. After traveling about an hour I reached a point where a fair idea of the size of the fire and the nature of the terrain could be obtained.

I "guesstimated" it might take several hours of hard travel to go around the blaze (the drifting smoke probably caused me to overestimate). I went back and reported to Bert and we discussed what to do. The idea of going to Bertha Hill didn't appeal to us. It was so far from home base. We were not greatly concerned about a food supply. Pulling trout out of the North Fork at that time was simple and in an old shack at Twin Creek we had spotted an old tobacco bucket almost full of red beans. However, it occurred to us that after so long other men might have been sent to this fire. We decided to explore that possibility. We went to a point south of the fire where the roar of burning timber was not a factor, climbed to the top of a big rock that put us above the brush and reproduction, and gave a concerted yell. We were surprised by a distinct answer a short distance below us. I scrambled down through the brush and soon met John Collins who operated a small ranch on Quartz Creek near Pierce, did some prospecting and promoting. He owned the Oxford Mine. Collins had two itinerant firefighters with him. He had traveled by trail from Pierce to the mouth of Beaver Creek with pack and saddle stock, then worked the stock downriver to a point opposite the moth of Isabella Creek. Collins seemed surprised to see me and stated that Ranger Durant from Chamberlain Meadows was on the ridge above. He had been calling to him for four hours. It seems he and Durant had been lost together and he knew Durant's call. We were soon joined by Ranger Durant, Leo Schroeder, now a retired citrus fruit grower, and Harry Knight who later became a notorious bad man. Knight was finally killed in Butte by law men after he had put 3 or 4 notches on his gun. The Durant party had traveled from Chamberlain Meadows Ranger Station to Mallard Lake with stock. Both the Durant party and Collins were better supplied with food than we were, fortunately. We all proceeded to a drainage bottom covered with large green cedars where Knight prepared the first real meal Bert and I had eaten for four days.

The following day we all traveled together to the mouth of Isabella Creek by a circuitous route in order to get an idea of a possible route for a trail to the fire. We tapped Collins' food cache for supplies for our return trip and spent the next two days going back to Pot Mountain. Or, the return trip we avoided Moscow Bar Canyon by leaving the river at Quartz Creek and going up Moscow Bar Ridge. We traveled the six days to and from the fire without the benefit of a trail. Very little training was given lookouts and smokechasers at that time, but we acquired a lot of experience the hard way that proved valuable in later years.

After Ranger Durant and Collins met at the fire there was much discussion of the problem presented by the fire. It was a difficult one from the standpoint of fuels, terrain and accessibility. Durant decided that he should hike to a point on the Little North Fork where there was a telephone and call the Supervisor regarding a crew, packstock, supplies, etc. Collins felt that the best plan would be to equip one man with a torch and instruct him to set fire to the entire single-burn jungle and then go home. He argued that in any event snow would put the fire out and his plan would insure a good cleanup. Durant's idea prevailed. It was reported that $10,000.00 was spent on the fire before snow ended the battle. Collins probably had the germ of a good (but very unconventional) idea. During the next thirty years thousands of acres, largely consisting of single burns with large volumes of dead, dry fuels, went up in smoke despite our best obstructionist activities. Not only was much learned about fighting fire during those years but some learned when to bury a camp and run. Examples of some of the larger hazard reduction fires are the Bald Mountain and Pete King fires that burned out almost forty miles of the Lochsa Canyon, and the more spectacular Larsen Creek fire that swept over about 20 miles of the canyon of the North Fork of the Clearwater in one day while Jim Girard and others looked on from their partially submerged positions in the river.

Examination of many fine, clean stands of timber indicates that this process had been going on for many years before Teddy started setting aside the tag ends of America's forests for the public.

*****

After one year's experience with a trail crew and two years' experience as a smokechaser I took the Ranger's examination and on April 1, 1918, became a Forest Ranger assigned to the Cook Mountain District of the Clearwater.

Since the river was too high to ford at the mouth of Fourth-of-July Creek until sometime in July, it was necessary to pack from the Musselshell Ranger Station by way of the Lolo Trail to Indian Grave then along a ridgetop trail to Cook Mountain Ranger Station. We had second-rate pack horses that were soft and weak, and sawbuck saddles a haywire outfit.

The snow was still deep on some exposures in the green timber and on north slopes. The pack horses soon learned that they were more comfortable lying in the snow than struggling through it. I had a crew of five men - none with more than limited experience - and we were all new to the District.

About the middle of July dry lightning storms started a number of fires in the Oxford, Cook Mountain and some other Districts. It was not explosively dry but fires would spread on south exposures and in the large single burns. The Oxford District, west of mine, was one of the most accessible on the forest. There was no point in sending men and supplies past fires there to those in the Cook Mountain area. The result was that I had a half-dozen class C fires going before I could get the firefighters and supplies. A crew with Howard Drake in charge was finally obtained for the largest blaze of around 400-500 acres at Camp George. Howard had had considerable fire experience and I had my best opportunity so far to learn something about organizing and handling crews on fires.

After the Camp George fire was manned another crew that was headed for the District with a forest officer from another Region in charge, built a coffee fire at the mouth of Fourth-of-July Creek. That night smoke was reported pouring from the canyon. The campfire had come to life and a fire was burning over a portion of the Cook Mountain trail. The new crew and men from other fires, including Howard Drake, went to the fire. After the trenching work was in progress the crew struck. Radical elements in the IWW organization were quite active at that time. The crew demanded that we agree to give them fourteen hours' pay for twelve hours' work. The alternative was that they would leave the job which would mean that the Cook Mountain District would be cut off from supplies. The Lolo Trail route seemed impossible with the urgent need for pack-stock that prevailed. Howard and I discussed the matter and if my memory serves me rightly we agreed to their proposal, crowded the work as much as possible and replaced the entire crew at the first opportunity. This was my first but not my last trouble with the "wobblier."

After most of the Cook Mountain fires had been manned I decided that a fire at the north edge of Sherman Saddle on the Lolo Trail should be investigated. It had been sending up a column of smoke for several days. I left Cook Mountain very early one morning with a husky lunch and strolled across the Weitas Canyon to the fire, went around it and back to Cook Mountain by evening. There was a shotgun trail from Cook Mountain to the confluence of Windy Creek with the Weitas. While working my way through the brush and windfalls around the fire I met a grizzled character who looked as sweat-stained and hot as I felt. It was Jim Girard. He had walked from a fire near Rocky Ridge that morning to see what was going on.

We found a spot where we could see a lot of country and the smoke from a lot of fires, some of which were unmanned, and sat down to cool off and discuss the general situation. We decided that more trails and more men on the ground before fires started would be essential if fires were to be controlled at reasonable cost. The idea of hiring emergency guards or men paid from fire funds was now to come into the picture in a way that proved a bit controversial at times and to use or not to use this means of manning often spelled success or failure.

*****

The spring of 1919 I was assigned to the Chamberlain Meadows District of the Clearwater. At that time we packed into Chamberlain Ranger Station each spring from the Oxford. Snow often caused much difficulty along about twenty-two miles of high ridge trail. Summer supplies for Chamberlain were packed from Superior, Montana, which required a four-day round trip. I started to the District about June 15 with a packer and crew of six men, none of whom had ever seen the District. It was my first trip into the area, also.

We were instructed to go to Chamberlain Ranger Station and then to the river crossing at the mouth of Lake Creek, and build a bridge across the river in order that the acting Ranger assigned to the Fish Lake District could cross safely. This Ranger and crew were to start for their District a week behind us. I was a bit apprehensive about that assignment. Neither the Supervisor, his assistant, nor I had seen the bridge site. I suspected that the bridge required might be quite an undertaking for a green Ranger and a crew of young fellows, none of whom had had bridge construction experience. Tools needed were supposed to be cached at the site in a hollow cedar. We went to the river crossing, sized up the ford, rode across and camped on the Fish Lake District. I felt relieved.

We discovered that the tool cache had probably been robbed after it was placed. Many items listed were gone.

We had seen no clouds for many days and the weather was unusually warm. It was felt that we should return to Chamberlain Ranger Station and make all possible speed preparing for the fire season.

The small, rude shack that served as a tool cache at Chamberlain was almost empty. The reasons for this I discovered later. The Ranger who was assigned to the District the year before had spent the last of the field season in jail and had been fired by the Supervisor when he was released. An irresponsible packer assigned to bring in the various camps had thrown much of the equipment over the hill.

The Ranger had been jailed because he had held up an outgoing packer at gunpoint and demanded that the packer produce a keg of whiskey that the Ranger thought he had stolen, or else $50.00 cash. Not having the whiskey he wrote a check, then proceeded to Superior and swore out a warrent for the Ranger's arrest. A local prospector told me later that he had stolen the whiskey late at night and had worn a pair of the packer's rubbers found on the Ranger Station porch while he searched for the cache.

We celebrated the 4th of July on our first fire, which required all hands. Early in August dry lightning storms started a number of fires on the west side of the Clearwater Forest and other Forests west of us. After that the employment of emergency guards was authorized and a number were placed. This proved to be very worth while.

By about the middle of August the smoke and atmospheric conditions were such that the sun was invisible. Lookouts were of no value. Men were assigned to patrols. The lookout on Moose Mountain reported that someone was blasting directly across the river from the Moose Mountain lookout. Nothing could be seen because of smoke. It seemed unlikely that anyone would be blasting in that area so I sent a smokechaser, Jennings McKeen (deceased), to investigate.

McKeen reported a fire about a half-mile long and a quarter-mile wide below the mouth of Elizabeth Creek in steep, precipitous country. The area was not accessible by trail, but we were able to reach a point about one-third of a mile above the mouth of Elizabeth with pack stock, and a camp was established on the east side of the river. Firefighters walked in from Superior in three days. Effective work below the fire along the river was impossible due to rolling rocks and sliding timber. A heavy patrol was placed on the river in an attempt to prevent the fire from spreading to the east side where it might run to the top of Moose Mountain and possibly spread into heavily timbered Moose basin. A crew started trenching the north side of the fire. I returned to Chamberlain Ranger Station the morning of August 18th.

On the morning of the 19th I returned to the Elizabeth Creek fire. A strong wind was blowing from the west. While traveling down Elizabeth Creek I met McKeen. He told me the fire had jumped the river and was spreading too fast for control. The river crew had panicked. Some had gone to camp while others were being held at the mouth of Elizabeth Creek. We hurried to the river. Obviously, control was out of the question. Furthermore, that narrow, heavily timbered canyon seemed a poor place to be until the wind died down. We gathered what men were left and as many tools as possible and went to camp. Camp was in an uproar. The crew and cooks were about to flee. We persuaded them to help dismantle the camp and move supplies and equipment to the water's edge. I intended to take the crew out upriver and call the Supervisor's Office and Acting Ranger McCarthy at Fish Lake, from an emergency phone about 4 mile above camp (we were short of emergency wire). I asked McKeen to go back to Elizabeth Creek and instruct the crew trenching the north side of the fire to go to Chamberlain Ranger Station. After a look down the canyon McKeen stated that he might not be able to reach Elizabeth Creek. The fire was now burning on both sides of the river above the mouth of Elizabeth Creek making it necessary for anyone to travel in the river with fire on both sides. I told McKeen to take the crew from camp and I would go after the other crew.

Before reaching the point where I must pass between the fire on both sides of the river I saw black, gaseous smoke explode into flame a couple of hundred feet above the river. Swirling flames were sometimes whipped almost to the top of the water. I had not previously appreciated what wind could do to a fire in a narrow, heavily timbered canyon. Traveling in the river was slow. I had previously been in races that I wanted to win, but none seemed as urgent as this one. I felt at times as though my lungs would burst. The length of the really rough going must have been short but it seemed long at the time. I finally reached the mouth of Elizabeth Creek, waded out of the river, noted that the bottom of Elizabeth Creek canyon was almost free of fire, gulped a breath of cool, fresh air and realized that I had reached a point of safety. The next thing I knew I was laying on my stomach on the rocks. I didn't know how long I'd been there. The crew, led by a capable local foreman, was found and instructed to go to Chamberlain Ranger Station.

My trip downriver through the fire had brought about a realization of two things which I had not previously appreciated. People who die in forest fires probably suffocate before the flames reach them. Also, a man inescapably trapped in a forest fire probably would not perish as a result of suffocation or flames if he had a gun at hand. Suffocation can be extremely uncomfortable.

When I topped out on the ridge south of the fly camp that afternoon (August 19, 1919) a tremendous volume of smoke was pouring out of the North Fork Canyon (the canyon burned from Larsen Creek to Fourth-of-July Creek - a distance of twenty miles - that day). It was disconcerting also to see a brand-new fire in my District blowing up near the head of the North Fork River. An abandoned campfire a short distance below the mouth of Niagra Gulch was heading for Montana. I asked Ranger Roy Phillips at Superior to stop the head of the new fire when the wind died down. This he did.

Our telephone communication with the Supervisor's Office was knocked out by the North Fork Canyon fire and remained so for several weeks as nearly as I can recall. The possibility of supplies from the west was also cut off. The new fire threatened our trail to Superior. I wired the Supervisor through Superior for authority to work with the Regional Office direct since I had telephone communication with them. He approved.

About half of the crew that had been taken off the Elizabeth Creek fire wanted to change their occupation. The other half was placed on the new fire. I asked Glen Smith, who was handling the fire desk in the Regional Office, for men, supplies and equipment for the new fire. He was reluctant to approve sending the number of men called for because of the outstanding need in so many places. When he understood the situation, he agreed to send the men. He also sent two Rangers from the Beartooth Forest, a luxury I had not asked for.

After we had trenched and mopped up a short section of line along the west end of the new fire we learned that there were 1500 live sheep, two sheepherders and a camptender within the perimeter of the fire. The rather helpless camptender claimed that the sheep could not be moved. It seemed essential that they be moved if they were to be saved. I sent two prospectors, who were serving as fire foremen, and a few firefighters to the sheep camp with instructions to bring the sheep and their herders out over the cold fire line. These foremen didn't know about sheep but a few hours later the job was done. The camptender indicated later that the methods used by the foremen were quite unconventional. It seemed that pieces of alder had been used to stimulate all concerned. Two bands of sheep of 1500 head each owned by Wisenberry of Yakima had been in the path of the fire. About half of the number were shaded up in alder thickets and were saved.

During the winter of 1919-1920, indoor firefighting was strenuous. The gradual process of progress in fire control was evident.

The fall of 1921 I was assigned to the Oxford District of the Clearwater. It had been decided to establish District headquarters at the Bungalow instead of the Oxford and development had begun. A building to house supplies had been almost completed. There was no dwelling. That was to be constructed after the commissary, tool cache, bunkhouse and barn had been provided.

During the summer of 1922 we lived in a tent, with a fly over the dining room, on a spot excavated west of Orogrande Creek. Water was carried from a spring which also served as an icebox. It was hot in this black, 1919 burn and, when the wind would blow, dirt and ashes would sail into the living quarters.

Money for forest improvements was now much more plentiful. There were several trail and telephone construction crews. The trail below the Bungalow was originally intended to serve for motorcycle use. The first seventeen miles or so constructed had cuts, fills, a half-tunnel and a tunnel. A thirty man crew was being used which required considerable overhead. A timekeeper kept a record of yardage-moved cost, etc. The trail was reported to be costing $3,000 per mile. Following the 1919 fires Supervisor R.A. Hamilton (deceased) wrote an article for the regional bulletin in which he criticized the expenditure of so much money on so little trail while the country burned partly because of inaccessibility. The original survey for the project was abandoned and construction on a less pretentious scale started. T.N.T. made available by the War Department for freight charges only helped to speed the job.

By the fall of 1922 a bunkhouse and tool cache had been completed and we moved into the bunkhouse. A road was completed to the Bungalow and we acquired a sawmill. Sawed 8" x 10" building timbers were substituted for hewed logs. That winter we stayed at the Bungalow until February. A 54-mile round trip on snowshoes was required to send out and get mail at Pierce. I would take two days for the trip out and if snow had not fallen could make the return trip in one day.

George McKinnon (deceased) and I spent our time working on buildings and hand-logging building timbers off the sidehills on snowshoes. The first building constructed of sawed timbers did not seem sufficiently rustic to fit the environment so we split and hand-shaved shingles to cover it up. There was a split decision relative to the wisdom of this.

*****

The most spectacular fire I have ever witnessed was the Heavens Peak fire in Glacier Park that swept across the scenery from Heavens Peak eastward to Sherborne Lake. This fire, started several days before the blow-up, was regarded as controlled and was being patrolled largely by a CCC crew.

I was Supervisor of the Flathead and was in the office one Sunday afternoon in August when reports were coming in of several fires in the Park. One was reported to be spreading badly. Although it was very dry the Flathead had no fires at that time. I called Superintendent Scoyen to inquire about his problem and offer assistance if it was needed. He asked that I "come and take a look." He stated that the Heavens Peak fire had jumped McDonald Creek and was becoming very troublesome. He remarked that I need only be gone a few hours. I had a complete outfit of fire clothes in a Government car.

When we reached the fire it had not only jumped McDonald Creek but had crossed the lower switchback on Going-to-the-Sun highway and was roaring up the mountain toward the Continental Divide and the so-called Garden Wall. Under some conditions the Continental Divide area, with its minimum of fuels, might have served as a fire barrier. With low humidity, high temperature, a driving wind and a very steep slope it did not serve that purpose.

It was very evident that this fire would require manpower, equipment, and supplies in far greater amount than that at hand. Superintendent Scoyen asked me to help with problems of supply and organization. Because of the difficult terrain there was an outstanding need for experienced men to supplement the CCC crews.

Flathead Forest and Regional Office personnel rustled overhead, firefighters and supplies.

Monday was spent organizing suppression work and scouting. Late Monday evening I made my way along the road to the landscaped turn on the lower switchback on the Going-to-the-Sun highway to size up the situation. It was necessary to stay close to the high bank on this trip in order that rolling rocks and sliding timber would go overhead in the darkness. The fire had quieted down nicely by 10 p.m. About two-and-one-half hours later Scoyen roused me and stated that the fire was running down Swift Current Canyon east of the Continental Divide like a race horse. He wanted me to help organize to meet the new development. That ended the possibility of rest and sleep that night. We went to Park headquarters and prepared an order for overhead, firefighters, and supplies and phoned the order to someone in Missoula. Capable, experienced overhead was needed badly. We asked that four forest officers be landed at the Belton airport as soon after daylight as possible. Scoyen went to Many Glacier. Shortly after daylight a plane with I.V. Anderson, Jim Bosworth, Carl Siria and Clarence Sutliff landed at Belton. Jim and Clarence were asked to help on the west side and I.V., Carl, and I went to Many Glacier.

There was a seventy acre spot fire on the south side of Sherborne Lake. The museum at Many Glacier and some other minor structures had burned. About half the cabins in the circle camp had burned. The campground was black. The bottom of Swift Current Creek was littered with dead trout. We met Scoyen. There were tears in his eyes when he said, "The most beautiful spot in North America burned to a cinder."

A crew was placed on the Sherborne Lake spot fire with Carl Siria in charge. The rest of the men available were used that day to save everything that was still green around Many Glacier. Preparations were made for the days to come when more resources would be available. There was no means of communication from Many Glacier. I found the nearest telephone near Babb at the home of an Indian Service employee. The Regional Office was asked to send radios and operators by the fastest means.

This was done. Somewhat to my surprise the "M" sets, I believe, afforded good communication between Many Glacier and Missoula. Our order for firefighters, supplies and equipment was largely filled in Spokane and a special train with, I believe, Albert Cochrell in charge, arrived at Glacier Park station that night.

On Tuesday night Park officials requested that the Forest Service overhead take over completely on the east side on Wednesday in order that they might rest. This was done. Wednesday Casey Streed and I scouted the north flank of the fire to determine the location and number of camps needed.

By Wednesday night there were many firefighters. Equipment and supplies were ample. Also, Park officials from several Parks had arrived. Some help and equipment had been sent from Waterton Park in Canada. That night rain fell on the entire area. The rain wasn't heavy enough to put the fire out completely but it materially reduced the amount of work needed to end the battle and eliminated the danger of disastrous spread for a few days.

The situation of Thursday seemed to afford an excellent opportunity for others to get some valuable experience on a big fire. Local Park officials had had a day's rest and fresh Forest Service and Park men had arrived. I proposed going home. Superintendent Scoyen asked that I help reorganize the west side to fit the current situation. I agreed and went back to the west end. By the time we had rounded up overhead from the various camps and threshed out our problem with Forest Service and Park officials, including one Park fire control specialist from Washington, it was past midnight. As nearly as I can recall about thirty forest officers were left on the fire after the reorganization. I reached home about 2:30 a.m. on Thursday. I had had a total of less than ten hours' sleep since departing from Kalispell and was more fatigued, both physically and mentally, than I have been before or since.

I had been keyed up, perhaps because I felt some of the pressure that was borne by Superintendent Scoyen. The public was concerned about this spectacular fire in a national park. Scoyen was in constant touch with Senator Wheeler, who was in Washington. Possibly the Senator was a bit concerned about his summer home.

After sleeping the clock around I went to the Temple Tea Room in Kalispell for lunch and sat down at the round table where some business and professional men often gather to eat and discuss various national and other problems. I was quizzed about the fire and was rather noncommittal. When I didn't respond to some of the questions, they proceeded to discuss the fire partly, I think, for my benefit. I was amazed at the comprehensive and accurate knowledge concerning the whole fire operation possessed by that group. How they obtained their information I never learned. I had seen none of them around the fire nor had I heard of any of them being there. One lawyer was quite insistent that a way be found to prevent destruction of such valuable resources. When men have to be roped onto the topography to dig sparks out of cracks in the rocks, fire control can be quite difficult when humidity is low and the wind is high.

I have written primarily about my experiences in the control of fires. This is largely due to the fact that fires, with their potential for cost, damage, unpredictableness and a certain amount of danger, constituted the outstanding challenge with which I have ever been confronted. There was a time when I actually enjoyed the fire boss job on a goodsized fire. One thing impressed upon me early in my career was that official rank may not be a criterion of competence in fire control work. A forest officer, in the back country especially, with one or several fires throwing smoke to the heavens and meager resources for control, usually found that the supervision, guidance, help, etc., so lavishly supplied in connection with various other minor and major matters was completely lacking.

With relatively few exceptions I found the men and women in the Forest Service to be a square shooting, dedicated, generally capable group of people with whom it was a pleasure to be associated.

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