Early Days in the Forest Service Volume 4

THE ROUNDTOP TELEPHONE
(SWAN SONG OF A DISPATCHER)

Dedicated to "Mac" McHarg, Ashley Roche, "Judge" Girard, "Shorty" Piger, Gust Miller, Andy Callahan and all of those other old timers who took part in the Battle of the Roundtop District in the summer of 1922.

Purple twilight shades the valley of the shadowy St. Joe. While the last rays of the setting sun sets mountain tops aglow. A coyote splits the silence with his weird unearthly whines and a big owl from its tree top perch sends shivers up our spines.

When the coyote's howl is silenced and the big owls' voice is still there are other nighttime serenades, some soothing, some that thrill. The breezes in the tree tops have a meter all their own. But there is one note that gets my goat - that blasted telephone!

"Hello Roundtop, this is Bearskull - 'bout that fire in Section two, Jack and Charlie think they'll hold it, but were gonna need a crew. That old canyon's full o'broom tops; she's a nasty mess o'fuels. Better rustle up a packer for that extra string o'mules."

Here's a call from Mac at Avery, "Have you heard from Brandner's men? That last run took out their phone line - haven't had a word since then. Rutledge had another blowup, lost three camps with all their tools. Shorty's crew has wobbly problems; Pete just rolled a couple mules."

Next it's Gust at Monumental; couldn't make his ring come through. It's a relay from the Lookout - Foehl Creeks having trouble too. Mushroomed out and hit the ridge top - now the whole head end is loose. They need lots o'plug tobacco and a dozen rolls o'snoose."

Then a long buzz through the howler, "It's the horse camp, packer Joe. Fire crew came and stayed to dinner and our grub pile's gettin' low. We can use a hundred rations - just leave out the oatmeal mush. Gettin' awful tired o'bannoks so you better mark it rush!"

Then from down in Fishhook Basin through that ragged outpost wire Comes the news we've all been dreading - it's another logging fire. "Somebody down in Marble Creek took chances yesterday. Lit a fire to warm his chute grease an' it must of got away!"

"We need grub an' tools an' bedding and another pump and hose. That 'sociation fire's still spreading - where she'll end God only knows! One man's got a nasty axe cut; some stumble bum just out o'jail Drank up all the lemon extract; cook got mad and hit the trail."

"Where's that doctor from 'the Maries'? Lots of injured - it's a fright: Hillsides full o'widow makers - 'nother man was killed last night. Buckskin snag hit him dead center - got him wrapped up in a tent. All his bones that wasn't broken must be pretty badly bent."

So it goes throughout the evening - far into the lonesome night. Coyote's silent, owls' quit hooting; still the August moon is bright. Guess I'd better get some shut-eye, but each time I settle down It's first the bell an' then the howler; next a hungry crew from town.

Epilogue

I wonder if in some far land, asbestos forests grow where careless campers are unknown, where firebugs never go. Where lightning bolts have spark arrestors; smokers always roll their smokes in the fire resistant foliage from the tall asbestos oaks.

If there is such a spot on earth, you'll find me there to stay. Build myself a little cabin; sleep all night and dream all day. Just forget that busted ground line and the worn out batteries too. Forget the voices I can't hear and the rings that won't come through.

Forget the time they called to say a crew was coming out. And could they get a good square meal somewhere along the route? And after I'd prepared the food and waited all that day they called again to tell me they'd gone out another way:

Forget that heavy lightning bolt that wrecked the Fishhook line. And the nights they called me out of bed to ask about the time. Just relax ... and rest ... and listen, while the breezes sigh and moan and forget that bloomin' torture rack, the Roundtop Telephone.