Early Days in the Forest Service Volume 4

A CARGO PLANE CRASHES
By Jack Nash

My first fire was in 1932 in Glacier Park. After standing in line most of the day at one of the warehouses bordering the Missoula railroad tracks near the Northern Pacific Hospital (Now the Missoula General Hospital). I was signed up to go.

We rode in the back end of Reo speed wagon trucks — with various pieces of equipment.

Just past Evaro we were treated to heavy dust from road construction. It was so dense we could not see the truck about a hundred feet ahead of us.

Next, a fire at Hubbart Dam. On the return trip, signed up to go to a fire at Thompson Falls. My last fire, Tri Creek, 1974, was within view of my 3rd fire of 1932.

My wife and I moved to Hamilton in 1936. And I went on a few fires from there. I was on a fire high up on White Cap Mountain with Rod Krout the day the Germans invaded Poland. Within a day or two of this, the Devil's Wash Bowl fire blew up. We could see the smoke cloud. But in August of 1939 I had signed up for the Roaring Lion Fire just above Hamilton.

It was still daylight and we had just got a good start up the trail toward the fire which the Ranger, Fitzgerald, said was one of the most cooperative fires he had ever had as it did not wait for him to walk in to it but met him half way.

Our crew was met shortly after starting into the canyon by a CCC boy coming down the trail at a run, and very excited. We became somewhat excited, too, when he explained that a plane dropping cargo in the canyon had crashed. One of the foremen asked for hurry-up volunteers and fifteen or more of us grouped and, leaving our tools, hurried ahead of the main crew. It was dark, though not black dark, when we got to the crash. Clarence Sutliff from Hamilton had gone along on the plane as cargo dropper and had been able to get pilot Dick Johnson out of the wrecked plane which, if I remember right, was upside down in the slide rocks.

We made a stretcher of poles and (I suppose) sleeping bags — for there were some with the plane — and placed Dick upon this. He was conscious but made no effort to talk or move.

Thus began the long night, though it must have been 11 p.m. then. There was a man at each end of the stretcher and never less than two on each side ALL THE TIME — no matter what the trail. We moved over the slide rock several hundred yards to the trail, where Sutliff, who was able to ride a horse (I have no idea where the horse came from) talked to Dick; saying that the worst was over and that everything was going to be fine.

How many times we changed stretcher-bearers I have no idea, but often. And in spite of the very, very-narrow places in the trail we kept six men on the stretcher at all times.

Dick Johnson was a tough bird — no complaining or sound unless we accidentally all got in step and the stretcher would sort of "lope" - then a small groan told us to break step.

Finally daylight and then the assembly point where other hands put him in the ambulance for the trip to the hospital.

Another crew with an army stretcher met us but we continued to use the one we had.

The stretcher crew, with arms feeling like they hung near our ankles, had coffee and sandwiches; and then to bed before again heading for the fire.

Sutliff I saw later that month in Hamilton where his oldest boy was in my group of Cub Scouts.

Later (1942) Clarence Sutliff recommended me into the Smokejumpers — and Dick? Well, he piloted the Ford Tri-Motor when I made my first jump on June 13, 1942 on the long-obsolete Sixmile field west of Missoula.

The following was written some time in August or September 1942 —

MY FIRST FIRE JUMP - 1942

Tom Poole and I were hauling and stacking some oat hay at Moose Creek Ranger Station on August 3, 1942, when our Squad Leader, Earl Cooley, told us we might have a chance to jump on a fire on Pettibone Ridge in the Moose Creek District yet that day. "Our first fire jump" was our thought as we were the last two of a squad of eight to get our jump, as Art Cochran and Dick McClung had jumped on a fire and returned; while Don Whitmarsh, Al Nielsen and Harold Fuller were at this time on a fire, having jumped the evening before. Earl of course was an old hand at the game, with this his third season.

About 3:30 p.m. Dick and Art relieved us of the mule team and loaded hayrack so we could get ourselves ready. First a checkup on the map showed a good jumping chance on the Pettibone ridge about a mile above the deep saddle with the fire to the south and east of the saddle. Alternate Bert Waldron told Tom we should go from our landing meadow to below the old burn and then grade around the hill to the fire - also that the timber around the fire would be large, limby, white fir. Both statements were later of value to us in helping locate and fight the fire.

Earl then helped supervise assembling of our supplies. Our fire packs, which were ready for individual use, were roped together - our canteens filled - spotting burlaps set out, the saw with it's burlap chute and the climbers spurs and belt, also.

Then a last moment checkup of our jumping suits to be sure everything needed was there. Then we were ready for the plane.

At 4:30 p.m. the Travel-Aire plane, with Dick Johnson as pilot, arrived. We were in the process of suiting up and as soon as our packs were adjusted and inspected we climbed in.

To me there is always an odd sensation to leaving the ground and this time it was no different.

With the landing field only about a hundred feet below, then to come over the river at the end of the air field with its additional sudden depth of cliffs, it seems one has raised up an additional several hundred feet with no effort.

As we headed down river for the turn, gaining altitude, the river seemed to shrink to toy size and pools which we knew were ten to fifteen feet deep appeared the depth of water in a wash tub. We made the turn and were on our way up the Selway toward the fire. The gum I was chewing didn't keep my mouth moist so I know I was more tense than on practice jumps, but not so much so that I didn't keep looking for lookout towers and the Bear Creek Ranger Station. Then dead ahead we saw smoke. We flew through deep saddle and scouted the fire, which was smoking considerably, but apparently not traveling much. Then on to a higher altitude to look over the spot to jump.

Earl looked at me and asked "OK"? The spot looked small but open and no rocks. I nod back "Yes". So out went the first spotting chute, but it went down over the hill, and we released another. It drifted past the opening so Earl prepared to let me out well above the ridge with the expectation that the wind would carry me back onto the spot if I kept my chute headed directly into the wind.

Tom and I had put on our helmets when the first spotting chute went out. Then as the second one went out I snapped my static line and placed my right foot on the step preparatory to the jump.

On the next pass Earl called for Dick to cut the motor. I waited a moment for the slipstream to diminish and out I went. Though it is a physical shock, the opening of the parachute is always welcome. And so it was this time. I tipped my head back to visually inspect the chute, which was ok. So, grabbing a guideline, I turned so I could see the spot and then turned the chute to face the wind. Watching the ground by sighting over my feet I didn't seem to be drifting right. I seemed to have hit the same current of wind as the first spotting chute so that I went down hill. There were plenty of green trees to land in but it wasn't the spot.

Earl had said to hold into the wind, as I'd overshoot the field. But finally I had lost so much altitude that I turned and headed directly for the field - only to land in the trees at the lower edge of the meadow.

I was about eight feet up a green lodge pole so after throwing out my streamers to show I was uninjured I took my short let-down rope and fastened it around the tree, made a loop for my foot and thus raised myself up high enough to unsnap the harness from the canopy, then slid down the tree.

I had made my first fire jump. I was down safely. Now to locate Tom, who by this time had jumped, and then to locate the fire.

It was nearing 6 p.m. Tom had landed in the center of the spot a good landing, and was he tickled. We located our fire packs; hunted up the saw and began to fold up Tom's chute. I had to cut down 4 small trees to get my chute and of course it had two small holes in it.

Tom put up the streamers so the packer could locate the equipment. Then, shouldering our packs, we took off down the trail through the lodge poles. Soon we reached the old burn. Across the canyon the Twin Buttes Lookout stood out against the sky like a sore thumb.

At the lower edge of the old burn we turned left and angled down through the green trees. Elk and deer tracks were plentiful as we crossed well-worn trails and then the smoke was just ahead of us. We were on our first smokejumper fire of 1942. 8 p.m. and we were on the fire. Taking my shovel I scouted the fire. There were several snags afire which had to be felled before dark. The fire wasn't traveling but had been hot enough to sear the lower branches on several large trees so they seemed to be wearing a two-piece suit. Green above; brown below.

Until 10:30 p.m. we worked on snags and the placing of a trench along the upper side and end. Then, everything quiet, we crawled into our down sleeping bags. What sleep we got was sound and we were on the go again at 5 a.m. Breakfast at 7 rather hurriedly. Then a trip for water.

A large old grouse sidled along and over the end of a downed log with all the dignity of a judge. More fire control by falling a large white fir, which was burning. A 42" tree with a 48" saw - some fun - but a good fall with no spread of fire. At 4:30 p.m. I headed for Pettibone Lookout to get more grub. Slim Tunstill and Leo Walker were there and the coffee Slim made especially for me was indeed a welcome addition to the supper he had already prepared.

Back to deep saddle by 9 p.m. with thunder and lightning but very little rain. To camp at 9:30 and soon to bed. While gradually the sky cleared and the stars one by one came out from behind the clouds. Another day. Mop up work all day. We'll go home tomorrow. Home meaning Moose Creek Ranger Station.

Earlier to bed that night and an elk snorted and stamped as we got in bed. No, we never saw him. A bat cut pinwheels over my head again and again and then I was asleep.

Daylight again and I warmed up some grub. Then it's inspecting the fire. No hot spots here not even warm; so it's cold trail all the line and fire.

By 8:30 a.m. we assured ourselves the fire was out so we loaded up our fire packs and started for the Bear Creek Ranger Station.

From the lodge pole and white fir stands through the stately cedars down the trail we hiked - the packs getting heavier. A half hour at noon and on to Bear Creek Ranger Station at 2:30 p.m. to where Jack Krout welcomed us with something to eat. Here we learned that eight of the Seeley Lake Crew would be there that night, they all having jumped on a fire.

I called Earl Cooley at Moose Creek and reported in. We were ordered to go with the packer, Jess Peele, on the following day to Moose Creek where we arrived at 4:30 p.m.

There's been no report of smoke so my first fire jump is officially ended.

1974: The Forest Service smokejumpers have done a good job through the years - many changes in equipment and the 30' nylon parachutes with modifications that give good steer ability and handling, while their packing and deployment bag gives an easier opening shock than the 30' steerable silk eagle parachutes though now they jump at faster airspeeds.

Those early '42's were days of long hours. Our jumper pay was $166.66 per month and board. (The board added for hazard pay.) It was the spring of 1946 that overtime came into the Jumper project.

Earl Cooley started me rigging parachutes at Moose Creek and I took a two-week course that fall from Frank Derry (in a building on the 200 block on West Front Street, Missoula) to obtain my FAA Riggers Certificate before entering the Navy as a FR 3/C in January 1943.

SWAN HILL or MISSION LOOKOUT Flathead National Forest from 1923 photo