Early Days in the Forest Service Volume 3

THE 1919 FIRES ON THE CLEARWATER
By Ralph S. Space
(Supervisor, Clearwater N.F.)

Much has been written about the fires of 1910 and justly so, for this was a disastrous year in Region One. However, 1919 was also a very bad year, particularly on the Clearwater Forest. Little has been written about these fires.

That 1919 was a drought year cannot be doubted. Take a look at the record of inches of rainfall for the summer months at Orofino:

Year	June	July	August	September	Total
1910	.18	.05	.02	1.06	1.31
1919	.07	.21	.19	.30	.77

No other years will come even close to these records as a drought season on the Clearwater.

In 1919 I became a smokechaser for the Clearwater Timber Protective Association. I also had two brothers who were smokechasing on the Clearwater National Forest. One of them was on Scurvy Mountain, and the other on Hemlock Butte. During the early part of the season I was on a trail maintenance crew and traveled over many of the trails and visited many of the Association lookouts. During the latter part of July and all of August I smokechased out of Bertha Hill. From this point I had a ringside seat from which to view what was going to happen.

Unlike 1910, the year 1919 had early markings of a bad year. Winter precipitation was light and largely came as rain. What snow we did have fell mostly in March. This snow did not pack and quickly melted, so that by early May the snow was gone except on the higher ridges and mountains.

About May 20 the rains ceased and the long drought started. There is an old saying used on the Clearwater that 10 days of clear summer weather and the forest will burn, and that 20 days produces critical conditions. True to this saying, the forests were ready to burn in June. A blast by a trail construction crew set a fire near Cave Creek that burned several acres before it was extinguished. During July the forest became drier and drier, the brush turned brown and trails were inches deep in dust. And although there were no fires of any size on the Clearwater by 1919, according to Lookout John Austin's diary, visibility was becoming very poor due to smoke.

On July 21 the first lightning storm came and with it a large number of fires. All hands turned to fighting fires. Most fires were held to small acreages but one on Larson Creek, one on Lolo Creek and one on Fish Creek of the old Selway got under way. However, an all-out effort that exhausted men, mules and supplies, brought all these fires except the one on Fish Creek under control.

Then on July 31 a number of lightning storms (four, according to Austin) crossed the Clearwater leaving a string of fires behind. Again, all men went to work to combat them. Progress was being made when, on August 3, another lightning storm raked the forest. Larson, Deadhorse, Elk Mountain, Lolo Creek, and Weitas Creek were liberally sprinkled with fires. Forest crews and firemen were all but exhausted from previous efforts. Other men were scarce and those brought in from Spokane were mostly IWW's and wouldn't work. Butte miners were not very effective. Bringing in enough pack stock, equipment and supplies was a problem due to lack of roads and trails. Overhead in significant numbers did not exist. As the days went by several main fires developed. One was on the east slope of Elk Mountain, another 12 miles below the Bungalow on the southeast side of the river, one on Elizabeth Creek, another on Goose Creek, and one on Hunch Divide now called Cabin Point. At about this time a sheepherder started a fire on Bell Creek, a branch of the Lolo, to burn out some hornets and it got away to a flying start.

Then came August 19, 1919. This day ranks with August 21, 22, and 23 of 1910 as a bad fire day. I will describe what I saw from Bertha Hill. To this I will add what I have learned from A.N. Cochrell, J.C. Urquhart, John Austin's diary, from my brothers and others who took part in the action.

August 19 dawned clear and hot but I immediately noticed that there had been a change in smoke conditions. It had been so smokey that trying to observe from the tower at Bertha Hill was useless, since visibility was reduced to less than one-quarter mile. The smoke was almost gone that morning, and what little was left was fast disappearing. Soon a wind began to stir, but it did not reach the strength of the winds of 1910. The humidity must have been low but, of course, no one measured it. The air became so clear that I could see every major fire in the country as far south as the Lochsa River.

By nine o'clock every major fire had broken loose and had started to roll up huge columns of smoke which resembled thunderheads. I timed the Twelve Mile fire as it climbed Pot Mountain. It required just a few minutes over one hour, an airline distance of about five miles. This fire also moved upriver where it joined the Elk Mountain fire, backing down into the river below the Bungalow. Together they swept upriver to Trail Creek before evening came. The fire around Hemlock Butte spread across Weitas and by night had crossed Cook Mountain and burned out Fourth-of-July Creek. The Fish Creek fire burned out a large part of Fish Creek, all of Sherman, Noseeum and Bald Mountain Creeks in one day. Fire on Elizabeth Creek jumped the river and burned to the top of Moose Mountain. The Goose Ridge fire swept to the Montana line, burning up 1500 of a band of 3000 sheep belonging to Quissenberry.

After this holocaust, a conference was held to decide what to do. It was hopeless, with such meager forces, to try to build a line around so many large fires. The only thing that could be done was to save any drainages that were threatened but not burned. A fireline was built across the lower end of Orogrande and some other lines on the west side of the Lolo fire and a few other places, but no effort was made to bring the total fire under control. In fact, no one knew just where the edges of these fires were because the smoke, which had lifted on the 19th, settled again and was so thick that visibility became almost zero and remained that way until the rains of August 31-September 1 came.

Strangely enough, these fires spread very little after August 19. In some places they had run into the 1910 burned area which slowed progress, and apparently there was a favorable change in humidity.

The 1919 fires on the Clearwater were almost entirely in merchantable sized timber. The Weitas which previously had an immense stand of timber was a blackened waste. So were Larson Creek, Fourth-of-July Creek, and the North Fork Canyon from Moscow Bar to Cold Springs Creek. Clarke, an oldtime smokechaser stationed at the Bungalow, expressed well the feelings of everyone when asked if it looked pretty tough around the Bungalow, replied, "Yes, sir, it just makes me sick." It is fortunate that there were no fatalities in such a situation. There were a number of close calls and harrowing experiences.

Jim Girard was in charge of the Twelve Mile fire. His suppression efforts were meeting with little success so he decided to walk to the Bungalow - the nearest telephone - to see if he could rustle more men and equipment. At about Cave Creek he became aware that the fire he had left was spreading rapidly and was coming up the river behind him. He increased his pace but it soon became apparent that he was losing ground. He reached a point about 5 miles below the Bungalow Station where the trail ran back into and out of a draw. The distance by trail was about one-fourth mile whereas along the river it was less than half of that. Jim decided to follow the river bank and cut across this loop. The going was so rough that he would not save any time but he preferred to stay close to the river. This was a fortunate decision, for here the fire overtook him with all its fury. He knew he was in a tough spot so he wrote his will and cached it under some rocks at the waters' edge. By wading back and forth across the river and taking frequent dips below its surface he managed to come through alive.

Two packers, Charles Kelly and Lawrence Howard, were coming down the river toward the Bungalow. They met the fire head-on with no warning that they were anywhere near it. They immediately took to a small island below the mouth of the Weitas with their strings. An old Indian and his grandson of about 12 years who had been fishing in that locality joined them on the island as did a cub bear and several deer. They spent the night there and emerged safely, although one of the greatest concerns was that the Indian boy would get hurt by the cub which he insisted on trying to capture. These packers had two mules ahead of them which proceeded on toward the Bungalow after the strings had gone to the island. The next morning the packers started cutting their way through the fire-felled trees toward the Bungalow and found the two pack animals standing in a trail in a small open spot that didn't burn - the only unburned spot for miles in any direction. The men at Cook Mountain Ranger Station, after a desperate battle, saved the cabin.

At Elizabeth Creek the fire broke loose and jumped the river. Urquhart was on the north side. He got the crew on that side out of the way. To reach the crew on the south side he went down the river wading in the water most of the way. He almost suffocated. When he came out of the fire he had breathed so much smoke that he passed out for a short time. When he came to, he found himself lying in the water at the mouth of Elizabeth Creek.

At Hemlock Butte a small group of men, including one of my brothers, was warned that they were to get out of the way the best they could. They decided to leave the lookout and take refuge in a small meadow with a creek running through it at the head of Hemlock, then called Beaver Creek. The fire surrounded them and they fought for their lives. They came through, but one of the members, Richards, went insane. He was taken to the hospital, and for a time he recovered. But this condition returned several years later and he was confined to a mental hospital. When the group returned to the lookout point they found the cabin unburned.

A.H. (Pete) Ott, a foreman, and Tom Hamilton, a cook, were located at the Bungalow. Pete had been foreman on a trail upriver, but with his crew fighting fire he was a sort of dispatcher for men and supplies at the Bungalow. About one o'clock he and the cook were alone. Pete thought the fire, which he could see dimly through the smoke, was moving toward them and called Tom to the door and asked him what he thought of the looks of things. Tom said, "Heck, I'm cooking on a hotter fire than that," and went back to his duties.

After about one hour a raging inferno came around the first bend down the river. Pete and Tom hastily grabbed a few belongings and fled up the Orogrande toward the Oxford Ranger Station. Tom being the oldest and slowest went ahead, with Pete following close behind. Pete maintained a close watch over his shoulder until he saw the fire cross the trail behind them near the 2-mile board. They then felt safe and stopped to catch their breath. Pete asked, "What time was it when we left?" Tom replied, "It was just 2 o'clock; I had just put the cinnamon rolls in the oven and looked at the clock." Pete pulled out his watch and it showed three minutes past two. If their timing was correct, this was pretty fair speed for a 70-year old.

The End of the Pinkham Rebellion

Much of the action connected with what was known years ago in the Forest Service as the Pinkham Rebellion took place before I came to the old Blackfeet Forest. Such men as Bill Larsen, Karl Klehm, and Bob Byers were more directly connected with this action than I was. However, I came to the old Blackfeet Forest in 1925 and got in on the later stages. It is this part of the Pinkham Rebellion that I will describe. Perhaps someone else will cover the earlier stages.

The Pinkham Creek country and some of the Tobacco River valley just over the Pinkham Divide was settled by a group of squatters from West Virginia in about 1909. For some reason these people took to setting incendiary fires, just why is not certain; some believed it was because they had quarreled with the Forest Service over their right to homestead the lands, others said it was a habit they brought with them from West Virginia, and still others felt that they wished to steal food from fire camps or to make work. At any rate, this fire-setting had been going on for years when I came to the Blackfeet Forest in 1925. I took the Fortune District over in 1928. This same year Charlie Powell was assigned to the Rexford District on the Kootenai, which included Pinkham Creek. Pinkham Ridge, where most fires were sent, was the boundary between the two Districts.

Shortly after I arrived on the District Mr. P.J. O'Brien, in charge of law enforcement in Region One, paid me a call. He spent a day going over the Pinkham case with me. From him I received a complete history of happenings up to that time and a list of all the West Virginians in the locality, including those most under suspicion. Mr. O'Brien also cautioned me against doing anything of a violent nature or which might, lead to violence. He condemned the armed guard that was placed in the Pinkham Creek country a few years before. He hoped that we might, through education, get the Pinkhamintes to change their ways or catch one of the culprits and get a conviction. He had no suggestions on how to go about catching an incendiarist. His was an attitude of appeasement.

During the following year, 1929, there were many large fires. If anyone had the desire to get work on a fire all he had to do was sign up at the nearest Ranger Station. During this year I met with Charlie Powell several times and discussed the problem. We made friends in our communities and through them learned something about the thinking that was going on in the incendiarists' camp.

We found that the armed guard of 1924 had created a healthy respect for the Forest Service. The Pinkhamites realized that the Forest Service meant business and was prepared to back the law with something besides words if necessary. Their respect for the Forest Service went farther than this. Such was the shooting ability of the men in the armed guard that the Pinkhamites also had a respect or even fear of the men in the Forest Service. Heretofore, they had believed they could out-shoot any forest officers, but they had seen these men put on some shooting exhibitions that were almost beyond belief. As an example, while some of the Pinkhamites were in their camp, one of these armed guards, William Hillis, threw a stick into the air, shot it in two, and then shot one of the pieces in two before it reached the ground.

Charlie and I decided to capitalize on the ground that had been gained. We let it be known that we would stand for no monkey business. We would arrest anyone we caught setting a fire and would meet force with force. To continue the respect of the Pinkhamintes for the shooting ability of forest officers, I joined the Rifle Club at Eureka and ran up some pretty good scores. I also attended turkey shoots and on several occasions took away a lion's share of the winnings.

Another rather humorous event added to my reputation as a good shot. One day at the station two of the local people - one of whom, though not a Pinkhamite according to our roster, but nevertheless in close connection with them - dropped in to see if there was any work to be had on fires. They fell into conversation with my dispatcher and were soon talking about shooting and then about my shooting ability. One of the visitors remarked that I sure could shoot with a rifle but that I carried only a pistol in the woods and anyone knew that a pistol was effective only at a range of a few feet. My dispatcher admitted that their statement was generally true, but he then picked up a Prince Albert tobacco can, set it on a post about 50 feet away and asked me to show them I could knock it off. Well, hitting a tobacco can at 50 feet isn't anything unusual, so I said I would shoot at the rose on Prince Albert's coat - a mere speck at 50 feet. After I shot, the dispatcher picked up the can and, much to his delight and the surprise of everyone, including myself, I had hit the rose dead center.

In July 1930, two incendiary fires were set on the north end of Pinkham Ridge but on the Tobacco River side. These fires were in logging slash but were quickly suppressed. The man who set them was on horseback and, so far as I could determine, never got off his horse. I found some horsehair scraped off on the brush that showed that the horse was gray colored. I tracked the horse to Eureka but could follow it no farther. Later we learned that the incendiarist borrowed this gray horse from one of his relatives in Eureka. Travel had been at night, so inquiry of local people produced no results. Charlie Powell and I got ready for more trouble.

Three or four days later five more fires were set northeast of Eureka. These were also in slash and set late in the evening. We quickly brought them under control. When daylight came I looked for tracks and found calked shoe prints. I first tried to track these in the direction the man was traveling but he followed a dry creek bed and I lost the track. I next backtracked the man. This led me to a road. Here the calked shoe tracks ended but there were other shoe prints up the road which ended at that point. I followed these prints down the road until I came to a ranch. Here I inquired about anyone they might have seen. The rancher informed me that he had seen Andy Stacy walking up the road about 6 p.m., and that he had a pair of calked shoes with the strings tied together thrown over his shoulder.

The next evening Charlie Powell had seven incendiary fires on the ridge south of Pinkham Creek. In his investigation he found that a speeder patrolman had given Stacy a ride from this locality to Eureka at about the time the fires were discovered. We reported our findings to our supervisors and P.J. O'Brien came to see what could be done. He reviewed the evidence and decided that Stacy should be arrested. We obtained a warrant, but since Stacy had no home it was rather uncertain how he could be located. However, I knew a pool hall operator in Eureka who was friendly to the Forest Service but whose place was a hangout for men of Stacy's type. I consulted this man, who told me where I might find Stacy. I arrested Stacy and we took him to Libby where, upon questioning by the prosecuting attorney, he admitted his guilt. He received a five-year sentence.

While this shook the Pinkhamintes and no doubt had a beneficial effect, it did not stop the fires. In 1931, an incendiary fire on Edna Creek burned about 1500 acres; several others were set but were stopped at Class A or B size. I was not so fortunate in obtaining a confession, although I tracked one of these men right to his house. He maintained that a man had come to his house the day before but that he did not know him. The case was dropped because of insufficient evidence.

In 1932 Rolf Fremming took over the Fortune District and I became assistant Supervisor of the Blackfeet Forest at Kalispell. That summer the Pinkhamites planned to set a string of fires from Edna to Pinkham Creek. Charlie Powell, through some of his secret friends, learned of the plot and we set a trap. Their plan was to have one of their party drive them up Edna Creek and drop them off. They would then set fires over the divide while the car went around and picked them up on the other side. We planned to let them get into Edna Creek and then close the roads so they couldn't get out. We organized a night watch to detect the fires and a crew to suppress them.

There is no doubt that they planned such action. They even drove up Edna Creek and looked the ground over and set some rotten logs afire to see how fast they would burn, but put them out. Unfortunately, it rained, which on August 10 is so unusual that it almost looked as though the fates had conspired against us.

In the spring of 1933, Supervisors Webb and Nagel, Rangers Powell and Fremming and assistant Supervisors Dwinells and I held a meeting at Ant Flat. We reviewed past action and discussed plans for 1933. It was decided to continue the get-tough policy of the past, even though this policy was now condemned in the Regional Office. We also decided to plant a spy in the midst of the Pinkhamintes. Supervisor Bill Nagel proposed to get a man from the Bitterroot whom he had known while assistant Supervisor there. We also decided that those present were to be the only ones to know about this man. We were sure the Regional Office would veto any such action. We also agreed that I would be the only man who would have any contacts with this man.

Nagel's man took the job and came to Kalispell where I met him and gave him a list of the Pinkhamintes and instructions. He was to report to me by mail once a week, addressing the letter to my residence but mailing it at some point other than Eureka or Rexford. Usually his letters were mailed directly on the mail train.

This man was a real actor. He equipped himself with an old beaten-up car and a tin-can cooking outfit and proceeded to Eureka. There he rented a shack of a house and started making contacts. Soon he was going on fishing trips with the Pinkhamintes, joined in cussing and discussing the Forest Service, and if there had been any such ceremony I am sure he would have been adopted into the tribe. His only trouble came from the local constable who wanted to know what he was doing there and who hinted that he must be living as a criminal since he had no visible means of support. The type of company he kept certainly was no recommendation. The reply was that he just liked to fish and have a good time.

Information on the Pinkhamintes came weekly. I learned one of them had just-stolen a horse in Canada; another had deserted from the Navy and recently came to Pinkham Creek to hide out; others bootlegged from Canada; some had stills, etc. This information I passed on to the proper authorities. The sheriff called on one of the Pinkhamintes to get a stolen horse and serve a warrant. The Navy picked up its deserter and the prohibition agents made some lucky hits on rum runners or just happened to stumble onto stills.

The Pinkhamintes knew something was wrong and suspected that someone was informing the Forest Service, but they didn't know who. They turned to blaming each other and a family row soon developed. They couldn't get along with each other or trust each other enough to organize a firestarting spree. Family suspicions and hatreds were so great and the penalties of their misdeeds so severe that many of them moved out of the community. Strangely enough the spy was never suspected. At the end of the fire season he quietly returned to the Bitterroot. Before he left he stopped at Kalispell to talk to me. He predicted that the Pinkhamites were so disorganized and scattered that never again would we be bothered by incendiary fires from that source. His prediction came true.

The Northern Pacific Lawsuit

In 1864 the United States Congress decided that a railroad should be constructed from the Great Lakes to the Pacific Coast, which resulted in the chartering of the Northern Pacific Railroad.

Under this charter the N.P. was to be granted every odd section on a strip 40 miles on each side of the center line of the railroad. However, should it be found that these lands were within Indian reservations, mineral in character or occupied by homesteaders, then the Company could select a unoccupied lands on an additional strip 20 miles wide on either side of the railroad.

The railroad was built and most of the land selected before the National Forests came into existence. Even after the forests were created, nothing happened until 1917 for the reason that up to this tine the Land Office had held that the National Forests were not subject to lieu selection; that is, the N.P. could not select lands in the National Forests outside the primary or 80-mile strip in lieu of lands lost due to homesteads, mineral classification or Indian reservations.

In 1917 the N.P. applied for a lieu selection on the Gallatin Forest and through error the Department of the Interior granted patent. When the Forest Service called the attention of the Department of the Interior to the error the Northern Pacific was requested to quit claim the lands back to the United States. This the N.P. refused to do. A suit was then started by the United States to force the return of these lands to the U.S. This case reached the Supreme Court in 1922. The decision was that the National Forests were subject to lieu selection to the extent the N.P.'s claims could not be satisfied by public domain lands. Since practically all public domain lands were gone this meant National Forest lands.

Here the case could have ended and the N.P. gone ahead with their selections had it not been for E.A. Sherman, once Supervisor of the Bitterroot Forest and at that time in charge of the Division of Lands in the Chief's office. Mr. Sherman knew something about the operation of the N.P. land grant and directed a study of the grant and how it was administered. This study was headed by Mr. Cousins who was a very energetic and smart attorney. He soon produced evidence that the N.P. had used some means of selecting lieu lands that were very questionable from a legal standpoint, if not actually fraudulent. When word of what was going on came to the attention of Congress, a committee was appointed to hold hearings and investigations. These hearings were held in 1924 and 1925. The Congressional Record containing the testimony covered several volumes.

In 1929 Congress passed a resolution, the most important parts of which were: First, the United States would not permit further alienation of the National Forests by such a large lieu selection; second, permission was given to the N.P. to sue the United States for any damages that the N.P. believed it had suffered by such action.

Court action started almost immediately, resulting in a tremendous job. At that time it was stated that the N.P. lawsuit was the largest civil case to enter the U.S. courts. It may have been and may still be, but it would depend on whether the claims of the N.P. or the appraisal of damages by the U.S. were used.

For a short time Meyer H. Wolff, Chief of the Division of Lands in Missoula, handled the work for Region One. But so much work was involved that Howard Flint, who had been in charge of Fire Control (not a division then), took the job. Mr. Leaphart handled the legal work for Region One.

The case was so big and complicated, and so likely to go to the Supreme Court, that the Department of Justice, the N.P. and the courts agreed to split it into three parts. The first part was to deal with the N.P.'s right to select further lands; i.e., whether or not they had claim against the U.S. Second, if the N.P. had a claim then what lands did they have a right to select. The third part was that if the N.P. had a right to claim certain lands how much was the Company damaged by being denied that right.

In the trial of the first part, the U.S. charged the N.P. with fraud. An attempt was made to show that much low-value land in the primary grant was classified as mineral when such was not the case, just so lieu lands of higher value could be selected. This part was tried in the Federal District Court and appealed to the Supreme Court. The final decision was that there may have been fraud but, even so, the U.S. through its agents was a party to the fraud. It was accordingly decided that the N.P. had a claim.

As soon as it was decided that the N.P. had a claim, it selected its lands. Every forest in Region One except the Nezperce was involved. A large acreage in Region 6 was also included and a few sections of the Shoshone Forest in Region 2. As I recall, about 870,000 acres were in Region One.

Following this decision and selection of lands - in 1933 or 1934 - the U.S. started work on both parts two and three. A new organization took place in the Department of Justice. Mr. Danby took the lead in Washington, D.C., but he also hired two local attorneys to work with the Forest Service. Mr. Norman Littell of Seattle, now in Washington, D.C., headed the Forest Service contacts, but Walter Pope of Missoula (now a judge in the appellate court) was the R - 1 contact. Howard Flint continued to handle the case for Region One of the Forest Service until his death in 1935, and I took his place in 1936.

About 40 points were involved in the second phase of the N P. lawsuit covering the problem of what land it had a right to select. I do not recall all of them nor would I bore you with these details. Some of them, such as the Tacoma overlap, were not in Region One and others involved only small tracts of land. On one point the N.P. admitted it was in error. The two main points in Region One were what were known as substitution of base and the agricultural point. In the substitution of base the N.P. proposed to change the base lands for which they had already received lieu land patents. This would give them the right to select additional lands. They contended that they had the right to do this up to the time all lands were selected and the contract with the U.S. terminated. The U.S. contended that once patent was issued that part of the deal was complete. The courts, clear to the top, agreed with the N.P.

Another point arose over the wording in the Act regarding selection of lieu lands, wherein it stated that in lieu of lands classified as mineral in the primary grant the N.P. could select unclaimed and unallocated agricultural lands. The U.S. contended that this meant farm lands or lands capable of being farmed. The N.P. claimed that was Congress' way in 1864 of designating other than mineral lands. The district court agreed with the N.P., but when the Supreme Court reviewed the case it stated that although it was difficult to say what Congress in 1864 meant by such wording it was quite clear that had it meant some thing other than agricultural it would have used "nonmineral" or some other term. They, therefore, agreed that the N.P. had the right to select only agricultural lands. This decision was reached in 1939.

This was a decided victory for the U.S. The N.P. had patented and sold several hundred thousand acres in error. It then looked as though the suit could wind up with the N.P. owing the U.S. a sizeable sum. It also meant that both sides would have to examine all the lands received in error and establish a value on them. This was a long, detailed job that would probably take several years to accomplish.

About this time Congress passed what was known as the Transportation Act. This Act made it possible to terminate the provision in the land grant that the railroad would haul Government passengers and supplies at a 50% rate; but it also provided that any company applying for such relief would have to drop all claims against the U.S. The N.P. took advantage of this Act and the N.P. lawsuit which started in 1917 came to an end in 1941.

Some Long Hikes

In the early days of the Forest Service, which would include from its start up to about 1930, there were few trails. Even when there were trails, horse feed was scarce, so rather than take a horse along and be burdened with its care most travelers went by foot. It is only natural that with all this hiking some fast and long-distance walkers would be developed. Hikes of 30 miles in one day over the mountainous trails were not unusual and occasionally someone would beat that by 10 or more miles.

There are three hikes that have become something of a legend on the Clearwater country. I will relate these stories, not because I happen to be one of the participants but because they illustrate the way men of the Clearwater worked and lived at that time.

Henry Knight's Hike. Henry Knight was raised at Pierce, Idaho. He grew up in that locality and became an expert woodsman. He also developed into a powerful hiker. He started working for the Forest Service in about 1912.

In 1915, Knight was stationed at Mallard Peak when he received a message that his stepfather had been accidentally killed. He sent a message out to have a car at Headquarters, Idaho, to pick him up the next day. He immediately took off afoot. He didn't even have as much as a lunch with him, nor a light to assist him while traveling at night.

The route he followed was out over the Nub to the North Fork. He waded or swam the river and climbed to Sheep Mountain. From Sheep Mountain he took the trail that went to Deadhorse and from there to Headquarters. He stopped at Sheep Mountain just long enough to eat a hastily prepared meal - the only food he had during the entire trip - but he did not sleep.

He made this hike in about 24 hours. Part of the way, particularly from the Nub to Sheep Mountain, there was no trail, and travel was hampered by darkness, with no light to guide him.

The total distance traveled was about 42 miles. But this mileage included dropping into the North Fork of the Clearwater canyon and climbing out again. The elevation of the Clearwater River where he crossed is about 1800 feet and Sheep Mountain is about 6500. This was a remarkable feat of endurance and woodsmanship. Even among the good hikers of that day, it was considered almost unbelievable.

Henry Thompson's Hike. Henry Thompson worked out of Pierce cruising timber and fighting fire. He had followed this type of work, which required much hiking, for at least ten years.

During the summer of 1920, Henry was stationed at Boehl's Cabin. When the season ended he started for his home at Pierce, leaving Boehl's Cabin early in the morning and arriving at Headquarters for supper. He really intended to stay at Headquarters for the night. But after he had eaten supper one of his friends, who had not made the hike from Boehl's, suggested that they go on to Pierce. Henry then hiked with him to Pierce, arriving sometime late in the evening.

Total distance hiked was 45 miles. A peculiar thing about this long hike is that it was made as a regular course of events. There was no compelling reason why Henry had to make the whole trip in one day, nor did he set out to make a name for himself. In fact, when he started out he had no intention of traveling the whole distance.

My Own Hike. This story of one of my own hikes became somewhat famous. This fame was partly earned but somewhat overrated. How well earned you may judge.

I was raised on a ranch and started hiking early by walking one and one-quarter miles to school and back each day. Then I became a smokechaser in 1919 and a cruiser in 1923. In 1924 I was cruising and mapping on the Lochsa District and had been hiking all summer. I was in the best of condition.

In September 1924, my crew and I arrived at the Boulder Creek Ranger Station. We were through for the summer and planned to go to Pete King the next day. I planned to enter college at Moscow and barely had time to get there on the opening date. This was about the middle of September. Everyone had considered the fire season closed. The stock had all been taken out, and Ranger Hand was getting ready to close the station for the winter.

That evening, Ranger Hand received a telephone call from the Supervisor's Office. Some Lolo packer had gone to Grave's Peak and reported a fire southeast of McConnell Mountain. It was suggested that Ranger Hand ask me to go with him to suppress this fire. Hand knew my plans for returning to college so he reluctantly asked if I would go with him. I consented but stated that we were going to have to travel fast. We left Boulder Creek the next morning with fire packs on our backs. The fire packs at that time weighed about 35 pounds each. We arrived at Fish Lake in mid-afternoon. I would have gone on but Hand was too tired. That afternoon I walked down to the lower end of the lake and caught a mess of fish and looked at the moose. The distance traveled that day was 20 miles.

The next day we set out early for McConnell Mountain where we got a location on the fire. It was across a branch of West Moose Creek. This stream is not named on the map but heads in Chain Meadows. We went on to the fire, cutting across country. We built a line around the fire and felled all the snags. The fire was not out but it was nearly so. Furthermore, the sky showed signs of an approaching storm and the air had the feel of winter, so we headed back to McConnell Mountain where we arrived after dark. We had only a canteen of water so I took the man-pack bag and went for water while Hand cooked supper. Distance traveled about 23 miles with packs and 13 of this without trail.

The next morning I left my pack and headed for Boulder Creek Ranger Station. Hand decided to make the trip in two days, stopping one day at Fish Lake. It soon began to rain and then turned to snow. I had brought no coat along. I stopped at Fish Lake cabin where I made a poncho by slitting a seam in a manta I found there, and sticking my head through the hole. I arrived at Boulder thoroughly soaked and spent the remainder of the day drying my clothes. Distance hiked, 27 miles.

The next day I left Boulder Ranger Station carrying my duffle which weighed about 20 pounds and arrived at Pete King at 2:30 p.m. The trail, at that time, went up over McLendon Butte and Middle Butte and back to the Lochsa at the mouth of Deadman Creek. When I arrived at Pete King, John (Cap) Rice looked at me in surprise and asked, "Where did you come from?" I said, "Boulder Ranger Station." But he wouldn't believe me so he went to the phone and called Boulder Ranger Station and asked what time I had left there. The reply was, "About 8 o'clock." Cap cried "Holy Smoke, he's here now."

Actually, I walked the 31 miles from Boulder to Pete King in 72 hours, but according to the figures Cap had, I had made it in 62 hours. I tried to put him straight but he stuck to his figures and told the story to all would-be hikers. Total miles for 4 days, 101. Miles without trails, 13. Miles with pack, 71. In addition, I spent 3 hours fighting fire.

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