A Mystry to Solve

The Cabin on Buchanon Creek came with its own caretaker . Although it seems ot me He was more of a " squatter " than a Caretaker . We called him shorty . I have no idea what his name was . Nor do I know much of his history. I wish I did .

If Shorty lived in Nashville , or Portland he would be one of those people you would find living under a bridge . As it was He lived in a small shack that could not have been more than 10 x 10 in size . inside of this shack was a small wood burning stove , the only source of heat and were He cooked the meals he needed to cook. The walls were covered with various items , all apparently useful to him and in the back of the space a platform with blankets for his sleeping needs .

As his nickname implied He was short , Just over 5 feet . I can't remember if he had a beard ..if he did it was invisible because of the dirt and grime on his face.

Shorty bathed once a week . He would ride his bike to a friends house near Saddle mountain . there He would take advantage of the friends Shower and Suana . then return back to his shack .

I do not recall ever seeing shorty smoking or drinking . Most of the food he ate he either grew or caught . When we started using the Farm house i know we often brought him meals and left him with whatever we had left over as we parted .

I can't recall Shorty ever doing anything for money . I suspect He barterd , traded , and foraged for his sustenance. In today's terms he was definitely off the grid .

The farm had some Livestock , Goats , Geese and Chickens and I am sure they needed some one to feed them and tend them . The Chickens layed eggs and shorty was able to eat them . When ever we came down on the weekends He had some for us . Maybe money went from my fathers hands to his I don't know .

Shorty didn't talk much when He did it was with a heavy accent . I believe He was Swedish. He smelled badly and His cabin reeked . Mom did not allow him in the cabin . and He had questionable decision making skills . ON one occasion we pulled into the house late at night as we entered the house we were greated with the worst smell you could imagine ...it was so bad we all got back in the car while my father went to investigate . finally after a heated conversation with Shorty ..Dad got in the car , slammed the door and we returned to Portland . Turned out that Shorty had trapped some salmon in the creek , but they were too old and decayed to eat so he through them away under the farm house .

When we returned the next week the smell was all but gone . Im not sure what Dad said to him not what threats he threatened him with , but it seemed to work. There was only one more similar instance and that was when Shorty had managed to trap a skunk under the house . although I do remember my dad saying the skunk did improve Shorty's aroma .

The interesting thing is all this did not seem to deter my brother and I striking up a friendship with Shorty. He let us Help him feed the animals , chop wood , and allowed us to do some of the other chores he did around the house . whenever we arrived we would usually ask him about the fishing conditions , which fish were in the creek , and if any wildlife was around . Deer were always a given . but we had the occasional Elk and black bear that wandered into the property . espicially when the apple trees were dropping their fruit .

Once we were established at the Farm House I bought some Forest service maps of the Area . and discovered that there was what appeared to be a lake not too far from the cabin . The lake was unnamed on the map . Shorty told us the lake was named Soapstone lake , and not too many people knew about it ...there was an an abandonded homestead near it ..and a larger orchard nearby as well . Twice Shorty took us to the lake . It wasn't quite what I expected to find , and yet I don't know what I expected . The lake was small ..it had the appearance of a lake formed by a beaver dam . As it turns out it is a spring fed lake and yes there were beavers there . The area around the lake had several dead trees , in various stages of decay .

Not sure when ..a few years after we started using the Cabin Shorty was killed . He was riding his bicycle back from His weekly soak . The rain and wind must have blinded him as he road his Bike into the front of an oncoming car .

I find it interesting how God sews people into our lives ...sometimes we know immeadiatly  , what He is doing for us , and other times the fruit takes longer to ripen . Its been over 50 Years since Shorty and my path crossed ..but I have a feeling  that this story is not done yet ....

Bucannon Creek University

Just past Saddle Mountain there is a Junction . Highway 53 branches off of the sunset Highway. also known as the Necanicum Highway , 53 heads southwest for about 18 miles before it brings you out at Highway 101 near Mohler and Wheeler Oregon .

The Farm house we spent several years in on the weekends was Seven and a Half miles from the Junction. For Distraction Bob and I would count the turns on this Highway from the place where we entered the road to the driveway of the home . in Seven and half miles there were 75 turns . One turn in the rod every tenth of a mile . MY dad used to quip the road was laid out by a drunken cowboy chasing a Horse that had eaten Loco weed . The Road divides two great Forests , the Tillamook State forest and the Clatsop State Forest .

The Farm was dissected by Highway 53 the farm house and an old Orchard was on the left hand side of the highway , and on the right was an old Barn . A small creek named Buchanon Creek was just past the barn .

The house had electricity , and even had indoor plumbing . IT was not completely finished . the downstairs had a mud room , Bathroom , Living area and large Common Kitchen . The stove was a wood burner and I believe there was a wood burning stove in the Living room as well . Upstairs were four Bedrooms .

In front of the house was the remains of a very old Apple Orchard . The house also came with its own caretaker . An elderly Man we called Shorty lived on the property in a very small shack next top the main house . He watched over the property and cared for the Numerous , Goats , Geese , and chickens that also lived there .

Shorty appeared to be quite old , was usually very dirty and unkempt . He would ride His bike to a Friends house near Saddle Mountain once a week for a Sauna and shower . A journey of about 18 miles round trip .

On several occasions this man became our personal Guide , and fishing expert . Although for Him he was more inclined to illegally net the fish rather than catch them on hook and line.

The major attraction for me was the Creek that ran by on the opposite side of the road . Like the Necanicum river we were very close to a large fishing hole . where the fishing hole on the Necanicum was dark and mysterious , this hole revealed everything . There was no boundary of Basalt , both sides of the creek could be reached if you didn't mind getting a little wet . And on the side of the Waterhole facing the House there was a bank overlooking and peering into the deep . On this bank at one time two very large Sitka Spruce trees made their home . One had fallen and had been salvaged in part leaving a very wide 7-8 ft Stump to sit on and watch the river . across the hole the top half of the Tree still lay in the water .

Here also High water had eroded the soil under the trees roots , carving out small cave like place under the tree . When the creek was at normal flow this was a perfect place to sit and cast and stay dry when the rains came .

From the vantage of the bank and the stump when the water was not filled with sediments from Heavy rain and runoff you could look into the water . And it was a Dazzling site ..Huge schools of fish rested here ...The King Salmon the Coho , steelhead , and schools of Cutthroat trout . I have never seen so many fish in one place as I would see in this singular wide spot in the river .

At times the water was so clear you could make out the individual spots on the fish , you could see which of the salmon were beginning to molder . and directly under the stump waves of minnows were constantly on the move .

Upstream the creek widened into a long and shallow expanse ..and for some reason I cannot remember I rarely went upstream from my vantage point . Downstream from the hole the water emptied out into a narrow flute ..here the water went quite fast forming a very large rapid . at the point where the water enter the rapids ..there was a fairly shallow gravel Bar , and it was here we could cross over to the other side . On the other side our fishing place was the remaining stalk of the fallen Sitka spruce . The width of the pool was about 40 feet . and even forty fee away from its stump the tree measured over five feet in Circumference .

This place , this deep hole was where I Began to catch fish .

The first catch was me

"I'm going out to fish," Simon Peter told them, and they said, "We'll go with you." So they went out and got into the boat, but that night they caught nothing. John 21:3

The big hole on the Necanicum river was mysterious , the Black rocks, the forest canopy and the Depth of the water all conspired to hide what ever lurked below the water . while I would see the fish coming and going into the " hole " I can never think of a time I saw any fish in it . The current seemed to cut through the middle of the wide spot . The water that lapped at my feet gently tugged my boots . Further out the water rushed by. A cast into the current would swing the lure in a wide arc in a matter of seconds . Past the current , hugging the stone walls opposite me was an eddy . nothing moved in this place . Iif the Fishing hole seemed dark and mysterious , this eddy was even more so . Once i hooked a beaver, at least I thought it was a beaver in the tail in this area almost breaking my pole before I wisely cut the line. Nothing moved in the Eddy . Scum formed on top of it . It was a dead spot in a living river .

I cannot recall ever taking a fish from this " big hole" . Stubbornly I kept returning ..and while I wasn't claiming any catch ..I was learning I was becoming more familiar with the river , and the fish that called it home. It has been said that a Fisherman will forget the fish He has caught but not the place He caught them . And then again I have heard some fisherman relate stories of fish that dwarfed the place they were caught in . But its fair to say my early fishing years helped to conserve the native runs .

It was here on the river bank , alone lulled into a meditative peace by the sound of the water scratching the rocks . The smell of fir and cedar . Dark rocks and brilliant mosses. That i began to think of One who made this all. And then just as quickly I would be pulling my spinner out of the water , snapping the tough line off in my teeth and , looking into my tackle box for another lure, one that would bring that first strike . I would wrestle with God in due time , now was the time to improve my cast .

I now know I was working the water the wrong way . MY " Instincts " told me the deeper the water the bigger the fish. I did not realize that in the Depths the fish were resting , there would be very few strikes in these deep pools , the tail of the rapids and the mouth of the overflow was were I should have been . that knowledge came later .

I would have definitely loved to land a large fish , to struggle with it and be victorious , to carry the fresh caught animal back to the cabin and there receive a hunters welcome . But I took what the river gave me , a surprise visit by an otter , a great blue heron watching me across the way. A shinny bit of agate .

we would occasionally have visitors , friends of my father or even Jim the Park warden come over for dinner , and I would sit an listen to their stories of fishing and hunting , soaking up as much as I possibly could ..I was beginning to realize that the more information I had about the fish the better fisherman I would be.

I started to read as much as I could about the fish here . And about fishing . first there were children's books about fish , but with those soon exhausted I sought the adult shelves in the Library .

Soon my favourite Author was a British Columbia Fly fisherman by the name of Roderick Haig Brown. The first book of His I read was called " a river never sleeps " . written in 1946 it is a Hymn to Fly fishing for Salmon , and Steelhead. For me fly fishing was not practical The streams on the Coast are framed by trees the only way a proper cast could be made with a fly pole would be to place yourself in the middle of the river , not always practical for a seven year old boy and definitely not something His mother would want to encourage . The books contained a lot of information on Habitat and behaviour that I would make use of After that came others till I had read His entire collection of works . I spent my money on a subscription to Field and stream . There was a Sporting good store on the way to my Hay fever doctor and I would spend as much time as I could there , looking over lures , listening to salesmen , eves dropping on stories told around the sales counter. When we were on the Coast I took every opportunity to investigate and pry into the secrets of all who carried a rod and reel and who would let me within earshot .

. It didn't take very long for me to decide I wanted to be a Professional fisherman and live out my life pipe in mouth fishing vest filled with home made flies , chasing Steelhead as they took out 200 yards of line in a mad dash for freedom .

The three major types of fish included the Steelhead . the Salmon and the Trout .

 

 

Steelhead were the most prized . Difficult to catch , strong from years of swimming in the Ocean , Steelhead would average about 12-20 lbs . The largest Steelhead caught in Oregon weighed 38 pounds . There are several varieties of Salmon but the two most prolific are the King Salmon and the Silver Salmon King Salmon average about 25-35 pounds and the record was 83 pounds . Silver Salmon also known as Coho salmon are smaller From 7 -15 pounds . IN addition to these fish the rivers are filled with Native Cutthroat trout and a distant cousin the Ocean bay cutthroat trout . These fish will be from 1 to 3 lbs in size .

During this period of " book knowledge " about my quest . the cabin on Highway 26 became no longer available to us ...I suspect it sold. Mom and Dad had been able to live in it rent free ...and we were now Oregon Coast homeless ... My fathers friend Jim Webb , a park ranger at Saddle Mountain , had located this place for us , and He came up with a new home for us to use .

This home was much bigger , a two story farmhouse , on Highway 53 7.5 miles from the Necanicum Junction . This place was the one I remember best , it was from here I Caught my first fish ...and began my fishing career in earnest .


Photo Credits :

Lower Necanicum River
Cutthroat Trout
Silver Salmon ( Coho )
Steelhead
King Salmon

The Deep begins to stir

Sometime after 3rd Grade and before 7th Grade I think I began to " experience " God . In Sunday school and school ground chats God was always an Abstraction . MY parents spoke very little about God , they agreed that He must exist , and I believe they felt there as an after life . But Theology , bible discussion was not a fixture or topic of discussion in our home.

Understanding God for me began in the clear creeks and narrow valleys of the Oregon Coastal range . It began as a murmur , the taking of shape of individual trees in the first light of morning kind of way. And when I first saw the ocean the confirmation of God was sealed forever in my heart .

To be fair here I am not talking about the Christian Faith I embrace today . These first shadows and revelations where of God the creator , God the sculpture and painter and God the giver and taker of life .

During this period we were granted access to two different cabins on the Coast , Memory has failed me I cannot choose which came first , I believe it was the Cabin on Highway 26.

This cabin sat on the right hand side of the road a bare mile from the Gas station and restaurant at the Necanium Junction where Highway 53 corkscrewed into the Sunset Highway.

Next door and sharing the driveway to the Cabin was an abandoned School house. Across the Highway a large lava rock narrow the road .

The cabin was small at most two bedrooms , a primitive kitchen , no electricity . Bathroom facilities were out back .

Several hundred yards from the road the Necanicum river pushed toward the Ocean ..several miles down tream it was navigabile by Drift boat ..but the stretch behind the house was barren of boats.

The upper end of the hole and the lower end were quite shallow at the rivers normal flow . But the other side of the river was unreachable . That side was buttressed by a wall of Basalt pushed out of the earth . Steep , slick , black and menacing . Opposite the Basalt wall there was a gently sloping river bank , noving from the water with golf ball sized pebbles to soft sand at the outer margins of the " normal " creek flow . At high water and flood time this margin would spill out in to the field where the path from the House disected. There was a wide spot in the river there , we called these places Holes ..or fishing holes . The frequent floods of water from the storms of Spring and fall had gouged the softer earth away from the Basalt . it was deep and dark there , forbidding . If you waited you could watch the Salmon break out of this restful area and struggle upstream several inches of Salmon visible out of the water ..forcing themselves further up the river . and below the hole the same spectacle could be seen the Deep waters offer sanctuary for the Migrating Salmon . Along the banks carcasses of fish could be easily seen , and several of the fish struggling towards the place of their own birth could be seen decaying and moldering.

Death and life were here ..laid out in perfect order . Even at such an early age I new that if the river were an Orchestra there must be a Conductor , if the rich greens and water stained blacks were a painting there must be a painter .

I did not know who this Master musician , painter sculptor was . But I knew He was . and I knew some how some way that He must be eternal .

There was Mystery and discovery here . the house side of the creek , was very accessible and it gave up its clues easily during the months . BUt the Opposite side , those rock walls were too much of a challenge to investigate , there was no purchase here no place to lay a foot. Life had found a way in places , mosses , and occasional clumps of grass , clinging to the rock.

Sitting at the bank of the river , watching the seasons go by ..I knew with confidence from a very early age that This was His world and we were visitors ... Seems almost egotistical to make this confirmation about myself when I was so young ..but my conviction is unalterable . I did not know who this God was , I had no name for Him save God ...and I did not know that He provided a way for me to be with Him when I pass , I did not know about His plan of Salvation nor the curse of Sin . I Just knew there was a God , and I felt that by knowing more about His Creation I would come to know more about Him .

* Photo note , this is not the Necanicum river , it is the Duck river in TN , the rocks here are Limestone ...When we are in Oregon I Hope to photograph the Place I am describing .

Bob .....

 

I am now more than ever deeply puzzled with my relationship with my Brother. Bob , is about 19 months Younger than I am . I don't think he realizes it , but most often in person I refer to Him as the successful brother . Since College He has had a distinguished career helping others , building communities , and sewing into peaceful resolutions in a complex and threatening world . He has probably Logged more miles than Santa Claus . Traveling to Europe , Africa , Japan , Asia , Australia . Bob Gets around .

He is incredibly passionate about his calling and from what I see extremely well respected .

Not long ago I really started thinking about our relationship. It began innocently enough I was telling Lori about some of the people who in my life time that God hd brought into my life to walk with me for a time and grow me . People who influenced me and encouraged me . My Brother Bob was not on that list .

I find that troubling and interesting. I keep thinking that this is not because we had a troubled relationship ..apart from using him in several science experiments , harnessing him to my war wagon , and stealing his Accordion for Food money .... there was very little tension between us .

Well some .

But it just seems that at an early age we simply drifted apart in our interests and our goals . in the Area of Goals it seemed as if Bob had them and I didn't .

Here again memory may be clouded by fantasy ...but it is my belief that Bob followed me into many areas because I had already occupied them . Play , Little league , Science , Demolay .

I wasn't a very good Brother . I suspect I was envious of any attention he would receive . as if my parents might be forced to divide and thus dilute their attention on us .

He often walked alone to school , and returned the same way . In our Neighbourhood play I don't believe we excluded Bob , but also don't think He was encouraged to participate .

As we grew older I would move from territory to territory , one hobby after another . none interests after another , Bob began to fully occupy territory . I had been asked to Join the Seventh and eight grade Science class when I was in the 5th Grade . I believe Bob had the same honour , but where i succeeded in almost burning down the Science Lab . He used his interest in Science to launch Himself into the world of the New Oregon Museum of Science and Industry ( OMSI ) ..and ultimately this lead to a life time of Community and World service .

By the time Bob graduated from High School , He was receiving full scholarship offers from some of the most influential Colleges in the Nation. His College years took Him into for a year of Study , perhaps one of the most significant Ebenezzers of His Journey in Japan .

I remember one cool and rainy day on the National Guard Firing range in Clackamas Oregon. The Science class had brought their home made rockets to the range . MY rocket was unique I had developed a new method of attaching the fins to the rocket , in hopes of having the fins not melt off and thus making the rocket in flight uncontrollable , I had also placed several ounces of gun powder in the nose cone of the Rocket to give it that " something special " . When it came my turn the Rocket shining on the launch pad began to raise , then the flaw in the design became apparent , the fuel had not been able to pack it self uniformly , the rocket sputtered , landing on its side then it began to careen down the Firing range bouncing off anything in its way , finally the whole disaster ended in a thunderous explosion as the Gun powder at least did its Job.

Bobs rocket by comparison was quite pedestrian , but it was excellently crafted , the fuel was perfectly packed and the rocket raised from the earth that had it bound and arched gracefully , higher and higher till it could be barely seen .

Bob and I have spent most of our lives now in our separate orbits , his a dazzling ride that has taken him across the earth . in service to thousands ..his influence has certainly stretched to millions . A profound legacy of commitment. We talk infrequently , usually at one birthday or another ..

We have both married and we both have one Daughter each who each of us adores . I don't know where we will ultimately land , but I now in the understanding that praise and encouragement can never be exhausted. I wish I would have paid more attention to Bob's life . There was much to be learned there .

Camping 101 ...flapjack recollections

Saddle Mountain overlooks the Sunset Highway , a popular road leading west out of Portland ultimatly blending in to Highway 101 along the Oregon Coast .

Saddle Mountain was created around 15 million years ago when lava flows poured down the the broad Columbia river valley. It is the Highest mountain in the Oregon Coast range . rising about 3200 feet above sea level .

Great forests radiate out from the Mountain in every direction . Habitat for Elk and Deer . Headwaters of one of Oregon's popular Fishing streams the Necanicum river rushes from the Mountain.

From Multnomah to Saddle Mountain was a drive of about 2 hours . The Sunset Highway started out over the flat farm land of the Willamette valley ,then climbing into the Coast range , passing under part of it at the Sunset tunnel ..winding through the Northwest forest ...A right hand turn off of the Highway takes you up a few miles to a small camping location at the base of Saddle Mountain. This was our destination .

We would usually leave late Friday afternoon . Preparations would have been made late Thursday . the Tent would have been packed into the trailer along with the camping gear. The trailor would be parked outside , ready for when Dad returned home from work .

Friday Mom would be busy preparing as much food as possible for us to take with us . Sandwhiches , koolaide , Boxed Groceries including pancake mix , coffee ,potatoes . And at the ready in the refrigerator , bacon , eggs , and hamburger . Bob and I would pack some clothes , comic books , and sometimes fishing gear. I remember having a world war 2 compass that was my constant companion . and my Canteen .

Dad would arrive home , dinner would be ready and once eaten we were off . A few minutes delay as dad cursed the wiring on the trailer ..and then off .

 * ( note ...not us I was usually better dressed ) 

It would be dark by the time we arrived at the Camp spot . Arriving on Friday we usually had a good pick of the camping spots ..close to the water was good , a flat space to pitch the tent very good and fairly close to the Bathrooms was really very good . The bathroom facilities were " Modern Primative

*( Note I searched Google for some photos of the campgropund and I belive there is a very good chance these are the very same bathrooms I remember ) 

 

 " . The tent was very heavy most of the hard labor was done by dad and mom . Beams in place posts pushed into the ground , then stakes pounded into the ground . Sturdy rope secured it all . Dad would light the coleman lantern first off ...this device gave off an incredible amount of light . We had several wooden cots to place our bed rolls on . Dad usually slept in the car ..so as to not wake us when we would leave early in the morning .

If there was no kill Dad would be back at camp around mid morning. We would then have a hearty breakfast .

My challenge her is how to accurately write about a smell , the conclusion for me is you can't its only something you can experience. That Morning breakfast smell lingers with me , inscribed on some part of my brain where all things wonderful go . IT was more than the breakfast , it was the scent of the trees , the land turning back into itself , wood smoke from the fire pit , kerosene , Pancakes and eggs on a Cast Iron Skillet , Good strong coffee , and Bacon ...all swhoosed up together and ladled out on a frosty clear blue morning . For me there is no Doubt Heaven will smell like the Camp ground at Saddle Mountain state Park .

 

Rembering my father / Camping and Hunting

The most persistent Memories I have of these middle years of Grade School , before I became a seventh grade adult ..are from our frequent trips to the Oregon Coast .

My father was a hunter ..I would describe him as a practical hunter ..He hunted out of need . For most of our lives we lived off of both Elk and Deer . In the Woods Dad would quarter the animal , and pack it back to the Car .

Deer usually required two trips , the Elk at least four . This was not recreation it was work . And it needed to be as fast as possible . His favorite hunting areas were about 2 hours from our home in the West Hills . IT wasn't unusual for him to Kill the animal in the evening , field dressit at the sun went down spend most of the night packing it through the woods , then arriving early in the morning at home and unloading the animal . He butchered it in our Garage , and later when we moved into the " New " home next door in the basement . Then cut into Steaks , roasts , and various other cuts it was wrapped in butcher paper and placed in the large freezer we had for that purpose. Dad would always share the meat with Family and friends , and if He had a hunting partner Half of the kill would go to them . Interestingly enough he never expected half of another persons animal, but it most always worked out that way .

Usually though Dad hunted alone . His favourite Area was Saddle Mountain State park . A wild area A few miles from the Oregon Coast . Saddle Mountain was an eroded remnant of an undersea Volcano ... Here in the 1950 great herds of elk and deer were plentiful .

The Deer were the Pacific Black tailed deer . These are quite large ... A large buck would weigh in at 400 lbs and a Doe could almost reach 300. Hunting pressure in the 50's limited each hunter to one animal only . But many hunters including my father would have permits for both them and their wives . It wasn't unusual to have my Mother " Kill " an animal while she was fixing dinner for Bob and I back at the Tent . Mom must have been a pretty good shot , because she seemed to always get her animal first too. Deer Season Began in the Early fall , then later was Elk Season . Elk where the big boys on the Block . ON the Coast the elk we found was the Roosevelt Elk .

The Roosevelt elk is the largest of the Elk Family with a Full grown Bull weighing in between 800-1200 pounds . The Cows from 500-650 pounds . Depending on the amount of damage done by the bullet Dad would usually keep the hide for tanning and resale . Some of the Organs were harvested including Kidney , and heart . Non Edible parts were left to return to the earth. The Head of the animal had to accompany the carcass , for identification purposes or in my Dads case it would have been most often left behind . Dad had strong feelings about displaying the animal , he rarely thought of his kills as trophies .

  

Deer usually required two trips , the Elk at least four . This was not recreation it was work . And it needed to be as fast as possible . His favorite hunting areas were about 2 hours from our home in the West Hills . IT wasn't unusual for him to Kill the animal in the evening , field dressit at the sun went down spend most of the night packing it through the woods , then arriving early in the morning at home and unloading the animal . He butchered it in our Garage , and later when we moved into the " New " home next door in the basement . Then cut into Steaks , roasts , and various other cuts it was wrapped in butcher paper and placed in the large freezer we had for that purpose. Dad would always share the meat with Family and friends , and if He had a hunting partner Half of the kill would go to them . Interestingly enough he never expected half of another persons animal, but it most always worked out that way .

Depending on the weather. We would either go with dad , and set up camp in Saddle Mountain State park . Or He would venture out over the weekends on His own . As the Fall pushed into Winter , we stayed at home more .

MY Mother and Father had a very large Canvas tent . Probably a world war 2 Surplus tent . I would guess it was about 12 foot by 10 foot in size . Sturdy two by twos held it in place ..this was not a hike into the wilderness kind of tent ..large enough that dad had a trailer to haul it in . We also had several Coleman Kerosene lanterns , and a Coleman Camping stove . The Smell of wet canvas and Kerosene is a pungent and pleasant reminder of those weekedn camping expeditions.

In the morning Bob and I would wake up to the smell of Eggs and bacon simmering on the Camp stove , MY father would already be gone ..and the morning light would begine to illunimate the possibilities of our own day of exploration .

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few words about my Father Here :

My Fathers name was John Herman Stilger , most of his friends knew him as Johnny , I called him Dad. His life and his adventures I know by faith ...and word of mouth . Dad left precious little behind in the form of journaling or letters ...He was however a storyteller , and what stories he would tell ...

I have no written verification of the authenticity of these stories , but a look at the proposed timeline does seem to at least prove that what he said he did he did ..not that I have any reason to doubt him , in all things my father was quite honest and forthright ..but also there is always the possibility of hyperbole and exaggeration. Since I have no written confirmation the only other proofs I have is that many of these stories were told in audiences where others would have been able to point out discrepency and I was never ware of such disagreements.

My father was born in Rygate Montana in 1914 ..He was the fourth child in a family of six His oldest sister was Elizabeth, then a brother Bob , Sister Esther , His younger brother Bill and a younger sister that was killed only a few years into life in an Automobile accident. The family moved fromt he ranch in Montana to Portland Oregon sometime in the early 20's where my Fathers, Father Herman Stilger worked as a brewmeister for Blitz Beer Company in Portland Oregon.

The family moved to the Sellwood area , a suburb of Portland ... My guess is that Dad dropped out of school at a very early age ..and as near as I can tell his first Job was working in the Forests , as a tree topper , this would begin a long association with working above ground for my Dad ...those were tough times about to enter the Depression , I would suspect that you needed an edge to distinguish you from all the others looking for employment and it seems as if my Fathers edge was a willingness to work in extraordinary difficult and dangerous situations. He seems to have moved around a lot often hitchhiking both cars and trains. He told us frequently about riding under the boxcars on the rods that form the undercarriage of the boxcars.

At the height of the Great Depression, a quarter of a million teenagers joined the ranks of the army of migratory idle roaming across America riding freight trains or hitchhiking. I am not sure every place he went , but He told us that he worked on the Boulder / Hoover Dam building project ...
The two vertical foundations for each of the arch walls (the Nevada side and Arizona side) had to be founded on sound virgin rock; free of cracks and the weathering that the surface rock of the canyon walls had from thousands of years of weathering and exposure.

The men who removed this rock were called high-scalers. While suspended from the top of the canyon with ropes high-scalers climbed down the canyon walls and removed the loose rock with jackhammers and dynamite. My father was one of these High Scalers , hanging from a rope he would work all day removing the rock piece by piece ...during the construction of the dam over 100 workers died , many of them were these " High Scalers " . From the Hoover Dam , Dad must have gotten word of another Dangerous Job that he could apply for ..the Building of the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco.

Here the job was that of Cable Stringing ... Again my father found himself perched high above the San Francisco Bay stringing miles and miles of Steel Cable used to support the Bridge ..unlike the Hoover Dam project the working conditions here were humane ..with great care taken to protect the lives of the workers ...a huge safety net was installed and was responsible for saving over 25 men who fell while working ..these men formed a club called the half way to hell club..there were only 10 fatalities on the bridge construction with most coming on one catastrophic scaffolding fall which combined with the weight of the men , broke through the net .

From the Job on the Golden Gate Bridge my Father found Employment at the Mare Island Shipyard , it was still peacetime but he worked as a " rigger " Hoisting heavy loads into ships a job which required often hanging from beams and rafters securing pulleys to lift the load ...Unfortunately this also brought the workers into direct contact with the Asbestos lined pipes in the ships hulls ... Also a heavy Smoker my Father died from Lung Cancer at the age of 59 .

This was during " peacetime " . When Pearl Harbor was attacked my Father was involved with the Rescue effort to find and save Trapped Sailors on the overturned hull of the USS Oklahoma ..this effort took several days so it seems likely that my father was flown to Pearl from San Francisco. This is unverified , but seems the most likely scenario . He was not drafted into the Service , His Job at the time was considered a vital Civilian Job ...Dad stayed near Pearl Harbor for most of the war working on Rigging , and repairing both war ships and Merchant Ships ...before the War ended He returned to California and the Mare Island Navel Yards . IT was there that he met a lovely young woman who had migrated from Oklahoma to work in the Shipyards as well ..her name was Emma Keith and she was one of the thousands of women who answered the call to work int he plants and factories that were in fact responsible for the Victory in both the Pacific and in Europe .

John and Emma , fell in love , married in Vallejo California ...after the war Dad followed a friend to Denver Colorado who was planning to open up a donut shop ...guessing here but apparently the donut business was not to dads liking and he found employment in a town called Climax Colorado , near Leadville Colorado . He worked in an open pit Molybdenum mine ...here he scaled the walls of the Ore surface and dangling by cable would drill holes in the rock that explosives would be packed into the explosion was designed to remove tons of rock and to be hauled away and refined into a new lightweight metal that was being used in Jet aircraft manufacture . The process was dangerous , but by now many more safety regulations were in place ...and it was arduous Climax is at the 11,000 foot level of the Rockies ...high altitude and bitter cold must have made the work very difficult .

While working in Climax I was born on October 14 1947 ( the day Chuck Yeager broke the sound barrier ) ... I do not know how much longer Dad and Mom stayed in Climax ...I do know that my brother Bob was born in Portland where they had moved to next and He was born May 13 1949 . Dad and Mom moved into the old neighbourhood of Sellwood , and Dad started work for Portland general Electric , as a tree trimmer and Lineman ...He worked for PGE until his death .

I have no bad memories of my childhood ..both Mom and Dad were loving , nurturing and desiring only the best for my Brother and I ...They were totally committed to sacrificing their needs for the needs of others , my brother and I included ...Dad come home bone weary from physically climbing vertical poles and trees , using a harness called a hook which was a leather device that attached to his waist then around his crotch , ending in stirrups with metal " hooks " that would be forcefully driven into the tree or pole as he climbed up another belt would encircle the pole providing additional traction , coming down was all gravity , skill and a little bit of luck and daring . Normally dad would take a short nap , then dive into what ever was the current project for Bob and I , either a science project , or teaching us how to field a baseball , or guiding us through our chores . Dad coached our little league team and had only one ironclad rule ..everyone must play ..the score did not matter to him , the willingness to play did ..he took more than a fair share of abuse from parents who were all about winning , but in the end despite his " unorthodox " methods ..we had several winning teams ...For the last few years of his life Dad had it a little easier he was able to gain a Job inspecting the towers that were being built for the New Nuclear Power plant in Oregon , Trojan Nuclear Plant ...this Job took him all over the state ..working on similar projects ...He purchased a small travel trailer and He and my mother would live in one location then another ...I suspect it was some of the best years of their lives ...

Shortly after my first Marriage Dad was Diagnosed with Lung Cancer ...He fought the disease as best he could ...Chemo and Radiation probably were as lethal as the disease ..and He died at home in April of 1974 ... I think about him and my Mother daily , Mom died of cancer much latter , she never remarried and never fell out of love with the man she married ....I am enclosing a letter I wrote a few months after her death ...

                                                  DISCLAIMER   !!!

                                --------------------------------------------------------------

Reconstructing my childhood from Memory has often left me with more questions than answers . This is particularly true of our frequent visits tot he Coast . For the life of me I cannot remember the chronology of which of the two cabins we stayed at came first . I am also quite confused about how young I was when I first went hunting with my Father .

I wish I would have realized how important all this would be to me now so that I might have occasionally written a note to myself . I have talked with my Brother and for the most part His memory is less vivid than mine ..He might be inclined to say its more truthfull.

The issue for me is compacting all that I can recall into what seems like just a few years . This then becomes a disclaimer of sorts . If there are inconsistencies in the stories I am posting , its because I am inconsistent in recalling them .

I do know this . The hunting , camping and exploring the Coast years probably ended my freshman year in High School . And my earliest recollection of them would have been from about 2nd or third grade . That accounts for about 8 years . eight summers , and eight hunting seasons . Minus three overland vacations , and my singular bus trip to Oklahoma .

These were wonderful years . My first caught fish , my first Deer , my first Home run . Contrasted of course with my first Hook in my hand , my first retching as I watched my father field dress a deer , and the slam of the bat as strike three whizzed past the plate.

Eight years of success and failures ...and now looking back over a span of 50 years a little Chronological confusion should be gracefully accepted .

 

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Photos ; Saddle Mountain looking Northeast from the Nehalem River near Wheeler Oregon .
              Saddle Mountain
              Black Tail deer
               Roosevelt Elk