Dream an it may come true

1969

Chamblissburg boys 1955

Left to right, Sherril Thomas, Teddy Huddleston, Richard Franklin, Eugene Blount & Rich’s brother Johnny

I grew up in Southwest Virginia hunting small game such as Rabbits, Squirrels, Coons, Possums, & Groundhogs which city folks call Woodchucks. I also shot and trapped a few Skunks, which was known locally as polecats, I never knew why they were called polecats. Groundhogs was the most fun and was plentiful. I had a trapline at about age 12 and trapped for Mink, Muskrats and Rabbits. I would catch Polecats, Possums and Rabbits in my box traps and I sometimes sold the Rabbits with the fur on to town people a few times for a buck apiece for their dinner table. I used wooden box traps mostly and if I caught a Polecat I would carry the trap to the creek and sink it under the water, standing on it till I thought the critter had drowned. They would not stink you up if you handled the trap carefully. I once caught a Polecat in a steel trap. The trap was set at the bottom of a six foot vertical bank at the entrance to a den. I had no gun with me so had to use ingenuity to kill the thing. I used my hunting knife to cut a sapling about 8 feet long and tied my knife to it with one of my boot strings. I leaned over the bank and stabbed the polecat till it expired. Unfortunately it sprayed me pretty good. I took it to the creek and skinned it under the water so I wouldn‘t get ant more stink on me. When I got back to the house my Mama made me go to the barn to wash and change clothes. I’m sure I didn’t get all the smell off for over a week. After this episode I tried to leave Polecats alone.

When I got older I started hunting Deer and Turkeys but they were few and far between. There never was many around when I grew up there in Virginia. Nowadays we are over run with Deer and Turkeys, in fact the Deer are a complete nuisance causing many Deer/automobile accidents. Its not uncommon to kill 30 Deer here in one fall now as the numbers are very high and the season long. This past hunting season I killed a doe and a 6-point buck with my truck going to and coming back from hunting trips. We can hunt with bows, muzzleloaders and Hi-power rifles for about 3 months. You had to hunt hard back in the 60s to get a shot and you might get one shot in a whole hunting season so we practiced with our rifles trying to get good enough so as not to miss an opportunity if one came your way. One day Lewis Severson and I was Deer hunting over around Goose Creek. We was walking along side a cornfield which was on our left and a patch of woods on the right side. Suddenly we both saw a bunch of Turkeys run out of the timber and head into the standing corn.

1965

Richard & first Groundhog rifle

Winchester Mod. 70 243 cal.

Richard made the stock for this rifle

They had to cross an opening about 20 feet wide and they was about a hundred yards ahead of us. Both Lewis and I threw up out rifles an fired at exactly the same moment. A big Tom was hit with one of these two shots and fell to the ground thrashing and flopping as we run up to it. It was a very big Tom with about an 11” beard if I remember right. We took it home, dressed it out an froze it. While it was frozen we sawed it in half an we each had some Wild Turkey to eat. We never did know whose bullet brought down that Tom. That was the first Wild Turkey I had ever eaten and it was better than the ones you bought in a store too.

Dreams can come true

I dreamed of hunting big game in British Columbia. I read every Field & Stream and outdoor life magazine I could get my hands on. I kept every issue and would read & re-read the stories on Bear and Elk hunting till I had them memorized. Today 40 years later I can still remember a couple of hunting stories I read in Outdoor Life. In 1968 I was 25 years old and figured I never would be able to afford to go out to B.C. on a paid Big Game hunting trip. I finally came up with a scheme that I thought might have a chance to work out. I got out my magazine’s and pored over all the advertisements of the Big Game outfitters that ran ads in the magazines. I wrote down fifty names and addresses of different outfitters that was guiding and outfitting from the Southeast corner of B.C. plumb on up into the Yukon. I wrote all these fellows and ask them for a job. I told them I had grew up on a Farm and was pretty handy around livestock and might be able to wrangle horses, cut firewood or otherwise just be a general flunky. I also told them I was a carpenter by trade an worked at it every day. At the very least I could swamp out the kitchen and do things like that.

Well, you can believe it when I tell you I was completely floored when five of them wrote back an offered me a job for the next years hunting season that would begin around the 1^st of September. One fellow in the Yukon had just purchased a new guiding territory and was going in to it in early spring to build cabins and airstrips for his planes and wanted to know if I could come in May to help with building the cabins.

Oh man, I couldn’t believe this, would I go? Darn tooting I would. My wife did not think too much of this going off to British Columbia when I had a perfectly good job right here at home and the Yukon was nearly 4000 miles from Virginia. She was pretty cool on the idea at first but finally come around after I spent several months persuading her.

I saved up about a hundred and fifty dollars, spending 75.00 of it on a Greyhound bus ticket that would take me all the way to Edmonton, Alberta where I was to Meet Stan Reynolds, the outfitter. Stan had wrecked his stock truck that was loaded with horses at the time and was going to be in Edmonton to purchase a new one and I could ride back up the Alaska Highway with him. I wrote and told Stan that I would meet him there at the Edmonton airport on a certain date sometime in Mid may. I plumb forget which day it was.

Another outfitter located in Southeast B.C. Ernie Goodwin had also offered me a job. I knew this was where the best Elk hunting was and decided to stop off there to meet Ernie and see what the country was like there.

I can still see my wife standing there waving goodbye to me when I got on the Greyhound Bus in Lynchburg, Virginia sometime in April of 1968. She was wearing a brown polka dotted dress. I can see her standing there in the spring sunshine with tears in her eyes and waving goodbye to me. I have often wondered to this day what our lives would have been like if I had gotten off that bus. I was tempted to and nearly did.

The Bus ride

Thus began a trip that has lasted to this day. A lot has happened along the way to be sure. That bus trip was my first experience on a bus and I can say it was very tiring as it took seven days just to reach the Canadian border at Sweetgrass Montana. Sweetgrass was a little border town at the north end of Interstate 15 out on the high plains of northwest Montana and in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains. Coutts, Alberta was the Canadian Version Of Sweetgrass on the other side of the border. The bus was slightly better than a covered wagon as you didn’t have to walk or sleep on the ground. I saw many Mule Deer and a few moose as we passed thru Montana on our way to the Border. I met a lot of different people on that trip. I remember a retired Doctor and his wife going out west somewhere to visit their son. Back then it was mostly real decent people riding buses, not the riff-raff that travels on them today. The restrooms were always clean and smelled alright. They were not many Interstate highways back then and the buses would stop in every hick town they came to.

Whoa Boy!!

I arrived at the Canadian Customs in Sweetgrass with a trunk of clothes and a 30-30 Winchester I had bought from Gene Vaughan, my former employer and a new Marlin lever action in .444 caliber. Gene had traded the 30-30 off of an Indian somewhere. There were notches carved into the stock and it was decorated with brass tacks. It was well used but it still shot good enough. I had installed a good peep sight on the Marlin and figured it would be a good Grizzly rifle. I believe that I had about 40 rounds for the Marlin and about 20 for the Winchester.

I figured I was only moments away from entering Canada when the custom agents put a stop to the whole thing. Hold it boy, where you think you’re going? Well Heck, I got a job in the Yukon wrangling horses for Stan Reynolds, a guide an outfitter there. Sorry son, they said. We ain’t giving no work permits to go horse wrangling in the Yukon or no where else. If you’re going to come into Canada and hold down a job you gonna have to immigrate. Whatttttttt!! I don’t even know what that means, you’ll have to explain it to me. Well young fella, its like this. You will have to get any important documents we want and fill out an application about 5 feet long. If you’re up to the Queens expectations then we’ll let you immigrate and you can go on up to the Yukon and wrangle horses if you want too. It was several years before I found out what the reference to the “Queen” meant. I ask him how long all this would take and he told me “as soon as you can produce the documents“. You need your birth certificate, high school diploma if you have one and anything else that will prove you are who you say you are. Go on over to Sweetgrass there and take a room at the Glocca Morra bar & hotel and call your wife to send your papers. When you get them come on over here and fill out the forms. You can stop at Milk River just north of here and have a physical and the Doc can mail me the results if we decide to let you thru.

I was a bit crestfallen and lost there for a spell. Never once did it dawn on me that I would have any difficulty getting into Canada, but I got my trunk and duffle and drug it all about a half mile over to the little town of Sweetgrass which was off the highway a bit. It wasn’t hard to find the Glocca Morra the agent had told me about as there were only about five buildings in town. I took a room there, I believe it was 10 bucks a week. The barkeep ask me how long I would be staying and I told him maybe 10 days or 2 weeks or so. I got on the phone and explained to my wife the dilemma and ask her to send out the necessary papers as soon as possible to me at the Glocca Morra Bar & Hotel in Sweetgrass. Well, I had been having second thoughts ever since I got on that bus in Lynchburg and this dampened my spirits even more. At night I would sit in the Bar and listen to this old cowboy playing a Guitar and singing “Ol Shep” and a bunch of other tear-jerkers. All the local cowboys, ranchers and farmers would come in every night for a drink and listen to the ole fellow singing. This was “Red Wheat” raising country and there was more Farmers than cowboys around. I got to meet some of them and ask them a lot of questions to be sure. I was amazed that they would just walk into the Bar with that “Montana gumbo” mud plumb up to their knees from all the spring rains that was coming down every day. They made no attempt to wipe or clean their boots and the barkeep never even seem to notice the dirt and mud they tracked in. In Later years I would hunt in Montana in that same gumbo mud and really found out that it was near to impossible to get it off anything, you just let it wear off.

My papers arrived in due time, maybe a week or so and I went back over to the customs office and filled out their “forms”. They weren’t kidding when they said it was about 5 feet long and when I unfolded it I saw that this was so. I finally answered the million or so questions that was on it and gave it over to the agent. He told me to “come back tomorrow and we’ll let you know our decision“. He ask me how much money I had on me and I told him about forty dollars, He kinda got a funny look on his face but didn’t say anything else. I was back there at first light the next day. It took them a couple of hours to get to me but when they did they told me I was fine, that I could go on to the Yukon but I would have to stop in Milk River to have the physical at the Doctor there, that the Doc would mail the results back to the Customs office. I later found out that the money requirement was much more that the forty bucks I had but I guess they felt sorry for me and let me pass. Guess they seen I was determined and didn’t want to put a stop on my dreams of shooting Grizzly Bears and Elk and whatever else was up there in Canada. Man, I can just imagine the grief a fellow would come to if he tried to cross that border today. He wouldn’t even be able to buy his way into Canada if he was the President of the entire United States.

I caught the next bus north as my ticket was still good. The bus driver even took me right to the Doctors office and let me off there. He told me I would have to go back out to the highway to catch another bus to Lethbridge. While in the Drs. office I met a woman and her daughter who lived on a nearby wheat farm. I told them of my situation and they said they were going shopping in Lethbridge that day and I could ride the 75 or 80 miles with them. I took them up on their offer and they took me right to the bus station in Lethbridge and I caught the next bus going west into British Columbia where I was going to meet Ernie Goodwin at a place called Elko about 175 miles west of Lethbridge just over the first range of the Rockies. Elko was on the # 3 Trans-Canadian highway between Fernie and Cranbrook B.C.

British Columbia

Ernie Goodwin & a dude with some Elk antlers

The cabin is the one at Hanks Place near Elko B.C. Where Ernie and I stayed .

When I boarded the westbound bus I ask the driver to let me off at Elko B.C. which he did about midnight that night. I didn’t get to see much of what the country looked like as most of the trip was after dark. The bus stopped at Elko and I seen right away that it was only a gas station that was closed and a beat up trailer court out back. There was not many lights anywhere and it was pretty near pitch black out. I was lucky as there was a phone booth over to the left of the store so I made for it and called Ernie who showed up in about a half hour in a stock truck. Ernie was a tall lanky fellow with a beard and a big hat. He didn’t say much as we threw my duffel into the back and headed down the hiway. Pretty soon we come to a ranch road and followed this for about a mile when we came upon some ranch buildings and what appeared to be a old-time schoolhouse. It was the home of Hank Lowen and his wife & kids. Ernie just stayed on the place and lived in a small log cabin. We stowed my duffel in there and hit the sack. It was a while before I got to sleep that night as I was still second guessing my dream of shooting Bears and Elk. We was up at first light and washed up in a horse trough and went in and I met Hank and his family. Hank was also a tall lanky fellow with tall riding boots that had real spurs on them and a big floppy hat. Turned out Hank was a real cowboy and he was ranching this place and running about 200 head of Herefords. His wife’s name was Lena and they had, I believe four girls and no boys. One of the daughters elevator didn’t go all the way to the top floor and she followed you around like a dog. They was all very nice to me and ask a million questions about what it was like to live in the United States of America. I told them that it was too crowded and I was looking for more space with less people and that I believed that I had found it here.

As it was a Saturday Ernie showed me around some. He took me into Big Sand Creek where in later years I would spend a lot of time hunting there. We saw a Grizzly that Saturday up on the side of the mountain and I thought that was something, to just drive up and see a Grizzly, just like that. He also showed me a herd of Elk over on the other mountain. He had a good spotting scope which he set up to look thru. I had never seen a spotting scope before.

On Monday Ernie went back to work at a Tie mill that was run by a fellow by the name of Ted Bellamy. Ernie came home that Monday night and told me I could get a few days work there if I wanted. Said the wages was 5 bucks an hour. I jumped at the job as the most money I had ever made was 2.00 an hour working construction for Gene Vaughan in Lynchburg Virginia and I was down to maybe 30 dollars. I ask Ernie what I would be doing and he said I would be tailing the mill. Well, I had no idea what this meant but I found out the very next day. I rode with Ernie in his stock truck which was the only vehicle he had and we arrived at the mill site about 7 A.M. which was on Gorden Earls ranch in Newgate, about 40 miles from Hanks ranch. I met Ted who was not a cowboy as I had already learned that real cowboys was very skinny and had bent legs and walked funny. Ted was a big burly fellow that looked as strong as a moose and had a big bellowing voice. He took me over to the back end of the mill where the sawn lumber would be coming out and showed me what I had to do. Ted said it was an easy job and he could do it standing on his head. After a trial run at lifting a railroad tie I didn’t think I could do it standing on my feet and it did prove to test all the strength I could muster. Ted ran the mill at such a fast pace that it was wearing me down trying to keep up stacking ties and cants and throwing the slabs over into a pile. Today I can close my eyes and still hear the whine of that 52” head saw. Every once in a while the blade would hit a knot or something hard in a log and throw a couple of teeth an Ted would have to stop everything and replace the teeth. I got so I was wishing he would hit a buried horseshoe so it would rip out about half the teeth and I could get a break. You can read more on Ted an his trying to kill me in the story titled “Ted Bellamy”.

The two weeks at Ernie’s and at the Tie Mill went by soon enough and I found my way on a bus headed to Edmonton Alberta to meet up with Stan Reynolds. The Tie mill had toughened me up considerably and I had about $400.00 in my wallet that Ted had paid me. He said I did good and if I ever wanted a steady job to let him know. Little did I know that a few years later I would work for Ted again and years after that we would become great friends and shooting buddies. I also became friends with Gorden Earl and built a barn for him a couple years later. Gorden was a two-time winner of the “All around Cowboy” award at the Calgary Stampede about 10 years before I met him. Gorden had a steel plate in his skull from being kicked by a saddle bronc he got hung up on. I also met Bill Phillips who was falling timber for Ted’s mill. We became great friends a couple of years later and did a lot of cowboying together in the south country of the East Kootenay where Bill had a ranch. He called it a “stump farm” and that’s what a lot of it looked like as he had recently logged a lot of it. Bill was another misplaced American and had come from the Walla Walla country in Washington state years before. He was as real a cowboy as one would ever meet. He was lanky like they all was, wore tall boots with spurs and a big ten gallon hat and rode a Buckskin horse he called “Buck”. Bill was married and had four daughters. I was beginning to find out that not too many cowboys had any sons, all daughters………..hmmmm must be a reason for this I thought.

Bill Phillips and Richard shooting clay targets with shotguns.

Picture made about 1977 on Bills ranch at Grassmere, B.C.

Alaska Highway

(In reality it was a dirt & gravel road that stretched over a thousand miles)

I was at the Edmonton airport at the appointed time and met Stan as he got off a plane an come up the ramp. I recognized him immediately even never seeing him before. He looked exactly as I figured he would look. Big hat and the boots thing without the spurs. An his clothes was clean. He walked directly over to me and said “Hello, I’m Stan Reynolds, you must be Richard”. Stan was originally from Pa. and had immigrated to Canada so he could hunt bears and Elk so I reckon we had something in common.

We got a taxi and went directly to the Chevrolet dealership where they had this five-ton truck complete with stock rack ready to go. Stan signed some papers and we threw in our duffel and was off to the Northwest Tent & Awning Company who was outfitters for all the North country. They had about everything a person would need to survive in the frozen North. I bought a 5-star sleeping bag, a canvas tarp the right size to wrap the bag in, a foam mattress and a nice roping saddle. This ate up nearly all the money that I had made working at Ted’s Tie mill but I wouldn’t need much money where I was headed and sure enough I didn’t spend 50 bucks for the next 3 months. Next stop was at a Lumber yard where Stan bought about 4 lifts of plywood which was about 160 pieces. This was loaded up near the front near the cab. We then went to an appliance store and Stan loaded a new stove, fridge and washing machine on top of the plywood. We was getting loaded I thought. I ask Stan why he would haul all this up the Alaska Highway and he told me that the cost of anything in Whitehorse was very high as it all had to be trucked in from Edmonton and most of the time what you wanted wasn’t available. His wife had been waiting a year for the new appliances.

We spent the night in a motel and was up around 4 am and headed out to Dawson Creek and Fort St. John where we would fill the remaining space in the truck with some horses that Stan had bought. Turned out three had killed in the truck wreck and he had to shoot two more with broken legs which made him short of horses for the fall hunting season and there was not even one horse for sale in Dawson City, the jumping off place for Stan’s guiding territory. The Alaska Highway officially began at Dawson Creek British Columbia. It was paved for about twenty miles north of Dawson Creek and then again just before you got into Fort St. John. About 2 miles north of St. John it turned back into dirt and gravel and stayed this way for several hundred miles till we reached Fort Nelson B.C. It turned back to gravel north of Fort Nelson till about 20 miles south of Whitehorse Yukon Territory.

At Fort St. John we loaded I believe six or eight horses Stan had bought from this fellow who supplied horses to outfitters. This made quite a load for the truck and barely room for our gear and duffel. After this we was off up the Alaska Highway. Its hard to describe the sights I was seeing. I would see something and before it registered in my mind good I would spot something else interesting. Everything was so different from Bedford County where I grew up. This was a huge country and many miles between anything that would contribute to a persons welfare. Sometimes we camped and a couple of nights there was a motel we could stay in for a night. All the motels had corrals for livestock with good hay, grain and water. The first motel we stopped at was a couple of hundred miles from the last one and another two hundred miles to the next one. We had to watch the gas and fuel up every chance we got whether we needed it or not. It was about midnight when we arrived at this particular motel and no one was around anywhere and all the doors were unlocked. I guess they all had gone to bed. There was a sign on the counter to get your own key and find a room that the key would fit and if you had livestock to put them in the corral and feed them, which we did. Next morning we had a good breakfast and Stan paid for the room and horse feed and we were on our way again. I thought all this was unusual but Stan said it was like this anywhere in the North country, that everyone was a trusting soul.

I forget how many days we was on the road but we finally pulled into Whitehorse Yukon. I had seen many Moose, Bears and other game coming up the Highway and I enjoyed seeing every one. Too bad I did not have a good camera with me as it would be nice to have pictures of this trip. Many places in the road was bad an required low gear to get over. We would nearly sink out of sight in the mud holes but we never got stuck. In some places someone had felled trees and laid the logs crossways side by side so you could get over the worst places.

In Whitehorse I met Stan’s wife and had an immediate dislike for her. She was bossy and mean to Stan and her two boys who were about 8 or 9 years old. I was only there in Whitehorse for 2 days, just long enough for me to saw all the plywood into 2 ft. x 4 ft. pieces with an old beat up skill saw Stan had. I remember very clearly that it was a piece of junk and the blade was very dull. The plywood was cut into these small pieces so that it could be tied beneath the Cessna and hauled to the guiding area and dumped from the air by pulling on the rope it was tied with. I made several trips with the pilot who was younger than I was but a good one. I sat on the floor as they had the back seat out and pulled the dump rope whenever Ed would shout for me to do so. He had made it very clear that the rope was to be pulled at exactly the right instant or otherwise the plywood would end up out in the bush or in the Tundra where it would be hard to locate and bring in to the building site. His name was Ed and he lived and breathed flying. Stan had a Piper Cub and the 172 Cessna and Ed piloted them both for Stan. Ed owned an old Harvard trainer which he took me for a ride in once. He said it burned so much gas that he could only fly it a few times a year. After all the plywood was dumped Ed flew me into the building site which was about in the middle of Stan’s territory nearly 200 miles from Whitehorse almost due north. We went in in the Piper Cub as there was not enough room to land the Cessna on the short sandbar they was using for a runway. Even the Cub had to have its engine cut as soon as it was on the ground as it coasted into the brush at the end of the sandbar which would have ruined the propeller had it been still turning. Needless to say, it scared the dickens out of me.

Here at the site of the base camp to be, I met Lee Trimble who was Stan’s foreman, his wife Ann, who was the cook, Ann’s son who was about 13 then, Indian Art who could see better than you could with a good pair of binoculars and Bruce who was Ann’s brother. Bruce was about 20 and was a big surly kid who liked to give orders.

They had one of the bunk cabins finished and was using it for a kitchen when I got there. Ann had coffee on so Ed and I walked over to this cabin with them for coffee. The first thing I was aware of after getting out of the plane was this queer whining noise. I could hardly see my hand in front of my face for all the mosquitoes in the air. I finally figured out they was making the whining noise as there was billions of them. We sat down on the floor or on blocks of wood and Ann poured me a cup of coffee and it immediately got a film of mosquitoes floating on the coffee. I looked around and everyone else was enjoying their coffee and paid no attention to the mosquitoes. I took a spoon and starting dipping them out and someone snickered so I put the spoon down and drank the mosquitoes same as they did. After a few days I forgot about trying to get the insects out of my coffee and drank it as if they weren’t there. Reckon it never hurt me none but it sure bothered me at first.

The unfinished cook house at base camp on the Taktondak River in Yukon Territory

1969

Starting a new bunk house. Indian Art, Lee Trimble & the kid

To make a long story short we built three bunk houses and a big cook house out of the stunted Spruce that grew there along the rivers. We used a couple of the horses that was broke to harness for skidding the logs into camp. We also cleared enough runway that the Cessna could land even when heavily loaded. Sometimes Ed would be ferrying supplies an would arrive after dark. We would hear him coming and rush down to the airstrip and light the gas we had put in cans nearly filled with sand. Ed could then see where the runway started and stopped and could make a decent landing. It was never completely dark but kinda like it is at dusk. You could still see well enough but if you were up in a plane it was difficult to make out the runway in the brush along the sandbar. One time I was at the base camp by myself as everyone else was out working on the fly camps. Ed arrived with supplies to be dumped at the fly camps and took me with him to do the dumping. He had removed the passenger door as it was difficult to open it more than and inch or two when the plane was in the air. We flew out to the two different fly camps and dumped the supplies without any problem and returned to the base came where Ed was to let me off and spend the night before returning to Whitehorse the next day. When we arrived back at base camp darkness had set in and there was no one to light the gas cans. Ed had to make about 8 or 10 runs at the strip before getting the plane down. At each pass he would cuss and pull up at the last instant and go around again. I was sitting on the floor without a seatbelt and was beginning to get a little concerned. Finally he got the plane down but we ended up in the brush at the end of the runway. I could tell that Ed was pretty upset over nearly wrecking the plane and killing us both. After this episode we always made sure there was someone there to light the fires on the runway. As each day passed the nights would get longer and darker. When I first flew into the camp there was no darkness or night at all. It was full daylight 24 hrs. every day. I found it tough to get used to this as we never knew when it was time to quit working. We would sleep awhile then get up have a meal, work awhile, sleep awhile, have another meal, work some more and mostly sleep when we were too tired to work anymore. I never did get used to this but as the days wore on the nights got longer and we went into a more conventional mode which was easier on everyone excepting we didn’t get as much work done. One day while we were working on the cabins Ed flew in with Stan. They were going to fly around looking for someplace to put a fly camp maybe 20 miles from the base camp. They was hoping to find a sandbar big enough to land the Piper Cub on so they could have a good look around. Stan was going to do the piloting as he was taking lessons from Ed. They told us that if they did not return that evening that we was to try to raise Whitehorse on the shortwave and ask for a chopper to come in to look for them. There was no radio in the cub, only the shortwave we had at base camp. We had strung a wire between two tall trees about 75 feet long and this was the antenna. Sometimes it was tough to get thru to Whitehorse on the radio and sometimes it worked well.

Well, sure enough it got dark and Stan and Ed never showed up. Lee got on the radio and finally got the airport in Whitehorse and they said a chopper was on its way. I had met the pilot before and he was a nice fellow. His name was Ray. Ray showed up about noon of the next day and took Lee with him to show him where he thought the Piper Cub and the boys might be. About dark we heard the chopper coming back so we all ran out to meet it. Here it come with the Piper Cub in about three pieces and strapped under the chopper with Stan and Ed riding in the chopper. They was all right but the airplane would require a good mechanic to heal it and put it back together. Turned out that Stan tried to land on a sandbar and had made a good landing but had ground looped before coming to a stop flipping the plane upside down. Worst damage to them was spending a cold night beside a campfire. The Cub was eventually repaired and put back into service although I never rode in it again.

Dawson City & the Horses

Finally the camp was completed and tidied up and declared ready for the hunters that was booked for the hunting season which would begin the 1^st of August. We named the camp Fort Mosquito and I used a piece of the left over plywood to make a sign and nailed it to the cook house. There is a picture nearby of Indian Art, Bruce, the kid and myself standing in front of it. Our next project would be to fly out to Dawson City and round up all of Stan’s horses that was running loose on the range around Dawson and up Bonanza creek and trail them all into the guiding territory, a distance that would require over a week on the trail. I was looking forward to this as of yet I had not had a chance to do any cowboying.

Indian Art, Richard, The “Kid” & Bruce

Ed ferried us all out to Dawson in one day making several trips in the Cessna. Lee gave everyone the next day off to visit Dawson City and to relax a bit, have a shower and clean up. We had been in camp for a month without showers or running water and although we tried to keep clean and wash occasionally we still smelled to high heaven. We had become accustom to the smell of stinking bodies and our first indication that we smelled bad was when a couple of us was halfway to Dawson with Ed in the plane. Ed made some remark about something stinking in the plane and he couldn’t figure out what it was. It didn’t dawn on us that it was us that he was referring to. But after a while in the tight confines of the planes cabin we started to notice an increase in the smell. When we got to Dawson we was taken to a house that Stan had rented for us to stay in so the 1^st thing we all did was to have a shower and put on clean clothes. Our day off was spent wandering around Dawson and visiting the Saloons of ill repute that was going full swing during the gold rush but now were tourist attractions. We also went aboard the re-built riverboat “Keno” that was grounded and set up on the bank of the mighty Yukon River. Indian Art had an old beater of a car and him and I crossed the Yukon River on the Ferry and drove a few miles into Alaska. This was the only time I ever was in Alaska. I was glad to get back to

Dawson City Yukon as seen from atop Horse Mountain while we were rounding up the horse herd.

The river on the left is the Yukon and the one on the right is the Klondike which emptied into the Yukon at Dawson. Dawson is across the Klondike from where this picture is taken. The side we are on was called “Old Town” during the gold rush. If you look closely you can see the ferry crossing the Yukon near the bend in the river.

Dawson as Art was a lot better game guide than he was a driver. Nearly driving off the ferry into the cold water was the first indication he was dangerous. After a few miles into Alaska I seen it was going to be nip and tuck if we made it back to Dawson so I ask Art if I might drive as it had been a long time since I had drove a vehicle and I wanted to see if I still could. He agreed that it wouldn’t hurt anything and let me drive the rest of the way. There was not one square inch of that old Chevy that didn’t have a dent in it. Of course the bottle of Rye he was sipping on didn’t help anything. Art was like most Cree Indians of the north. They could not handle whisky and spent all their money on it and never had anything else. The only time they ate good was when they was in the employ of a white man. But old Indian Art had exceptional eyesight. He would spot some Dall sheep up on a mountainside someplace about a mile away and tell us they were there. None of us could see them till we put binoculars on them and then it made you wonder how he had seen them with the naked eye. I am calling Art old, but I expect he was no more than about 35 at the time I knew him. He would, if still living, which I doubt, be about 75 years old. He was the best game guide that worked for Stan. His hunters always got the biggest rams and the cape was skinned and cleaned well, as good as a taxidermist could do. Art could flesh a Bear hide or wolf hide so close that it looked almost tanned when it was done. You could almost see the hair roots thru the skin. God bless Indian Art, wherever he is.

The horse drive

Nearby is a picture of me and Spot, one of my favorite horses that Stan owned. Whenever I got a chance to ride him I would. He was a good well broke saddle horse, something that cannot be said of most of Stan’s horses. Most were half wild and could hardly be packed but he did have a few gentle ones for the dudes to ride when they come hunting. When the hunters were in camp we had to ride whatever we could catch and as I did most of the catching every morning I would take my pick first. One gentle horse called Herman never strayed too far from camp and I could easily catch him and ride him to fetch the other horses. I rode him lots without a bridle or halter. I always took a stout string in my pocket and could control Herman with it tied to his jaw. I wonder whatever happened to Herman.

Richard and Spot near Old Town, Dawson City while on a horse roundup.

We spent several days rounding up the 40 or so horses that would be used in the guiding territory. They had been on the open range for 2 months and had spread out a considerable distance. Finally we gathered them all up and trucked them to the end of the Dempster Hiway which at that time only went into the bush about 90 miles. The Dempster left the Dawson Hiway several miles south of Dawson and went north into the tundra country towards Inuvik. I believe that now you can drive all the way to Inuvik on the Dempster Hiway.

We had a 2 day camp here at the end of the Dempster and made ready for the drive into base camp which was about 7 or 8 days on horseback. I remember us getting in a creek near the camp and catching the Artic Graylings with our hands. They was about a foot long and Ann cooked up a nice fish fry that night.

The horse herd on the morning of our second camp from the Dempster Highway. This was open country, almost like a desert as nothing grew except the tundra moss which was usually two feet thick.

Next day saw us pulling out at first light. We had packed several horses with our camp gear and grub to last the trip and the rest carried empty saddles. We tied the halter shanks to the packs and all the horses ran loose so in the beginning it was a chore to keep them headed in the right direction and bunched up. After the first day they learned what they was supposed to do and fell into line every morning and wasn’t much trouble after that first day. I rode a bay mare this trip but can’t remember her name. She was half broke when we started but after this trip over the Tundra she was better mannered. With us was myself, Indian Art, Lee and his wife Ann, her son we called “The Kid”, And a older fellow whose name was Buck and his son Tom. Buck was about 50 and I expect Tom was about my age. I was 25 at the time. It was about the 3^rd week in July when we left the Dempster, the weather was very warm and as we expected no foul weather none of us had any rain gear or heavy coats. About the 3^rd day out it started snowing and turned cold as the dickens. We all wrapped wool blankets about our shoulders and kept on going. The next day the weather was about as bad till about 4 in the afternoon when it cleared up some and we could see the sun. About an hour later we heard a plane coming so we stopped the horses and watched for the plane. We expected it to be Stan and Ed checking on us and it was. As they approached and spotted us they circled a time or two and on about the third pass we saw them dump a bundle from the plane and then they headed back to Dawson. We had to look awhile for the package as the Alders and stunted Spruce were pretty thick where we was. When we finally located it and opened it up we found it contained rain gear and wool coats for each of us. Now it was nice to know they was thinking about us and brought that stuff out. It made the balance of our trip much more comfortable. Lee mumbled some remark that the clothes would come off our paycheck at some point in time. It was snowing when we got up about 4 the next morning so we never broke camp but stayed put all that day which we spent playing cards and telling lies. The storm broke that night and the following day found us breaking trail in nearly 2 feet of snow but the temperature got up in the fifties that day and about noon the snow started to melt. The next day was quite warm and the snow had melted down to where it did not bother us too much.

Grizzlies

When we left the Dempster I had packed my 444 Marlin on the bay mare. When Lee saw this he grumbled that it was just extra weight and not needed, that Tom had a Savage 99 in 308 caliber and that was all the gun we needed on the trail. I replied that I knew we was going into bear country and that if I was going into bear country I wasn’t going without my rifle. I told Lee that I did not know Tom and did not trust my hide to someone I didn’t know. That I knew I could depend on myself and my rifle If I needed too. He rode away grumbling and muttering something about a dumb Cheechako which is a greenhorn in English. I loaded the magazine with as many rounds as I could push in it, maybe about 4 or 5 and put six rounds in the watch pocket of my jeans so they would be close at hand if needed in a hurry. When I got close to Tom I tried to check out his rifle but we was moving down the trail and the rifle butt was all I could see sticking out of the scabbard.

About the 5^th or 6^th day we had to cross over a high mountain pass. It was steep going up and we had to get down an lead our mounts so we wouldn’t be so hard on them on the steep mountainside. At some places it was so steep we held onto the tails of our horses and let them pull us up. You cannot lead a horse up a steep slope as he lunges and jumps trying to get up and will trample you if you are in his way. The least dangerous place is either on him or behind him and if you’re behind him you might as well let him pull you up if you can hold on as sometimes he will jerk you off you your feet and the next horse in line will be bearing down on you. So it is dangerous work trying to get a herd of mustangs over a high mountain pass.

We had just crested the summit and had stopped for a breather. I was about last in line and when I broke over the top I saw the boys all lined up watching something way up on the ridge above us. I saw it was a yellow Grizzly sow with two nearly grown cubs. Lee mentioned that the cubs must be two-year olds as they was so big. The Bears was just watching us at about a range of 500 yards when Lee started the horses down the other side of the pass. I was always in the drag so I was waiting for all the horses to start down. Tom was there with me and about this time we noticed the bears was coming toward us. Then about the same time Lee came back up and told Tom to get his rifle out and shoot the sow if they came within a hundred yards. By now the horses had winded the Bears and was acting up and we had a time trying to get them started down the trail off the summit. The Bears were about 80 or 90 yards away by now and Lee shouted for Tom to dump the sow. Tom yelled back that he couldn’t, that he did not have the rifle loaded and didn’t know where the shells were. Lee came over and ask me if I had bullets and I told him the magazine was full and I had 6 more in my pocket. He said” Kill that damn bear before she gets into the horses and kills somebody”. I turned the mare towards the Bears and jumped off. She had by now sighted the Bears and was having none of them. I had the reins wrapped about my arm but she reared and broke both reins. Lucky for me I had one hand on the rifle butt which was butt forward in the scabbard. As the mare bolted I pulled the rifle out and turned to face the bears which was by now maybe 70 yds out. I drew a bead on the chest of the sow and let one go, Blam, and a puff of dust rolled from her chest but she didn’t stop, Quick as I could I gave her 2 more in the same spot, each sending up a puff of dust. At the moment the third bullet struck her the sow skidded to a stop and lucky for me the cubs stopped as well. I remember shoving more shells into the magazine and that I couldn’t get any more in. Then I realized the magazine was full and wouldn’t hold anymore. I had a quick look around me and there was no one in sight or hearing distance, not even a horse. A quick look back at the bears and I saw the cubs was muzzling their mother wondering why she was sleeping in the middle of the day. I decided to vacate if I could get off the summit without the cubs bothering me so I backed down the trail the horses had made, keeping my eyes on the Bears. Finally I was out of their sight so I turned and got down the trail as quickly as I could. The horses had left a trail a blind man could follow and I followed it for about 2 hours finally finding a straggling horse that was packing an empty saddle. It was a mare and she let me catch her and finally about dark I caught up with the outfit. They had made camp and was getting ready to come look for me. Tom had to do a complete search of his duffel to locate his ammo which he promptly loaded his rifle with. I had not slowed down long enough to be scared but now that I was stopped an sitting down having a hot coffee and thinking about it I got the shakes. Lee asked me what happened and I told him. He didn’t say anything else, just sat there staring at the fire, same as me. The next morning we was late rolling out and it was light when Tom and I went for the horses. We always hobbled the ringleaders as we knew the followers would stay with them. The horses were across a pretty big creek from camp in some scattered spruces. When Tom and I got to our side of the creek we saw a huge black Grizzly stand up on its rear legs across the creek, maybe 50 yards from us. We both raced back for our rifles. When Lee saw what we was doing he said “ for the love of God, don’t shoot any more Bears, Stan will fire us all” When we went back the Bear was gone and we gathered the horses without further incident.

We made the base camp about two days later and had no more trouble with the Bears. When Stan flew into camp a few days later he was quite upset with Lee for letting me shoot the Grizzly. But he was not there and did not fully appreciate the situation we were in. He never mentioned a word concerning the Bear to me. Before I left that fall Lee came up to me one day and told me he was damn glad I had “that rifle”. I slept every night with it inside my bedroll to keep it dry and it was never very far from me, but I never fired it again while I was in Stan’s employ. When I left to return to Virginia I sold it to one of the other guides.

Fly Camp and the Hunters

We had two fly camps set up to hunt from. Stan would be in charge of one and Lee the other. I was disappointed to learn that I was to go with Stan’s bunch as I did not care for his wife who would be doing the cooking. Nearby is a picture of the guides tent that was my home while in this camp. We had a tin stove set up in it and it was quite warm when the stove was going but cooled off quick when the fire went out. We all had good warm bedrolls so we always let the fire burn out at night and would make another fire the next morning.

Guides tent at the fly camp. This was my home for a long while.

My job consisted of bringing in all the firewood, sawing and splitting it, fetching the saddle horses that would be used for the days hunting, packing water from the creek and generally keeping the camp neat and tidy as well as keeping all the fires burning. This left me in camp all day, every day with Stan’s wife who I disliked intensely. From the way she treated me she must have disliked me about as much as I did her. I tried to stay as far away from her as I could. Whenever I caught up my chores I would take my rifle and go for long hikes in the bush. No matter if I had been gone ten minutes or two hours she always ask me where I had been and why wasn’t I working. No excuse ever satisfied her. She had about the same attitude for Stan and everyone else in camp. I would bet that they did not stay married for long. Her and Stan slept in the supply tent which was a wall tent and one night it snowed enough that it caved in the tent. Our tent was on the other side of the camp about 75 yards away but she woke everyone up cussing and screaming at Stan because the tent fell down. We all got up and pitched in an got the tent back up in record time. She stood there the whole time wrapped in a sleeping bag with a scowl on her face. I wanted to drown her in the lake and bet that Stan did too.

Kitchen tent at the fly camp. Night time with a gas lantern burning inside made a neat picture.

The hunters that came to hunt the Dall Sheep, Moose, Grizzly and wolves were called “dudes” behind their backs by all of us. Mostly they were a good bunch of fellows. They all got a nice Ram and some shot a moose, bear or wolf. The guides would have to spend their evenings fleshing out the hides and capes from the sheep. Indian Art was with Lees outfit and Stan bought in three fellows from Alberta to guide in our camp. One was John ? And a nice fellow, then there was Don ? who was an asshole. If a hunter did not shoot anything it was always Don that was guiding him. Don never washed at all and after a couple of weeks he stank so bad that Stan’s wife made him eat outside the cook tent. Don slept in the guides tent with us and soon we could not stand him any longer. One night John, myself and the other guide, I don’t remember his name tied Dons sleeping bag shut while he was asleep and carried him down to the lake and dumped him in. We let him stay in the water till the sleeping bag got wet enough to sink before we let him out. He was sure some upset and was going to whip everyone of us. His bedroll was soaking wet and he had to sit by the fire all night and keep the stove going so he wouldn’t freeze. After this episode we noticed that Don would wash a little more often.

One of the horses was named Big Red. Big Red was mean as a snake. He was a Pinto and had two glass eyes an a blaze face and was so tall he was hard to mount. This horse gave me more trouble than all the rest put together. He was hard to catch and had to be hobbled every night but that didn’t help much as he learned to run about as fast with the hobbles on as he could without them. One morning I had caught Big Red and about 7 or 8 other horses and had tailed them together. If you had many horses to lead they did better single file in the thick brush so I would tie the halter shank of one horse to the tail of the horse ahead of him. This morning I had about 7 horses tailed up with Big Red in front and I was leading them back to camp. I came to this big mud bog I had to cross. I made the mistake trying to jump over the worst part as when Big Reds halter shank suddenly jerked from my jump he gave a big leap and tried to jump the bog also. But since he was tied to the next horse behind him his leap was a failure but he succeeded in knocking me down. Big Red and all seven of the other horses ran over me stomping me into the mud and then they got into a big wreck trying to run thu the brush. I reckon the mud saved my life as if the ground has been hard they would probably have killed me. I was bruised badly but had no broken bones. I made a vow right then to kill Big Red if I got a chance.

It wasn’t long before Big Red lost his hobbles and escaped one night. Next day he was nowhere to be found. This went on for about a week when one day Stan told me to take the day off and search for Big Red. I got a lariat and about 10 lbs of grain, my rifle and went in search of Big Red. About three o’clock that afternoon I found him way on the other side of the lake but he wouldn’t let me close to him. I could sit there and he would come up to within 50 feet of me but no closer. The thought entered my mind to just shoot him and leave him for the Grizzlies but Stan would probably drown me in the lake or at the least make me walk all the way back to Dawson City if I did that. I do believe that if he had been my horse I would have put a bullet right between his glass eyes. I finally figured out a plan to catch him. I tied one end of the lariat to a tree and made a noose at the other end about two feet in diameter. I poured about half of the grain into the center of this noose. I then made little piles of grain about five feet apart going in the direction of the horse. I then went back to my tree and sat down and waited for Big Red to feed his way into the trap. It took about an hour but eventually he had both front inside of the noose. This was what I had been waiting for and gave a quick snap to my end of the rope which tightened the noose on his two front feet. This startled Big Red and he tried to make his escape but when he hit the end of the rope his feet was jerked out from under him and he turned a somersault landing on his back. Quick as a wink I was on his head tying a rope to his halter. He got up and stood there looking at me trying to figure out how I had outsmarted him. Man, them glass eyes sure was giving me a mean look. As I was about a mile from camp I figured to ride him back instead of walking. I never forgot when he had trampled me into the mud so I did not want to lead him anywhere as you never knew when he would run you over. I finally found a big log I could stand on to get mounted. I tied both ends of the halter shank to the halter and this served well enough that I could manage him. I headed directly to the edge of the lake where there was a mud bog around the edge of the lake all the way back to camp. I made Big Red slog thru the knee deep mud all the way back and I believe he was very glad to get home as he was so tired I could make him do anything I wanted. After this he had more respect for me and let me catch him easily. I found that I could catch him first and if I could find a nearby log to help me on that I could just round up the other horses and herd them into camp. The hunting season finally came to an end and we broke camp after all the hunters had been taken out by Ed in the Cessna. He had put floats on it and could land in the lake and taxi right up to camp. We put heavy packs on all the horses and trailed them back to base camp. It was now tough to cross the many creeks and streams as they had started to freeze from the bottom up due to the permafrost below. We made it back to base camp where we Met up with Lee and his outfit. We spent several days making cache’s to store equipment in and then rounding up all the horses and trailed them back over the pass to the Dempster where Stan was waiting with the truck to haul the horses back to Dawson. Several trips had to be made with the truck to get all the horses and equipment into Dawson. The trip out of the guiding territory was mostly without any major events other than the cold and iced up streams.

Ed took me to Whitehorse in the Cessna and I caught a plane from there directly to Seattle, Washington and from there to Lynchburg, Virginia. I took a taxi from the airport to our mobile home south of town about 20 miles. It was in the middle of the night and the wife and kids were as happy to see me as I was to see them.

I went back to work for Gene Vaughan for the winter and started making plans to return to British Columbia the next spring with my family. I found life in Virginia sorta mundane as compared to western Canada and could hardly wait till I could go back.

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Part 2

Moving to B.C.

I returned from British Columbia in the fall of 1969 and went back to work for Gene Vaughan in Lynchburg, Virginia. Gene was building several townhouse’s and apartments in the Forest area and my brother Johnny and I both was employed as carpenters by Gene. Gene was a decent sort of fellow and treated us well. He was also one of the best carpenters I ever met. I learned a lot from Gene.

I started planning a permanent move to B.C. in the spring of 1970 with Loretta, my wife and out two small sons, Curtis, age 5 and Chris about 3 years old. I made arrangements to take them to the Canadian Embassy in Washington D.C. to get their immigration papers which we did sometime during the winter of 1969. We had no problems in getting this accomplished in the one trip and I don’t remember it costing anything except the gas to get there an back. I did not make a lot of money at the time but we saved as much as we could for the trip. I bought an old International Scout from Gene’s father for around $500.00 and a homemade travel trailer from Gene that he had started building but never finished. I bought four used tires that came off a mobile home and not intended for vehicle use but they were 10 ply and I figured they would carry the weight of the trailer better than the 4-ply that were on the Scout. During the course of the winter I completed the construction of the travel trailer adding a gas range, an icebox and bunks and a folding table that made into a bed. I painted it a bright red with white stripes.

Everyone thought I was foolish in attempting to move to B.C. and gave me a hard time over it. But I was determined and held fast to my dream. Finally the day came that we were to leave and start the trip to B.C. Loretta had been very skeptical from the beginning about moving and had never confirmed that she was going. I loaded everything that we could reasonable haul and still have room for us in both the trailer and the Scout. At the last moment I said to her, well, me and the boys are going, are you coming? After a few moments hesitation she replied that she was and jumped in and we were off.

The trip was mostly uneventful. The Scout would only do about 45 or 50 mph on the level and up hill would slow to a crawl and all the traffic would be passing us. Once we were going up a mountain somewhere and the Scout grinded to a halt, the engine just plumb quit. I had up enough speed that I managed to coast to the shoulder and stop. I got out and raised the hood. The Scout was a 1962 model and back then vehicles had only enough wires to get fire to the plugs and the switch key. First thing I laid my eyes on was the coil. I could see that the hot wire from the battery had broken right where it fastened to the coil. I took my pocketknife and stripped some of the rubber from the wire and re-attached it to the coil. I closed the hood and got in and she fired right up and never gave us any more trouble after that. I believe it took us about 8 days to reach the Canadian border at Sweetgrass Montana. This time the customs agents looked over our papers and let us go on without any problem at all. Try that today, I‘m sure you could not buy your way through the customs.

That night about midnight we arrived at Hank Lowens place at Elko B.C. I parked near the yard and cut the lights off and got out. There were no lights anywhere and I figured they had all gone to bed. About this time Hank stuck his head out of a window and yelled out. Hallo, who’s there? I yelled back that it was me. Hank was a little perturbed at this late night intrusion and yelled back to me that anytime you arrived somewhere in the middle of the night it was best to Hallo the house and let someone know who you were.

It was early spring around May when we arrived. Hank allowed as it would be ok to spend the summer there but that we would need to get better housing for the winter than the trailer. I set up the trailer in the corner of a hayfield near Hanks house. There was a nearby irrigation canal right by the trailer that was fed from a mountain stream across from the hayfield. I spent the summer helping Hank with his haying and chasing cows to summer pasture. About July a Mountie came in to the ranch with news my father had passed away. He said our family had no way to get in touch with us but knew we were near Elko so they had contacted the RCMP detachment over in Fernie, about 30 miles to the east of Elko. We rushed over to Hanks and phoned home and found out it was Loretta’s Dad that had died. She was heartbroken and had a tough time of it. We had no money for her to return to Va. for the funeral so one of her Uncles loaned us enough money so she could make the trip. I believe it was about $250.00 and it took us a couple of years to repay.

Loretta made the trip back and was gone about three weeks and I was beginning to wonder if she would come back to BC when I got a call from her that she was at the Cranbrook Airport. I got the boys loaded into the old Scout and we made the 40 miles to the airport in record time. The weather was hot and when we drove up Loretta was sitting on the steps in front of the building crying. I won’t ever forget that moment. She was glad to see us but she also hated leaving her family in Virginia.

Fall was coming and the nights were cooling down so that you had to wear a jacket or sweater. I had worked some with Weldon Parsons that summer and he had a place about 5 miles from Hanks ranch. He invited us to come over there and build a cabin to spend the winter in.

That story in in the chapter entitled “First home and Bear fight” and I think it is nearby someplace.

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