It did not take long to discover that the old road would not be ready to use for a month of perhaps <page 160> more.  That meant change of plans as the timber we left the fall before some of which was bucked and ready to hitch on and go.  That idea had to be abandoned and open up in another place.  We started fellers and buckers the next day and everybody else including myself began building skidroad for a new setup on the other side of camp where the ground was higher and would have a chance to drain off quicker than the lower road.  I employed a man by the name of J.R.  Hicks as skidroad boss, as he was familiar with bullteam logging and a very good road builder.  I considered myself lucky to get him.  He made very good progress when you consider everything was done by hand.  There was no room for a rollway so we had to put in a short, one hundred and fifty feet long and a snubbing port at the top of the shoot  When we came in with a turn of logs we would stop at the snubbing post  and pull all the couplings from the logs and take the team to the last log in the load and drive a coupling dog in the <page 161> side of the last log and hitch the team on and kick the logs down the shoot.  When you come tdo the snubbing post it would pull the coupling and the entire load would run in the river.  We were pushing the work all we could for the small crew we had, most of the crew were young men and some were inexperienced, including myself.  I had no former experience in handling a crew in a logging camp.  We teamed up and done our best.  I tried to place each man on a job he was best fitted to do and the results proved satisfactory.  By the time we were ready to put logs in the boom the crew was pretty well organized.  The sun came out and the road settled so we could get the team over it without doing too much damage.  By the middle of March we were ready to try our new road.  We picked out some medium sized logs and made up a turn to settle the road down.  We had to humor our team some also.  Some of them had not been hooked up to a load of logs on a skidroad which does not start  <page 162> rolling like a wagon.  When you tighten up on it because a string of logs is what you might call a dead-weight and takes more power to put it in motion.  We had built the road with about a three-percent grade so we did not use any skid grease until after we took a few loads over it.  The boys were yarding out and making up the load with four horses and I was driving six on the road until they were broke in.  As none of the boys had any former experience in driving a logging team.  Zach Seeley was our Hooktender.  He had some former experience with team logging with oxen in Washington.  When the first turn was ready Seeley shouted, take them away Bill.  I walked back and looked the load over and seen it was well-done.  All couplings set in good-shape and a reasonable amount of slack left in each coupling to make it easier to start.  One reason for looking over this first load was we had a short steep piece of grade just ahead of where we start from and we knew if the load did not break that it would be O.K., as the head log would be down on the flat before <page 163> the trail log started down the steep grade.  Therefore you would be able to keep the speed under control and one thing that made me so careful it was not too far to the snubbing post at the head of the shoot.  With a half-broke team I might not be able to get them under control in time to avoid disaster.  That would be bad indeed, especially for a starter.  I had a saddle on the wheel horse and when it looked like we might have to hurry I would ride.  We finally got under way and nothing happened.  So everybody felt good.  Some of them were prejudice and had their doubts about horses being able to take the place of oxen in the logging woods.  In a few days they felt better towards horses as they are quicker to get around than an ox team.  In fact, they were too fast for the first two weeks.  They kept me as busy as a one armed paperhanger.  After that we got along very well and we began striking a fair average.  We were making a little money, not much as our top price was four dollars per thousand.  Anything thirty-six inches or over we were paid the fabulous sum of four dollars per thousand.  Oh, yes I forgot to mention that thirty-six <page 164> inch log had to be clear to rate four dollars a thousand.  The price ran on a scale from four dollars maximum to two dollars and fifty cents minimum.  A few for three and three fifty per thousand.  Today 16,  December 1946, that grade of logs would go as a peeler and would sell for $41.00 per thousand.  They would sell like hot-dogs at a carnival because when we come ot the knots we did not cut any more logs from the tree.  We left it regardless of the size.  It was large timber, most of it Spruce and old growth fir.  We had to cut it short and the body of the trees would reach-up skyward quite a distance before you come to the limbs.  So, there was very few small logs.  I was checking over some of the scale sheets that Cole  Wheeler made out when sending my statements.  We had to make up a small pocket or round raft because we were handling them by hand on the tide.  We would put from seventy to a hundred logs in a raft.  I have one of them before me now.  73 logs scaled 118,000  board feet or a little over 1,600 board feet per log.  That was no exception, it was only an  average for the timber we were working in at that time <page 165>.  Himple and Wheeler were shipping most of their cut to the Hammond Lumber Company in San Francisco.  I think a small amount went to Portland.  I am not certain about that.  A small amount of our supplies continued to come from Portland.  A few lines about Christmas 25, December 1946.  Let this Christmas Season make you and everyone you meet glad that God gave the worlds first and best  Christmas gift.  Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, Peace and Goodwill toward men. I never knew what price they sold for at that time.  I do know they made some of the finest lumber I ever have seen.  It was sold rough as they had no facility for finishing any kind of lumber.  It was taken from the saw and stacked on the dock until the arrival of the boat.  That was the Spider in the dumpling.  Transportation was the worst drawback.  The Nehalem bar was rough most of the time in <page 166> the winter and that made freight and insurance high.  We ran out of horse feed several times as there was no oats or tame hay produced along the lower Nehalem at that time.  The horses did not do well on tide land hay, so if we had no feed it was the equivalent to having no fuel oil for your present day motive power, such as cats, locomotives, or any other of your numerous pieces of machinery.  No feed, No production.  Did not always have everything for the cookhouse.  The boys were very patient about that and we had no complaint on that score.  When we had weather dry enough to get over the skidroad our production was satisfactory.  We lost a lot of time in April and May on account of rain as we were yarding with horses and using horses on the skidroad.  They sure do make mud fast in a soft place like that.  There was lots of salmonberry brush and where you find that you do not go far or kick around very much to make a mud puddle.  We plugged along and kept the mill in logs and everyone <page 167> was pretty well satisfied except some complaint about lost time.  I could not blame them for that, but there was nothing we could do about it.  We had some trouble on account of short but steep little benches where the logs would run or crowd the team and we had to use a tongue to keep the loads under control.  That was due mostly to the nature of the soil which had no grit sand or gravel in it.  When it became damp which was the condition most of the time the first two months it was quite a problem to figure our loads.  Another peculiar thing about hauling on a skidroad, you hardly ever get two loads that handle the same.  They will usually start or lug different when you get them under motion.  The old Bull Punchers have told me that, but I thought that was all bunk.  As I became more experienced I had to admit they were right about it.  We tried to make our loads average one thousand board feet for each yoke of oxen or each span of horses.  If you had any level road that was considered a good load.  Of course, you could not get what you wanted in <page 168> each load but that was about the average.  Our aim was to at least hold a balanced load.  I found that better than the guess and be God system I had seen tried out in some of the places where I had worked before.  We were working in mixed timber Spruce and Yellow Fir and a few Hemlock, not very many.  We did not take any small Hemlock.  The mill did not want it there.  There was no Cedar worthy of mention.  I think Spruce is my favorite timber to log with either Bull team or horses as they are not quite as heavy and take one with another day in and day out.  They ride the skidroad better and you get more for your effort.  Anyway whether right or wrong thats my idea on the subject.  I have not had much experience logging in Pine.  Have logged some Pine mixed with Fir, but not in a strictly Pine show.  So am not qualified to comment very extensively on a Pine operation.  I also had some experience in the Redwoods of California for about one year.  I also took a short whirl at Hardwood logging in the Philippines and will have more to <page  169> say about those two adventures  later.  Well we wake-up and find ourselves in a war with Spain.  We got our Oregonian which is always from one to two days late.  This is 3, May 1898, and Commodore Dewey gave his Historical command that echoed around the world.  You may fire when ready Gridley on 1, May, 1898.  So we were about two days late.  There was plenty of excitement around camp.  We had one Civil War Veteran working for us.  J.R. Hicks was his name and he told us many interesting stories about the hardships they had to endure and said they were hungry and Poorly dressed and the winters were very cold.  He for one was very much opposed to war.  I had heard my parents  and uncles and aunts discuss the same subject many times.  I was born in 67 and left Northeast Missouri in my ninth year.  It was a common thing to see men on the road with the old Colts six-shooter buckled around his waist.  Of course, my father kept one but <page 170> seldom carried it.  He and my Uncle A.P. Blackburn went to Eastern Oregon in 1878, to look at some land and both carried guns as most men did at that time because the Indians had shown some signs of unrest.  On that trip Fathers belt came unbuckled and he lost his six-gun and that was the last one we ever had around our ranch.  Mr. Hicks was kept quite busy answering questions about his experience in the Civil War.  He enjoyed telling some of his thrilling encounters with the enemy.  He was always anxious to see my Oregonian which was one or two days late on account of the mail service.  As soon as I had read the Headlines I turned the paper over to him and he would read to the boys so they could keep up on the War news.  The excitement soon subsided.  The logging was going ahead according to plan.  The rafting was the worst nightmare as we were handling that by hand and had to depend on a rowboat to take the snub lines ashore to hold the logs away from sunken snags and gravel bars and many other things to take the joy out of life.  We had two rafts go past the boom at the <page 171> mill.  But fortunately they succeeded in getting the snub line ashore in time to hold them at the lower end of the dock.  Cole Wheeler and myself helped save this raft.  There was and old ships hawser coiled on the dock and when the raft touched the piling we thru the end of this line to the man on the raft and took a few wraps around a piling and gradually brought the raft under control.  There was a strong current and we had to be careful not to stop too sudden and break the boom or the snubline.  Then when the tide came in we took it back to the upper end of the boom and tied up and waited for the tide to turn again so they could put it in the boom.  The rafting crew lost almost a days time by letting the raft go pasty the entrance to the boom.  Besides giving Cole and myself a few very anxious moments.  I asked them what had happened and they said one of the coils of the snubline got fouled on one of the oar locks and jerked it out and that left only one pair of oars and the current was too strong for one man to get to the shore in time to <page 172> get enough coil around the stump to check the raft and they had to pick up the line out of the river before it got too far past the dock.  Some of the men on the lumberyard ran out and gave a hand and altogether we managed to save a bunch of his fine logs from getting an overdose of saltwater.  It was a good lesson for the raftsmen.  It made them more careful about coiling their snubline in the boaty so when they started toward the shore the coils would straighten out one at a time instead of going out in a tangled mess and flying around like a shock of hay in a whirlwind.  As usual, some good is acquired from every mistake.  God knows there is as many chances to make mistakes in the logging business as any occupation I can think of.  However it put the raftmen on their guard and we had no more trouble that year.  WE managed to keep up our average through the summer of 1898, though we had one or two unusual things happen.  One of them was having a six horse team and one man was thrown from a  small bridge in a narrow ravine <page 173> and that man was on the bottom of the heap.  Believe it or not it did not look so good for him.  We expected to find him crushed to death.  The hooktender and myself got down in there as quick as possible to see what we could do, and one of the other men came to the rescue.  The hooktender and I got on the lower side of the horse and rolled him up as far as we could and sthe third man pulled him out and strange to say he was practically unharmed.  There was a small ditch cut out by the small creek that ran under the bridge.  It was about eighteen inches deep and when he fell he landed lengthways in the bottom of the ditch and the horse was laying crossways.  Therefore he miraculously escaped death.  We even had the good luck not to injure any of the horses.  They were scared up some but no serious damage.

The mans name was Bill Butterfield.  He had been a railroad man and drove fire engine team at Third and I think East Oak Street.  Well he was a kind of a tough and took punishment with a broad stride.  He had heavy eyebrows like John L.  Lewis and he had about <page 174> three weeks of growth of bristle whiskers and a old slouch hat and one leg of his overalls was ripped up to his knee and he was a sight for sore eyes.  He said, after a few minutes, I have gambled and shook dice and had them say, Bill, that’s a horse on you but that’s the first damn time I was ever thrown in the gutter and six genuine horses thrown in on top of me.  We took him up on the grade and going to carry him in, but he would not stand for that.  He said, I am not hurt.  We took a look and everybody began to laugh, because he looked so much like Dangerous Dick in the funnies.  He gave us all a good cussing and ambled away towards camp on his own power.  I had a man follow him to see that he reached his destination.  After he got to the bunkhouse the man went in and started a fire in the stove and went to the cookhouse and got some hot water and washed the blood from his mustache as he had a small scratch under the end of his nose.  Just enough to bleed good and his nose was sore for <page 175> for sometime.  But he was only laid up a couple of days.  The cause of this mishap was the result of a misunderstanding.  The road team got stuck with a load at the bottom of a short grade.  They had a short flat to cross and it had been wet for several days and when the sun come out the skids dried off and were getting sticky and the teamster did not take the proper precaution of urging them until it was too late.  We were just above them yarding out another turn.  When he went to uncouple the load I told him we would come down and kick slack and help him get started and we took a block and strap and set it to a stump.  Took our yarding line which was about 60 feet long, put it in this block and took a swamphook to start them.  We did not have enough yarding line to reach the hind end of the load and left the other end where we could reach it with the other team.  I told them distinctly to cut a notch for the swamphook any place where the end of the line would reach.  I went about getting my team turned around and though no more about it as there was no question about the <page 176> hitch working if it was properly set as I had seen it used before and it was not an experimental hitch.  It turned out to be a flop because the orders were not properly carried out.  The fellow who set the holt  had done everything  according to orders except cutting the notch in the side of the log as I had told him.  Instead, he set the swamphook about in the middle of the load in the back end of a log.  The log behind being about the same size.  The coupling left about 18 inches  between the two logs.  When the load started I stopped my team and the swamphook dropped between the logs and hooked in the front end of the next log.  As the swamphook was now past the lead block that gave us a team on each end of the load heading in opposite direction.  As my team was standing when the weight of the load and the other team picked up that slack the sudden shock threw them from the bridge into the gulch.  We had to take a Peavey and pry the swamphook out of the log as everything was so tight we could get no slack.  We had one horse that was chocking pretty bad and we cut the ham string to <page 177> keep him from choking to death.  All together we came out lucky, no one seriously hurt and none of the horses skinned up very much.  We were all O.K., in a couple of days.  We were getting some better weather.  The men were better satisfied when they could work every day.  The next thing that happened to us to slow things down was when my brother who was driving the road team took an awful bad cold.  It settled in his lungs and he was threatened with Pneumonia.  There was no one to take his place.  That is no one wanted to take his place as there was some danger on account of a short steep grade in one place and as I have said before no two loads acted just alike.  One may go down a grade fine and the next one may crowd your team to a gallop.  The result was there was no one wanted the road team.  I had to take it myself.  I got one of the men to take the yarding team that I had been driving and he done fine for a new hand.  We went along for two days O.K., but when I come in that evening my brother had taken a backset and was getting near the danger point.  There was no doctor closer than Tillamook and <page 178> no stage or any other kind of regular transportation.  There was a man in Garibaldi who made two trips a week from there to the mouth of the Nehalem.  The next day I got one of the men to take the road team for a couple of days.  I had a boat in camp and a good boatman to run it.  We put the young fellow aboard and made him as comfortable as possible.  Started for the mouth of the Nehalem which was about nine of ten miles from camp.  We knew by the tide about when the stage would be there.  When we arrived the wind was blowing pretty hard and the river was quite rough.  We had to anchor some distance upstream.  We made the boat fast and I wanted to carry him but he said no!  So we took him between us and started to meet the stage.  Our deduction proved to be satisfactory as we beat the stage by about five minutes.  We bundled him up and put him in the old opened top spring wagon and away we went.  The wind was blowing a gale and it was from the Northwest and cold.  I was afraid it would kill him.  He never complained or batted an eye.  When we arrived in Garibaldi the <page 179> boat had left for Tillamook and would not be back until next day.  That of course complicated matters and gave us another headache as the Tillamook Bay was getting rougher every minute.  I found a place in a little store there and left him there while I scouted around for a fishboat to take us to Tillamook.  It was too rough for a small boat.  Besides, there was a young lady waiting for transportation and she asked me if I could let her go to Tillamook.  I told her she would have to make her own arrangements with the owner of the boat if I was lucky enough to find one.  One of the men who owned a small store told me there was a man who lived in a shack up the beach a short distance and had a good boat.  He knew how to handle it when the Bay was rough.  I finally found him and stated my case.  He said he did not usually go when the wind was so strong but in a case of sickness, he would go.  He told the young lady he would rather not take her as she’d probably get seasick or scared.  She insisted that he let her go, so he gave in and took her aboard. <continued>