Old Missoula

Days of Yore in Powell / Lolo Country – With Ed Mackay, Evan Kelley, Bill Bell, Bill Samsel and Bud Moore

Retired Ranger Recalls Old Days

Recollections of the days when the Powell country, across Lolo pass and down along the Lochsa river was a trackless wilderness, were recalled Friday on word of the retirement of a man who spent twenty years in that vicinity.

Edward Mackay, ranger in the Powell district from 1920 to 1940, has given over the reins of active forestry to younger men and is going to farm a bit in the Darby vicinity. He expects to fish a little, too, in White Sand lake, in his old stamping grounds.

He recalled Friday that White Sand lake was once the site of his capture of a poacher who had been taking furs illegally. After making the man prisoner they started out through the snow to civilization. “We took turns breaking the trail but I guess he broke most of it,” the former ranger recalled. They walked 72 miles – the Lolo road then drove through the woods only as far as Lolo hot springs – and after reaching Missoula set out for Grangeville, Idaho, where the poacher was tried and found guilty.

Not only snow and great distances caused trouble in the early days; there were few bridges. The forester and his crew got across the streams by twisting telephone wires into cables and pulling pack string mules over on rafts. “We didn’t lose a mule,” Mr. Mackay recalls.

Evan W. Kelley, retired regional forester of forest service No. 1, and a friend of Mr. Mackay since they met in France during World war 1, paid high tribute to the former ranger’s ability to utilize primitive tools in fighting fires, building structures and carrying on ranger business. Mr. Mackay built most of the buildings still in use at Powell ranger station, Mr. Kelley remembers. “He turned over to his successors the greatest expanses of green forests to be found anyplace in the hinterlands of north Idaho,” Mr. Mackay’s former boss declared.

Mr. Mackay helped train many men who later rose in the forest profession. Alternate rangers at his station included Ross A. Williams, now dean of the school of forestry at Montana State University; Earl Tennant, administrative assistant of the Cabinet national forest with headquarters at Thompson Falls; Floyd Otter, with the soil conservation service; William Samsel, ranger at Bonita; Henry Viche, alternate ranger on the Lolo national forest; Lester Robinson, ranger at Darby, and Lachlan Stewart, assistant supervisor of the Lewis & Clark national forest with headquarters at Great Falls.

In 1940 Mr. Mackay was transferred from the Powell ranger district to take over as superintendent of the Nine Mile remount station, a post he held till his retirement.

P. D. Hanson, regional forester, announced Friday that Mr. Mackay is being succeeded by Donald L. Chamberlin.

Mr. Mackay started work for the forest service in 1910 working seasonally as a fire guard until World war 1. He entered the army in October, 1917, and was subsequently assigned to the Twenty-fourth company of the Twentieth engineer regiment. While on duty as a master sergeant at Etalon, France, he became acquainted with Major Kelley, but despite a meeting in forest circles in 1921, they did not have civilian duty together until Mr. Kelley came to Missoula in 1929 as regional forester.

“We then had many of Mackay’s meals of ’48-caliber coffee’ and ‘sourdough’ biscuits along Powell country trails,” Mr. Kelley says.

After Mr. Mackay was discharged from the army in July, 1919, he returned to forest work, taking duty as a fire guard on the Bitter Root national forest. In the fall of 1919 he was made ranger of the Powell district of the Lolo national forest and he held that post until 1940 when he was assigned as superintendent of the remount station. He continued on this job until World war II during which he was detailed to the guayule emergency rubber project in California. After the war, he resumed charge of he remount station, which is located about thirty-five miles northwest of the city.

His successor has been in the employ of the forest service since 1924 and has served on the old Selway, the Nez Perce, Clearwater and St. Joe national forests.

Mr. Mackay was guest of honor Friday evening at a party given by some forty old-time forest acquaintances, many of them coming to the city from woods posts for the occasion. Of the party Mr. Kelley said: “He promised to come only if there were no speeches.”

The above article appeared in The Daily Missoulian on February 11, 1950.

https://www.newspapers.com/image/349346715

 

More on Ed Mackay – by “Bill Samsel” – who knew most everybody.

Below is an excerpt from the Forest Service History – Early Days In The Forest Service Vol. 4 – compiled and Edited by Jessie Thompson – 1976. U.S. Department of Agriculture – Forest Service – Northern Region – Missoula, Montana.

What follows is very good story about Ed Mackay and his partner, Bill Samsel, spiced with some of the trials and tribulations of their early ranger days in the Powell/Lolo area. Bill Samsel knew his way around the area as well as many of the local people. His son, Cal, a packer who I met in the woods once, wasn’t too bad with mules either. Ranger Bill Samsel’s tale also involves a couple of other well-known Western Montana personalities – Bill Bell and Bud Moore.

 

THE RANGER IN CHARGE

By W.K. “Bill” Samsel

It was on April 30, 1925 that I reported for duty with Edw. MacKay at Lolo Hot Springs. After supper that evening Ed came up to the bunkhouse and we sat down together while he verbally outlined his plans for spring work. “It will be a month yet before we can get into the Lochsa country to do any maintenance work. In the meantime you and I will clean up most of the spring maintenance work on this side of the divide. We can get into the Fish Creek country so we will start there first. I have my two saddle horses and a packhorse. We’ll pack up an outfit and head into that country tomorrow morning.” Thus begins the saga of a summer’s work with Ed.

Dressed in logger boots, Filson water repellant pants and jackets, woolen underwear and sox, plenty of extra sox, (this was the standard Forest Service uniform for the back country in that day), we moved out. The first couple of days were uneventful. Ed with his big 4-lb. double bit axe, (the standard F.S. axe was 3 lb.) cut the windfalls out of the trail and off the telephone line. I wore the climbers, did the climbing and rehung the line. The third day out we were ready to move camp a few miles down stream to the end of our maintenance. About half way to our destination the trail crossed Fish Creek. A bridge made of log stringers about 16″ in diameter and decked with pole puncheon spanned the creek. The heavy snow pack of the previous winter had broken the up-stream stringer so that the decking at that point tilted at about a 30-degree angle to the water. Melting snows had swollen the stream to its flood crest. There was a good ford below the bridge and although the water was deep and swift we knew our saddle horses could ford it. The packhorse was following and when he came to the stream he stopped and watched us until we had reached the opposite bank. Then instead of fording, as we had done, he tried to cross the broken bridge. Just as he reached the spot where the deck tipped to the water his feet flew from under him and he landed midstream. The swift water wedged him under the broken stringer. Ed jumped down and grabbed the horse’s head and pulled his nose above water so that he could breathe, at the same instant yelling at me to bring his axe and take the horse’s head while he chopped the stringer in two. All of this was done in much less time than I can write about it, and Ed was swinging his big razor sharp axe with an effectiveness that would have made one of Paul Bunyon’s disciples look like a rank amateur. In a very short time the log stringer was severed and the horse freed. Ed snubbed the halter rope to his saddle horn and dragged the horse to shore.

By the end of the week we had worked out this drainage so we broke camp and headed back to headquarters. Just as we hit the trail it began to pour down rain. As I recall it took about four hours to reach Lolo Hot Springs and the rain never let up the entire trip. We were just passing the Lolo Springs post office when Herman Gerber rushed out and stopped us with a “hey there Ed, what the hell do you mean goin’ by my place and not stoppin’? It’s suppertime and I’m just fixin’ some grub. You’re soakin’ wet and you must be cold and hungry, come in and have somethin’ warm to eat!” Ed said, “We can’t refuse your generous invitation at a time like this,” so it was that we had a hot bean and ham dinner. This was prohibition days; however, Herman always had something on hand and just before we sat down he asked “how would you like a hot toddy before we eat?”

Ed thought that would go pretty well, so Herman graciously fixed us each a large tin cup of hot moonshine. After dinner as we were riding up to Mud Creek Ed said, “Bill, I don’t know whether that moonshine really makes a man feel any better but it sure make him think it does!”

The next morning Ed received word that his F.S. truck, which was in the Missoula Central Purchasing Warehouse, had a two-ton load of T.N.T. on it and that the city ordinance did not allow explosives to be stored within the city limits for more than 24 hours. It was therefore a must that it be gotten out that afternoon. Ed said “how are we going to get that damn truck out of town?” I replied that I could bring it out if I had a way to get into Missoula. “Can you drive that thing he asked?” I said “Sure;” however, up to that time I had driven nothing larger than a Buick touring car. Ed’s truck was a World War One vintage army type. It had solid rubber tires and would spin out and stall if the road was the least bit slick. My problem of getting to Missoula was solved when a man drove up just then in a Model T Ford. He turned out to be an old army buddy of Ed’s who just dropped in to say hello and was going back to Missoula so I rode in with him. Ed had instructed me not to try to get beyond Bob Anderson’s Ranch that night, which was about 6 miles up Lolo Creek from the town of Lolo. I made it fine to this point, arriving about sun down. When I called Ed by phone he seemed happy that I had gotten that far. He instructed me to start on in the morning and he would come down and meet me. He doubted that I would get much farther as the road became much worse with mud holes, rickety bridges and high water. He was sure right, as I had not progressed more than four miles when the rear wheels of the old truck sunk to the axle in a bog hole. I started to lighten the load by taking about 20 boxes of powder off the tail end. At this time Ed arrived on the scene. Looking around he found a dry lodge pole tree the size of a good-sized telephone pole. With his great strength he would get the end of the pole under the axle of the truck, raise it up while I blocked under the pole, then pry down and I would block under the wheel. After a couple of trials and failures Ed said, “All right, we will raise and block the damn thing above the level of the ground and see if it will run down hill.” We did just that and the truck came out. We left half the load and came back after it when the roads dried. Later as we were unloading the powder Ed chuckled and said, “That was a rather shaky assignment I gave you. It was bad enough hauling two tons of T.N.T. on that old wreck of a truck but, you know, you could have gone through any one of those old rotten log bridges.” Well, I didn’t and I am still here. I feel that our modern day truck drivers, who never wrangled one of those old pelters, has missed quite a lot. As Ed had planned, by the time we had worked out the rest of the maintenance in the Lolo Creek drainage, it was near the end of May. The packers were bringing the mules in from winter range. They had to be shod; tails and manes trimmed, and fed up with hay and oats before they were ready to work. All this was done at the old Mud Creek station where there were feed corrals, a blacksmith shop, and fair bunk and mess facilities for the men. As headquarters boss I was also the supply office and it was part of my job to head up the cooking. Most of the packers and other help were pretty good at volunteering for K.P. so we made out OK without a cook. Ed had three pack strings and Bill Bell had two strings besides some extra saddle horses, making a total of about 50 head to be shod. At that time the Forest Service did not provide blacksmiths, so the rangers and packers did the shoeing. Bell and MacKay, both good blacksmiths, did the shaping and fitting of the shoes and actually nailed the most of them on while the packers did the wrangling, holding and tying when necessary. Most of these packers were good men at their jobs. However, they had a common weakness: when they got to where there was liquor they had to go on a binge. One of Ed’s packers, a real character, really went ape when he started drinking, and to make matters worse he was apt to carry a hangover a couple of days. The day that Ed was shoeing this Packer’s string, the packer had been on a binge the night before. He was holding a mule by the halter rope while Ed was dressing its hoofs with a rasp. The mule was giving Ed a little trouble and he was cursing and scolding the mule a bit. Some devilish impulse seized the packer and he punched the mule in the nose with his fist. It reacted with a violent lunge and Ed realized what had happened. In one motion he whirled and grabbed the packer by the nape of the neck, and bringing him across his leathershoeing apron laid half a dozen good licks on his hinder parts with the rasp. “Now,” he said, “I’ll help you get this pack outfit loaded and I want you to drag out for Powell. If I catch you back here before fall I’ll break your neck.” The packer headed for Powell, but he rode his stirrups instead of the seat of his saddle. If he came back to the springs that summer he sure didn’t let Ed catch him there. By about June 1 most of the lookouts and smokechaser stations had been manned and the trail maintenance and construction crews were being placed. All together we had about 50 men in the Lochsa area and around 25 in the Lolo area. These regular district maintenance and construction men were also our first line defense forces when a fire escaped the smokechasers. If these men could not handle the fire, then it was necessary to recruit crews of what we called pickup fire fighters. Usually they were recruited in Missoula, but sometimes it was necessary to draw from the Spokane labor market. To put it mildly they were a very poor caliber of men, agitators, “I.W.W.s” and derelicts. We would truck from Missoula to Mud Creek and hike them to the fire. Ed would personally take charge of the fire and the crews, using his district men for foremen, straw bosses, etc. It was on such an occasion as this that Ed with his district men had been battling a stubborn fire for a couple of days. The pickup crew arrived just before supper and sat down for a little breather. Mr. Agitator decided that now was the time to get with his program. Accordingly he mounted a stump and began to orate with an Adolph Hitler gusto. Just as he was getting full steam ahead and seemed to have his captive audience coming his way, Ed walked in from the fire line. He stood for a moment just sizing up the situation. Then very quietly and nonchalantly he stepped over to the speaker, tapped him on the shoulder and said: “Hey, fella, pipe down, you might start something that would be hard to stop.” Completely disarmed by Ed’s cool, matter of fact expression, the man turned to see Ed slowly walking away. What type of man the speaker expected to see I do not know. What he did see was a man who stood better than six foot, weighed 225 lbs. and carried no surplus fat. With two weeks growth of whiskers, his blue shirt open at the throat, he was smeared with pitch and blackened with soot and ashes. His filson pants stagged off above the tops of his logger boots likewise were soiled from the grime of the fire. His pine tree badge rode inconspicuously on his left belt, not noticeable by the orating agitator. All this dirt and grime seemed to enhance the image of this superman of the woods. Behind it was a tower of strength, a man of sincerity, firmness and determination, who led his men to victory on some of the toughest forest fires. Most of all Ed MacKay was a man who good men were proud to follow. When our erstwhile orator regained his composure, looking into the faces of his audience, whose expressions had changed from seriousness to amusement, he asked: “Who is that guy?” Someone answered, “He’s the Ranger in charge.”

The fires are all out, lookouts, smoke chasers and crew men have been laid off and it is time to take the mules to winter range. Bell brings his in from Elk Summit; Ed’s packers bring the last of his stock in from Powell. All stock is assembled at Mud Creek. A camp outfit with food for men and animals is loaded on the old truck. MacKay and Bell will be camp tenders. They will go ahead and establish camp. Loch Stewart, Bill Clark and I will trail the mules. Mules trail best when they are led by a bell mare. Since Clarkie was the oldest of the wranglers Loch and I voted him to lead with the bell mare. When the mules were trailing nicely and our saddle ponies were jogging along behind, Loch would raise his voice in song. I remember his favorite was “I’m Always Chasing Rainbows,” a popular number of that day. It was quite appropriate too, as none of us had steady jobs although we were aspiring for permanent appointments. “Heading for The Last Round Up” would also have been appropriate because as soon as we got back to Missoula we would be laid off until next spring. Our first stop was a couple of miles below the Woodman School. Just before we finished our breakfast next morning a boy, who looked to be about eight years old stopped by. He was carrying a lunch pail and heading for school. Looking our outfit over he asked a few questions. Clarkie, who was fond of kids, soon engaged him in friendly conversation. Then suddenly the boy looked around and said, “Well, I got to be goin’. I can’t waste any more time here with you guys.” With these parting words the boy marched briskly on his way. His remarks drew a hearty chuckle from Ed who in turn remarked to Clarkie, “Well, I guess you know where you stand with that boy.”

Then in a more serious tone he added: “You watch that kid, he has really got something on the ball, he will amount to something when he grows up.” Just a few years later this lad was working for Ed, manning lookouts, chasing smoke, fighting fires and working his way up to Alternate Ranger. Then World War II interrupted and in 1943 our boy joined the Marine Corps and for the duration of the war he saw much active duty in the South Pacific Theater. When the war ended he came back to Powell and picked up where he had left off and worked his way on up. In case you haven’t figured it out yet this boy is none other than our own Bud Moore who is presently Chief of the Division of Fire Management, Region 1, US FS, (Ed. Note: Moore retired in 1974.)

We’ve got to get those mules to winter range so let’s get rollin! Next camp is the Missoula Ranch at the foot of Evaro Hill. At that time this ranch supported a beautiful orchard of Macintosh apples. It was apple-picking time and many boxes of apples were sitting under the trees. When we arrived with the mules Ed was frying elk steak for supper. He remarked to me that some of those apples fried would go good with the steak so I stepped over the fence and brought him a box of the delicious fruit. He cooked up a big pan of the apples and indeed they were good with elk steak. It was so pleasing to our appetites that about midnight we cooked up another feed of the same. This was the first fresh fruit we had eaten in several months. It has been a half century ago yet I never pass the old Missoula Ranch, now the Cates Ranch, without thinking of the night we camped down behind the big orchard. The next day we shoved on to Ravalli and camped for the night. A Kalispell outfit that had range land up in the Big Draw had contracted to winter the Lolo Forest pack stock. They met us here with their riders and took over the drive. We had mixed feelings of emotion when these cowpokes with chaps and spurs threw their heavy double rigged saddles on our old gentle saddle ponies and tore out after the stock. I don’t believe a man fully appreciates a good saddle horse until he has spent a summer in the mountains with one, and especial if he happens to be leading a string of spooky mules. Many times your faithful saddle pony is the only dependable partner you have. This is especially true when the whole string of broom tails seem to conspire to wreck the outfit.

On our way back to Missoula Ed made the announcement that he was going to buy a car when we got to town. He said he was tired of driving the old Forest Service truck or going on foot. He had saved his money and he was going to have a decent car to get about in. We landed in Missoula about noon and went into the old Grill Cafe and each ordered a big T-bone steak. We sat in one of the old time booths, which all fancy restaurants featured in that day. This was still in the prohibition era, however just before our meal was served, from under the table Bell comes up with a bottle of moonshine. He poured each of us a goodly portion, which we swallowed and agreed that it spiked our appetites. Where and how Bell got that bottle without the rest of us knowing none of us ever figured out. However he had that faculty.

The steaks behind our belts, Ed said, “Well, let’s go buy that car.” We stopped by the Western Montana Bank where Ed cashed a check for enough money to pay for the car. A concern by the name of “Murphy Motors” had the Dodge Agency at that time. They were located about where Auto Electric now is. The Dodge car of that day was about the best on the market for negotiating the mountain roads and trails such as we had to travel. Ed had made up his mind about the make and type of car he wanted and he knew about what it would cost. When we entered the show and sales room we were greeted by a well-dressed man who asked, “What can I do for you fellows?” Ed simply states: “I want to buy a car.” The salesman, in a rather suspicious and doubting tone of voice said, “Oh yes: Well now, what type of car are you looking for?” Ed answered “A Dodge.” The salesman said, “Well, we have two types of Dodge,” and pointing to them as he spoke, “Here we have the deluxe model, and there the standard, which would you like to try?” The deluxe model was closest to Ed so he said, “Let’s just give this one a try.” The salesman backed the car out then nodded to Ed and said, “OK let’s go for a ride.” Ed turned to the rest of us and said, “Get in fellows, let’s go.” There were five of us in all, still dressed in our logger boots, stagged pants and greasy shirts with a week’s growth of whiskers and covered with trail dust. We were a motley crew that climbed into that beautiful new sedan. The salesman just drove us a very short distance, across the tracks by the old brewery and right back. By the expression on his face it was evident that he felt he was the one who was being taken for a ride. We all piled out of the car and the salesman rather reluctantly asked Ed if he would like to try the standard. Ed said, “No, I think this one is all right,” then to Bell, “What do you think?” Bell said, “Yes, this one seems pretty good,” so Ed said, “Well, I guess I’ll take it. How much is it?” The salesman replied that it was $1,250. “Now what kind of terms do you want? We have several different time pay plans.” Ed told him he would just pay in cash, and with that he reached in his shirt pocket and handed the salesman a fifty, two one hundreds and a one thousand dollar bill. The salesman’s eyes had begun to pop a little with the hundred dollar bills, but when Ed handed him the thousand he exploded: “Jesus Christ, look what this man is carrying around!”

We packers and smoke chasers scattered and went our several ways to find jobs for the winter. Bell drove the old Forest Service truck back to Mud Creek and the Ranger in Charge drove his new Dodge sedan home.