Steve's Memories - Part 1... Day 19/30

The following are some memories from Steve. I love these stories - they're so typical of what we used to hear about dad's days at work.

It was some time in the late 60s when I went to work with dad and we ended up in Idaho City. As we were driving, we were flagged down near the gas station by a dirty old logger. His partner was in the back of his pickup; he had cut his leg wide open with a chain saw. In the 60s and 70s, there were not EMTs or ambulances in Idaho City, Garden Valley, or any of the small towns, so dad loaded the logger in his truck to transport him towards Boise. As we started toward town, dad got on his radio and called the main office, who called St. Lukes hospital, who sent an ambulance up highway 21 to meet us. The poor logger had 3 or 4 dirty t-shirts wrapped around his leg, holding them tight, and damn near bled to death, but thanks to dad, he survived.

It was a hell of a ride.

Dad used to walk into Sulpher Creek Ranch every year to try and catch salmon snaggers. It was a 4 mile hike just to get into the ranch. Fishermen (snaggers) would fly in, spend a weekend snagging fish, then fly back out. I often went with him on these trips to try to catch the snaggers. We would stop at the lodge and wait for fishermen to come in.

The cook at the lodge would always give us something to drink, then go outside to the clothes line and hang sheets, then come back in and visit with dad. For two years, and lots of trips in, dad never caught anyone snagging salmon. After the first two years, dad realized that every time he showed up, the cook would run out and hang sheets on the clothesline - a signal that the fisherman could see from half a mile away - that the Game Warden was there. The next year dad walked into Sulpher Creek and as usual, the cook went out to hang the sheets. Dad stopped him from doing so and just before dark, into the lodge came all the snaggers with their fish. Dad ended up writing 6 or 7 citations.

Our Love of Wildlife... Day 12/30

Today is a guest post from my sister Linda.


Dad noticed my interest in birds when I was about 6 years old while we were living up in Garden Valley. Dad would take me for walks along the creek and point out different birds to me. He would tell me if they were cavity nesters or ledge nesters and where they went for the winter, or where they came from in the summer. Every spring, he’d locate a nest and set up a spotting scope so that I could watch the eggs hatch and the babies fledge. We would sit out in our yard and mimic different bird calls but he was much better at it than I was!

Throughout the years, Dad brought home many injured and orphaned birds and animals to rehabilitate. Over the years we had a mule deer fawn, a blind raccoon, half a dozen Canadian geese, two or three kestrels, a great horned owl, - and a partridge in a pear tree! My mother drew the line when he brought home 2 black bear cubs, they went to live at the Boise Zoo. There were so many animals that they'll be their own stories!

Everywhere I went with dad, he’d show me cliff swallows, night hawks, waxwings and juncos. He would also point out deer and elk on the mountain sides. We’d sit beside the South Fork of the Payette and watch river otter play and slide. He showed me bobcats, coyotes, beavers, and muskrats. He taught me to watch for tracks and scat when I was out walking alone.

He taught me to tread lightly when in the woods, because everything was something else’s home or food. He helped me to identify plants, some that were edible, some that were dangerous, and many that were just beautiful to look at. In short, he taught me to respect and care for everything around me. To this day, every one of us have a deep love and respect for wildlife and their habitat.

Thanks dad, for sharing your love of everything wild with us. We have done our best to pass it on.

Notes and Doodles... Day 7/30

If dad was famous with the family for anything, it was his constant notes and doodles.

Dad doodled on everything. He doodled on napkins at restaurants and left them for the waitress. If he had a pen and there was a flat surface, he'd draw something. Here are just a few examples...






Dad always left mom notes telling her where he would be - I never realized how dangerous his job was, but evidently he wanted mom to know where he was "just in case." Quite often though, his notes were hilarious! Here are a few examples...

Evidently, "we all went to town (Boise) so I'm not sure who Steve left this note for, but I guess mom wouldn't let him take his "good" hat. After Steve wrote the note, dad gave mom the raspberry. I love this one!



One of dad's notes to mom telling her where he would be...


And this, the last note dad ever left - dated January 4, 1981...


This one is hard to see, but I'm glad we have it. It sure brings back a lot of memories...

Oh How He Loved Christmas... Day 6/30

I can't hardly think of Christmas and remember how it turned dad into a big kid. He loved Christmas!



Living in Garden Valley, we always had several feet of snow. There was a pasture just a few hundred feet up the road from our house, and dad and mom would take us kids up there and we would spend hours sledding down the hill. If there was enough snow, we would sometimes get on our sleds and ride the 4 miles down Alder Creek road to town. When we got home, mom always had hot chocolate waiting for us.

One year, he gave Linda a guitar for Christmas and had to play with it of course...



I never knew until I was an adult, how little money a Game Warden makes. At Christmas, there wouldn't be an empty space under the tree. There were dozens and dozens of presents. It seemed like it took an hour to open them all, and dad spent the morning taking pictures of us with our new toys.

One thing I look back on now, and I find myself really impressed with, is the fact that almost every year, dad was brave enough to actually buy mom clothes for Christmas. He actually had very good taste for a male and most of the time, mom loved what he picked out.

For many years, Christmas was really hard after dad died. His laughter, his excitement, and the look in his eyes as he spent the day with his family (unless he decided in the afternoon that there might be someone out poaching and he needed to go to work for an hour or two).



I wonder every year what he would be like at Christmas now. I think he'd be exactly the same, only enjoying his grandkids and great grandkids as well. Merry Christmas dad!

Bill Pogue's Artwork... Day 5/30

I will be gone tomorrow, so I will do days 6 and 7 on Saturday. Just sayin'...

It always fascinated me as a child, to watch dad draw. He would sketch something with a pencil then get out a jar of black ink and a his nib dip pens.



He would draw the most wonderful pictures - but the next day I would almost always find them torn in half in the wastebasket. We finally told him how wonderful his work was and how much other people would enjoy it as well. Not too long after, he started getting more serious about his work and the pieces ending up in the trash became fewer and fewer.

He bought a big magnifying glass on an arm with a light attached that he could screw onto his drawing table. He used the magnifying glass because it was very difficult for him to draw only having the use of one eye. But he would spend hours and hours placing tiny dots of ink in such a way that it turned into magnificent work.

Dad's art told such wonderful stories. He loved old cowboys, anything from the old west, trappers, hunters, and wildlife. I think, however, what impressed me the most was the fact that he used the faces of people he worked with in his drawings and each picture portrays his own hands. It wasn't just art - it was his soul.

A few years before he died, he started selling his work at Brown's Art Gallery downtown. People from all over the country bought it and in fact, most of his original works are gone. But fortunately, we do have prints.

Lady Friends Commin' was one of his last works. I love the idea of two old cowboys giving eachother haircuts before seeing their girls. Where did he get the idea for such a thing?



First Grade Reader is my personal favorite. The face used in this print was dad's good friend from Fish and Game, John Beecham. I love the idea of an old cowboy trying to teach himself to read.



The Cowboy and the Bird was by far, the most popular of dad's work. After he died, it was the first to sell out. We went for many years with only a few copies we had saved for family, but last spring we had some prints made.

The face dad used in this was another friend from Fish and Game, Phil Swanstrom.



While dad loved drawing the rough, tough cowboys of the old west, each of them had a soft side that he loved to tell through his work. Each one said so much about him and how he looked at life.

It was, in fact, his artwork that helped to catch his killer. His print, Mountain Man was used to raise the reward money that helped catch Claude Dallas. We sold them again in order to raised the $25,000 it took to reacapture him after his escape.

I'm so greatful to have this wonderful legacy that dad left for us. Someday, if any of the kids or grandkids want any of his work, it's here for them. At their ages right now it's not their style but as they get older, I hope they will appreciate it for what it is. The heart and soul of a very important man.

On Being the Game Warden's Daughter... Day 4/30

Dad had this "radar" that none of us kids were ever able to explain. It must have come from his many years of detective work on poaching cases, but when we became teenagers and he started using it on us, it was really scary - and not-so-much appreciated.

As my sister Kate mentioned in her post yesterday, dad was the only law enforcement in town. The Boise County Sheriff lived in Horseshoe Bend but never ventured the 30 miles to Garden Valley.

This fact made it hard to be a typical teenager of the late 60s and early 70s. There wasn't much to do in the tiny town except drink and smoke pot. When my friends and I learned to drive at the age of 14, one of our first trips was to Horseshoe Bend. It was a Saturday night and we met a bunch of kids at the park to listen to some loud music and naturally, someone brought out the pot.

Even though our rock and roll music was blaring after 8pm (way past bedtime in Horseshoe Bend) and the fact that the park was 50 feet from the only highway through town, I didn't have the common sense to understand that this could be trouble. I had never smoked before but hey, I was game to try. A short time later the Sheriff stopped by.

He started asking everyone for their names and when he got to me, I told him.

"You Bill Pogue's daughter?"
"Yes."
"OK, I want you kids to get out of here and go home. You (pointing to me), go home and tell your dad what you did. I'll be calling him to make sure you've told him."

That was a long 30 minute drive home. I walked in the door and into mom and dad's bedroom and woke them up. I explained what I'd been caught doing. Mom broke into tears and I remember both of them telling me how "disappointed" they were. I would rather have been beaten by a 2x4 with long nails protruding from it than to have my parents tell me they were disappointed in me. Mom and I cried and cried while dad gave me the "lecture." Oh how we hated those lectures.

I didn't find out until years later, that the Sheriff never did call my dad and had no intentions of calling him. Somehow, he knew he'd scared me bad enough that I would go home and spill the beans.

Not more than a few months later, mom and dad took the two younger girls to Boise to spend the weekend at my grandmother's house. Having a new driver's license, dad told me not to drive his new truck more than just down to the valley and back.

Dad and I had this unique relationship. He would tell me to do something or not do something and I would nod and smile and give him a hug and agree to whatever it was, knowing full well that I would do what my little teenage pea brain wanted to do. But it saved a lot of arguments of "But whyyyyyyyyyy???"

So, as soon as the family left me home alone for the weekend with my brother, I jumped in his brand new truck, gathered as many friends as I could fit in it, and off we went to Horseshoe Bend, then on the Emmett to see what was happening in the big city. We drove around Emmett, then back to Horseshoe Bend then home - several times.

When dad got back from Boise, he walked in the door and asked me where I'd been with his truck. "Only down to the valley to see my friends!"

He asked again, and this time he wanted the truth. He KNEW I'd been a whole lot further than that (about 700 miles worth) and in fact said, "You didn't get out of that truck the whole time I was gone. Where the hell did you go?"

I had no idea how he knew I was lying. Did he have a spy? Did my brother snitch? A few months later, my brother told me how stupid I was. "He wrote down the mileage before he left and checked it when he got back."

Who would have thought a parent was smart enough to do something like that? As we grew up, dad would continue using his skills on my sister Linda...

Pretty Pink Barretts... Day 3/30

This guest post was written by my sister, Kate. Thanks sis, for sharing this story!

From the time I was born to the age of 9, my family lived in the tiny town of Garden Valley, 50 miles north of Boise. Dad was the local Game Warden and "the only law in town." To us kids, he was God. He was big, strong and could be very imposing when the situation called for it. He was, in the best of ways, bad-ass. He also had a wild and wicked sense of humor, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do to help a friend or neighbor in need. Bill Pogue had the respect of everyone in the valley. Until one day….

See, when I was younger (and apparently not very fast) mom would put my long hair in pig-tails using rubber bands and/or barrettes. This woman invented several never-before-used torture methods that, I’m pretty sure, have since been adopted by the military. But that’s another story. Suffice it to say that the Pogue girls had the TIGHTEST damn pony tails you’ve ever seen. Because of (or maybe in spite of) this, I developed an interest in beauty-parlor play, and after nearly scalping all my dolls, I turned to family.

There was, at that time, a place in town called The Joint; part restaurant, part tavern. It was where the cowboys started their day with coffee and ended it with several Budweisers and a game of pool. It was a place heavy with Marlboro smoke, bullshitting, Tammy Wynette on the juke box, and the occasional bar brawl.

One day dad stopped by The Joint for a cup of coffee before heading off to work. He probably pulled up a stool at the bar, asked for coffee, lit a cigarette and greeted the local men, including one of his best friends, and local really tough cowboy, Sterling Alley. It wasn’t long before the guys started whispering and snickering in dad’s general direction. Finally, Sterling managed to ask “Are you going to work with that pretty thing in your hair?”

Turns out that while getting ready that morning, he’d overlooked one of the pretty pink barrettes I’d beautified him with earlier. Poor man never lived that down.