The Hobbitt... Day 25/30

I appologize that I have done sometimes up to 3 or 4 posts a day over the last week and a half. But, I'm almost caught up to date! The following is a post from my sister Linda...


I always loved the funny cartoons dad drew and his more realistic drawings simply fascinated me. So, when I graduated from High School, what I really wanted for my graduation present was for him to draw one of the characters from my favorite book, “The Hobbit,” by JRR Tolkien.



I found the description in the early pages of the book. It described the Hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, sitting outside his Hobbit Hole smoking ‘pipeweed’. I asked dad to read it, and then draw his interpretation. I didn’t know if it would be one of his cartoons, or one of his more realistic drawings. To my utter delight, it was a combination of the two. Dad had it professionally framed at a frame shop, and wrote this sweet note on the back of it for me.




I’ve always felt very fortunate to have an ‘original’ from dad, just for me. This is truly one of my most prized possessions.




Thank you, dad. You always made me feel special.

I love you and miss you so much.

Your daughter,

Lala

History Lesson, How it All Started Part 2... Day 24/30

He got to work in Alaska on the Brooks River studying fish.



After graduation, Bill's first job was in the Las Vegas area. Summers were unbelievably hot and lasted nine months a year, with only three months of decent weather. But he was doing what he was meant to do. He was so into his job that his senior officer had to insist he take a day or two off. When he was home, he just knew that someone, somewhere was doing something wrong. Nervous as a cat, he would pace. And more often than not, go out anyway.

His next assignment was Winnemucca. What? OK, we have to find some good here. It's closer to Boise, the big city where my parents live, and it's out of the heat. There must be other redeeming features. In summer sand blew 24/7, in winter it was cold beyond imagination (one winter it was 24 below zero). The town was a small gambling town with a red light district not far from the stores and restaurants. Most of the town residents were good people, respected the Game Warden and we made good friends. We were there five years, a year longer than planned.

Bill had applied to Idaho for a position as Conservation Officer and was offered a job in Challis. Before he could accept, the Winnemucca City Council asked, begged him to take the position as Chief of Police. There were some things going on that weren't quite proper and needed to be addressed. After much deliberation, we decided that he would take it, but only for a year. It was agreed upon and being the most honest cop on the force, he made enemies by doing away with under the table "Christmas Bonuses" and some other "benefits." The year seemed long but at last time was up and the new job offered by Idaho was ----ahhhhhhh Garden Valley

Garden Vally was heaven. It was in the mountains, deep forest all around and our new home was a beautiful two story (with full basement) log cabin. Our rent -
$25.00 a month. We were all delighted and excited which lasted the entire time we lived there. Bill had a huge area to patrol, no two days were ever the same. The kids grew up in the nicest of areas , knowing everyone in school, freedom to roam, ride horses and I was truly happy with our lifestyle and friends. We were there seven wonderful years.

In 1973, Bill was promoted to the Boise office, a desk job. That didn't last, as he longed to be out in the field again. The department heads, shook their heads and at last let the crazy man be a Game Warden again. Out in the field, he was like a kid, as usual not able to take days off, rarely even all day Christmas. At some point during the day, the pacing would begin and, surprise, he would say "guess I'll take a drive down the road,--see what's going on." Well, we had him for the fun part of the day, opening the gifts, which he enjoyed as much as the kids.

Bill's life as a Conservation Officer changed many lives. There were some teenagers and some college kids to whom he issued citations in such a way---explaining, counseling, showing care and concern, that they in turn became F & G employees or Conservation Officers themselves. He taught gun safety in junior high schools and aided many people in the field. Being a CO isn't about just issuing citations. It's about educating and assisting the public. Bill was that kind of officer. Dedicated.

History Lesson, How it All Started Part 1... Day 22/30

As a boy, Bill loved to fish and wander into new territory but his favorite hangout was the Kern River, a few miles from his home in Bakersfield, California. He would hike to the river daily in summer, fish, turn over rocks and spend the entire day exploring. One day he saw a gentleman holding a bird which piqued his curiosity and he approached him to investigate. The man introduced himself as Dr. McClure, ornithologist. He explained to Bill that he studied birds, their habits, migrations and that he banded birds to find their life habits. He showed Bill how to band the bird and asked if he would like to help him. That began a life-long friendship between them and changed the direction of Bill's life.

After Bill had served four years in the Marine Corps, he registered at the local Junior College to learn architecture, as he had so much talent in drawing. Included in his classes was an art class. Daily he came home frustrated and finally angry beyond words. Telling me what happened that day in art class, he was red in the face and sputtering. The instructor, an older lady, had told him he needed to use his imagination. She had him stand at the front of the class, told him to shut his eyes, stand on his tip toes and smell an imaginary rose. Did that tough Marine do that? He did not! He stomped out and quit the class!

That led to him changing to Humboldt State College in Arcata, California, the northern most part of the state. We arrived there in January, in driving rain that did not stop for 42 days! But his Wildlife classes were exactly what his lifestyle was meant to include. He worked with many species of animals, birds, snakes, warm and cold-blooded living and dead things. He usually came home from class or field trips smelling to high heaven, but grinning from ear to ear. Summers he worked. Two years it was scut work at a State Park, one summer "planting" oysters in the bay (that meant standing on a barge shoveling oysters over the side all day long). But the best summer was to come - his dream...

Stupid Criminals! Day 21/30

This is the final story I have from Steve...

I'll never forget the time in the late 60s where some brothers from Horseshoe Bend decided to poach some deer in Garden Valley. It was January, just after 2am when the bars closed. All three of them were drunk and drove up the South Fork of the Payette River to Danskin Creek.

They shot 6 deer and then backed up to the snowbank and dropped the tailgate where they loaded up 4 of the 6 deer they had killed.

The next morning, dad found the kill site and empty beer cans. He also found some evidence that was even better. When the brothers had backed the truck up to the snowbank, they hit it so hard that it left the imprint of their license plate right there in the snow! Dad drove right to Horseshoe Bend to their house and found all 4 deer hanging in the woodshed.

They asked how he found out so quick that they had poached the deer. As was so typical of dad, he never did tell them...

Steve's Memories - Part 2... Day 20/30

When I was 12, dad took me to the Horseshoe Bend Mill Pond to work fishermen. There was only one road into the Mill Pond and every fisherman there could see the when the Game Warden was coming. This made it hard to catch people with too many fish or those who were fishing without a license.

So on this day, dad loaded up my fishing pole and my bicycle in his work truck and off we went. I didn't know it, but I was about to go on my first undercover job. When we got near the pond, dad unloaded me and my bike and sent me to the far end and told me to watch the people in the camper, the 2 guys in the old pickup, and the 4 people in the station wagon. He said, "I'll come get you in one hour."

So, down the hill to the Mill Pond I went. Fish and Game had just planted 1,500 trout in the pond so fishing was good. I parked my bike between the guys in the old pickup and the people in the camper and started fishing. Everyone was catching the hell out of the fish. The people in the camper with catching the most, probably 30 or 40 of them. They also had 11 or 12 on a stringer in the water and the other 30 or so they had hidden in the brush.

Pretty soon, dad came down the hill and people started putting down their poles and hiding fish. Dad drove right past me to the camper, introduced himself, checked their licenses, and asked how many fish they had. One of the guys said, "We have 11 or 12 on that stringer right there." Dad looked at the fish then turned to me, still fishing where he told me to sit and said, "Is that all the fish he has son?" I said, "Nope, he has about 30 hidden in the brush right there!"

That fisherman about had a cow when he discovered that this little kid was sitting there working undercover. Dad ended up writing 3 or 4 citations that day and we had a good laugh over it all!

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.

The William Pogue Recreational Trail... Day 18/30

Several years after dad died, mom received a letter from the Forest Service telling her that they were going to name a trail up the Middle Fork of the Boise River after dad. That had been dad's patrol area for several years and an area that he loved.

The family made the trip up for the dedication, many miles of the roughest road I've ever been on - and it remains so to this day!

Over the years, I haven't gone up nearly as often as I'd like but I have been up there twice. Both times, I saw the most beautiful blond bears. I suppose that's why I haven't been up more, I'm terrified of bears!

I hope someday to take the kids and grandkids as they've never been up to see the trail. What a wonderful and beautiful tribute to dad. He would have been so proud.

Jacks Creek... Day 17/30

There was some discussion about yesterday's post regarding where the picture was taken. Mom called one of dad's Fish and Game friends and found out it was taken on Jacks Creek near Bruneau.

I did a bit of research and discovered this site which has some great pictures in case you want to try this hike.

It describes the area as "A spectacular hike into a remote canyon. Extensive rhyolite and the opportunity to observe raptors, bighorn sheep, and pronghorn antelope."

It looks to me like the actual trail stays up on the top of the canyon, but from the picture, dad must have hiked down into the bottom. Looks like a wonderful day trip, but probably infested with rattlers! However, I can certainly see why dad loved it.

One of My Favorite Pictures... Day 16/30

This is one of my favorite pictures of dad. Maybe partly because it's so mysterious to me. I'm not sure where it was taken - looks like the Owyhee canyon area, possibly Jarbidge. I don't know, but it looks like someplace I would love to be. The man with dad was one of his best friends from Fish and Game, Jerry Theissen. It doesn't look like they were working because they aren't in uniform, but dad never went camping unless he was working. He always said he got enough of sleeping of the ground from work. So, what were they doing and where were they?

But what puzzles me the most is the quote that he wrote on the picture when he gave it to Jerry. I wish I knew exactly what he meant...



"If there is a future for wild things, then it is the burden of those who have reached farther than me, to save them for the rest of us. It will be done by those whose convictions were forged in campfires,

Bill"

Lucky the Raccoon... Day 15/30

The following was written by mom:

Usually Bill brought home wild creatures to heal or care for, but at times he would bring home things that had died or been killed for the kids to see up close. One of those was a large Snowy Owl ( I think, at least it was LARGE and pure white). He was so proud to show it to the kids. They gathered around as he laid it on the kitchen floor, spread its wings and was showing them the head, tail, wings etc. Suddenly, the dead owl stood on its legs and launched itself into the air! So much for DEAD critters!

We did have one animal, not from the wild, but raised in captivity. Bill brought home a blind raccoon that the original owner could no longer keep because of complaining neighbors. The poor animal was born blind. The original owner was a hound hunter and had shot the pregnant female. As he was skinning it, he discovered a live baby and took it home and named her Lucky. Even though she was blind, she managed very well with her keen sense of smell and "feely" fingers.



The kids immediately fell in love with her and she them. She was fun and funny but was extremely inquisitive and got into everything! Being so, she was also quite destructive and eventually I told Bill that he had to pen her or get rid of her. So, making sure it was escape-proof he built a fine pen with a nice "run." Telling her how lucky she was to have such a fine home, he left her there. Before he reached the house, she was beside him, demanding attention. Back to the drawing board.

After many tries, he accomplished the job, but she paced back and forth making pitiful sounds. Back and forth, lifting her head toward the house, back and forth. "Please Mom", the kids begged, "she hates it out there. Can't we bring her in the house?" Being a softie, I relented and she became an indoor pet for short periods of time.

One day, after a shower, Bill stepped out of the bathroom, in undershorts, barefoot, directly on to the raccoon. Frightened, she latched onto his big toe with her sharp teeth! His howl of pain could be heard for miles and frightened her even more, causing her to tighten her hold. I ran down the hall to see Bill hopping up and down, wildly trying to shake loose his attacker, howling, hopping, pleading for help. It was too much, too funny and I couldn't help but break up with weak-in-the-knees uncontrollable laughter.

Slowly, Bill made it to the front door, dragging the snarling, hissing raccoon still firmly attached to his toe. Across the porch they went, down the steps,----thump, thump and to the lawn. (remember, he's in undershorts). Grabbing a stick, Bill pried open the locked jaws from his toe and bolted for the door. Back in the house he came, limping badly, looking for sympathy but provoking new peals of laughter.

The raccoon found a new home.

Editors note: As I recall, that's not exactly how this story ended...