Pinchot Journal: Disappointment at Skunk Prairie

Submitted by the Upper Swan Valley Historical Society. Reprinted from the Library of Congress Manuscript Division

Gifford Pinchot, who later became chief of the U.S. Forest Service, was working for the National Forest Commission in 1896 when he traveled south through the Swan Valley with Jack Monroe, a trapper and guide. In the previous installment of the 7-part series, they had prepared to cross the Swan River after realizing they may have been presumed drowned.

I kept the forward end of the raft upstream, while Monroe controlled the rear. Soon the footing failed and we struck out vigorously for the other shore. Fortunately the swim was not as long as it was cold, and just as the night had fallen we passed the head of the rapids by a comfortable margin and reached the bank under a steep low bluff. We had to build a fire before we could see to unload the raft, and then we camped on high ground where we had struck the shore, for the river was out of its banks in many places.

Next morning, about five, we broke camp and started through the swamp, which here bordered the river, toward the higher land. The lodge-pole pine seemed to have crossed with us, for here on the right bank they were disputing the predominance with the yellow pines, of vastly greater bulk, but lacking the shoulder-to-shoulder compactness of the lowlier forest. Here and there were glacial lakes and meadows, and long vistas through the ruddy trunks of the taller pines, as the forest grew more and more open away from the river. In a couple of hours we struck a trail and had been following it up but a short distance when a one-eyed trapper, carrying an old Sharps’ rifle, met us at a turn. With the hospitality and the love of company that are such common and delightful traits among Western mountain man, he took us to his cabin, and cooked us a capital breakfast, which was none the less welcome because it was our second. Then we slung on the packs and started on.

By 2 o’clock we had reached Skunk Prairie [most likely Holland Prairie, which later became the Gordon Ranch], where, said common report, we should find plenty of horses to take us to the railroad. But as it turned out there was not a single available horse in the place, and nothing for us to do but lose a day or keep straight on. Monroe was all for keeping at it, and I was by no means unwilling; so we shouldered the warsacks again about four, stopped at half-past seven for supper, on the head of the Clearwater, having crossed the divide, and at 9:30, when we had been following a rough wagon-road for some miles, it became so dark that we could only travel at the expense of many stumbles. So we halted for a short night on the bank of a most beautiful lake. Tired as we were, the impression it made upon us both, with its forest-clad shores, the distance, and just the faintest ripple on its surface, was keenly delightful. By eleven we had had a swim and had turned in, only to turn out again the next morning at two, and start on as soon as it was light enough to travel. We had believed ourselves within five miles of another ranch, at which there would be no difficulty in getting horses. But in fact there were eleven miles of rise and fall to cross before we reached Morrell’s, where, once more, the horses were lacking, but where at least we found a cordial welcome and a capital breakfast.

To be continued…