From good old straight white pines.
That is the kind of work I want
It keeps my blood from crawling,
No matter how much sleet or snow
Or how the wind s a-blowing.
No, give me no more claims, I say,
The stuff is not my liking.
If they come pouring in this way
You re apt to see me hiking.
Bring out with you a guard or two
To do this muskey sprawling,
And give me some improvement work,
To keep my blood from crawling.
/. A. Larsen
128
The Forest Ranger
ON THE GUNNISON
Ten thousand feet above the sea
The ranger trims a dead pine tree,
Then from his bulging saddle sacks
He takes a tiny box of tacks,
A fire notice, two or three,
He posts with great celerity.
From here he climbs the highest peak,
The reader wonders, what to seek.
He has to gather Red Spruce seed,
Then hunts two hours for poison weed.
The weeds are pressed right in his book,
Accompanied with a disgusted look.
The snow scale next is in his line,
But can he really spare the time ?
For before he gets back to his shack
He adds a black bear to his pack.
Next comes the streams, at every fall
He gauges them both big and small.
The temperature he sure must take,
And sound the depth of every lake.
Six Newhouse No. 4/s,
Sent newly from the Ogden stores,
Are baited up with Funston s bait,
And off he goes, ten days to wait.
129
The Forest Ranger
With the 30-30- from his back
He drops a coyote in his track,
Amid the snow, the rain and hail,
He s got to hack and clear a trail.
The fire box he builds at night,
The tools within are none too light.
At one A. M. he reads his mail,
And with grub and bed he hits the trail.
H. L. Thackwell
130
The Forest Ranger
LEAP YEAR AT A RANGER STATION
The life of a Ranger is not so hard,
If only he had a feminine " pard,"
But to come in when the house is cold
And find no one in his arms to fold,
Is very discouraging, to say the least,
And he condemns his life for that of a beast.
Many of us have let the chance slip by,
And doubtless the maidens have wondered why.
In 1912 the proposing will turn
And we pray that their hearts will no longer yearn,
For our Station is furnished and food prepared
For someone with whom it can be shared.
Although we are away all through the day
We ll hurry home to greet dear May,
And when the evening work is done
We ll take a walk by the setting sun,
And continue the journey into the night,
Then escort her home by the pale moonlight.
Now " Fair Ones " do not think us bold,
For this is Leap Year so we are told,
And our bashful soul and busy mind
Have kept us from acquiring one of your kind,
Now it s hoped some maid will seize the chance
And relieve us from this awful trance.
/. F. Forsythe
The Forest Ranger
REMEMBER THE ALAMO
Under a burning southern sun
Bathed in the desert s glow,
By the white sands queer and the lime cliffs drear
Lies the land of the Alamo.
The names of Bowie and Crockett,
Those men of long ago,
Are linked with the quaint historic name
The name of the Alamo.
Their deeds have been told in every clime,
Wherever the white race go ;
All praise to the heroes of other days,
These men of the Alamo.
I tell of men as stanch a breed
As any that e er faced foe,
The Forest men of modern days
The men of the Alamo.
Then here s to Jim and his six-gun grim
And the rangers along the Cuevo,
For they turned the trick in a manner slick
These men of the Alamo.
Then fill your glasses up to the brim
With water as pure as snow,
And drink to these men " behind the guns "
And " REMEMBER THE ALAMO."
C. C. Hall
132
The Forest Ranger
THE HOOK
Nobody works but the hook-worm ;
He gnaws around all day;
Puts such an edge on our appetites
That we eat bottle-glass and clay.
The Super, he s got glanders;
The Dep. with fever is shook;
Nobody smiles at this place
But the blamed old hook.
The Rangers they just crawl about
In the heat of a tropic sun ;
The hook-worm, he works all the time
The son-of-a-gun !
When we re dead or fired,
Put this down in your book
" They did their level damndest,
Till they got the hook."
I. F. Eldredge
Florida National Forest.
133
The Forest Ranger
THE SPASM FROM THE SHASTA
The men of Shasta at Ash Creek abound,
Doing reconnaissance on snow-shoes all the day
round.
Two men to the section no matter how far,
And they complete one each day, for that s their
rate at par.
Sometimes the shoeing is not of the best,
And they come in at night longing for rest.
Hardships we have plenty and short trips are few,
But we hired out for tough men, so I guess we ll
pull through.
It s surprising how simple the corners are found,
By us MEN of the Shasta, the ones of renown.
And the way we can guess the diameters per tree,
And the number of logs that some day there ll be,
Is wonderful to those who come out and see
The men of the Shasta !
The work it is pleasant, if the hill s not steep,
As one sometimes may slip, and fall on his seat.
Shoeing up some hills at times is most slow,
But when you come down, why the way you will go !
Good cooking and dainties have been strangers
to us,
But when we hit town, we ll eat till we bust.
On amateur batches of food we exist,
And our stomachs right now pine pitch could digest,
134
The Forest Ranger
But beyond these few trifles, we ve proved with
delight,
That reconnaissance on snow-shoes is practical, all
right.
Other Forests did scoff and were against our great
plans,
But their ignorance should be pardoned as they
can t understand
What a tough little bunch our Super had on hand,
The men of the Shasta!
135
The Forest Ranger
A QUIVER FROM THE TAHOE
The depth of snow on Shasta s hills
In Shasta s men great fear instills;
When out they go to count the trees,
They take with them their twelve foot skis,
Or lacking skill with these to tread,
They get the humble webs instead.
Treading hard, a square a day,
They scale the trees upon their way,
And out through all the District wide
They scatter broad their smiles of pride,
Say they ve done what ne er d been planned
On any Forest in this wide land.
Within a rod they pace a mile
And find all corners, and then they smile !
With D. B. H. and logs per tree,
They get the volume one, two, three.
Faint and worn, with hunger scant
Up those hills they have to pant;
Their grub s no good they gladly dine
On such poor fare as bad pitch pine,
" Those men of the Shasta."
But further south they manage to do
Without the aid of ski or shoe ;
With cowhide boot our Tahoe treads
O er snow that Shasta fears and dreads;
Cold feet at night are not the kind,
On other forests you often find.
136
The Forest Ranger
We count the seedlings, we caliper brush,
Correct the geology in all the slush,
We see each sapling covered with snow,
And carefully figure how fast twill grow.
We examine the soil, and number the stock
That will feed and fatten on each tract o rock.
Our cooking s the best, you ll understand,
For each of our boys is a dextrous hand
At all the things, from H 1 to Heaven
Found in our Bible, Page 27
The men of the Tahoe.
137
The Forest Ranger
A MUSING FROM THE ANGELES
The growth of chaparral on Angeles hills
A loss of religion in our men instils.
When off he goes unfortunate gink
With never a drop (of water) to drink.
For what cares he for hill or glade!
John Jones homestead must be surveyed.
No matter if that homestead lies,
Deeply buried from human eyes
On trackless waste of desert dim,
Or stands on end, a hillside grim.
His back grows stiff, his knees grow lame,
But the Angeles Ranger sure is game;
And he sings to himself as he grubs along
The words of that old familiar song:
" Every day ll be Sunday, by and by."
That Man on The Angeles.
And the early dawn of the coming day
Will find him up and far away,
With mattocks, picks and dinner pail;
A " Cholo " crew ; an impassable trail
And dynamite, two hundred pound
With which to move this dobe ground;
And a mercy tis, six times in seven
That he isn t blown to well, to Heaven.
Or circled by crates of eucalypts
His strength expended in digging pits;
138
The Forest Ranger
For the Angeles Forest needs more trees
To sway in the Heavenly southern breeze.
So he wields his mattock gainst earth and stone,
Whistling meanwhile in an undertone :
" Every little movement has a meaning all its own " ;
That weary man on the Angeles.
But at night he sits in his cabin door
And watches the kidlets play on the floor.
For the Angeles Ranger s too wise a man
To live on the Shasta-Tahoe plan ;
And long ago he annexed for life
An excellent cook as his wedded wife.
He scents the coming of good things to eat
Through the open door of the kitchen neat.
And he lifts his eyes to skyline dim
Where snow-capped peaks seem to frown at him ;
And he thinks with joy as he goes to dine:
" No snow-shoes or skis for me and mine,
W T ith any other man under Heaven s dome
I wouldn t change places ; There s no place like
home/
If that home be on The Angeles! "
139
The Forest Ranger
THE BRANDING OF THE FORESTS
(On July i, 1908, most of the National Forests were given
new names.)
Come and listen to my story, all ye Forest Service
men:
Once the Forester was sitting in his spacious, lofty
den,
And he wiped his sweating forehead as he grabbed
his stubby pen,
And he swore by all things sacred that he d name
em, there and then.
So he punched a handy button and the messengers
they came,
Like a bunch of baseball rooters, when the umpire
hollers " Game."
And he sent this word to each one of his tried and
trusty lads:
" This day we ll have a christening; come and make
believe you re dads."
" Make em short, and make em simple," was the
edict of the Chief.
" Chop em down to small dimensions, like a goat s
tail short and brief."
" No two deckers no sky scrapers. One word
only, nothing more."
And the workers murmured gently, whispered low
and softly swore.
So they gathered in that aerie where the Chieftain
sits in state,
And they puzzled, and they foozled, and each
scratched his aching pate.
140
The Forest Ranger
And they cut em, and they slashed em, and they
changed those names about.
Oh, they placed them endways sideways, and they
turned them inside out.
They hunted through the legends of the heroes
young and old.
They delved into the records of explorers brave and
bold.
They searched for names of Indians, and of patriots
so great,
And they studied o er the doings of the big men of
the state.
So, after weeks of planning, and of scheming deep
and dark,
That went back almost into the days of Noah s Ark,
They got those forests branded (sure they burned
em good and deep)
And the christening was over then the boys be
gan to weep.
Quoth a " Super " from the Northwest, " Tis in
deed a bitter pill,
When these people on my Forest ask me, * Who was
Bonneville? "
To be forced to own up, honest, " You can search
me don t ask me,
Mebbe he s from o er the ocean, from the wilds of
gay Paree. "
Oh, they took " Ekalaka," " Long Pine," " Slim
Buttes," and " Short Pine " too,
And they bunched them up with " Cave Hills," then
they named the whole thing " Sioux."
141
The Forest Ranger
And " Tillamook " and " Umpqua," (names that
almost broke your jaw)
Why, they ve hitched em up together under sibilant
" Siuslaw."
From the far Blue Mountain region came a query
hushed and low:
"Which of the Whitmans is it? For I m just
obliged to know."
Here s a man who wants a permit for to pasture
Baalam s ass,
But he swears he s feered to graze him upon Whit
man s " Leaves of Grass."
s~
Then from the peaks of Idaho there came a fearful
yell.
You used to call it " Koo-ten-ai," but now tis " Pen
d Oreille."
" Hold on a bit perhaps you re wrong," a ranger
whispered slyly,
" Tis Irish, sure a good name; they call it plain
1 O Reilly. "
And so it goes all o er the West, and even with the
ladies,
This christening job has mixed things up and just
raised merry Hades.
So take your time, and learn the list, or else you ll
lose your standing,
And live to cuss the fatal day that saw this forest
branding.
Will C. Barnes
14*
The Forest Ranger
RANGER SONG FOR THE NORTH
SIERRA RESERVE *
(Tune "On the Road to Mandalay.")
There s a lofty range of mountains from Spokane to
Mexico,
On whose slopes the dark pine forests link the foot
hills to the snow,
And these forests great are gathered into many a
fine reserve,
Here s to ours the North Sierra she s the queen
we Rangers serve.
CHORUS.
North Sierra, she s our pride;
In her service we abide;
For her pines and oaks and cedars many a
rocky mile we ride.
Fighting fires by night is play,
As for mixing sheep, it s gay,
Since tis for our North Sierra
That we love more every day.
Oh, the sugar pines hold up the sky and keep our
stars in place;
" Joe Crane s Ramrod " is the tree that Mars de
pends on for a base;
Great sequoias in the Nelder Grove to Dinkey seem
to say,
" Dinkey, pass the word to Converse, Don t you
drop the Milky Way. "
1 Now called Sierra National Forest.
H3
The Forest Ranger
You should look into our office on a stormy winter
day
See our cattle ranger tackle all the figures in his
way,
See our Technical Assistant making maps to beat
the band,
Hear the Boss dictating letters, with Clerk Springer
close at hand.
Tyler ll mark the bounds this summer of each priv
ate piece of land ;
Dehl can blast a trail that s smooth enough to suit
a big brass band;
Mai McLeod will make the tourists in Kings River
toe the mark ;
While beyond the snow-capped summits Britten
notes each sheep-dog s bark.
Here s to those with us no longer Langille, lost
in Oregon ;
Hogue and Ellis, Bigelow, Mainwaring what
gallant spurs they ve won.
Here s to those who thread the canyons all along
Sierra s crest,
Taylor, Noddin, Russell, Wofford, Gardner, Rea,
and all the rest.
Here s to those who lead us, captains in a mighty
service, they,
Earnest, loving helpers wise to plan and choose our
climbing way.
Here s to Allen, the Inspector, and all men from
Washington ;
To our Great Chief, Gifford Pinchot he and For
estry are one. Charles H. Shinn
144
The Forest Ranger
THE FIRE GUARD ON PATROL
(With apologies to Danny Dcever.)
" What are the bloomin boxes 1 for? " said the Fire
Guard on patrol,
" To drop a note, to drop a note," the Forest Ran
ger said.
"What makes them look so big, so big? " said the
Fire Guard on patrol.
" So they can hold a bushel o notes," the Forest
Ranger said.
" For you ve got to ride around, around, a-lookin
for fires each day,
You ve sure got to hump yourself, if you want to
draw the pay.
This ain t no foolish outin job, so I heard the Super
say,
For you ve got to visit the mail box every morning."
" What makes the country look so blue? " said the
Fire Guard on patrol.
" It s forest smoke, it s forest smoke," the Forest
User said.
" What makes the Rangers ride so hard ? " said the
Fire Guard on patrol,
" To reach a fire, to reach a fire," the Forest User
said.
1 Boxes placed on fire patrol routes at which guards
" check in " by leaving a note on fire conditions for the
ranger.
^ H5
The Forest Ranger
11 They re fightin forest fires, they re whfppin em
around ;
They re fightin em like devils, they re beatin em
to the ground,
And they ll put you through your paces if they catch
you loafin round,
For you ve got to visit the mail box every morning."
"What s that so black against the sun?" said the
Fire Guard on patrol.
" It s forest fires, you bloomin it," the Forest Ran
ger said.
"What s that that crackles overhead?" said the
Fire Guard on patrol.
"It s fallin trees, it s fallin trees," the Forest Ran
ger said.
" For the Forest s goin up in smoke, you can see it
fade away,
We re all goin to jack our jobs, for we don t need
the pay
Oh, the Fire Guards are shakin , and they ll get
their time today,
For they didn t visit the mail box every morning."
/. D. (?.. .
146
The Forest Ranger
ECONOMY
It started with the President,
A year or two ago,
He said we must economize,
To really make a show.
He appointed a committee,
To see where to begin,
For Uncle Sam s in poverty,
He really needs the tin.
His reputation in the past,
Around the country went.
" A dollar spent to save ten cents "
Was money quite well spent.
But now a change is taking place,
Expenses get the knife.
Economy, economy,
Is the watchword of our life.
The word was handed down by Taft,
To all his right hand men,
And now it s come to you and me,
And all who push a pen.
A meeting in El Paso,
To talk economy,
Was attended by the great Moguls,
Of District Number Three.
147
The Forest Ranger
Now every one has had his say,
And gone back to the pines,
We wonder where we ll get our pay
Without digging in the mines.
But coming back to serious thought,
And the toils of our daily grind,
Efficiency, efficiency,
Is the word to be kept in mind.
Charles H. Jennings.
Snowflake, Ariz., 191 x.
The Forest Ranger
FIRES
The District Forester Speaks:
I wish I were out with the fellows
Just my luck to be stuck here in town ;
But I ve got to sit tight when I d heap rather fight
To help keep these brush blazes down.
I m sick of this end of the business,
The ring of the querulous phone,
The telegrams, too, of flames breaking anew
While I have to stand it alone,
And I ll own
It s hell to be watching alone.
There s Bill he s gone out with the pack traiii,
And Jim he s to rustle the grub
For the men on the line, and he s going it fine
While I m sitting here like a dub;
The fellows are working like demons,
They re scorched and they re blistered no less,
While I stay and chafe and am damnably safe
When I d like to mix up in the mess;
Well, I guess!
That the buck-brush ablaze is a mess!
In a swivel chair well, it s the limit,
With the rest in the thick of the fight
With their lungs all a-choke with the dust and the
smoke,
And sweat in their eyes day and night ;
149
The Forest Ranger
But I ve got to look out for the labor
This calling for troops makes me sick;
There s none seems to know if the troops ought to
go;
Neither begging nor blarney nor kick
Brings em quick,
So it s no use to blarney or kick.
So here I am pacing the office,
And " watchfully waiting " returns
From lookouts for days all enveloped in haze
Where half of a mountainside burns ;
I ve drawn in my men to where danger
Is worst where dry desert winds go,
And I ll be in a hole if my extra patrol
Can t hold in the face of a blow;
And I know
They can t hold in front of a blow.
I m afraid there will be a hitch somewhere,
There s no telling where it will be,
But I d rather be found right there on the ground
Right out there to think, act, and see !
I won t care for second-hand versions
Of how the disaster befell,
But I ll choose all the brunt of the scrap at the
front,
Instead of this telephone bell;
And it s hell,
To depend on this telephone bell!
150
The Forest Ranger
Out there are my Supers and Rangers,
With lumberjacks, men from the mills,
From fields and from slums, hoboes, tie hacks, and
bums,
And ranchers who know all the hills ;
While I m here with no smoke in my nostrils,
I am here with no scorch on my cheek,
When I d rather be there with singed eye-brows and
hair
Than stuck in here week after week.
Hear me speak!
I ll be bughouse inside of a week!
Bristow Adams
The Forest Ranger
THE APACHE RECESSIONAL
1910
(Apologies to Kipling.)
God of the Forests, known of old,
Lord of our far-flung forest line
Beneath whose awful hand we hold
Dominion over fir and pine
Lord God of Forests, bid us not tire,
Lest we forget the Bear Wallow Fire.
The fighting and the smoking dies
The Captain and his troops return
Still stands Thine ancient timbered aisles,
Once forest green, now smoking burn.
Lord God of Forests, bid us not tire,
Lest we forget the Bear Wallow Fire.
Far-called our Rangers ride away
On Grey Bull Peak slow sinks the fire
Lo, all our fighters of yesterday
Are now no longer worth their hire.
Judge of the Forests, bid us not tire,
Lest we forget the Bear Valley Fire.
If drunk w r ith sight of power we loose
Green guards that hold not fire in awe
Such riding as the cowmen use
On Strayhorse Creek or Maley Draw
Lord God of Forests, bid us not tire,
Lest we forget the Baldy Fire.
For Ranger hearts that put their trust
In asphalt rake and iron shard
The Rangers fight as fight they must,
And fighting call not every guard
For heavy rains and heavier snows
Send down upon this Forest, Lord.
J.D. G.
152
The Forest Ranger
A ROLLING STONE
(Apologies to R. W. Service.)
There s murder in the heart of me,
I ve skinned my shins and knees;
The chiggers are a part of me,
My hide is full of fleas ;
My youth and strength I m squandering,
A ragged wreck am I,
And I must keep a-wandering
Until the day I die.
I was once, I declare, on Central Park West,
In a comfortable modern cave;
I have known, I will swear, in the last month s span,
The sweat and fret of a slave.
I have pitched my tent with no prosy plan
But to range and change at the will
And whim of the head reconnaissance man,
And to seek adventure s thrill.
Carefree to be, as a bird that sings ;
To go on my own sweet way;
To reck not at all what may befall,
But to live and return each day;
To scorn all hurt and to view the dirt
With the curious eyes of a child,
From the canyon deep to the hillside steep,
From Dughill to the heart of the wild.
153
The Forest Ranger
From the patch of L * to the R 2 and S, 2
From the vast to the greatly small,
For I know that the work for good is planned,
And I ve got to map it all.
To map it all to be given away
To the nester s calloused hand,
I map what I see, but " our policy,"
I never can understand.
And every night shall bring to me
The bugs my rest to spoil ;
Each morn the cook will sing to me
It s time to rise and toil ;
And every throbbing pain of me
Protests against that call.
O body, heart and brain of me,
Who planned this job at all?
Harry Lawson
Ozark Land Classification 1913.
1 L Fine sandy loam.
2 RS Rocky and steep.
154
The Forest Ranger
KLAMATH BUG SONG
1911-12
(Tune: Casey Jones.)
Come all ye people if you want to hear
The story of the bug crew in the Creek called Clear,
Of a terrible country and a long career
For the Rangers and Bug Men far and near.
CHORUS :
We chopped em all down,
You can t find a beetle;
We bucked em all up,
Can t find a bug ;
We burnt em up clean,
Can t find a beetle ;
Oh you can t find a beetle on the Big Humbug.
We moved our camp upon St. Patrick s Day
With our horses grunting, full of oats and hay,
We put up our tents by the candle ray,
And we ate our supper when the dawn was gray.
CHORUS:
Francis McCarthy was our little cook,
And Conover he took notes in his little book,
While Perry Hill sang like a crazy crook
About the moon and the Irish and the bugs he took.
CHORUS :
155
The Forest Ranger
We built a fire in the middle of the tent,
She ripped and roared and away she went;
I tell you fellows that it ain t no joke
When your bloomin old tent gets full of smoke.
CHORUS:
Now all ye people when ye spot a bug,
No matter if our crew is housed up snug,
Just tell us about it and we ll paste his mug,
And we ll join in the chorus while his grave is dug.
CHORUS:
S. W. Allen
136
The Forest Ranger
RECEIPT FOR A RANGER
First get a big kettle and a fire that s hot,
And when everything s ready throw into the pot,
A doctor, a miner, of lawyers a few,
At least one sheep herder and a cow boy or two.
Next add a surveyor, and right after that,
A man with horse sense, and a good diplomat.
At least one stone mason ; then give it a stir,
And add to the mess one good carpenter.
A man that knows trees, and don t leave from the
list
A telephone man and a fair botanist.
The next one that s added must be there, that s a
cinch,
It s the man that will stay when it comes to a pinch.
Add a man that will work, and not stand round and
roar,
Who can do ten thousand things and then just a
few more.
Now boil it up well and skim off the scum
And a Ranger you ll find in the residuum.
J. B. Cammann
157
The Forest Ranger
FOUR CENTS TO THE LICK