The patrols over the forest continued day after day. As the planes
landed, the master map in the operations office became more and more
spotted with its colored pins. The number of pins constantly
increased, but the colors changed with the condition of the fire.
Everyone was working to have the pins all black as soon as possible,
for black pins meant that the fire was out and therefore presented no
further danger.
The truck train arrived and the added equipment which it carried made
operations easier for everyone. The enlisted men pitched a camp in a
grove of trees adjacent to the flying field. The tents were all in the
shade. A large tent with a fly covered the kitchen and storeroom.
Wooden tables and benches were built for messing. A large tent fly was
erected over the tables to provide shade and keep out rain, if any
should come.
Radio stations were established at Eugene, Portland and Medford. With
the establishment of these stations, the reports of fires were almost
instantly received and sent to the forest supervisor concerned. The
smaller sets were sent out to the forest headquarters for use of the
amateurs. This further expedited the reporting of fires, as it was no
longer necessary to rely on the telephone lines, which in some cases
might lead through as many as five or six centrals.
The amateurs operating the sets in the forests were usually boys on
vacation from school or college. They were eager to get out into the
woods and much interested in the radio. Their enthusiasm and interest
materially assisted in the efficiency of the radio. Accordingly, it
was very seldom that an amateur station was reported as being out of
order or the operator not on the job.
The number of new fires decreased each day and the fires reported were
controlled much sooner than before the Squadron arrived. However, the
crying need was rain, and lots of it. The woods were dry as tinder and
a single spark was sufficient to start an enormous fire. This was
especially true in the sections well out beyond the line of
habitations bordering the valleys. A general rain would dampen the
ground in the forests and at least tend to prevent fires from
starting.
The hot Summer days also increased the fire hazard by driving more
vacationists into the woods. In spite of everything that the Forest
Service did, some of these campers would go away leaving their
campfire burning or throw burning matches or cigarette stubs into the
woods. It was a constant fight to try and secure conformity to the
fire rules and regulations.
Simmons returned to his forest for a short time and returned with a
story which showed the psychological value of the airplane patrol. He
was in his office one morning when a camper came in and asked for the
forester in charge.
“I am he,” replied Simmons.
“I came in to give myself up,” said the camper.
“What for?” asked Simmons.
“I left my campfire burning this morning when I left my camp, and that
airplane patrol flew over a little later,” replied the camper. “I know
that he saw the fire, and I also know that he saw me coming down the
trail. He would catch me sooner or later, so I am giving myself up.”
“We will go right back and put out that fire,” said Earl.
As it happened, the airplane observer had caught the fire and reported
it by radio. Simmons and the camper returned to the camp site and the
camper extinguished the fire. Then Earl escorted him to the county
seat, where a judge fined the camper for not extinguishing his fire.
It was all over within a few hours, but the camper had learned a
lesson.
The airplane observer might or might not have been able to see the
camper going down the trail in his automobile, but that did not enter
into the case. The whole proceeding showed that the average camper
knew of the airplane patrol and was accordingly more careful.
Some time later Goldy was on patrol from Medford. He had not been out
for more than twenty minutes when he picked up the smoke of a new
fire. The location and size were sent in by radio and picked up by an
amateur at the supervisor’s headquarters in the Umpqua Forest. The
warden left immediately for the location reported and found a
homesteader burning slashings.
After extinguishing the fire, the warden escorted the woodsman to the
nearest judge. The case was tried, the man found guilty and the fine
imposed without delay.
The airplane observers picked up the smoke five minutes after the fire
was lighted. The amateur operator picked up the message and notified
the warden almost immediately. Twenty minutes later the warden was on
the scene and the fire was extinguished. Another half hour and the
case was being heard in court and sentence pronounced. Thus within an
hour after the fire was started the man had been convicted and had
paid his fine. He never knew how the fire was discovered and why the
warden had arrived so quickly until it was all over. It mystified him,
for things had happened so quickly. The warden explained to him how
the observers were flying overhead with all-seeing eyes and could
discern even the smallest of slashing fires. It was rather a bitter
pill for the woodsman to swallow, but he had learned that when forest
regulations were published it was expected that they would be obeyed.
“Bruce,” said Captain Smith one day, “I want you to go out on a
special patrol. There are a few fires along the crest of the Cascades
which we are not getting. Fly a course from here to Mount Thielsen,
turn there and then go direct to Medford. Return over the same route.
If you start now, you will get into Medford about eleven o’clock.”
“Who will I take along as observer?” asked Bill.
“All the regular observers are on routine patrols,” replied Smith.
“You will have to take one of the mechanics who can operate radio.”
“I’ll take Sergeant Breene, then,” said Bill.
“That’s all right. Go ahead,” agreed Smith. “Your patrol number will
be five.”
“Get your flying togs,” said Bill Bruce to Breene. “We leave in five
minutes.”
“What do we take in the plane?” asked Breene. “I have not made any of
these trips yet.”
“You put the equipment in the plane every time that it goes out,” said
Bill. “Why ask me that?”
“That was different,” replied Breene. “I didn’t have to go on any of
those trips.”
“Two canteens filled with water, two emergency ration outfits, two
revolvers and ammunition,” ordered Bill. “I will take care of the maps
and pencils.”
In a few minutes they were on their way. For some time the low smoke
cloud had made it necessary that they follow the Middle Fork of the
Willamette River. The sky cleared materially by the time that they
reached Diamond Peak, but did not allow them to get as much altitude
as Bill would have liked. They picked up several small fires, which
were sent in by radio after Bill gave Breene the data in code form. It
was too much to expect that a mechanic could accurately report on
forest fires while flying over absolutely strange country. Breene was
now finding it just as hard to locate himself accurately as Bill did
on his first trip.
All traces of the smoke had disappeared when they reached the Umpqua
River and Bill climbed to the nine thousand foot level. The mountains
to the south stood out distinctly in the sky. Directly in their path
were Mount Thielsen, ninety-one hundred feet, and Mount Bailey,
eighty-three hundred feet high. Mountains with their tops above the
seven thousand foot level were numerous. To the east the visibility
was almost unlimited and one range after another sloped off from the
Oregon High Desert further to the east.
Before reaching Mount Thielsen, they passed over Diamond Lake. It was
located in a valley between Thielsen and Bailey. Just why lakes should
nestle in the valleys along the crest of this high mountain range,
Bill could never understand. In California there is a long chain of
lakes which extends from the middle of the state to the Oregon line.
These lakes are also located amidst the highest peaks of the Sierras.
It is a topsy-turvy condition of topographical features that allows
water to be plentiful among the mountain peaks where it should run
off, and have extremely arid land down in the plains.
Bill’s thoughts were far afield from his engine as he cruised along
over Diamond Lake. He had about ninety-five hundred feet altitude and
everything was running smoothly. There was no reason why he should
think of his plane. Also there was no reason for looking for forest
fires, as they had not seen any for the last twenty or thirty minutes
of the flight. Bill was brought back to the business at hand with a
jerk. His engine started an intermittent miss.
He looked under the plane for a possible landing field. There was
none. The lake was out of the question as the timber came right down
to the water line. He had no idea of the nature of the country ahead
of him and reasoned that it might be even worse than that which he had
already passed over. He had no option, he must turn back.
With the start of the turn, the missing increased alarmingly. The
engine was now giving just enough power to keep the plane in level
flight. Bill tried to retain the altitude that he had, for, seemingly,
he had a long distance to go before he could find any kind of a place
to land his plane. He remembered having flown over a burnt-over area
some distance back and headed in that direction. The area was covered
with snags and second growth timber, but it was better to take a
chance in that then in the towering trees which covered the ground
under him.
The engine sputtered and spit as if showing its displeasure at being
made to work when not in perfect condition. The R.P.M.’s steadily
dropped until it was doubtful if any power at all was being obtained.
Meanwhile the plane continuously lost altitude. Bill scanned the
terrain ahead, vainly seeking the burnt-over area. He knew that if it
did not show up soon that he could never make it, for they were now
gliding along with an almost dead engine.
Bill tried to picture the results if they were forced to land on top
of the giant trees. He pictured the plane supported by the mass of
limbs some two or three hundred feet above the ground. Suppose that it
turned out that way, how could they get down? The lowest limbs were
usually a good hundred feet from the ground. They did not have any
ropes of any kind with them in the plane. He thought that they might
use the wire controls from the plane in an emergency, but he hoped
that he wouldn’t have to. Then the thought came to him: suppose that
they became stranded on the tree tops and could not get down. They
would starve to death.
In the meantime they dropped below the surrounding peaks and were
gliding over the valleys. The burnt-over area came into view as a
small speck in the distance. It was a big question whether or not they
had altitude enough to make the distance.
Down, down, down dropped the plane. The trees came closer and closer
to the landing gear and the distance to the burnt-over area decreased
slowly. If they made it, the margin would be a scant one. Bill pulled
back on his stick so as to save every foot that he could. The plane
seemed to be barely moving forward, but they were not dropping so
fast.
It was nip and tuck all the way, but they finally cleared the trees
along the near edge by inches. Bill tried to pick out the most likely
place to land, but it was a problem, for there was no likely place.
Large, grotesque, weather-beaten snags stood up everywhere. Then Bill
saw a small section with the snags widely separated and made for it.
The plane missed some tree trunks, skimmed over the second growth
timber for a few yards and then settled down until the wheels hit.
When the landing gear became entangled in the small branches, the
plane went up on its nose and then dropped down bottom side up.