The Pioneer Woodsman as He Is Related to Lumbering in the Northwest

by George Henry Warren

The following summer, I passed over this same canoe route under quite different circumstances. My work of examining lands and timber all lay near to the shores of several lakes. My wife's father, J. H. Conkey, and her brother, Frank L. Conkey, had often expressed a wish to see that northern country. Accompanied by them and also by my son, Frank Merton, who was then a boy in short pants, we journeyed by rail to Tower. Before leaving Duluth for Tower, Mose Perrault was added to our number.

Perrault was a fine specimen of man, six feet in height, well-proportioned, of middle age, and thoroughly familiar with frontier life. At Tower, we started out with two birch canoes, and after dinner, on a pleasant afternoon in August, we pushed our canoes out into the waters of Lake Vermilion, from the same point from which we had left in the rain, the previous October. We reached the east end of Vermilion early, portaged into Mud Lake, went up the river, and camped on the high ground west of Burnt Side Lake, in a pine grove where we were surrounded by blueberry bushes laden with their large, ripe fruit.

"He motors over the fairly good roads of the northern frontier." (Page [180].)

Our party was made up of two classes of people; one out to examine timber, the other, to fish and have a good time. While crossing one of the portages, my brother-in-law, Frank L. Conkey, who knew almost nothing about canoeing or portaging, but was willing, and full of hard days' work, picked up two pack sacks, one of which was strapped to his shoulders, and the other was placed on top of his shoulders and the back of his head. Thus burdened, he started across Mud Portage, the footing of which, in places, was very insecure. At an unfortunate moment, he caught his foot in a root and tumbled, the top pack sack shooting over his head and breaking open at its fastenings, thus spilling its contents on the ground. All that could be found of these, were gathered together and replaced in the pack sack, and the journey was resumed. Mose Perrault was the cook, and on arriving at the camping ground at night, he began preparations for making bread and getting the evening meal. The pack sack that had broken open, originally contained two tin cans, one filled with baking powder, and the other, with fresh live worms buried in earth, that had been gathered for bait for the fishing party. Perrault wanted the baking powder with which to leaven the dough. The fishermen wanted their worms with which to bait their hooks. The latter were gratified, but nowhere could the baking powder be found, and we were forced to the conclusion that it was one of the lost articles on the portage. That night and the next day, we lived on bread made without any leaven, which from a number of experiences, I feel competent to state, is never a great success. The fishing, however, was good, and on the portages enough partridges were shot within revolver range to afford plenty of good meat for the party. These we cooked with bacon and dressed with butter, of which we had a goodly supply. There were plenty of crackers and Carolina rice, with blueberries close at hand for the picking, so that the party subsisted well, until it arrived at Ely, where the three fishermen bade Perrault and me farewell, returning to their homes by railroad train, after a pleasant outing.

In February, 1891, my three companions and I had a very different experience, away east of Ely, where we had gone to survey and estimate a tract of pine timber. The snow was deep, and the journey, which had to be made with the use of toboggans, was a hard one. I had, as my associate and chief timber estimator, S. D. Patrick. In addition were the cook, and Buffalo, a man whose name has appeared on a previous page. This man is worthy of more than passing notice. His true name I never knew. He always said, "Call me 'Buffalo'." He claimed to have been born at Buffalo, New York, and to have spent his childhood and early youth in that city. He was an Irish-American and was possessed of the typical Irish wit on all occasions. He was never angry to the extent of being disagreeable, but he had no patience for any man in the party who refused or neglected to do his full share of the work. He claimed that when a boy, he had earned money at the steamboat landings at Buffalo, by diving under the water for coins thrown to him by passengers on board the ships at anchor in the harbor, as did also the late Daniel O'Day of the Standard Oil Company. He too, was an Irish-American, born and raised near Buffalo, and at his death left millions of dollars. He once told me that when a youth he had earned many dimes and quarters by diving for them alongside the passenger ships in Buffalo Harbor.

Buffalo was always ready to act promptly and to do, or to undertake to do, anything that was requested of him. On this occasion he had an opportunity to demonstrate these good qualities. The trip was attended with the greatest of hardships, of heavy work, and of exposure to intense cold. Buffalo was a good axman, and not one night did he fail to cut and pile near to the camp, enough wood to last until after breakfast the next morning.

Our camp was established on the shores of Kekekabic Lake, in Township 64 N., Range 7 W., for several days and nights. There were many partridges in this section of the forest. They would come out on the borders of the woods next to the lake. It was possible to shoot one or more nearly every day, so that the camp was supplied with fresh game. The cook and Buffalo remained at the camp, while Mr. Patrick and I went out each day to examine timber, returning at night. The daylight covered none too many hours, so that we arose early and started on our journey after breakfast, as soon as we could see to travel, in order that the day's work might be accomplished, and the return to camp made before dark. It was not possible to calculate the day's work so as to be sure that we could reach camp before nightfall, but, owing to the intense cold that prevailed at this time, it was only the part of wisdom to plan so as to return to camp while we could yet see where to travel. Nearly every day's work was, in part at least, over a new tract of land, to which a new trail must be broken in the morning as we went out to the work.

One day our work lay directly north of our camp, through the woods, out onto a small lake, and again into the woods. We knew, before leaving camp in the morning, that it would require our best efforts to accomplish the work and to return before nightfall. For this reason, we started at daybreak, and, after having done our best, it was night before we commenced to retrace our steps. The cold had increased all day, so that we were obliged to summon our courage at times, to keep our feet and hands from freezing. We were only two miles from camp when our return journey began; but two miles in an unbroken wilderness, in deep snow, with the only path to follow being the tracks made by two men passing once over it, is a long distance to travel when daylight has disappeared, and when to leave those tracks at such a temperature, would probably prove fatal.