Bill Bruce on Forest Patrol

by Henry Harley Arnold

“Come in and sit down,” said Smith when they entered. “Goldy started a patrol from Medford, but had to turn back on account of engine trouble. Just before he turned he thought that he had spotted an extra large fire between Abbott Butte and Rogue River. He could not verify it. He picked up what he thought was large columns of smoke arising from the timber and then his engine started acting up. He went back. Landed O. K. at Medford. I would like you two to go out and verify that fire.”

“We haven’t much ceiling,” said Earl.

“The fire won’t stop burning just because there is a low ceiling,” replied Smith. “If it is as big as Goldy thinks it is, it must be a corker. We haven’t had any reports of any fires in that vicinity prior to this.”

“We’ll take off in ten minutes,” said Bill. “Can you be ready, Earl?”

“I’ll be there waiting for you at the plane,” replied Earl.

Bill wondered how he would get to that location and either verify or determine definitely the absence of that fire. The mountains were several thousand feet high. The clouds in the Willamette Valley were but a couple of thousand feet high. He would have to follow the different valleys which headed in that direction and hope that the clouds did not drop down in front of the plane and block his way. He studied the map and made plans accordingly.

Bill secured his flying togs and went out to the plane. Earl was already in the cockpit. Breene was warming up the engine. As soon as Breene was satisfied that everything was functioning properly, he throttled the engine and climbed out of the cockpit. Bill got in and the plane started on its way across the airdrome.

Soon after leaving the airdrome Bill found that the flying conditions were exactly as he had anticipated. The smoke joined with the clouds to form a brownish gray mass of mist and haze that prevented his getting more than three thousand feet above the floor of the valley. If the ceiling did not get any higher than that, he would never be able to make the jump over the passes from one valley to another. However, he would make a good try at it and do the best that he could. He headed the plane toward the Middle Fork of the Willamette River.

The valley was wide enough so that he had no trouble in navigating up to the time that they reached Fall Creek, but beyond that whisps of clouds seemed to drop below the main mass and threatened to cut them off from the upper valley. When he could, Bill went under the low-hanging clouds, but after a while they hung right on the tree tops. Even at that he sometimes went through, but he could never tell what he was liable to meet on the other side. It was a dangerous proceeding, but could not be helped. Bill’s mission was to get to the reported fire, and if it was humanly possible he would do it.

The old Military Road ran alongside the river. This road had been constructed years before when the covered wagons were bringing settlers out over the Oregon Trail. While Bill found the going rather hard, he thought of the greater troubles that the old pioneers had when they traveled the same route. They had no idea what they would find when they reached their destination. Indians might ambush them anywhere along the trail, the trail might become so impassable that they might have to abandon their wagons and proceed on foot, but they forced their way ahead in spite of all obstacles. Bill watched the road turning and twisting its way through the river valley and tried to imagine that he saw a wagon train coming down the valley toward him.