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I’m not sure whether Vance had tried to prepare us for the Klamath River Road or scare us to death. He accomplished both. By the time we started down the Klamath River Road, our emotions were all over the place. We were wound up as tight as a grandfather clock on Saturday night. If we had been springs, we would have been so tight that none of us could even have begun to start unwinding unless someone gave us a little nudge.

We were told that the road in was a dirt road that was so narrow that there was room for only one car. Every once in awhile, there would be a wide spot and when you met a car, the one that was nearest to the wide spot had to back up and let the other one pass. We were not told that the nearest wide spot could be as far as one-quarter to one-half mile back. We were also told that there were no guardrails and there were great drops to the river below. The river was reported to be so treacherous that, when cars went into it, and they did do that, not only were the bodies of the people never recovered, but the cars themselves usually were never found. (This happened one time while we were there – that a car plunged into the river. They never found any of the bodies and only mangled pieces of the car “way down the river.”)

Well! You can imagine! If Mother had dreaded the Continental Divide, just think what was going on in her head about this one! We had smelling salts and a little medicine bottle with a couple of swigs of whiskey, which the doctor back home had prescribed for her “fainting spells.” She didn’t say much about her terrifying apprehensions with respect to the road. I think she didn’t want to scare me. In my mind, I was putting this road on the same scale as the roller coaster and trying to imagine which was going to turn out to be the worst. Of course I wasn’t talking about it because I didn’t want to get Mother worked up any worse than she already was. Secretly, I believe both Mother and I had determined to walk the entire ninety miles if need be (I didn’t know how far ninety miles was and I was sure it couldn’t be worse than the roller coaster). I had talked to old Lincoln about the road. He had, mercifully, missed the roller coaster but there was no way for him to escape the road. I’m sure he would have walked with Mother and me if it had come to that.

When we got to the beginning of the road, it was like the pause when you hold your breath before jumping into one of the cold, spring-fed creeks in Oklahoma. Of course, that was different because we were usually hot and after the first initial shocking plunge it felt good. None of us anticipated that this would feel good.

Daddy shifted the old ’36 Chevy down and we started in. I think the rest of us would have been satisfied if we had driven the whole way at five miles an hour but Daddy knew that we couldn’t do that and get there in time to make camp before dark. It was going to be slow enough going anyway. Whenever Daddy would pick up any speed at all, Mother would somewhere between a shrill scream and a quivering shout say, “Virgil! Slow down.” Daddy would grumble under his breath and slow a bit. I know my mother’s fear affected us all but she couldn’t help it.

Lincoln and I chose to sit on the side away from the river and let Vance have the side next to the river. After all, he liked roller coasters! The river was roaring and roiling, thrashing and plunging as it thrust itself down the canyon. There were rocks and boulders like I had never seen before. Some were as big as our car! Imagine getting smashed against them by that raging river. It was so turbulent that it was almost impossible to tell the color of the water as it was mostly white. In telling us what to expect about the road and the river, Vance had neglected to tell us that the road was so narrow in places where it was cut into the cliff that the car hung over the edge and you couldn’t see any ground when you looked out the window, just the river way down below. And then we had a trailer, too, dragging behind us. Fear had given way to terror as we crept our way along the trail that was referred to as a “road.”

Just when we were making progress inching our way along, we met a car. Mother sucked in her breath so hard that the sound came out like an inverted scream. It was like an air hose had loosened in the car, “huh, huh, huh.” I think she scared us more than the car and road did! Now what to do? We knew that the proper thing to do was for the person nearest the wide spot to back up but we had been so focused on inching forward, no eyes were looking right or left. We had no idea where our last wide spot was. Right at that point, where we considered that we might have to back up – with the trailer (and Mother was considering jumping from the car) the other fellow, clearly a local, threw his car in reverse and faultlessly charged back to his wide spot. You could feel the relief in our car – even Daddy – although I know that he was sure he could have done it. He was a superb backer of cars and trailer. I noticed my palms were wet where I was clutching Lincoln’s fur. He was panting.

I think that experience of having survived the first car we met gave me a little confidence as we forged ahead. We did meet another car before too long. Unfortunately, the road was so twisted and carved out of the mountain that it didn’t give us much chance to see the car far enough ahead to pull over in a convenient wide spot. After a while, we learned to pick up other clues – like sound or dust floating in the air ahead – and we could pull over and wait for the oncoming car to get there, which was what the second car we met had done. Everyone always waved and we waved back just like we knew them. There weren’t that many people out here I guessed. When we met the third car, it was clear that we were the closest to the turnout so we had to back up. Without a word, Mother had her hand on the door handle and was out of the car in a flash. I don’t think the wheels had even stopped rolling yet. “Come on, Elizabeth Anne,” she said “and bring Lincoln. Hold on to his collar (not that he was going anywhere).” Vance got out of the car, too. “Coward,” I thought. I briefly considered what we were going to do if Daddy, the car, and the trailer all went off into the river together. What if the trailer pulled Daddy and the car off? He wouldn’t have a chance. Frankly, I think Daddy was relieved to have us all out of there so he could just give his full attention to backing the car and the trailer. Then, since we were in the wide spot anyway, we all stayed out of the car and walked around until we quit shaking. I believe we had a little snack and something to drink. We gave Lincoln something to drink. He had been panting a lot. I always shared my snacks with him.

Later down the road, we stopped at this beautiful spring where clear, pure water was gushing right out of the side of the mountain like a laying-on-its-side fountain. I loved that spring. The water tasted so good. Somehow, later, after many trips back and forth on that road – without a trailer! – I had begun to think of that spring as my “safety place.” Whenever we got to that spring either coming or going, I knew we would be safe no matter what.

That’s about all I remember about the first trip in. Daddy had his own version:

So we started down the Klamath River Road. Was it narrow! It was just one way in most places – no room to pass, just barely room to get along the edge of the mountain. That is about . . . I don’t remember how far, you can look on your map to see how far it is from Yreka to that town where we always went to shop – Happy Camp. It was mostly a forest service headquarters, and they had a grocery store. The prices were high. Gasoline was high, of course. They even had a moving picture theater which we never did go to one of the movies . . . And a few other things. I don’t remember what all, not too much. It was a small town. You come in down the road and you make a big curve, and here it is way down over the hillside. And you make a big loop and come right through town and go right out again. That’s the way it used to be. Now, Happy Camp is set back from the highway because they rebuilt and paved that highway.

Contrary to the desires of the people, the politicians wanted to open the Klamath River Road as a scenic road, and of course they did pave part of it during the war down there. During the war, all gold mining stopped, but they had other mines down there.

Anyway, we left Happy Camp and went down the road to H.E. Beck’s place, an old log cabin, quite nice for its time. We could get down to H.E. Beck’s level with the trailer, just a little utility trailer, not a living trailer as we speak of trailers today. It was a box trailer. The inside was the width of a bed and about, I would judge, four feet longer in length. We had it arranged that later on in life we rebuilt it and had it fixed so we could throw a tent over, just set the tent up over it and we had a bed in there and room to stand up and dress and all the camping equipment under the bed.

Back to H.E. Beck’s. We were able, with a lot of trouble, to get the car and trailer down to H.E. Beck’s level and I guess we were able to get down to the second level, the level above where we were camped down on the river.

Meeting My Friend, Mr. Beck, and His House

This is how I remember it. Mr. Beck’s house was on the first level when we got off the road. The car and trailer were kept on the next level – a flat place – because of convenience. We stored some things in the trailer and carried them down to camp as we needed them and vice-versa and the car was much closer to camp on that level and easier to get to there than if it had been at Mr. Beck’s home. There was no way to get the car and trailer down by the river where we made our camp. Everything had to be carried down a tiny steep trail – food, sewing machine (treadle), tents and tarps, sluice box, pump, hoses, Model A motor. Everything had to be carried or skidded down that path. Setting up the camp and the mining operation took a lot of time and work.

Anyway, Vance knew Beck going way back to the early days when he had been out there before. We had friends out there who had been out there for a while too. John Thomas, from Watts, went out there for his health. He ran the filling station across from what had been the bakery and then was Dad’s meat market and store when you knew it. John had taken care of his mother until she had died. He was having difficulty in breathing, because of fumes from the gasoline, I guess. When he just got out there, he said he could only walk about 100 yards and he was all in, but later as time went on, why his lungs cleared up and he was quite a hiker. Then there was Roscoe Langley, we knew him, he was out there. I don’t know what he was doing out there, honestly. He was out there making a go of it. He married, I don’t remember, I believe it was a Stevens’ girl. His daughter wanted to know if she could stay with us for a while, she wasn’t much trouble.17

And another thing I want to say about the trip in. We stopped at a spring, and water was gushing out of the hillside all the way. Funny thing about it, you don’t see water gushing out of the hillside anymore. We have been up and down that road a couple of times since then but the spring is still there where it was. Vance was telling us, “You can drink all this water you want and it won’t make you sick, because most places you drink too much water when you are hot and it’ll come up on you. This water won’t.”

We set up camp right down by the river. When we first went down there, the roar of the river was such that you couldn’t carry on a conversation because we weren’t used to it. But after you were there a while, the noise didn’t bother us. We could talk in a normal tone of voice and we all understood each other.

The forest down by the river bank was such that we had a canopy of limbs and leaves over us and of course right across the river was a big, tall mountain. It was a kind of a bluff. That bluff didn’t help matters any, because the sun didn’t hit us until about ten o’clock.

I remember pulling into Mr. Beck’s place. I was so relieved when Vance said, “This is it. Turn here.” I had just about had my fill of not knowing what was around the next corner with the possibility that whatever it was would be even worse than the last one and the last one had been bad enough.

As we turned into Mr. Beck’s place, I could feel my fear and apprehension turning into the excitement that I had had for most of the trip, except for the last 90 miles or so. We were going gold mining on the Klamath River. We were going to live here – in a tent. We were here! I felt everyone’s relief as we turned left down the little dirt road to Mr. Beck’s place. It was just two tire tracks with grass growing in the middle. It was familiar. We had roads like that in Watts. The road was a little steep but not scary. We had to be careful not to hit high center. Lincoln and I could hardly wait to get out of the car. As we pulled up to the house, Mr. Beck (I always called him Mr. Beck as was proper and respectful of an elder. I had been taught how to treat elders. This teaching was par for the course for Indians. Daddy and Vance sometimes called him “Beck” for short.) came out of his house to greet us. He probably didn’t have too many cars coming down his road so I guess he knew who it was driving in.

Anyway, he walked out on his great big porch which was pretty high off the ground and waved a greeting. I will never forget him or the house. The house was made of logs and was pretty big. He had built it all himself, even felling the trees. At 14, he came over the mountains in his freight wagon delivering supplies to the miners. There were very few “white men” there then, mostly miners. I believe the house had two stories. He must have found some pretty big trees to build it with because each side was made of one long tree after another with white chinking in between. I have seen log cabins at New Salem, Abraham Lincoln’s place in Illinois where we got old Lincoln, but Mr. Beck’s place was no cabin. It was a big house! It faced west with the south side looking toward the river. On the south, west, and north sides there was a big porch – covered by the overhang from the roof and supported by big tree trunks for pillars evenly spaced along each side. It wasn’t painted. It was just wood and it looked like it had been there for a while. There were maybe ten or so big plank steps leading from the ground to the porch. I later learned that in the back there was a stoop that led off the kitchen to the back garden.

I’ll never forget my first glimpse of Mr. Beck. He stood there with one arm up holding on to one of the pillars and waved to us with the other to come on up. He was not a very tall man. And I knew he was old but he didn’t look that old. I had heard that he was ninety or so. He had on a gray, black and red plaid, flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up aways on his arms and his long underwear showing at the open neck and sleeves. His arms looked strong. He had on a pair of non-descript pants held up by wide, black suspenders. The pants hung on him a bit and looked like they probably would have fallen off without the suspenders. His hair was salt and pepper gray and black and was sort of cut so that his ears were showing and it had a part on the left side. And his hair hung on his face a bit. His hair and face reminded me of an older version of Will Rogers. We liked Will Rogers a lot because he was one of us and he had become rich and famous. He was from Oklahoma and he was Cherokee. Mother said that he had a “home-spun humor” and he was very wise. Even presidents listened to him. Well, Mr. Beck looked something like Will Rogers. He had a kind of square face and he could have used a shave. His eyes were clear and kindly and he was bow-legged. I liked elders a lot and with one look I knew that we would be fast friends.

“How was the road?” he asked.

No one had words. We kinda laughed and tittered a little, as we were spent and uncomfortable. Vance introduced us and Mr. Beck invited us into have a bite to eat and something to drink. We had arrived. I could hardly wait to explore every inch of everything and I knew Lincoln felt the same way. We didn’t linger. We had made a very early start that morning so we could get there in time to make camp before dark and we had a lot to do. Mr. Beck said we could make camp on the first flat spot below his house where the trailer and car would be kept or down closer to the river which would be nearer to where the men would be working. We chose down by the river. It would be more work initially but less after we got the gold mining started.

Hi Ho Silver

I realize that I need to introduce you to another very important member of the family who had been packed away for the trip and hadn’t done much yet. Now he would be unpacked and take his rightful important place in my life. This important being was my stick horse, Silver. I rode him everywhere I went. Santa Clause had given me Silver the previous Christmas and since then he had been my constant companion along with Lincoln, of course. He was named for Tom Mix’s, or one of the other cowboy’s horses. Maybe Tom Mix said, “Scratch gravel, White Wind.” I don’t remember. All of the cowboys had a saying like that. We used to sit in the movie theater just waiting for them to say their own personal saying. We knew they would. When they did, we would clap and cheer and let out squeaks of pleasure. I believe it was like intimacy for us. It was like we really knew them and knew what they would say. Silver, who was whitish-grey, and I had adopted his “Hi, Ho, Silver, away,” that he said whenever he wanted his horse, Silver, to leap into action and catch some thief or bandit. My Silver could spring into action just as fast.

Silver was made out of wood. The wood was cut in the shape of a horse’s head. He had lovely hair-like swirls painted on his head to resemble a dapple gray. I knew all about horse colors and breeds. Mother had taught me. I knew the difference between a dapple gray, a steel gray and a flea-bitten gray. I knew the difference between a chestnut, a sorrel, and a bay and between a blood bay and a regular bay. I knew the difference between a thoroughbred and a Tennessee Walker. I knew a lot about horses and Silver was definitely a dapple gray. He had pieces of black rubber inner tube cut pointed like ears, kind of folded and nailed to either side of his head. I liked his ears because they were soft and I could run my hands on them just like a real horse. Sometimes I could put my finger in them to clean them out. His nostrils were slightly flared showing that he was alert and ready to go and his eyes were set squarely on either side of his head. He had a somewhat curly, twine rope mane and a leather bridle with reins attached to his head. All of this marvelous creation was attached to a long broomstick painted dapple gray, too – which I could throw my leg over and ride to my heart’s content. I was responsible for his safety and care. That’s how it was with horses. I was sure that Silver was eager to get unpacked from the trailer and explore our new home.

Choosing Our Camp/Home and Moving In

So we left Mr. Beck, took the car and the trailer down to the landing – the next level spot – and began to get ready to unload the trailer. First, however, we had to go down to explore the area down by the river and pick the exact right spot for our camp.

I remember my first impression of the place where our camp would be. It was magical. It felt like a giant-sized secret place to me. When I was younger, I was always finding special “secret places.” For example, one was under a bush in the front yard in Arkansas where I could crawl under and look out but no one could see me there. I used to take my dolls and animals and tea party fixin’s Mother had given me and have my own private tea party. Another was under the porch. I had several. This was like a whole big, huge secret place. Our whole camp would be a secret place. I had never dreamed of such wondrous magic.

When we walked into this flat, clear space, it was a little past noon and the midday sun was as bright as it would get in our camp. I looked up and saw the sun filtering through the needles and the fronds of the evergreens, pines and the cedars. The light swayed and moved as it ricocheted patterns of light on the silent, needle-strewn ground. Who needed carpets? We had one that mutated and changed whenever the gentle breeze moved the trees. And, ah, the trees – the trees. They went up and up and up into the sky – not like the Ozark trees that spread out and sheltered you close, seeming more intimate. The limbs on these trees didn’t even start until they were higher than most Ozark trees. Then, these high limbs reached out in a canopy of black lace, back-lighted by the sun. I would learn another form of intimacy from these trees as they moved and swayed, making never-ending light patterns on the soft earth. The trees were hypnotic. The sound was so gentle that it could scarcely be heard above the roar of the river and these two mingled sounds – that of the trees and that of the river, were to blend into my music and my lullaby for our time there. I was being serenaded every hour of the day and night by the trees and the river. The bird sounds were new to me. Mother had taught me to recognize most of the Ozark bird calls. It would take me a while to know these new ones but I had time and it was comforting to know that here, too, there were birds to sing to us and add to our lives with their presence.

“This looks like the right place,” said my dad. Vance nodded in agreement. “What do you think, Manilla?”

“I think it’s good,” she said. “It’s flat, it’s practical, though not much sun. There’s good water nearby. It’s easy to get to the car and trailer and near to where you will set up the sluice box. I don’t think we can do much better,” she said. “What do you think, Elizabeth Anne?”

“I love it!” I said filled with excitement. “Silver likes it, too and I’m sure Lincoln will.”

“Well, that’s it, then. Let’s get settled in our new home.” I loved the sound of those words.

We all got busy unloading the trailer and carrying our gear down to make a home. The first job was to get the bedding, the camp stove and cooking utensils, and some food. So with a tarp to hang over it all, we could have a place to sleep and be able to eat that night. With this early requirement accomplished, we fell into bed exhausted after the road and the excitement of the day.

The men got busy the next day and made us a real camp. They made us a table out of scrap lumber and erected a frame over which they hung tarpaulins so we had our own little village.

My dad describes it like this:

We had a tent to sleep in for Manilla and me – and that kid that came along with us [me!] and her horse Hi Ho Silver18 and old Lincoln. But Lincoln didn’t want to sleep in the camp. He was a wise dog. He wanted to sleep under the car. We had some canvas tarps that we stretched out to hang over a table we made, which was a dining table, cook table, and everything else was put on it. We had the camp stove and a wood fire to cook on. 19 All cleaned up, we had made a nice little campground.

Mosquitoes only bothered us about 30 minutes in the morning and about an hour at night. What we would do was put some green limbs on the fire and that would smoke them out. A lot of smoked mosquitoes out there at that time.