Episode 6

His Finest Hour

Photo by André Cogez on Unsplash

N48º05’36”, W124º18’13” - 1988

The most valuable item in the crew’s inventory wasn’t the T-2, or the Tellurometers assigned to us. No piece of measuring equipment could compare in sheer value to the project field books. Field books contained every horizontal and zenith angle observation, every distance measured, and descriptions of every monument recovered or discovered or set. Each book contained field data collected over a period of weeks or months and therefore represented a considerable investment in time and effort. Because of this, field books were very highly valued, indeed. It was a major crisis when a book got misplaced, which happened occasionally.

Once the notes had been checked and reduced, photocopies were made (original field books were too valuable to be trusted to the mails) and sent to Olympia for data processing as we had little computing power in the field. In those days, copy machines were few and far between and as big as a chest freezer. Offices had whole rooms devoted to them. Our options were to feed dimes into the public library’s copier or make the 55-mile trip to use the copier at the DNR headquarters in Forks—which we did, regularly.

By 1977, we had upgraded from an optical theodolite and 300’ steel tape to theodolite/EDM instruments, but in the days before electronic data collection our observations were still recorded in by hand in field books. On a stormy day in 1988 Gary and the crew were running a traverse northeast of Lake Pleasant. Their course forced them to cross and recross Lake Creek, a raging torrent, more a river than a creek that day. Gary was making his way to the next setup, packing the theodolite (AKA “the gun”) in its case—which was strapped to an aluminum pack-frame—a tripod, and oh yes, the field book, which was safely secured in a pocket of his vest. Nature had provided a bridge across the creek in the form of a fallen tree. Easing his way carefully across the bridge, only 3 feet above the fast-moving water, an errant tree limb snagged his vest. Seeing an opportunity to escape, the field book jumped out of his pocket and into the rushing water.

Retreating quickly back to the creek bank, Gary dropped the tripod, stripped off the gun, and tore off downstream through the brush in hot pursuit of the field book. Now and then, he caught glimpses of the yellow “Rite-in-the-Rain” book it as bobbed along at the mercy of the current like a leaf in a tornado. He had to move fast—faster than the water—if he was to have any chance of rescuing it. Running hard through the brush, he formulated a retrieval strategy. Finally, he gained enough ground to execute his plan. In his path Gary found a 12-foot length of dead alder lying on the ground, which he’d use to snag the book. Taking it in hand, he waded out as far as he dared into the fast-moving water. A moment later the yellow flash of the book appeared as it tumbled along. Gary extended the branch toward the book, but just as it came within reach, the branch broke in two, and off went the book toward a watery grave at the bottom of Lake Pleasant.

Undeterred, Gary tore off at top speed once again. Up ahead was another log suspended over the creek, but this time only a few inches separated the log from the surface of the rushing water. Very, very carefully, he crept along the log out into the middle of the torrent. Presently, the yellow book appeared, bouncing along in the current. “Come to Papa,” he thought to himself as the book closed in. As luck would have it, just then the swirling waters brought the book to the surface, and Gary snatched it from a soggy oblivion at the bottom of the lake. This was his Finest Hour.