Ch 24, Pt 2: "Green Butte Copper"

Legacy of the Chief, Chapter 24, pt 2: "Green Butte Copper-1924"

click on picture for larger image: some of these images appear in the book for this chapter.

Green Butte copper mine portal --snow shed & main mine entrance         A rainstorm passed over during the night of July 21, 1924, leaving a morning of fog and mist that would soon dissipate into bright sunshine. Cap and Johnny woke up amidst the heavily-soaked weeds and brush, but the area under cover of the canvas tarp was dry.           “Johnny, wake up. We’ve got to meet Barrett today.”           Cap was already tending to a hot fire.  He was wearing completely dry clothing and boots that had dried under the tarp overnight.  The water in the pot was hot.           “I have tea ready.  Get dressed. The clothes have dried out.  Good thing I pulled them under the tarp last night.  This place got drenched.”           “Tea?  How about some food?”           “I managed to save enough for breakfast at the Golden.  Have some tea first.  Wake up. We have to pack up and move our gear.  Barrett’s expecting us.”           “The potlatch blankets need drying.  They’re wet from the mist, Cap.”           “We’ll have to pack them like that.  No time to wait for the sun to come out.  We’ll stretch them out after we get to Green Butte.”           “I’m looking forward to it now, Cap.  Think I’ve had enough of partying with Rose and Bubbles for awhile.”           “That’s good.  I hoped I’d hear you say that.  We need to work. Don’t want to show up at home broke.  Have some tea and let’s break camp.”           “You looking forward to working at Green Butte, Cap?”           “I want to see what it’s all about.  The stories from the men we met at the billiard hall make the place sound better than the railroad camps.”           “I doubt that, but I’m getting tired of dried fish and wet, dirty clothing and blankets that need to be dried out every day.”           “What are you talking about?  We stayed at Rose’s and Bubble’s cabin until last night, remember? That cabin was dirty, though.  It was messy too. I didn’t care for that much.  Look forward to a clean place to live.  I like clean places.”           “And dry ones.”           “Yes.  Dry.  That’s good.  Let’s wander on down to the Golden where it’s clean, dry, and has something to eat besides dry fish.”           “Hot food and coffee.  Ham and eggs, maybe.”           “White man’s breakfast. I could use one today.  Enough of the rice and smoked fish and tea.”           “I’m with you, Cap.” Mother Lode power plant at McCarthy in the mid 1950s  --McCracken Collection #68-33-856, UAF AK & Polar Regions photo archive           It was not long before the two had taken down the tarp and packed their belongings.  They followed the road down the bluff.  McCarthy was in the fog beyond the roaring creek.  The road past the bridge led directly to the Golden.  John Barrett was already there.             “Come on in, and have some coffee, boys.   It’s too early for breakfast here, but by the time we get to Green Butte, there should be a good meal waiting for you.”           “Mr. Barrett, what do you mean it’s too early for breakfast?”           “Henry, bring these boys some coffee, would you?”           “Certainly, John.”           “You came off the hill earlier than I thought you would.  That’s good.  No time to waste. It’s 6:30.”           “Cap, you got me up that early?”           “Sorry, Johnny.  All that partying must have thrown my timing off.”           “How’d you know we were on the hill, Mr. Barrett?”           “Oh, that was easy, Cap.  I asked Rose.  She knew where you were.”           Cap gave Johnny a strange look.  He thought he had concealed his location well.           So much for secrets in McCarthy.           “Glad you’re early, boys.  I need to get back. You didn’t make me wait. Josephine’s at camp cooking this month, so I couldn’t get breakfast at home.  We’ll all be looking forward to it by the time we get there.”           “Have the coffee while I go outside and gas up the truck.  Henry, I’m picking up ten gallons.”           “Here’s the padlock key. You know how the pump works, John.”  The Golden--one of the few remaining structures from The Golden Days of McCarthy--1955   --McCracken Collection, 68-63-853, UAF Archives           Kay-yew-nee sat just outside the door.  He remained seated as John Barrett walked out to fuel his truck.           “I know you, dog.  Well, don’t know your name.  You were at the Row, weren’t you, boy?  You’re coming along, aren’t you?  It’s okay, boy. I like dogs.”           There was only a brief wait before the truck was ready to head out.  Cap was particularly anxious to leave before Johnny started thinking too much about Rose again.   Barrett looked at the dog, shrugged, and waved the two young men aboard.  The dog leaped into the back, which was already piled high with supplies for the camp.   In less than an hour and ten miles outside of McCarthy, the two-story log barrack came into view.  Beyond the lower camp was the nearly sheer wall which was the east side of the canyon.  It rose several thousand feet. The aerial tram extended from the creek for a vertical distance of 1200 feet to the center portal.   The upper camp was out of sight due to the low-lying fog.     The men could also see a frame manager’s house, a shop and garage,  and a log stable.  Near the canyon wall sat the small tram terminal.            “Somewhere up there beyond the low fog line is where you two new apprentices are headed. Have you ever ridden an aerial tram before?”           “This will be the first time.”           “Well, Johnny, get used to it.  The trail to the adit level takes too long.  We only use it to run heavy supplies.  Hope you don’t have a problem with heights.”           “Not us.”           “That’s good, Cap. What about you, Johnny?”           “I’m with Cap.  We don’t have a fear of heights or much of anything else.  We’re true Indians.”           “Don’t know what that means, but I guess I’ll find out soon enough.”           “Don’t worry about us, Mr. Barrett.  We didn’t come here to cause you trouble. We’re here to work.  Mining is new to us, so we’re here to learn.  I told you that earlier.”           “The work is easy to learn, but it’s strenuous. You’ll catch on quickly.”           “What about the other men?  Any Indian-haters?”           “My men are all locals, except for the Chinese cook at the upper barrack.  None of them has expressed any hatred toward Indians to me.  Not that the subject ever came up.  They’re here to work, just like you say you are.  If there’s any problem, let me know.”           “Sure we will.”           Johnny said it, but he didn’t intend to tell Barrett anything.           Cap looked at Johnny.  “What about the dog?  He can’t be expected to ride these tram buckets?”           “Let Kay-yew-nee find his own way up.  He’ll figure it out.  That dog of Violet’s is amazing.  He always seems to know when to show up.   Don’t worry about him.”           “Have some breakfast in the big barrack before I bring you up to meet the mine foreman.  Go on in. Josephine will serve you.  I have to go to my office to get some paperwork for you to sign.  You read and write?”           “Yes, Mr. Barrett.  Both of us can read just about anything to be found around here. And we both write. Just because we’re Indians doesn’t make us illiterate.”           “Fine, Johnny.  I’ll be back to join you two in a few moments.” The route from McCarthy up McCarthy Creek to Green Butte Mine. Also showing Mother Lode (ML), Kennecott, and the Kennecott mines. --USGS map Continue with   "Green Butte Copper,"  pt 3

Ch 24: "Green Butte Copper"

Legacy of the Chief, Chapter 24: "Green Butte Copper-1924"

click on picture for larger image: some of these images appear in the book for this chapter.

McCarthy, looking east  There was not much to downtown McCarthy.   The main street was Shushanna Avenue,  on which there were two main business blocks.  The largest building was a deep flat-roofed white-painted structure which housed what was once the infamous Gustave Priesner’s drug store.   After Gustave disappeared in the midst of a double murder investigation, it became Ben Jackson’s store.  The large McCarthy Drugstore was the center of town.   Flanking the double-wide building was Laurie Brothers Fine Men’s Clothing, Kate Kennedy’s Alaska Hotel and Archie Poulin’s Alaska Billiards Hall to the north and Roy Snyder’s Mecca Cafe and Pool Hall to the south.            The next block heading south  toward McCarthy Creek consisted of J.B. O’Niel’s General Store and Henry Olsen’s  Golden Hotel and Saloon.  One block east of J.B. O’Niel’s sat his competitor’s store--O.G. Watsjold’s Hardware and Grocery.  It shared Kennicott Avenue with Ma Johnson’s Hotel and Cap Hubrick’s Photo Studio and Gift Shop.           The plain, large building behind Ma’s was the Arctic Brotherhood building. It stood on one of the highest points in town.  Uphill from that was a white framed one-room school house.  Margaret Harrais arrived in town that year to take over the job of school teacher.  She became the town’s staunchest prohibitionist, but in 1924 McCarthy was still very much a wild-west community floating in liquor, gambling and prostitution.  McCarthy, showing Shushanna Avenue and Kennicott Avenue running perpendicular to McCarthy Creek, 1939  --Bradford Washburn Collection, UAF Archives The Golden Bar in the ghost town of McCarthy, 1955  --UAF Archives            On the west side of Shushanna Avenue was the McCarthy Sheet Metal Works and an assemblage of small cottages. Anchoring  the northern end of Shushanna Avenue was the railroad yard, featuring a warehouse noted for its diamond-shaped windows and fancy barn-like doors.  The building sat elevated on posts at the southern end of the rail siding.  The McCarthy Creek end of the avenue included the commissioner’s residence and a barn. The roof of the residence mimicked that of the barn.  The true landmark, however, was the old Mother Lode power plant. It had been sitting idle since 1918 and was used only for two seasons before that.            In some ways this silent dinosaur was a perfect symbol of McCarthy.  It was built quickly but expertly and expensively, then used only briefly before becoming obsolete.  When Kennecott absorbed the  Mother Lode Copper Company, the power plant was shut down, never to be used again.  Its highly desirable generators sat idle at the edge of a town which badly needed the reliable power.   Kennecott found a use for the generators in 1924, but the plant itself remained as an early indicator of what was to become of Kennecott and McCarthy--the towns which owed their existence and ultimate demise to the Copper River and Northwestern Railway--and the copper itself.           Beyond the plant was the wooden bridge which crossed the glacier-fed creek. The bridge marked the beginning of the Nizina road which headed up the south bluff, meandering about eight miles to the four-span  bridge crossing with a trestle approach on the south end.  The road continued on to the Dan, May, and Chititu Creek placer operations of the Nizina gold district. The Nizina Mining District, showing location of Kennecott Mines, Green Butte, Mother Lode & Nicolai Mines.   --USGS 1941      Continue with "Green Butte Copper,"  pt 2

Ch 23, Pt 2: "Cap Tells His Story"

Legacy of the Chief, Chapter 23, Pt 2: "Cap Tells His Story - 1916"

click on picture for larger image: some of these images appear in the book for this chapter.

Chitina Depot    --Simpson Files “Cap, congratulations! You’re hired for Cascade.” “George, I am impressed. I know I really owe you for all this, and believe me I won’t forget, but can I ask one more small favor?” “What else can you possibly want, Cap?” “George, I want to get there on my own. How about loaning me one of those hand-trams. I don’t want a gas-powered one. I want to power it myself. I’ll send it back up to you on the next train.” “Something’s up down there, isn’t it, Cap? No, don’t tell me. Just take one of the hand-cars from the warehouse down there.” He pointed to the small building at the south end of the loading platform. “I know I’ll get it back soon enough. Don’t let any bad news reach me. We’ve stretched our necks out for you and Johnny. Now you’re on your way, so get out of here.” You have to hand it to old George, he could certainly be helpful and even understanding when it came to us Natives. I guess it helped that he was married to one of our own women. So now I was on my way--new name, war paint, rough hide clothes and bandanna and that dog Yew-nee--and my hunting rifle and knife with my bedroll consisting of a Hudson Bay potlatch blanket. George sent me off once the northbound train had come through. I was headed down forty-two miles of track. Thank the Great Creator that the railroad was almost completely level in that section of track. Even better, it had a slight decline heading south. It was a long way to be pumping a hand car. Needless to say, I made numerous stops to rest and get water. I must have been quite a sight to the railroad hands at Chitina when I took the hand truck and loaded the dog. I was wearing my war paint and special garb. They sure stared. It felt good. It was almost as if we Natives were taking back the railroad line. I loved it. There are several trestles within a few miles south of Chitina. The first one was O’Brien Creek at CRNW mile 129. It spanned a wide, relatively deep canyon. I found the ride over the tall trestle exhilarating. Words you would not expect from an Indian, right? Largely thanks to my sla’cheen brother Johnny, I have a good education. Johnny shamed me into it. We have always had a friendly competition going between us, whether it involved wrestling, drinking, playing billiards or poker, getting the better girl, or being able to read and understand some obscure passage in a book at school. O'Brien Creek Trestle --Simpson Files Eskilida Creek Trestle, MP 125  --Simpson files It was when I found I needed help with my reading and my math in school that I realized that we made a good team, especially if I let him do most the talking. I preferred not to stand out too much. Johnny was better at that. He loved the role. I just had to try to keep up with Johnny. I learned to appreciate reading, because it exercises the mind. Neither Johnny nor I was prepared to leave all the benefits of education to the whites. I will always be indebted to Johnny for making sure I made it through school successfully. After O’Brien Creek, the track passed a number of old burial sites. One of those grave yards near Eskilida camp got the railroad in trouble with Nicolai. My father, Chief Goodlataw, actually took the railroad to court over the matter. That’s when we learned about white-man courts. The court was in Cordova. It was owned by the Alaska Syndicate. Oh, I know they call themselves Kennecott Corporation, but they’re still the syndicate. They won the case, just as everyone expected they would, but Nicolai and the elders got even with them anyway. That was because of something Nicolai and the other sleep-doctors did at Taral. No one would talk about Nicolai’s Curse, but we all knew about it. Aside from the curse, for many months and even years, relations between the white railroad workers and the Indians in the village were very bad. None of us have forgotten the indignity caused by the workers who vandalized and robbed our graves at Eskilida Creek, but most of us have moved on, trying to put those evil things in the past. The workers who caused the damage eventually became victims of the curse in a way that left no doubt. Several of us Natives witnessed the hex take those men to their well-earned and long-anticipated rewards. Beyond O’Brien Creek, my hand-powered car crossed trestles at Fox Creek, Eskilida Creek and Haley Creek. The trestles spanned steeply-cut ravines containing icy-cold rushing creeks consisting mostly of snow-melt. Beyond those trestles were a series of three tunnels leading up to Uranatina. There was another tunnel on each side of Tiekel. The last one was the 300-foot-long tunnel closest to Cascade. Between Uranatina and Tiekel, the railbed followed along many miles of a steep embankment right along the river. The rotary snowplow routinely returned to Cordova after turning around at Tiekel--thirty miles south of Chitina. Along the entire railroad line, there were only four turn-around loops ever built. Besides the one at Tiekel, there was our large one around Town Lake in Chitina. There was one at Childs Glacier that was later replaced by a wye, and another large one existed in front of Railroad Row in the yard by the roundhouse in Cordova. The dog and I passed several line shacks and two section-houses on the way south. All of them appeared unoccupied, as if the line was deserted. It was strange. Eerie, almost. I almost felt as though I had wasted a lot of effort with my war-paint. There was no one to see it. Even at Tiekel Station, no one was in sight. I traveled the entire distance without seeing anyone along the line after leaving Chitina. Rock work along Woods Canyon  --Cordova Museum Woods Canyon  --UAF AK Polar Regions Dept. I was determined that I would give as war-like an appearance as possible so that it would appear to the Irishmen better to back down than challenge both me and my sla’cheen brother Johnny. Johnny could not defend himself well, but the odds were too heavily stacked against him. He had a legendary left hook going back to the school days when he was constantly involved in fights. He rarely lost. Whenever I fought beside him, we never lost a round to anyone, no matter of there were half a dozen of them. We always won. He was not treated well by the other Natives because he was a half-breed. I grew up with him in my father’s home. He was my brother. I would help him anyway I could. Besides, I always enjoyed a good scrap. I was prepared for a tough fight as my hand-car approached Cascade. My adrenaline began to build. I was really looking forward to a fight, but I knew it would mean the end of the job for both of us. The hand-car slid into Cascade station with me wearing my dark-brown and bright-red war-paint. I also wore a leather headband. My clothing was a crude, tanned-hide of the old style from the days before the white man. The large dog Kay-yew-nee was a very good choice for a companion. He was a willing accomplice, wild and vicious-appearing, and ready to do battle with me. During the entire trip, the large dog sat in front of the hand-car like a furry, wooden ship’s head. He seemed to sense his mission, as if he were reading my mind. He looked great up there, remaining almost motionless as long as I kept the tram moving. When I slid the car to a stop at Cascade, Kay-yew-nee immediately jumped off and looked menacingly toward the section house door. Uranantina, MP 114  --Laurie Nyman Tiekel, MP 101   --Simpson files The first one to spot us was one of O’Malley’s men. It was getting late. The men were all inside. All the Irishmen rushed out, ready to do battle. Johnny emerged from behind. He sized up the situation immediately, joining my side as I stepped off the hand-car. He looked enormously relieved to see me, though I believe he wanted to burst out laughing at my appearance. “I was ready to give it up, Michael. Not now. My sla’cheen is here. Let’s go!” I nodded and winked. “It’s Cap, now. Call me Cap. I work for the company, now, just like you Johnny.” One of the larger Irishmen started to move toward me. Yew-nee growled a deep, unmistakable warning. The three of us--two Chitina Indians and a large Siberian--were facing down the four of them. O’Malley held up his hand to keep the others at bay. He walked up to me. I handed O’Malley the paper signed by George Brown. He scowled, quietly nodded and signaled to the others to back off. He did not want to fight this one out. There would be no more Irishmen in his crew. Now O’Malley was stuck with two Chitina Indians. I took the bunk just above Johnny’s. The dog settled at the foot of the bed. That was that. We were in. There was no arguing. We were both officially a part of the railroad now. Life for both of us had just taken a big turn. We had taken the first step toward making the railroad our own. I never wore the war-paint again. Grandfather told us long ago that we would have to become a part of the railroad. Better to take it as our own than let it run us over. Grandfather was really telling us that we must adapt, while at the same time remaining true to our own ways. He already knew we were there at Cascade--We, Saghani Utsuuy--the Raven Clan. We had taken the first step toward reclaiming what was ours. And we had won. He would be proud.   Woods Canyon steamer, 1910 --Rita Hatch Tunnel at CRNW mile 102, just north of Tiekel  --Candy Waugaman Collection Map of Cap's route: 1: O'Brien Creek; 2: Haley Creek; 3: Uranatina River; 4: Tiekel River; 5: Cleve Creek (destination near Cascade); 6: Bremner Station; 7: Abercromie Rapids Landing; 8: Miles Glacier " I was determined that I would give as war-like an appearance as possible so that it would appear to the Irishmen better to back down " --Cap Continue with Chapter 24:  "Green Butte Copper"

Ch 23, Pt 1: "Cap Tells His Story"

Legacy of the Chief, Chapter 23: "Cap Tells His Story - 1916"

click on picture for larger image: some of these images appear in the book for this chapter.

CRNW Railway scene somewhere south of Chitina   --Candy Waugaman Collection The white men called him the Gakona Kid, or Johnny Gakona. His real name was Johnny Nicolai Gadanski. The railroad changed that, just like it changed my name to Cap. I was seventeen and already a sizable and well-built Indian--full blooded and, from what I could tell, of a fearsome appearance in the eyes of many of the whites and many of the Natives as well. It helped that I had developed quite a reputation because of my skill in boxing. When I arrived at Cascade Station at CRNW mile 89, which was south of Tiekel, I came to help my sla’cheen survive those Irishmen. The Irish crew at Cascade did not like anyone but themselves. They were underhanded and devious in a way I have seen few others. I only found out about Johnny’s predicament because his nilth’ skell’eh brother Charles took advantage of the free passage available to the Indians along the railroad. Charlie hopped a coach ride south to visit Johnny at the Cascade station house. He camped in the area for two days and watched the Irishmen from afar when he was not visiting Johnny. When Johnny was not on the job, the brothers sat together where they could not be seen and watched the Irishmen. “Goodlataw sii’ae, he said, those men treat Soon-ga really badly. I watched them for two days. They are evil people. They have even turned him mean. He should leave, but he’s too stubborn. I can’t help him, but you can. You’re his sla’cheen. You have to help. He didn’t ask, but I know he needs your help.” There were two things I could do. I could either go down there and just duke it out with all of them and help Johnny put an end to it, or I could try to make an arrangement through the stationmaster which would place me at Cascade so I could back up my sla’cheen. Chitina Heights, Chitina RR yard, and downtown Chitina. --Julie Sweeney Collection, 97-139-176, UAF AK & Polar Regions Photo Archives I decided to convince George Brown that the railroad needed me as part of an Indian team with Johnny. After all, every Native railroad worker except for Tom Bell was hired as part of an Indian team. Even Tom himself was sometimes backed up by his brother Andrew. There remained a single unfilled job opening at Cascade. The stationmaster George Brown assured me that he would go ahead and try to get me the job, even though it usually did not get filled until winter. How he accomplished that as just a stationmaster I don’t know. But he did. Stationmaster George and Superintendent Hansen always seemed to get along well. I’m sure that helped. George told me that none of the men on the line go by their payroll names, but by nicknames, like “Montana, “ or “Snake.” I knew that Johnny already was known as the Gakona kid, or just Gakona. His name must have had something to do with his ability to run fast. He was not only quick with his left-hook, but he ran faster than anyone I ever knew. Gak means rabbit. He was not from Gakona, nor was his mother. But Gakona was the name most knew. I needed a name that stood out. It was George who gave me that name. “You know, if you weren’t an Indian, you’d probably be a captain or a boss somewhere, being as you are big and imposing looking. Not only that, you can read well. That’s unusual around here. Yes, you were white, you’d be a captain.” George said. That was it. Captain. No, Cap sounded better. I thought the name Cap fit me very well. It had the image I knew I would need to present in front of those rough Irishmen. I knew the crew-boss O’Malley well enough to realize that I would have the fight of my life if I failed to pull this off right. It didn’t matter. I was ready. “All right if I take along my dog?” “Dog? You have a dog? Just don’t let it get in the way of your work or living arrangements with those other men.” I didn’t actually have a dog, but I had one in mind that would fit my requirements for this job. Johnny’s saw’da --that was his older sister Violet--was raising dogs for sale to dog team mushers. She had a number of large Siberian mutts. One of them was particularly big. No one wanted him because he was not much of a team animal. He was too independent. She was probably looking for a new home for him. I would have my dog. Now I needed an imposing name for him. Something that would get those white men’s attention. Something of an Indian spiritual nature. Ghost Spirit--that would be Kay-yew-nee. Now I just need some war paint and rough-looking clothes to really look the part when I arrived with that large dog. Violet was only too pleased to part with the dog. “Kay-yew-nee? You’re calling that big, clumsy mutt Kay-yew-nee?” She burst out laughing. I began to wonder what kind of choice in dogs I’d just made for myself. “I’ve never been able to get him to do anything but eat. He’s not even a very good breeder, or I’d probably keep him. You may end up shooting him after you realize what you have, but he’s all yours now.” Violet was still laughing as she walked back into her small cabin up on Indian Hill. I looked at the big animal, who returned the stare. It occurred to me that I did not know how to tell the dog what I wanted. “Kay-yew-nee. You Kay-yew-nee. Come!” I turned and walked away from the fenced yard. The dog got up and followed me. I turned around. He stopped. I pointed to the ground. He sat. I lifted my hand. He rose. “Vi! Violet! Come out here. Look!” She emerged from her small crude log cabin. “This dog is trained. Watch!” I repeated the signals. The dog followed my silent commands. “Where did you get this animal, Violet?” She stood wide-eyed and silent. Finally she found the words. “He just wandered in one day, Michael.” Young Cap Goodlataw in a camp just upriver from Taral  --USGS photo “Cap. I’m Cap now!” “Cap? Like Captain?” She started laughing again. She was really enjoying this. “Well, Mike, I mean Cap, the name fits you. You’re the captain of that mutt.” She turned around and headed back toward her door, still laughing. I felt deflated as I walked away from Violet’s cabin. She grew up with me and knew me only too well. Nothing about me ever impressed her. She told me several times I’d have to find some other girl to impress. She might as well have been my real older sister. I made it back to the cabin Johnny and I had built for Nicolai. He was away as usual. It was only when I got there that I thought about the dog. I turned around. There he was. He had quietly followed me from Violet’s yard. I pointed to a place near the door. Kay-yew-nee sat down and simply looked at me. This was one good dog. Charles came running up the hill early the next day. “Michael, George Brown wants to see you.” “Cap. I’m Cap now. Call me Cap.” “Cap? If you say so, Michael. Isn’t that Vi’s dog?” “Yes, Charlie, it was Vi’s dog. Now it’s mine--and your brother’s.” “I don’t like Charlie. It sounds like a kid’s name. Call me Charles.” “Call me Cap. And remember it.” “Okay, Michael.” Charles ran off. “See you later, Charlie,” I shouted. I started down the hill. Kay-yew-nee followed. “So that’s your dog, Michael?” “That’s Kay-yew-nee, George. Call me Cap. I got the name from you, remember?” “Yes, Cap it is. You wanted to see me? Oh yes. Come on in, Captain. I have something for you.” Speeder at abandoned Bremner Station, early 1950s, CRNW MP 79   --Bob Leitzel I followed George through the waiting room, past the ticket counter that was bounded by the bay-window, and into the baggage area. Back there was the mail room and telegraph office. George pulled a telegraph off the machine. “Here it is. It came right from F.A. himself.”   Continue with  "Cap Tells His Story," pt 2

Ch 22, Pt 3: "Cap Rescues Johnny at McCarthy"

Legacy of the Chief, Chapter 22:   "Cap Rescues Johnny at McCarthy - 1924" pt 3, conclusion

click on picture for larger image: some of these images appear in the book for this chapter. Blackburn  --UAF Archives Cap viewed a mountainous panorama which included Fireweed Mountain, Donohoe Peak, the Bonanza Ridge, and Mt. Blackburn. In front was the light-colored loose rock which covered the ice-mound known as Kennicott Glacier. It hovered over the railroad trestle and the small town. To his left was the Mother Lode power plant with its tall single stack. The bridge crossing next to the plant, along with most of the creek, was hidden by the black spruce trees that grew along the bluff just below his camp. He looked directly down on the Row. It was right below his camp. The cabins showed no activity. Beyond the Row stood several rows of taller buildings that made up McCarthy. The entire town was only a few blocks wide. It ended very suddenly at the edge of the vast wilderness of the Wrangells. The spectacular Hubrick colorized panoramic photo of McCarthy, showing Fireweed Mountain on the left, Donohoe Peak in the center, and the Bonanza Ridge to the right. View is from the south ridge of McCarthy Creek.     --Simpson files The sun was out now, but Cap needed to sleep. The party at the Row cabin had lasted too long. Cap lay down in the thick grass next to the log amidst the fireweed. He dozed off. His tin cup containing the tea fell over. Cap did not awaked again until late. Then he realized was not even under the canvas tent. Light raindrops hit his face. He looked around. The fire pit was some distance away. The fire had worked down to a few hot coals. The clothes were still hanging on the brush, flapping gently to a light breeze. Johnny remained asleep under the canvas, completely oblivious to the world. The dog had moved under the canvas next to Johnny. Cap pulled himself up off the ground so he could view the town. The shadows in the valley below were long and black. He could see lights coming from some of the buildings. The power plant downstream from the Row was a dark, sleeping hulk. Over the constant roar of McCarthy Creek he could hear the hum of several small generators. Then he picked up the faint sounds of a player piano. Cap watched as a two large men staggered out of the Golden holding onto female escorts. They were Rose and Bubbles. He pondered over the events of the last few days. He and Johnny drank and partied with Rose and Bubbles until nothing else mattered while they were waiting for work at the small copper mine near the town. He thought about his people back home. Many had given up everything they had for the bottle. It seemed easier than dealing with the white man’s world--trying to compete under rules which they did not make and did not understand. Cap was tempted to fall back onto the liquor on several occasions, but he did not like what he saw in those who had dropped out, never to return to the sober world. His adventurous spirit was too strong to abandon the world to a bottle. Since he first started working with Johnny at Cascade, the two sla’cheen had proved to be a good team who shared a strong yearning for something beyond Chitina. They were not sure what it was. They just knew they both wanted more out of the world than existed in the village. They had grown up together in Cap’s father’s household. Things always worked out well for the both of them as long as they worked together. They were rivals only in a sporting way. Cap was a boxer and a wrestler. The only one who could stand up to his power and skill was his sla’cheen, Johnny. Johnny was good, but Cap was better. Much better. He boxed and wrestled until he had developed quite a reputation. He wanted to be like the Chief Nicolai of the old days. Everyone had feared Nicolai. He was a small, but deadly man who never lost in a confrontation. He seldom had to fight because of his fearsome wolverine-like reputation. Cap wanted to explore his physical limits. So far, no one could beat him. Johnny was fast, but Cap was deadly. The world of boxing seemed to be the key. Cap was a natural at the sport. He had to travel to Cordova and Valdez to find competition. A promoter at Cordova even wanted to bring him to the states to fight professionally. Cap was still considering it. Johnny was an excellent scrapper and wrestler, but his true strength was in his ability to read and write. He made sure that Cap read. Johnny tutored him and did whatever was necessary to make sure that Cap left school an educated man. Johnny never gave up on Cap. He shamed him, if that’s what it took. He kept bothering him until Cap did his homework. Cap learned well. Grandfather Nicolai wanted them both to be educated. He insisted that the two of them learn everything they could of the white-man ways, while not losing themselves in the white-man world. Johnny had done his part. Cap learned to read and appreciate novels. His math skills were nearly as good, thanks to the tutoring of his sla’cheen. He now felt that he was easily the equal of any of the white men who came to the country to work for the mine or the railroad. It was his education which gave him the confidence he needed--even more so than his renowned boxing skills. Cap was second only to Johnny in both reading and writing when he graduated from school. He owed a great debt to Johnny for taking the time to ensure that Cap succeeded in his school work. Since he met Rose, Johnny had begun to change. It greatly bothered Cap. Johnny was infatuated with Rose. Cap’s inner sense told him that this was a doomed relationship regardless, but Johnny might throw everything away for Rose. Cap had to get Johnny out of McCarthy or Cap would have to return to Chitina alone. He was not about to work in this rugged white man’s world way up this valley without the backup he enjoyed with Johnny. He knew better. Indians got picked off that way. Johnny had the best grasp of white man ways that Cap had ever seen. Cap wanted to see what might be in it for himself, just like Doc Billum who never let ill-feelings about white men get in the way of a good money-making deal, especially if there was a chance of pulling one over on a white man. Johnny’s feelings for Rose threatened all that. A 70-series engine approaches Kennecott --WA Richelsen The hollow sound of a distant steam whistle reverberated through the area. Strange. It usually doesn’t sound like that. Hollow. Spirit-like. Seems more like a ghost train. Que-nees Ket-chee ten-eh. En-gii ! Even Kay-yew-nee wined in reaction to the eerie sound. The skies begin to dark as heavy clouds moved in. The wind picked up. He felt more raindrops hit his face. Cap stood up and moved to the cover of the canvas. Can’t let my sde’ get wet, too. It’s all I have left that’s dry. Have to get under the canvas. The air was chilly, but felt good. He stood up and walked over to the pot on one of the large flat rocks surrounding the firepit. The pot was still nearly full of water. He stirred the coals, moved the wood around and resurrected the fire. Then he moved the pot containing the Lipton’s tea closer to the heat. Cap pulled his potlatch blanket tighter around himself. The breeze and light rain was making him feel chilly. Finally the water in the pot heated up. He poured a cup of the tea. I better pull our clothes down off those branches and bring them under the canvas to finish drying. Looks like a heavy rain coming. Cap laid back, wondering how simple it must have been in the days before the prospectors and even before Lt. Allen. Soon he would be dreaming about his childhood when he was out with his father, the great Chief Goodlataw, on the trap line in the country only a few miles south of McCarthy--the country no longer used by the Indians. We are the Saghanni Guy. C’eyunny Nicolai, it’s still our land. The white men can think anything they want. We have always been here. We always will be . . . The Siberian Kay-yew-nee kept an uneasy vigil as both young men slept under the canvas tent on the bank overlooking McCarthy. Kay-yew-nee held his post, sitting between his two masters, guarding them from bears and other predators of the night. In the distance he heard that hollow sound again. It mimicked a steam train whistle, but the dog knew the difference. A dog lives not only in an intense world of sounds and smell, but also the world of the spirits. The Siberian moved closer to Cap. Something in the mere presence of this Native who had already learned many of the skills of the sleep-doctors was reassuring. Bears were one thing. Kay-yew-nee could keep them away. The spirits were another. That was Cap’s realm. Cap was the true successor to Nicolai and Goodlataw. Kay-yew-nee knew when he had encountered a spirit. Whatever was out there making that steam whistle sound was a powerful spirit. Cap suddenly shifted, knocking over yet another cup of tea. He seldom moved in his sleep. Kay-yew-nee sensed that Cap had connected in his dreams with the spirits in his world of the sleep-doctors--the spiritual leaders and healers of the Native clans. Johnny opened his eyes and looked at the dog between him and Cap. Chief Goodlataw --UAF Archives “Kay-yew-nee, it’s just the spirit of Nicolai mimicking the white man. Indian spirit power! Native way! Join us! Go to sleep!” Johnny closed his eyes and was instantly asleep again. Kay-yew-nee placed his head on his paws and dozed off, entering the same spirit world as Cap and Johnny. The winds began to pick up, pounding at the canvas, causing it to ripple. Below the bluff even the town had grown silent and much darker. Overhead the skies opened up in a torrent of rainfall as heavy clouds moved in to block whatever light still remained. Under the four-foot high canvas, three peaceful souls shared a common destination as they followed the railroad tracks in the direction of the bright sunshine, working their way to C’eyuuni Nicolai’s spirit-camp. Continue with Chapter 23, "Cap Tells His Story"

Ch 22, Pt 2: "Cap Rescues Johnny at McCarthy"

Legacy of the Chief, Chapter 22: "Cap Rescues Johnny at McCarthy - 1924" pt 2

click on picture for larger image: some of these images appear in the book for this chapter.

Green Butte had never met the expectations of the investors who had joined Barrett in developing the prospect. Barrett and his fellow investors had good reason to anticipate massive copper veins because the claims lay along a direct line extending from Kennecott’s Erie Mine through the Jumbo and the Bonanza to Green Butte before ending at the legendary Nicolai Prospect itself. Over time it had become clear that if any rich quantity of copper was to be found in the vicinity, it would most likely be along this line. No copper of economic value had been found elsewhere. Even the promising Hubbard-Elliot on the upper reaches of the Kotsina had proved to be nothing more than an investment scam. The North Midas, up a tributary of the Kuskulana, had started as a copper mine, but had instead become a producer of gold and silver. USGS map of the McCarthy Creek area showing mining claims: Showing Green Butte (GB); Mother Lode (ML) and the Nicolai Prospect (N).    As for the Green Butte, strong copper showings along the southern incline were encouraging, but production remained disappointing. On the other hand, Bill Douglass had asked permission to send two of his engineers to evaluate the property. This was like a ray of light in an otherwise gloomy future to Barrett and his fellow investors. No other outfit in the region could make things work like Kennecott. It seemed to have a bottomless supply of money. It also had a staff of top-rated engineers. “I have a question for you, Mr. Barrett. You’ve been here as long as anyone. Maybe you have the answer.” “Sure, Harry. I’m one of the sourdoughs here. Or, so I’m told. Ask away.” “Why are there two spellings for Kennicott? It’s confusing. When I write home to the wife, I never know which spelling to use.” Barrett contemplated the question for a moment. “You’re not alone. I curse the day someone high up in Kennecott changed that spelling when they created their corporation. It’s caused nothing but problems since. There’s one spelling for the glacier. Another for the company. Sounds the same. Spelled different. Drives us all nuts. Almost as bad as Shushanna, when someone decided to change it to Chisana. Same sound. Different spelling. Seems almost no one knows how to spell either one. We live next to the railroad junction with the old spelling, but the post office uses the other for the town. It sure messes up mail delivery. Did you ever hear about McCarty Crossing way up on the Tanana River? There were even two of them once, but one of them finally changed its name to Ruby. McCarty sounds too much like McCarthy. You know how much of their mail we get at McCarthy?” “Sorry I got you started on that one, Mr. Barrett. Didn’t know it was such an irritation. I heard you founded the town. Is that true?” “Yep, Harry, that’s me. It’s still my town.” “Why isn’t it named Barrettsville?” “McCarthy? I named it after the creek. It sounded good to me. One less name to remember. Besides, I knew Jim, the guy Oscar Rohn named the creek after.” “Oscar Rohn?” “He was one of a number of government geologists who explored the area about a quarter-century ago, even before I got there. That wasn’t very long ago. It’s still very new country here.” John Barrett had good business sense combined with some incredible luck. He staked 296 acres at the confluence of McCarthy Creek with the Kennicott River in 1906. That strip of land became the final railroad terminal. The last five miles of track ending at Kennecott was more like a very long siding because the original survey showed no room for a turn-around up there. The railroad company placed the locomotive turntable and the final large station at Shushanna Junction. Delivering Green Butte copper by horse-drawn sleds to the CRNW Shushanna Junction Station The north part of Barrett’s homestead started out as a staging area for the supplies which small independent contractors hauled up the river on winter sleds. Then came the 110-foot riverboat the Chittyna. It brought four loads of construction supplies to Bonanza Landing where the Kennicott River meets the Nizina. These supplies were skidded up the Kennicott River. An entire mine system arrived on those skids. By the time the railroad builders reached Shushanna Junction in March of 1911, nearby Bonanza lower camp had a three-mile-long aerial tramway connecting the Bonanza mine to the tram terminal at National Creek. At the lower camp, CRNW mile 196, were the beginnings of the mill, the office, a warehouse, a barracks, the manager’s house and the sawmill with a generator to furnish power to the camp. While the Bonanza railroad terminal quickly evolved into Kennecott, John and Josephine Barrett developed their homestead. John hired a Kennecott engineer to survey lots for a new town. He sold those lots off. Now, McCarthy had become as large as it would ever be. It had become the Nizina gold district supply town with buildings of modern wood frame construction, including numerous two-story structures. Even before McCarthy, Blackburn developed. It was on ground north of present-day McCarthy. Oscar Breedman, owner of the Hotel Chitina, bought the large, two-story, log roadhouse at Blackburn. The Fagerburg Roadhouse turned out to be a poor investment. With the Shushanna gold rush, business migrated south onto Barrett’s property--a far more convenient location. The 1913 rush saw hordes of prospectors set up a tent-town north of McCarthy for the run to Chisana--“Alaska’s last great gold rush.” Blackburn was in the wrong place due to the location of the CRNW Railway terminal. It faded away into history, while McCarthy prospered as it fed, housed, and entertained the hopeful prospectors while supplying the Nizina and Chisana gold fields with goods brought in on the railroad. Blackburn,  Territory of Alaska The large numbers of prospectors of the Chisana boom seriously depleted the local game. Nicolai and his people abandoned the area they had hunted for centuries because the game was so scarce. The sight of Indians at McCarthy became a rarity. Children grew up in the town without ever encountering a Native. The Ahtna Indians of the railroad belt lived only at Chitina and Strelna. John Barrett began reflecting on Johnny Gakona and Cap Goodlataw. Good timing. Interesting coincidence. Nicolai’s grandsons. Imagine that. Hope they’re not here to cause trouble. Got enough of that just trying to keep the copper mine running and the other investors happy. They seemed to be good boys, though. Not likely that the two will still be there, but it would be nice. Especially now. Kennecott has been getting most of the help lately. Here I am hauling two of them back to town. Not that Kennecott gets to keep anyone all that long, either. The truck passed the tributary leading to the old Nicolai Prospect. The roar of the smaller creek entering the McCarthy Creek was hard to miss. The road followed the old power line. It had been abandoned several years, but remained intact. The top of the poles where the cross-members held the copper wires on glass insulators could barely be seen through the fog. The effect was ghostly. There’s a waste. All that copper line up there. Then there’s that large plant in town just sitting idle. We could start the generator today and it would run. That’s almost a tragedy. All that trouble to get it up to McCarthy. Such an expense. Practically new.Too bad we can’t use it. The rest of the trip went in silence. The truck crossed several more bridges and passed through one narrow tunnel. The creek waters remained high. Erosion was eating at sections of the road and at some of the bridge abutments. The trail headed west. Soon the small town would be in sight. The fog was beginning to lift, but it remained chilly and damp. Barrett dropped off the men at the Golden, then headed for the Row. Outside one of the cabins was the Siberian mutt. He was huge. He was also loose. Barrett cautiously walked toward the cabin. The dog took note of him, but did not move. He let Barrett pass. Just as Barrett hoped, he found the Indians in Rose’s cabin. Cap seemed anxious to go, but Johnny was still intoxicated. Actually, he was passed out. “You still need us? When?” Cap asked. “Do I ever. Two more men just quit on me today. Meet me at the Golden tomorrow by 9 a.m. I’ll fill up the truck at the gas pump there and head on back to the mine. Will you be here?” “No. Look up there.” Cap pointed to the top of the bluff south of the creek. “We have a camp there. We won’t be here. See you tomorrow.” Cap closed the cabin door and turned to face Johnny, who had passed out, slumped on the large chair in the center of the small, cluttered room. The party had gone on all night. There were empty bottles lying everywhere. Stale food sat on the kitchen table. Cap was drinking coffee. He needed sleep. But not here. Too much drinking. Money gone. Tired of this white man’s town. Need to get Johnny out of here. Must get way from the women and the booze. Too much party. Cap shook Johnny and then pulled him up into a standing position. “Johnny, time to sober up. We have to go!” Johnny’s eyes opened. It took a few moment to focus. “Don’t want to leave Rose. Never had woman like her before,” he slurred. Rose and Bubbles were already gone. Partying with the two Indians was interfering with business. They had other customers. The Madame was not pleased with them. “Rose likes you. I see that. But she isn’t in love with you. Come on, Johnny. We have to make some money. I stuck with you all this time because you asked me to. Time to go. The boss said be ready tomorrow. Don’t let that white man fire us before we at least we give him a better reason than not showing up. I’d rather knock the guy down. At least he’d have a good reason to fire me.” Johnny’s eyes rolled. He flopped back into the chair. This wasn’t going to be easy. Cap grabbed a galvanized bucket sitting below the wash stand. He attached a short rope to it, then walked outside toward the creek. The cold air sharpened his nerves. He approached the creek’s edge. The recent flooding had cut a sharp bank in front of the cabins. Cap leaned over the embankment. Icy-cold water spray hit his face. It felt good. He had to get down on his knees. He started to lower the bucket the five feet toward the roaring water. Johnny’s dog, Kay-yew-nee, quietly slipped behind him and nosed Cap’s rear, knocking the off-balance Indian head-long into the creek. The water was just deep enough to prevent him from being hurt. Still holding onto the rope attached to the bucket, Cap grabbed for some brush along the bank. He pulled himself out. Now he was soaked. But he was also wide awake. It was Johnny’s turn. He would deal with the dog later. He retrieved some of the frigid glacial water, then pulled himself up, turned and headed back inside. Johnny was passed out again. Cap dumped the full bucket of cold water all over Johnny. That did it. Johnny was instantly awake. He jumped up and swung. He was furious. The fight was on. But Johnny was in no shape to throw his normally deadly left hook. Cap was prepared. He knocked Johnny to the floor and waited for him to get back up. Johnny sprang back up and found himself knocked down on the floor again. “Give up, Johnny. You’re no match for me. Not like you are now. We have to go.” It finally occurred to Johnny that Cap acted exactly what he would have if he had to awaken Cap under these circumstances. It was time to leave. “What happened to you, Sla’cheen? You’re as soaked as I am.” “Your stupid dog nosed me in the butt and knocked me into the creek.” Johnny could not contain his laughter. Cap struck him. The fight was on once again. It ended quickly. The two were just not up to it. “Rose, I’ll miss you,” he said to no one in particular, as he hung onto Cap’s shoulder. It was late morning as two very wet, messed-up Indians helped each other stagger away from the Row. The mist was just lifting from the surrounding hills. The sun broke through, throwing rays down Shushanna Avenue. They headed for the Alaskan Billiards Parlor for some coffee. They had survived in McCarthy due to their ability to play billiards in this hall. No one but the owner was in the long, narrow room. They both plopped down on the leather couch and began the slow painful process of coming out of a long drunk. Archie Poulin grabbed the coffee pot and headed over. “Look at you two. What a mess you are. Dripping wet!” Archie poured two large tin cups full of his strong brew. “You’ll need this. No more moonshine. You need to go somewhere and get out of those wet clothes before you catch your death of pneumonia. Did you get work at Green Butte yet?” Cap nodded. Johnny looked almost dead. He slumped deeply into the heavy leather cushions. “You two look like drowned rats. Fall into the creek?” “I did. Johnny’s dog knocked me in. Too much party. Had to wake Johnny with creek water.” Looking toward the south ridge of McCarthy Creek where Cap & Johnny camped: "The Row" --photo courtesy of Jim Edwards “You could have hurt yourself in that creek. Stay away from the Row. It’s not doing you two any favors. Coffee’s on me. You were good for business this week. Lots of men tried to beat you two at pool.” Archie set the coffee back on his pot-bellied stove and returned to his counter. Archie’s right. I need to get out of these wet clothes. My boots are wet, too. We’ll both freeze if we don’t get to camp and make a fire. “Sla’cheen, let’s get out of here. We both need to get out of this wet clothing before we freeze. I’m not drying out in here like I thought. Camp is ready. While you were partying with Rose yesterday, I set up the firepit and raised a tent. We need to stay away from town awhile.” He pulled Johnny up from the deep couch. Johnny needed to walk. The two headed out Archie’s door and turned south toward the creek, leaving behind the unfinished coffee. Tonight the two Indians would be staying out in the open air south of town. Cap did not want to take any chances that Johnny might get back together with Rose. If he did, there would be no Green Butte. No work. Nothing but one final drunken party. They would have to return to Chitina. He was not yet ready for that. He needed to bring back cash. He promised his father that he would. When the men first arrived at the Shushanna Junction station, they spotted the site from the railroad depot. Cap had a preference for camping along high bluffs. This one was conveniently close. They had brought a large amount of gear, which they stashed up there on the bluff. The two of them hauled in enough canvas to set up cover against the rain and the wind. They dropped off their cooking utensils, tea, rice, and their potlatch blankets, rifles and knives. No one had found the camp. Everything was exactly as they had left it, except that Cap had set up the canvas shelter, hauled in some dry fire wood, and built a firepit surrounded by heavy stones the day before. Cap and Johnny both carried a supply of dried, smoked salmon with them. They could not leave the salmon strips at camp, as the salmon would attract the bears. View of McCarthy & the Row from the ridge, looking north It was only a brief walk across the bridge and up the hill to the top of the bluff. The view of the town and the glaciers with the mountains was excellent, but the camp was concealed from town because it was in the midst of fireweed, wild roses and other low-lying brush. Cap ignited the fire. He could build a fire out of almost anything. Fire was the key to survival. This one was ready. All it took was a match. He struck a wooden Diamond-brand match stick and watched the flames creep quickly through the shavings and spruce boughs. In minutes the fire was blazing. Johnny helped by piling the wood Cap had earlier retrieved on the fire. Johnny then pulled off his cold, soaked clothing, hanging them on branches near the fire. Johnny’s boots were not wet from the river. But they still needed to be dried. He pulled them off and set them next to the fire on one of the large rocks Cap had moved into place the day before. He opened his heavy Hudson Bay blanket from his gear to wrap around himself. Cap also hung up his own wet clothes on branches near the fire, leaving his saturated boots on one of the large rocks which made up the fire pit. He had his own potlatch sde’. The heavy wool blankets had been gifts from one of the potlatches when they were still teenagers. They had come from Doc Billum, whose family was of a different clan. The young men had used the same sde’ on their work trips for the last eight years. Sometimes the blankets were all they had. The sde’ served as bedrolls and provided warmth when their clothes had to be dried. Wet clothes were always a hazard in the wilderness. Accidental immersion in ice-covered lakes and rivers or streams were common occurrences. The water in this country was never more than a degree or two above freezing. A person would turn blue almost instantly. Then he would begin shivering. Death could quickly follow. It was important to get out of wet clothing immediately. It was safer to be naked in front of a fire than wrapped in water-saturated woolens. Wet clothing next to the skin would guarantee hypothermia and death. If this had been winter, there would have been little time to build a fire and strip off the wet wool. Both Cap and Johnny had been through this problem before in the winter while running separate trap lines. Their elders taught them that their ability to build a fire quickly was a matter of survival. This time, it was midsummer, but the clothing had become quite cold due to the breezes coming over the bluff from the glacier. The dog watched from a distance. Johnny had said very little. Now he was passed out, wrapped only in his sde’. But he was under cover of the canvas. Cap was still away from the open tent, sitting on a large log and drinking his tea. He stared at Kay-yew-nee, who was a safe distance away. The dog looked back. Cap scowled. The dog wagged his tail, then rested his head on his paws. Continue with "Cap Rescues Johnny," pt 3, conclusion

Ch 22, Pt 1: "Cap Rescues Johnny at McCarthy"

Legacy of the Chief, Chapter 22: "Cap Rescues Johnny at McCarthy - 1924" pt 1

Looking north up Shushanna Avenue, McCarthy. In the foreground is the Mother Lode power plant.  --Simpson Files John Barrett still managed Green Butte Copper eighteen years after he had staked the claims. He was involved in other mining ventures as well, though this was the only copper mine. After being delayed due to early summer flooding of McCarthy Creek, which took out one of the bridges, the way was finally cleared for him to return to town. He needed to ascertain the intention of Kennecott to continue supplying power from the Mother Lode to Green Butte. The power supply to Mother Lode originally came from a small plant at McCarthy. Old Mother Lode Company owned the power plant, but the power pole system was part of a joint-venture between Mother Lode and Green Butte. The Mother Lode and Green Butte companies strung the power lines on new poles they installed which followed the creek from McCarthy to the Mother Lode upper camp thirteen miles away. Only two years later, Kennecott absorbed Mother Lode. Kennecott picked up the McCarthy power plant as one of the assets of the old company. Because Kennecott’s Bonanza mine had workings that bordered on the tunnels of the Mother Lode, the company had planned to close the McCarthy plant as soon as it ran new underground lines to the Mother Lode upper camp.  Power for Kennecott came from a large 200-foot long plant that had just been upgraded and enlarged. The plant north of the main town of Kennecott sent 10,000 volts of power up a three-mile power line which followed the Bonanza tram. A transformer station at Bonanza brought the power down to 2,400 volts for the use of the four large air compressors, and to 240 and 120 volts for everything else. Power from Bonanza then was routed to the Jumbo, which was connected by a crosscut tunnel about a mile to the northwest of the Bonanza. The Mother Lode power plant at McCarthy.    --Simpson Files In 1919 the Kennecott miners finished the Bonanza 800-level crosscut tunnel to connect the Mother Lode workings with those of the Bonanza and to access the Mother Lode upper camp at the 5,200 elevation. The new crosscut led to the Rhodes tunnel, which was the adit level for the Mother Lode upper camp above McCarthy Creek. Kennecott then extended the power from Bonanza upper camp on the west side of Bonanza Ridge, through the new crosscut to the Mother Lode camp, which was on the east side of the ridge. The plant at McCarthy shut down permanently in 1919, and the power poles between McCarthy and Green Butte were abandoned. The lines between Green Butte and the upper camp at Mother Lode were kept operational. Kennecott simply reversed the flow of power. It maintained the power-sharing arrangement with Green Butte for a reasonable fee as long as upper Mother Lode camp remained in service. Recently John Barrett began hearing rumors that the Mother Lode upper camp would soon be abandoned due to the well-known avalanche problem in Mother Lode Gulch. The men living at Mother Lode would be moved to the nearby Bonanza camp. Location of the ML upper camp   --Hubrick Photo It seemed unlikely that Kennecott power would be available once the company shut down the upper camp. The cessation of this power supply would adversely affect operations at Green Butte since the existing generator plant at Green Butte was inadequate for anything but emergency power. Barrett realized he might find himself in the market for a full-sized generator at a time when development money for the Green Butte Mine was almost non-existent. He hoped to meet with superintendent Bill Douglass to discuss the matter on his next trip to McCarthy. As Barrett’s truck pulled pulled out of Green Butte camp, low-lying fog kept visibility and temperatures low. The aerial tram line running up the steep east wall of the canyon toward the adits 1,200 feet above disappeared quickly into dense gray obscurity. Looking east: manager's house, abandoned Green Butte lower camp. In the center you can see the slide area under the aerial tram; above that: the fog.  --HAER Two men who had quit working for Green Butte were riding into McCarthy with him. He was not pleased about the matter, but it seemed only right to let them ride in with him since he had to return to town for business anyway. “Mr. Barrett, we surely appreciate you bringing us back into McCarthy.” “No problem, Harry. I have business there. You two never told me if you were leaving because you found work at Kennecott. Is that what happened?” There was a moment of silence. Jerry finally spoke. “No reflection on you, Mr. Barrett. We found your operation just fine. We’d just like to work for a larger company. The rumor is that you won’t be operating this winter.” “That’s true. But I close it every winter. Can’t afford to operate in the cold.” “We just want to survive the winter, Mr. Barrett. We’ve heard some bad things about this country when it gets cold.” “I see. If you have jobs at Kennecott, maybe it’s just as well you left.” Just like rats deserting a sinking ship. They sense something’s up. It’s not just the winter shut-down. It’s more than that. Hope they’re wrong. I’ve got a lot into the old place. McCarthy Creek-Mother Lode Road tunnel #2, downstream from the Green Butte Mine.  Continue with "Cap Rescues Johnny," pt 2