@PopularMechanics _ March 2019 65$ERYH b0DSVKRZVWKH3ULHVWDQG&OHDUZDWHUULYHUVDZD\
XSLQQRUWKHUQ,GDKR%HORZ 7KDWZDWHULVLF\FROGDQG
RQHPLVVWHSPHDQV\RXōUHLQXSWR\RXUQHFN$JLOHIRRW-
ZRUNLVHVVHQWLDOKHUHI
T WAS A CENTER JAM—a potential man killer. Huge
16-foot saw logs, weighing up to 2,000 pounds, crunched
against one another like shoestring potatoes in a crazy
man’s skillet. The wooden carpet that had been slithering,
jostling, and churning toward the sawmill stopped dead.
Logs were jammed up for half a mile back.
The river boss was all over the place, trying to find the key log.
When he spotted it, a dozen men set their peavey hooks into it and
strained. No go. Then the river boss ordered a charge of dynamite.
“Whoomp!” went the explosion and a white plume of water shot
skyward. That did it.
“She’s a-pullin’!” went up the cry.
As the grumbling logs began to move downstream like half-
submerged alligators, the men scrambled to safety. One of them
miscalculated and plunged into the icy water. A pal gave him a
helping hand. Another, unable to reach dry land, dug his spiked
boots into a slippery timber and birled downriver.
That’s a log drive—one of the most spectacular and action-
packed features of America’s annual timber harvest that reaches
a total of 35 billion feet a year.
It’s true that railroads and trucks have relegated most American
and Canadian log drives to the history books. But this spring, two
of the biggest drives in history are being conducted in the wilder-
ness of Ida ho’s panhandle. Both w ill be at their height this month.
One drive is down the north fork of the Clearwater River and is
bossed by “Boots” Edelblute for Potlatch Forests, Inc., who oper-
ates a 300,000-acre tree farm, one of the largest in America. This
drive was temporarily abandoned during World War II, but is being
resumed this spring on a larger scale than ever. Some 50 million
feet of timber are herded down 120 miles of the Clearwater River
from Beaver Creek to the sawmill at Lewiston.
The other is the Priest River drive, under the direction of vet-
eran Bill Whetsler, who runs logs for
the Diamond Match Company. Since
1901, this drive has sent logs swirl-
ing down the 65-mile stretch of white
water between Priest Lake and the
Pend Oreille River.
Men who work the log drives are
called “riverjacks” or “riverhogs.”
Like whooping cranes, sea otters, and
passenger pigeons, they are an extinct
species in most parts of the United
States. But today in rough and rug-
ged northern Idaho, you’ll find them
as numerous as ever.
What lures a man into this arduous, dangerous life?
It’s certain not merely the wages. Riverjacks average about
$90 a week and board. It’s something more than money. Perhaps
it’s that thrilling br ush w ith death that air plane test pilots expe-
rience. Or the struggle with nature that a deep-sea diver knows.
Maybe it’s the challenge of physical skill required of a tightrope
walker.
Whatever the lure, it’s something that gets into a riverjack’sblood and stays there for life. Men who leave the river for safer jobs
in cities and on farms often drift back. After the war, riverjacks who
had been drafted promptly returned and asked for their old jobs.
During the sawmill days of summer and the backbreaking task of
winter logging, lumberjacks may find their work a chore and a bore.
But when spring comes and ice begins
to break up on the river, they suddenly
become the aristocrats of the lumber-
ing industry—riverjacks. And for four
months—March, April, May, and June—
the riverjack is king of the North Woods.
Because the 65-mile Priest River is
flanked by a good highway, Bill Whetsler’s
Diamond Match crew drives out from
the town of Priest River each morning in
trucks, drives back again at night. That’s
luxury unheard of in the old days. On the
other hand, the Potlatch riverjacks enjoy
no such conveniences. They run a log drive
like their forefathers 100 years ago.
During the summer and winter preceding the drive, logs are cut
in the woods and flumed to Clearwater River. Some logs are floated
as much as five miles in the flumes. Other logs are trucked to the
river and dumped in. The logs float downstream until they hit an
obstruction forming a jam.
Then when spring comes, the Potlatch crew goes to work—free-
ing logs that have lodged on the riverbanks and in jams at the center.Big Shovels and Why
MARCH 1930Avoiding Upset Garbage Can
SEPTEMBER 1939JUNE
2002