The insane patrols of Henry Thol

By JOHN FRALEY

Editor’s note: The following story is adapted from John Fraley’s book “Rangers Trappers and Trailblazers.” This is part I.

Old-time U.S. Forest Service Ranger Henry Thol often stunned his supervisors and others with the big miles he covered in the backcountry. One of the best examples of this was an emergency patrol undertaken by Henry and another ranger in the winter of 1927.

The Ovando state game warden, Henry Morgan, reported that poachers were illegally trapping beaver in the Big Prairie district of the wilderness (primitive area at the time). Big Prairie District Ranger Henry Thol, who was in Kalispell, was notified and he quickly organized a trip with fellow ranger Jim Diehl to run down the violators. They had only slim information on the location of the trappers, but since Henry knew the wilderness so well, he thought that the story in the snow would tell them all they needed to know. He reasoned that the only sign of people in the depths of that wild country in the winter would belong to the poachers.

To quickly access the heart of the wilderness, Henry decided to try snowshoeing over the Swan Range east of the Condon Ranger Station in the Holland Lake area.

The rangers carried only a two-day supply of food, reasoning that, after they crossed the range and mushed down to the South Fork, there was plenty of food and supplies cached at White River, Big Prairie, and Danaher cabins. With all of Henry’s experience in the backcountry, this seems to be an unexplainable mistake. Old timer and wilderness icon Bud Moore noted that humility in the backcountry is the one thing that will bring you back safe and alive. Not only did this plan lack humility and caution, it bordered on recklessness.

The two rangers started their trek during a cold snap. They mushed towards the top of the Swan Mountains south towards Holland Lookout. Henry broke trail because Jim was not experienced with webs. As they gained elevation, the snow built from two feet to three feet to four feet in depth. Breaking trail in those conditions is exhausting, and no one, not even Henry, can move along uphill through deep, untracked snow more than a mile or two per hour.

By the end of that long first day, the two men had to be concerned. With all the twists and turns of their route they had covered about 8 miles. The pair hadn’t made it to the pass that notched the Swan Range over into the South Fork drainage.

With fading light, the rangers were forced to camp in the last timber on the west side. They stayed up all night, feeding wood into a fire dug down through the snow layers to combat the frigid temperatures.

Early the next morning the two trekkers snowshoed to the top of the pass. Luckily, the snow held and didn’t send them back down in a snow slide. They were standing on the pass at over 7,000 feet in elevation when they encountered a formidable and dangerous obstacle. The wind from the west had built cornices, or “combs,” all along the divide. They could get to the top of the pass but Jim must have considered turning back at that point, and knowing the outcome of the trip, that would have been a much smarter thing to do than for them to continue on and endure the danger and the misery to come.

But Henry was nothing if not stubborn, and in the face of overwhelming signs of the ill-advised nature of their trip, was determined to continue. He finally decided to leap down from the cornice, more than a 10-foot drop down a vertical wall, landing in snow of unknown depth and composition, to enter the South Fork drainage.

Jim probably protested what Henry did next. Gathering his jump, Henry leaped over the cornice and landed in the deep snow below, starting a snow slide that luckily didn’t sweep him away and soon petered out. With no alternative, Jim jumped after him, and they had reached their first goal of entering the South Fork drainage. Henry admitted that it was a dangerous step and a close call, later calling it the riskiest thing he’d ever done in the mountains.

The rangers slid and mushed down the east side of the pass, over alpine benches. Snow levels moderated somewhat, but depths of loose snow continued to bury any trail and hamper their progress. By the end of light that second day they had dropped a couple thousand feet in elevation and reached the junction of Cataract, Smokey, and Big Salmon creeks. They camped near Big Salmon Falls, but probably were too tired to enjoy its beauty.

The rangers had covered about 6-8 very difficult miles the second day and had finally reached Big Salmon Creek. They must have felt somewhat better to be out of the threatening alpine high country, but the snow was still unconsolidated and deep, and restricted their travel. At night, Henry stayed awake chopping wood to feed the fire and avoid freezing to death in the sub-zero cold. He worried that he would break his ax handle which might be fatal. Jim didn’t do any of the wood chopping because Henry didn’t think his companion could safely use the ax.

On the third day, the two rangers continued snowshoeing down the main trail along Big Salmon Creek, heading for the familiar, 4-mile long Big Salmon Lake. Their rations were running out and they were becoming just plain hungry, which along with the loose snow, slowed their pace and exhausted them. At the end of light, they had slogged eight more miles, past Tango Point and the “barrier falls” on Big Salmon Creek, and on to Brownie Creek, a flat that offered good camping. The exhausted men had stopped about two miles from the head of Big Salmon Lake. Stretches of this trail are challenging but the pace that the rangers were moving illustrated the difficulty they encountered with the snow, exhaustion, and severe cold. Henry stayed up all night again chopping wood, and the rangers huddled around the fire.

Early the next morning, Henry and Jim dragged themselves along through the snow to reach Big Salmon Lake, the largest lake in the wilderness. Henry had a plan to obtain food. The lake was ice-covered, but he knew that a small spot at the head of the lake remained mostly ice-free right where Big Salmon Creek flows in. Cutthroat and bull trout congregate there throughout the year and can be easily caught. Henry was packing a fishing line and when he reached the lake he attempted to catch a bird or squirrel to use as bait. He soon gave up the effort so he could conserve his remaining energy to attempt to make it to one of the cabins that held supplies and food. The pair hadn’t covered many miles that fourth day. Perhaps Jim, who had little experience on snowshoes, was struggling to make it.

Finally, on the fifth day, the two rangers passed the length of Big Salmon Lake and dropped down into the bottoms of the South Fork of the Flathead River. Exhausted but elated, and knowing that a cabin several miles upstream held cached supplies, Henry urged his companion up the river trail.

But as they entered the open burned area, a blizzard howling down from the South Fork headwaters hit the rangers with full force. At that point with all the hardships and lack of food, Jim sat down and indicated that he was giving up...

Would they survive? Read Part II next week.

“Rangers Trappers and Trailblazers,” is available through Farcountry Press, Farcountrypress.com