ROGER

It was late in April, and winter was still in the air. The snow had melted away, but the days were still short. It was raining cold and the wind bitter and cold. The logging camp had been open for just a few weeks.

The owner of this camp was a Seventh Day Adventist, so we were taking our Saturdays off. Rumor had it that a float plane with mail, and some new recruits would be arriving, so a few of us were milling around by the air plane float in case there was freight that needed loaded.

The camp had been built on floats - a raft made with large Sitka Spruce logs. These floats were decked with thick planking. each float having two homes on it. there was a section of the camp that had three bunk houses, a cook house, a school, with a gym, basket ball court. a church. The home of the owner covered one of the floats by it's self. one float was the office, and a guest house.

There were about 12 floats all together, all lashed together, six floats long, and two floats wide. Home for about 16 families, and about 30 men in the bunk houses. Electricity was supplied by a big diesel generator, and water was gravity flow from a stream on the island. We were in a large bay, on the east side of the "Prince of Whales " island.

We were working with a short crew, so we were anticipating who might be on the plane. It was not long, and we could hear the float plane in the distance. Soon we could see it descend onto the choppy water in the bay. As it rounded the stiff leg towards camp it was still skipping from swell to swell, then settled into the water. The skilled pilot taxied up to the float, and nimbly stepped out of the seat, onto the decking, grabbing his mooring line on the way. As he had done many time before, he hooked the line around the cleat on the deck, and pulled the craft snug to the float, bringing it to a stop.

Once the plane was secure, he opened the door for the passengers, and started to unload the freight. That is when I first met Roger, He stepped down out of the plane, and onto the deck. He stood there wearing a tattered pair of shorts, a t shirt that the bottom half had been tore off some time ago, and a pair of flip flops. The closes thing we had had to a nice day, since last fall, was when it all most got up to 40 one day the prior week. It was obvious that he had not been in Alaska long.

Another unique thing about Roger's arrival, was that he had no bags. I mean he had nothing with him, I don't think his shorts even had pockets. He looked to be in good physical shape, and had a good tan. His hair wasn't really what I would call long, but he had not seen a barber for a while.

Roger went to the office, and checked in, and had his bunk assigned. He had the bookkeeper put two pairs on rigging pants, two hickory shirts, two pairs of socks, a pair of calk boots, one pair of Romeo slippers, one pair of white ox gloves, and a towel on his commissary books. One set to wear with his calk boots, and one to wear with his slippers, and a towel so he can shower when he changed his clothes.

Roger was assigned to my crew, so I had much opportunity to hear his story. I was looking forward to hearing it. He hit the ground running when we got to the woods, and it was obvious that he knew what he was doing. We were logging nice old growth Spruce and Hemlock, and we were putting lots of wood on the landing. It was not long, and I was convinced that I would enjoy working with Roger.

When we did get a chance to shoot the breeze a little, I didn't mess around, and put it right out there. "What the heck, are you John The Baptist or something, you are traveling pretty light". Roger got a pretty good laugh out of that one, and told me he was going to enjoy working with me, as he returned to his work.

Later in the day, I had another chance. "Ok lets hear it". Roger laughed again, and said, "I could tell you anything right now, and that would be my story wouldn't it? I replied that I would suppose so, for a while anyhow.

Roger told me that he would come to Alaska every spring, and work in the camps until fall. Then he would go to South America and go to school on a student visa. He had just spent the winter living on the beach. The attire that he was wearing when he got to camp, was what he wore daily at his beach camp. He had simply gotten on a plane and flown back to Alaska, knowing that he could get what he needed when he got to camp, from the commissary(the company store).He planed to work until the fall, save his money, and go back and do it again.

1975, was one of those years when there were lots of logging jobs, so good help was sparse at best, and we were constantly short handed. The camp ran three towers, and it was hard to have enough crew. Roger and I were working together quite well, and had determined that we could run our side with the two of us in the brush, and a man on the landing, while the other two towers were running with two more men in the brush on both towers.

Since Roger and I did not have chocker setters on our crew, we covered that part of the job, along with the Hook tender duties. neither one of us took a particular job title, we both just did what needed done. Roger was a natural, and few men could keep pace with him. we ran all day, and it was like playing a game, with both of us pushing each other to keep it moving.

We moved a lot of wood every day, and were out logging the other towers at every turn. Roger loved to rib the other crew members each night in the cookhouse. Most of them did not care for Roger's teasing, but it made the competition aggressive. We eventually ended up with a full crew, but Roger never did let up on keeping the competition going. It made for a fun and productive season.

The last time I saw Roger, was in October of that year. The snow had started to fly, bringing the season to an end. The crews were all chartering float planes, and flying to Ketchikan. There they would party, until they could catch a jet to Seattle, and to all points beyond. Roger and I had hit the bars hard, and drank until 5:00 am when the bars closed. This only gave us enough time to get to the ferry terminal in time to catch the ferry across the channel to the Ketchikan air port.

Myself, I was headed to Portland Oregon, while Roger was headed for Bolivia. To get any where, your first leg of the trip was to Seattle, then all points were available from there. The plane was sure to be full of loggers taking part in the mass exodus from the logging camps of South East Alaska. Most of the men had been drinking all night, so the airline was some what tolerant, for the first leg.

We had to change planes in Seattle, and I had assumed that Roger and I would part company there. As it turned out Roger would be also flying to Portland, and catch his connection from there. We ended up in line together as the plane was boarding. Still being some what intoxicated from our night in Ketchikan, we were cutting up and laughing as our party continued.

As we approached the attendant at boarding, it was pretty obvious that he had taken notice of us. I presented my ticket, and boarding pass to the attendant. He asked me where my final destination would be as he studied my ticket, he also asked if I was intoxicated. I sensed that he was about to get serious, so I politely told him that I was going to Portland, and though I had been drinking the night before, I had not been that day. He hesitated for a few seconds, and told me to have a nice flight and let me board.

This is where I last saw Roger. Roger did not get the seriousness of the situation, when the attendant ask him the same question. Roger thought he would play with the guy, a little. Roger boldly replied to the attendant, that he was not drunk! He went on to tell him, " I smoked a marihuana cigarette in Ketchikan, and I think I am going to freak out! As he laughed, I thought it best to just keep moving with the line. I never saw Roger again.

A few months later I received a letter from Roger. He told me that the attendant had taken his antics serious, and before Roger could stop laughing. Four gentlemen from security, had taken him down, bound him with zip ties, and put him on a cot, in some secure room in the airport. They kept him bound that way for four hours to give him time to sober up. He spent the next couple days in Seattle reconnecting all of his travel plans, and recovering from a real nasty hang over. I often wonder what ever happened to Roger.