The Last Time I Saw Johnny

The last time I saw Johnny Robischon was 56 years ago … under unusual circumstances. Memories of that complicated event began creeping back last Sunday when his obituary appeared in the paper. John was a good friend and classmate of my younger brother Ritchey, two years younger than I.

In the evening of Aug. 17, 1953, six members of my Smokejumper crew were injured in the crash of a Ford Tri-motor that went down off the end of Spotted Bear Airstrip. They and two others, who were with me in a Travelaire, had not been able to jump on the Upper Helen Creek fire because of high winds. After flying back to Missoula at dark, I was involved in arrangements for getting the injured men out of Spotted Bear, then began rounding up a new jumper crew to hit that big blaze in the morning. Found four in a beer hall.

Circling the growing fire on the edge of the Bob Marshall Wilderness early the 18th, we could not find a decent "jump spot" but dropped the equipment downwind near the burn on a rocky, wooded ridge, thankful the smoke was going straight up. I finally decided to make an exploratory jump in some deep brush just off the ridge and in landing suffered an injury of my left leg. Hobbled around and found a small but passable area for the other jumpers to hit and laid out bright orange marker ribbons before limping off toward the equipment. This was the first jumper-fire in my memory where chain saws were dropped and was anxious to get them unpacked from wooden crates.

As I neared the cargo drop, noticed two men working on a saw. COULD NOT BELIEVE IT! Wondered, "Where in the hell did those guys come from?" As I got closer one of them yelled. "It's about time you got here brother." It was Ritchey and John Robischon. Hadn't seen either one for quite awhile, with no idea they were even in the Flathead country. They explained both needed work and knew fires were burning in the upper South Fork, so borrowed an airplane, flew into the remote Black Bear airstrip and signed on at the fire camp there.

One of the Homelite chain saw's cargo chute had not opened so it hit hard and housing was cracked. After recent four years as crew chief on large Navy planes, Ritchey was a top mechanic and got the damaged saw running as my crew floated in. Upon retrieving the other two Homelites, hand tools and rations, we hit the fire with John and Ritchey running saws. It was one of the toughest fires I was ever on, burning in old growth with down timber higher than our heads in places. Working through the night, often up against threatening flames, we cleared out a good line across the leading edge by dawn and began securing the flanks, in steep terrain.

August 19th, "ground pounder" relief crews began straggling up from the Black Bear camp, many ill shod and nearly worthless, mostly "volunteers' from the Cascade County Jail … But that's another story. About noon, my leg had swollen so large we had to slit Levis open for expansion room. "Toad" Paullin, legendary packer, soon came up with a saddle horse to haul me out. The steed took about three steps and I was howling in pain. They helped me off the horse and Toad whittled sturdy forked tree limb crutches that worked well for hopping on one good leg down to Black Bear.

In late afternoon a plane flew me to the doctor in Missoula, with remaining jumpers coming out the next day while Ritchey and John took charge of ragtag mop-up crews. That job lasted several days so those two young married guys were able to fly out with welcome checks coming.

John became a very talented civil engineer out in Washington with a degree from Montana State, and Ritchey a successful businessman in Kalispell with a degree from U of M.

Those two were a couple of real "go-getters' I'm proud of; however, I've sometimes felt they rubbed it in a little heavy at Helen Creek, about having to "wait so long" in the wilderness … for " you hotshot smokejumpers."

G. George Ostrom is a Kalispell resident and a national award winning Hungry Horse News columnist.