RUNNING THE BOISE RIVER ON A FLAT-BOAT. 



F. R. FOUCII. 



In the early '90's, I was connected with 

 a company then engaged in opening up the 

 Boise river country. Until we built 

 bridges, the only way of crossing the river 

 was by means of primitive flat-bottomed 

 boats, drawn from shore to shore by a 

 cable. On one occasion I was directed to 

 take one of the boats 40 miles down the 

 river, and establish a new ferry. It was a 

 clumsy craft, 20 by 40 feet in size. With 

 her load of derricks, steel cable, 2 canoes 

 and her crew of 6 men, besides myself, on 

 board, she lay deep and loggy, and any 

 sailor could see she would be hard to man- 

 age. 



The Boise was nearly at high water mark, 

 and an ominous roar from her continuous 

 rapids could be heard a mile from the 

 stream. Many large sloughs put out from 

 it, and would draw our craft toward them. 

 Their tortuous, brush-filled channels were 

 even more dangerous than the main stream. 

 Two dams and 2 bridges on our route 

 added a spice of danger to the trip. 



A fast team was sent ahead, with dinner, 

 to the Canyon, where our first bridge and 

 second dam were located. Although we 

 had 5 miles farther to travel, we easily dis- 

 tanced the team, which came in much the 

 worse for a 14 mile run. The trip thus far 

 was uneventful though highly exhilarating. 



A few drift piles run down, a lost pike 

 pole or 2 and some hard work in keeping 

 the main channel, developed a cool crew 

 and got all working well together. Young 

 ducks and geese were just hatched and it 

 was an interesting sight to see the anxious 

 mothers spirit the young away, along the 

 willow fringed banks. Once we rounded 

 an island into 3 broods of young geese, 

 who, in their excitement, put out into the 

 main stream. We gradually ran them 

 down, scattering them out for miles along 

 the river. After an hour's rest we ran for 

 the railroad bridge a mile below. 



The water was so high there was no al- 

 ternative but to run the bridge with less 

 than 4 feet of clear space. A rock train 

 and 100 men were busy trying to keep the 

 bridge from washing out. I counted on 

 the undertow from the piers to help hold 

 us straight; so fell in the long procession 

 of drift, took direct charge of the bow 

 sweep and held the boat steady and true 

 with the current. The slightest contact 

 with the bridge would throw us across to 

 the next pier, the boat would sink edge- 

 wise, closing the stream and bringing the 

 unstable structure down on us. The men 

 working on the bridge scattered right and 

 left to be out of harm's way, and stood 

 silently watching the novel spectacle. We 



ON THE BRIDGE. 



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