The “Boys” of the Mt. Whitney Ranger Station; Part 1
Mt. Whitney Ranger Station, Lone Pine, CA – 1969-1970
The year was 1969, and I was one of several summer seasonal employees working for the US Forest Service in Lone Pine, California. Most of us were college students and others were teachers. This was before the real start of the environmental movement and Earth Day. I had listed my college major as pre-forestry; although later I switched to geography. Tom Highberger was an art major specializing in pottery. George Lathrop was a drama major. A couple others were forestry majors at Humboldt State; James Q. Brown and Rick Robinson. Dana Ready was another college student and Walt Pettis, in his 40’s, had worked as a miner, with horses, and other odd jobs. Teamed up with Pettis in some colorful antics that summer was high school teacher and football coach, and an ex-bouncer in Reno during his college days, Orville Leao, Jr. Orville was about 6’2″ or 6’3″, 260 lbs. plus or minus, broad shoulders and chest, and very little neck, and had played football as a tackle for the University of Nevada at Reno in 1964 and 1965.
We all worked for Marion K. Borrell, the assistant district ranger and Ben Casad, district ranger. Marion was ex-Army and looked and acted the part in every way, from his crew cut to having us “police” the grounds in the ware yard many mornings. We were all scared of Marion except one.
Walt Pettis was working on a hot, sultry summer day on the water system down in the canyon below the Whitney Portal Campground. Orville showed up during during the hot windless afternoon and joined Walt along with a case of cold beer.
As Walt and Orville were working and drinking, Orville asked, “Hey Walt? How many Forest Service vehicles did you drive here today?”
Walt laughingly replied, “Just one that I know of.”
“Well I know that I only drove one.” Orville said. “So why are there three Forest Service trucks up there on the road?”
Suddenly Walt sobered and said, “Crap! That’s Marion’s vehicle!”
Orville quietly picked up the empty beer cans, stuffed them into the cardboard container, and started up the hill towards Marion who was walking down the hill.
“Marion,” Orville said when they reached one another, “take this will you? I can’t believe people who litter. Makes me sick! I’ve got to go back now and help Walt. Thanks Marion.”
With that Marion went back up the hill to his truck with the empties and Orville went down to Walt with a big smile on his face.
* * *
Orville was a man of few words. With his size he didn’t need to ever say much. This was evident on a busy weekend nearing the end of the summer season.
Driving a fire prevention pickup truck which had a water tank, pump, and hose; occasionally Orville would hose out the inside of the toilets to help the recreation maintenance crews with their cleaning. He would hook up a high pressure nozzle taking just a minute or two to blast the toilets clean.
While at the Whitney Portal Campground he stopped at one of the toilets. He would knock first to be sure no one was inside, would open the door, prop it open with a large rock, and then he would use the hose. This time he knocked. Pulled open the door. And there stood a young man peeing all over the interior walls of the bathroom.
Orville literally filled up the doorway with his presence. He puffed himself up, glared at the man, and pushed the door shut. He then softly explained to the man, “You let me know when the inside of that toilet is completely clean. I don’t care how you do it, but you’re not getting out until it’s clean.”
Orville closed the door and leaned against it. Several minutes passed when finally a very meek voice spoke. “Sir. I’m finished,” said the voice inside the restroom.
Orville opened the door. All of the toilet paper was gone from the rolls. The young man was bare chested holding his t-shirt in his hands. Orville backed away from the doorway and nodded okay. The young man ran back to his campsite, packed up his camp, and drove away.
* * *
I had first hand account of how Orville’s mind worked. Which in itself can be scary. It was a Sunday. We had placed large rocks around the loop road near the Whitney Portal trailhead to discourage illegal vehicle parking. Backpackers would park here and do a weekend hike to climb Mt. Whitney; highest point in the contiguous United States.
It was nearing noon and Orville and I stopped to eat lunch at a picnic table next to the kid’s fishing pond. A blue VW bug was parked illegally. They had moved a rock to the side and then drove their VW into the resulting space.
Orville just sat there and pondered. He turned to me and said, “Jon, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
I replied, “I hope I never think like you Orville.”
He laughed and told me to grab a shovel. We walked behind the VW and I dug a hole. Orville then picked up the massive rock and dropped it into the hole so that only half was above ground, but still high enough to prevent the VW from escaping. We then went back to eating our lunch at the picnic table.
In about a half hour backpackers started coming down off the Mt. Whitney trail; a twenty-one mile round trip hike that starts at 8600 feet elevation and culminates at 14, 497 feet (plaque on summit reads 14,496.811) at the summit. Much of the hike is a mental trudge. From Trail Camp at 12,00 feet, people hike and vomit their way up ninety-seven switchbacks to Trail Crest Pass, and then onto the peak. They pick up their packs back down at Trail Camp, usually finding that the marmots and ravens have broken into their food bags, and then hike all the way down to the Whitney Portal where we now waited.
“Orville look,” I said as I pointed. There the first of two backpackers had arrived at their Volkswagen. You could tell he was exhausted. He slipped off his backpack, dropped in onto the ground, leaned against the car, and then slid down and collapsed in a sitting position with his back against the driver’s side front tire. We kept eating.
In a few moments the backpacker got up and put his pack in the backseat. He started to walk around his car when suddenly he stopped. He stared down at the rock behind his rear bumper.
Just then his hiking partner came off the trail. After sloughing off his backpack the first hiker pointed to the rock. You could not hear their voices, but it was easy to read their gestures, the head scratching, the walking around their vehicle looking for another way to drive out, then more talking and pointing.
I started to stand up but Orville told me to stay and finish my lunch. “There’s no hurry Jon,” he said while munching on a cookie his wife had baked.
For the next forty-five minutes to nearly an hour, we watched as the two already physically exhausted young men attempted to lift or pull the large rock out of the hole. At one point they got the rock partially out of the hole, when it fell back into the depression I had dug.
A few more attempts and the two finally succeeded and rolled the rock off down the hill a ways. Just when they looked like they were going to get into the bug and drive away Orville said, “Okay Jon. Now it’s time.”
Orville swaggered over and literally towered over the two men and the Volkswagen.
“Boys. That was my favorite rock. Why did you move my favorite rock?” asked Orville.
The two started stuttering and making excuses. They said the rock wasn’t there before when they had parked. Orville told them,” No. The rock had always been there and you two moved my most favorite rock.”
He then told them that they could back out their vehicle but needed to put the rock back the way they found it. Orville and I then went back to the table and watched another twenty minutes. They slowly rolled the rock back uphill; finally dropping it into the hole. The men, now totally wasted, walked down to us and looked at Orville to be released and set free.
It was then that I knew that Orville had rubbed off on me. “Orville,” I said. “I do believe the rock was put back upside down.”
Orville just grinned his Cheshire cat smile and said, “Boys, I do believe this young ranger is right. You put my rock in upside down.”