We continued down the South
Fork, amazed by the wild river canyon and the narrow winding road. We
stopped at the turnout overlooking Plummer Creek and Mary Blaine Mountain.
We hadn’t seen another car that day, so were surprised when a Land Cruiser
heading upriver pulled up and the driver angrily told us we should pull our
car further off the road. Then asked “Got any good pot?” This was not the
kind of encounter we were used to. We had good pot but were not ready to
share that information with this odd stranger. After he questioned us about
the nature of our journey for a few minutes, he introduced himself as Jesse
James, and abruptly said “follow me.” He turned his Land Cruiser around
and headed back the way he had come. We had just gotten our first good look
at Jesse. To us he looked like a back-woodsy version of Clark Gable, and he
worked at projecting that image. Kelly and I just looked at each other
dumbfounded, said “What the hell,” and followed him down the river
.
It was still a dirt road at that time, and the dust made it hard to see without staying well back When we caught up with Jesse, he was stopped near Hotelling Campground, side by side in the road with a pickup having a conversation, then without further word to us drove on. Kelly was becoming nervous, thinking this stranger could have ulterior motives, but I did not get that feeling and urged him to continue and see what happened. We drove to the Forks, but rather than stopping there, Jesse drove up the North Fork for a couple of miles, then turned up a driveway to someone’s house. That someone turned out to be Ted Sniderman, who was an older but very robust man who invited us in, though he seemed somewhat wary of Jesse.
Sniderman and Jesse bantered back and forth telling tales of mining ventures, claims bought, sold, or jumped, and it was unclear to us if these stories were of the past, present, or ever happened at all. Sniderman offered some friendly advice to us, saying “it won’t be easy for you boys to make it out here,” and we should try to make a little money anytime we got a chance. At that point, we were just on an extended camping trip, and did not know we would need to learn to make it or make money. He offered us a bowl of beans for supper which we gladly accepted, not knowing how often beans would become our supper in the future. Jesse suggested it was time to go, so we followed him back to Hotelling Campground where he had his trailer parked, and we pitched our tent and spent the night.
Jesse made us pancakes the next morning, and seemed to enjoy regaling us with stories of his “misspent youth,” as he called it. He told us that since we clearly did not know what we were doing, he would show us what to do. He said there was not much point being “tourist backpackers,” so he would show us a place we could stay for awhile, learn to “snipe” for gold, and do some fishing. That was the beginning of my days on Knownothing Creek, and I knew nothing of what was to come.
We once again followed Jesse with no explanation of our destination, back to Forks of Salmon and up the South Fork to Knownothing Creek turning up the road. We stopped at Tom Bemis’ place, a Quonset hut made into a house, about a mile up Knownothing. Tom showed us a little of his mining operation, and also seemed careful of rendering information to Jesse. I was to learn this was a common reaction to him.
We headed up the road. It was narrow, steep and unimproved, a jeep trail at best. The VW scraped bottom several times but we made it to where the road crossed the creek, where Jesse told us to park our car, bring our packs, and get in with him. We still did not know what was in store for us, but we were young and dumb and had no better plan.
We climbed in, Jesse shifted into four low, drove his rig into the creek which was still quite high, and up the other side, leaving us amazed by our first experience of four wheeling. We were further amazed as the road switchbacked up the mountain with ever increasing steepness. The timber was big and dense, our first look at old growth with its understory of oak and madrone. At the top of the ridge, we pulled into a clearing with an old cabin, some mining equipment, and an odd assortment of four wheel drive vehicles. Other than the vehicles, this place was like driving back in time one hundred years. Jesse let his dog out of the back of his rig, and a fight quickly ensued between Jesse’s dog and the three dogs coming barking to greet us.