The year was 1908. At that time Luffenholtz was a well established, thriving community of thirty or more families, a railroad depot, store and post office. The economy of the community centered around Hammond Lumber Company’s Camp 13 logging operation and Charlie Kallstrom’s shingle mill. The Oregon and Eureka Railroad shops were also located at Luffenholtz.

The Abbott family was one of the thirty families living in the community. George Abbott, my father, moved his family there from Fieldbrook sometime during the year 1906. He had been working in the woods for Hammond Lumber Co. at Camp 6, located a short distance from our home in Fieldbrook. When the timber was finally all “logged out” from that area, the company transferred him to Camp 13, near Luffenholtz.

George Abbott was a man who, after a long hard day in the woods, loved being home with his family in the evening. In those days, in order to do that, a man had to live reasonably near his job. Soon after going to work at Camp 13, he acquired a piece of land in Luffenholtz and began construction of a home. Upon its completion, our family made the move from Fieldbrook.

The Abbott family in 1906 consisted of George, Margaretha, his wife, and two small boys. I, Arthur, the oldest was born January 22, 1904 and Milton was born December 8, 1905. By the year 1908 there were two more children, another boy, Loren, born January 3, 1907 and a girl. Ramona, born July 5, 1908.

We lived a good life in Luffenholtz. The people were all congenial and got along well. As the saying goes, we were “Just like one big happy family.”

It was a short walk from our home to Luffenholtz Beach. During the summer many of our friends from Fieldbrook would come by train on Sundays and holidays for a picnic. Such a sight! The women carrying baskets of beautifully prepared food and the menfolk with their carefully mended nets slung over their shoulders, hoping that the day’s surf fish run would prove to be productive. We looked forward to those times with such anticipation. So many enjoyable hours were spent on that beach picnicking, fishing or just plain exploring.

The summer months also brought many of the local Indian population to the beach. They would set up camp, catch their winter supply of surf fish and spread them on top of the large rocks in the area for drying. My mother enjoyed visiting with the Indians on the beach and made many life-long friends among their people. They often came to our home bringing fresh salmon, wild ducks from Big Lagoon, huckleberries and wild blackberries. Mother soon had a large collection of handmade baskets, presented to her by her Indian friends.

Our house was situated near the road, surrounded by a good-sized yard which contained two large redwood stumps; one close to the road, the other farther back.

Near his shingle mill, Charlie Kallstrom had a few cabins and a cookhouse to furnish lodging and board for the men who worked at the mill and shingle bolt landing. The camp was not far from our house so my brother, Milton, and I would go, quite often, to the cookhouse and visit the cooks. Art and Louise Garcelon were the camp cooks and also good friends of our mother and father. Whenever we’d visit, they would insist on treating us with those delicious, plate-sized cookhouse cookies.

Then there was the time Milton decided to visit the cookhouse by himself although not much more than a toddler. He arrived there fine but on his way home, took the wrong road. It was getting on towards evening and when he didn’t show up at home, it wasn’t long before the whole neighborhood had organized a search party. When one of the men finally found him, he was as far out on one of the old logging trestles as he could get; standing there just crying his heart out. So, along with the good times, there were also a few “anxious” moments. That’s the way it was — that is until September 1908.

It was Wednesday, September 12, 1908. A very drastic change was about to take place in Luffenholtz that would affect every man, woman and child. The day began like any other ordinary day in September. The sun was shining but as the day progressed, the wind began to blow. Ordinarily, a breeze of that magnitude would not be cause for alarm. No one seemed to be aware that it was fanning to life the embers of a previous fire in one of the log jams which everyone thought was “out.”

By mid-afternoon a good-sized blaze had started and with a 40 mile-per-hour wind behind it, was soon the most disastrous fire ever experienced in Humboldt County and it was heading straight for Luffenholtz. In those days, small communities such as Luffenholtz had no fire fighting equipment of any kind, due mainly to the inaccessiblility to an adequate water source. So, when a fire of such magnitude got out of control, there was nothing anyone could do but run, let the fire run its course and take whatever was in its path. And run is exactly what the people of Luffenholtz did!

Most of the men were at work but what few were home did manage to guide their families to safety but for the most part, the mass exodus from Luffenholtz immediately became the responsibility of the women.

Some headed for Trinidad and others took to the beach. A few walked the beach south, waded across the mouth of Little River and made their way to the Worth place at Dows Prairie. The Abbott family was among the group that went to Trinidad. Mother had a hard time convincing us to leave, our reasoning being “because Dad wasn’t there.” When finally able to get us all organized to a certain degree, she took Ramona (just two months old) in her arms and we started walking with the other folks toward Trinidad.

After crossing the Luffenholtz Creek Bridge, we came to the Jack Crow place and stopped to rest, so thankful for their hospitality. While taking advantage of the brief rest stop, much to our glee and great surprise. Father arrived on the scene. George Abbott had found his family! He had worked his way around the fire and down Luffenholtz Creek from Camp 13 to the Crow place. One of the first questions he asked Mother was, “Did you save anything?” With her family gathered around her, she replied, “I saved these.”

Some of the men decided to backtrack and see if they could possibly save anything from their homes but when they reached Luffenholtz Creek the bridge was burning so there was no going back. Nothing to do now but go on to Trinidad.

Upon arriving in Trinidad, the Abbott family went to the Wallace Shipley home. The Shipley’s had, at one time, owned a store in Fieldbrook and were good friends of the Abbotts. They took us in and we stayed with them (I do not recall the exact length of time) until, one day, Mr. Havens and his boy arrived in his horse-drawn surrey to take us back with them to Fieldbrook.

They stayed the night in Trinidad and early the next morning we all struck out for Fieldbrook. The Havens family was among our best friends from Fieldbrook and this gesture on their part was just one more act of kindness. In those days, “People Helping People” was more than just a catchy phrase, it was a necessary means of survival.

We were totally unprepared for the sight which lay in store for us. When we arrived to what was once Luffenholtz, it was impossible to comprehend the destruction that surrounded us. Nothing left but charred stumps and pile after pile of debris. Not one structure escaped the terrible wrath of the fire. We stopped at the spot where our home had so recently stood and rummaged through the charred mess, hoping to find at least one recognizable object. Mother picked up a few pieces of molten metal which had once been a prized set of pewter ware. These were the only souvenirs we had of that disastrous fire and they remained in the family, as reminders, for many years.

Gone were the homes that had housed those happy, congenial families; gone were the store, the post office, the railroad depot and the cookhouse. The cookhouse, oh my! With a typical four-year-old boy’s reasoning, I bade a sad farewell to the glorious days of the Garcelon’s plate-sized cookies. Not realizing it until many years later, I had just passed through one of the greatest milestones of my life. Gone also were the railroad shops and Kallstrom’s Mill, which gave employment to so many men, men who had lived so contentedly with their families in homes which now were nothing more than piles of rubble.

As we continued south towards Dows Prairie, the extent of the damage became more and more apparent. The ravaged countryside on both sides of the road, stretching all the way to Dows Prairie, told a story no words could ever accurately describe. We finally reached the Underwood place in Dows Prairie. We were all weary; this was the most welcome rest stop. The Underwoods operated a small dairy, located near the road. They too, over the years had been good friends and Mother had bought butter from Mrs. Underwood when we lived in Luffenholtz. Upon resuming our journey, we made no more stops until reaching our final destination; the Havens’ home in Fieldbrook. The trip had taken all day and evening had already set in by the time we arrived.

The Havens family operated a good-sized dairy in Fieldbrook. We were so thankful to them for their hospitality and for letting us stay with them until such time as we were able to move into our own home again. Fortunately, Father had kept our Fieldbrook house. We spent the next few days busily cleaning, fixing and just plain getting the old home ready for occupancy. The fire had literally wiped us out of all personal property, including clothing and all household furnishings, which had taken my mother and dad years of hard work to accumulate. This dreadful fire had put them in a position of having to start completely over again from scratch. Of course, many things were cherished items which could never be replaced.

Father made the long trip to Arcata, went to Brizard’s Store and purchased a new “Universal” kitchen wood range, tables, chairs, beds and other miscellaneous housekeeping necessities. Father went into debt for each and every one of these items but Brizards were very understanding and kind in extending him credit. The people of Arcata and Fieldbrook were most generous with donations of bedding, clothing and kitchen utensils. We were very greatful to everyone for their help.

When he was quite sure that his family was comfortably settled into the old Fieldbrook home. Father went back to the woods and Camp 13. However, this brought about a very big and not so pleasant change in our lives. Father no longer was able to come home to us each evening. He now stayed in camp all week. Traveling to and from camp by train, he managed to spend only Saturday nights and Sunday with us.

Poor Mother. The responsibility of holding things together on the “home front” and keeping peace in the family fell entirely on her shoulders. She worked hard and did everything she could to also help out with the finances. She took in laundry and being an excellent cook, baked bread for the local store as well as for neighbors. She turned out pastries of all kinds, e.g., cakes, pies, cookies, doughnuts; whatever anyone wanted, she furnished.

Like the Abbotts, most of the other families left homeless by the Luffenholtz fire relocated in various parts of Humboldt County. Some in Trinidad, others in Fieldbrook, Arcata and Eureka. Art and Louise Garcelon, the fine cooks from Kallstrom’s cookhouse moved to Fortuna and for many years owned and operated a “Sweet Shop” there.

So it was in the year of 1908. Come September, it will have been 77 years since the “Big Luffenholtz Fire.” There is little or no evidence in that area today to even reveal for certain exactly where that thriving little community stood, proudly overlooking the Great Pacific. The town of Westhaven is located in the general vicinity but Luffenholtz was more along the county road.

The passing years do bring with them many changes; some for the best, some not, but forever and always proving once again that time, does, indeed, keep marching on!

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The story above is from the January-February 1985 issue of the Humboldt Historian, a journal of the Humboldt County Historical Society. It is reprinted here with permission. The Humboldt County Historical Society is a nonprofit organization devoted to archiving, preserving and sharing Humboldt County’s rich history. You can become a member and receive a year’s worth of new issues of The Humboldt Historian at this link.