I was a passenger on the North Coast Daylight on the trip to Fort Seward, August 12, 1989. As the train wound along the Eel River, ideal swimming holes were evident in the clear water. None surpassed the pool where I swam as a child at Boehne’s Camp over seventy years ago. A wide sandy beach was o the side nearest the camp, while on the opposite side, towering rocks defined the pool. Overhead was the Fort Seward bridge. I had been informed that the camp and bridge were destroyed by high flood waters but I was unprepared for the total change. The windows of the brick train station were boarded shut. Helmke’s store, a block away, was completely gone. The tables for lunch were placed where the railroad workers’ cottages once stood. Only Boehne’s Butte, a cone shaped hill nearby, was visible and more heavily wopded than I remembered.

Boehne’s Camp at Fort Seward was the setting of some of my favorite memories. In 1917, my family made the first of many trips on the Northwestern Pacific train for summer vacations there.

Mr. Boehne always met the train with his horse and wagon to take our luggage back to camp, but we took the shortcut across the tracks and down the trail to camp. The camp, situated in a grove of small trees and huckleberry bushes, consisted of canvas tent tops set on board floors. An adjacent screened kitchen with dirt floor included a small, woodburning stove and mismatched dishes. Cool water was carried from a reservoir filled by means of a pipe from a spring some distance down river. Our refrigerator consisted of an apple box buried in the ground and covered with a damp, burlap bag. An outhouse was a strategic distance away.

Our day began by awakening to the clip clop of Mr. Boehne’s horse bringing the milk and other necessities from his home on the other side of the bridge. We had a substantial breakfast to sustain us until after swimming. We met the train from Eureka at the depot. The baggage attendant might have a damp, canvas money bag filled with fresh vegetables from our garden which my father had put on the train that morning. My father never accompanied us because his two- week vacation from the Bank of Eureka (now the Clarke Museum) was saved for fly fishing on the Eel near Fernbridge.

When the train left, Helmke’s store was next on the agenda to get our mail and any groceries necessary. We hurriedly returned to camp to don our swimsuits to spend the next several hours swimming.

Depleted of energy by our swim, we returned to camp for lunch and a few leisurely pursuits. There was croquet. At one point, donkeys were furnished for the children. We could take the picturesque trail for a slow walk to the spring that furnished our water. Some more energetic campers met the afternoon train from San Francisco.

My brother, George, small for his age and wearing a dilapidated hat, often crouched by the railroad tracks for a ride on the engines. The engineers, who knew my father in the bank, picked him up for a ride in the engines while switching. On one auspicious occasion, he even rode to Eel Rock and returned on another engine.

Once in awhile, the ranchers shipped cattle by train. We would first hear the men on horseback shouting and the dogs barking to hold back the cattle on the other end of the bridge. Only a few cattle could cross at one time because of the bridge’s swaying. We eagerly ran to the bridge from which we would watch the loading of the cattle from the corral to the train’s cattle cars.

Next to the swimming, the evening campfire was the high point of the day. With or without talent, everyone was encouraged to participate. Community singing was often accompanied by an ukulele.

At least once during our vacation, we spent the evening at Boehne’s house. Two of the Boehne daughters had been missionaries in Japan. They told us of their life there and displayed small tokens from Japan to illustrate.

Sometimes we rowed the large wooden rowboats down river to George Washington rock, so named by us because of the resemblance to our first president. There we cooked our supper over an open fire and watched carefully for rattlesnakes, never found, ‘among the rocks.

And so to bed, another day, another vacation now long gone. But there are those besides me who remember those joyous days. I have recorded these memories for all who remember Boehne’s Camp as it was.

Glen Nash, past president of the Historical Society, found an old brochure advertising Boehne’s Camp. The brochure reads, in part:

“…Here the summer weather and mountain air combine in nature’s recuperative work. The aim is rest and relaxation, no jazz attractions are provided; a favorite resort for family groups —a place where parents’ worries for the safety of small children are soon forgotten…boats are free to guests. There is good fishing in the Eel and nearby streams, also deer hunting in season and hiking at all times…

“Rates: A one room cabin furnished with one double bed, $10 per week and $35 for four weeks. Extra beds: double, $3; single, $2; children’s cot, $1.50 and crib, $1…

“…Commodious cabins with large detached kitchens…equipment includes beds, camp furniture, stoves, dishes, cooking utensils; also bedding and bed linen. Bring towels and silver…”