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A small circus with one elephant came to Blue Lake — I think it was in 1927. They pitched their large tent on the baseball diamond, put up signs, and tried hard to attract a large crowd. It never happened.

One of the feature attractions was a famous bucking horse that nobody could ride. The ringmaster gave a long and impassioned pitch about this famous horse and offered $50 to any local cowboy who could ride him for ten seconds or something like that.

There was a bunch of us high school kids from Korbel and Blue Lake sitting up in the grandstand. Clarence Bugenig was sitting with us. He was a few years older than we were, perhaps 19 or 20 years old, but we all knew him.

Clarence, who had brothers and sisters who lived on a dairy in the Arcata bottom, was employed as a ranch-hand by Jack Tamboree, who managed the cattle ranches for the Northern Redwood Lumber Company of Korbel. Clarence had established himself as a pretty good bronc rider, winning the saddle bronc competition at several county fairs or rodeos in northern California and southern Oregon affairs.

We encouraged him to take the ringmaster’s challenge. After all we figured that 50 bucks was as good as in his pocket. He grinned, walked down the steps to the arena, and told the man he thought he could ride the horse. We watched his preparations with interest. He adjusted the stirrups on the saddle to the proper length for him and made sure the hackamore rope was the right length. After the announcer made his speech, Clarence mounted that gray bronc, jerked the blindfold off, and proceeded to ride the horse until he quit bucking. That horse was a pretty good bucker, but Clarence had no trouble riding him.

Clarence was the toughest man I have ever known. He moved fast and when working with horses had no fear. We were at the Deer Creek Ranch one time, and Clarence was riding a new, young horse that was only about half broke. The horse was tied in a stall in the horse barn. When Clarence went in beside him to untie him, the horse kicked him out of the stall. Instead of being cautious and careful, Clarence immediately went right back into the stall. The horse kicked him out again. By this time, we thought he would try a different tack, but no, back in the stall he went. This time the horse didn’t kick anymore. Clarence untied him, backed him out where he could saddle him, and took off. This is the way Clarence handled horses when he was young.

As he got older, he gave up bronc riding in favor of owning a few racehorses which he raced at county fairs. I remember he won his share of races at these events with a small girl riding for him at times. She was a great rider, and she and Clarence were married for a time.

Eventually Clarence became a partner of Wayne Vickers and lived on the Angel Ranch above Korbel. They purchased several ranches in Humboldt County and Clarence ran them.

Although the last time I saw Clarence Bugenig was many years ago, I will always remember him. No one who knew Clarence ever forgot him.

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When I recently got together with Arthur and Maxie Tooby at one of our ex-Humboldters gatherings in Sacramento, I remembered another horse story and another memorable Humboldt man. Arthur always reminds me of his father. I met Norton Tooby when I was employed on the Iaqua Ranch in 1932.

The Iaqua Ranch was owned by the Northern Redwood Lumber Company and had a common border with a large ranch owned and operated by Tooby & Prior. The line fence was located at the bottom of a canyon. This country is quite steep, but on the south slope of the canyon, the feed was excellent, and the snow never remained long on the ground because of the ocean breezes which traveled up this canyon. In those days there were coveys of grouse in the fall, in September and October. When disturbed they would fly up in pine trees and just sit there. You could ride right under them. There were trails along the slope running parallel, so that a steer could graze without reaching down very much. It was wonderful pasture for cattle.

One of my jobs, about once a month, was to pack a horse with 150 pounds of salt, lead him over to this area, which we called the Bohannon pasture, and salt the 110 head of three-year-old steers we pastured there.

On more than one occasion, I noticed a small band of saddle horses wintering on the Iaqua side of the canyon. There was a gate of sorts in the line fence— actually it was constructed of rails, placed one above the other, between posts. Each time I noticed the horses there, I found the rails down on one end, and it looked as though someone had taken them down in order to let the horses run where the feed was much better.

I reported this development to my boss, who was Mr. Ed Buck. He instructed me to round these horses up the next time I found them on Iaqua property, drive them to the Iaqua Ranch, and corral them. He said, “You must feed them and water them each day, and I will advertise them in the daily paper in Eureka. Tooby will be notified to come and drive them back to his ranch, and we can bill him for the feed and the trouble he has caused us.”

It seems that was a long shot in those days. How do you round up ten loose saddle horses in a steep country by yourself? I don’t quite remember how it was done, but I remember one fine-looking, gray horse that seemed to lead the others, and he just lined out the way I wanted them to go to the county road. At any rate I did corral them and telephoned Mr. Buck, and he did the rest. A few days later, Mr. Tooby and another horsebacker arrived at the Iaqua corral, looked at the horses, then jumped on me for causing them all this trouble. I was 19 years old at the time, and I was aware of who Norten Tooby was. After he let off plenty of steam, I pointed out to him that it was too late for him and his man to try and drive the horses back to his ranch that afternoon. It would be dark in about an hour, and he would have a tough time trying to drive horses in the dark.

There was plenty of room in the ranch house at Iaqua, so I invited them to spend the night. I had plenty of food, and I could cook them a good supper. Norton thought that was a sound idea and accepted my invitation. After supper, he became very friendly and told me stories of his life, starting in England. Norton understood livestock, especially sheep. In the days when he first landed in Humboldt County, there were more sheep than cattle. He got his start in the world of finance by buying wool from the sheepmen when the price was about five cents a pound. He warehoused it in a building on the waterfront in Eureka, holding it over for a better price. A war came along, and the price went way up. He sold and cleared enough money to start his career.

Almost sixty years have passed since that night, but whenever I get to talking with his son, the memories are revived.