(Parentheses and italics are anecdotes by Charles Seaton, Grandson) Again, I will also post the complete article if I find it.
Down at his ranch, about four miles below the Grand Coulee Dam, Sam Seaton can often hear the dull rumble of blasting as construction of the third powerhouse gets underway.
If the wind is right, the growing of heavy equipment drifts downriver stirs old memories.
Sam has lived all but two of his 83 years near the shadow of the Grand Coulee. His memories go back to a time when there was nothing at the mouth of the coulee but a dusty cattle trail and a tiny homemade scow.
The scow belonged to early coulee homesteaders Hans Lange and the Osborne brothers who used it to ferry their cattle across the Columbia for summer grazing on the reservation.
"The way the early-day ferrymen usually crossed cattle," Seaton says, "was to load as many as the ferry could carry, then jump the rest into the river to follow. The landings for that little ferry, as well as for the ones I later used at the same site, are buried beneath the tons of concrete which went into the dam."
Although Seaton was well acquainted with the rancher's little scow, it was not until he was about 12 years old that he became personally involved with the ferries which would keep him occupied for the next 35 years.
"It was in 1898," Seaton says, "when my father first learned that the south half of the reservation was to be opened to mineral entry. He knew that prospectors had already been poking around and many of them had spotted their claims and were only waiting for the big word before they staked them. My father fully intended to have a road and a ferry built to handle the traffic when that big word came. With only a team of horses, a shovel like contraption that he called a slip, and a prying bar we went to work building a road from Wilbur into the Moses mining district in the vicinity of Nespelem. We brought our road down to the river just three miles above the present site of the dam where it was temporarily laid aside while we constructed a ferry."
"When the ferry was finished we loaded our equipment and crossed over, only to be met by old Chief Moses and some of his band who informed us that, since one of our landings were on the reservation side of the river, Indians should be allowed to cross free. My father disagreed, since the other landing was on the white man's side. They finally struck a compromise, however, as long as my father's ferry was in operation the Indians always crossed for half fare." (Another story relates that Sam's father, TB Seaton, told Moses that the Indians could cross the river half way for half fare - the only time on record, apparently, when Moses was seen to laugh out loud- Charles Seaton, grandson).
In 1912 Seaton married the pretty teacher of the one-room rural school and they moved upriver on a homestead. Although Seaton operated a gas-powered launch near his home he could not get ferry boating out of his blood and so, when Grant County took over and remodeled the little rancher's ferry at the mouth of the coulee, Seaton came back down as its tender. He operated this ferry from 1920 until 1934 when it was sacrificed to progress in the shape of the big dam.
Many interesting stories come to light as Sam recalls his days of ferry boating. He often speaks of the rumrunners who brought their goods down through the reservation from Canada during prohibition days and cached it in the old abandoned mines around Nespelem. When the coast was clear it was ferried across to its receiver on the opposite shore. Sam also remembers a day when three men on horseback came racing down to the ferry from the reservation and asked him to take them across in a hurry. "I had just finished unloading them," Sam says, "when I noticed another group of horsemen come riding fast down to the other landing. I hurried back across to see what they wanted. They turned out to be government men who were after the three I had just taken across. The three, it seems, had been robbing the Indian graves along the river and, by putting the river and that slow ferry between them and their pursuers, I guess I helped them escape."
Another of Sam's memories is a day back in the early twenties when a big limousine came down the hill from the coulee and pulled up to the ferry landing. A liveried chauffeur stepped out and motioned Sam into the landing. "It was Herbert Hoover," Sam says, "when he was secretary of commerce. We walked all over my place and he kept talking about the dam he hoped would someday be built here." (In his later years, Sam was emphatic that Roosevelt should not be given credit for building the dam, but Herbert Hoover - Charles Seaton, grandson).
That day finally came and Seaton was kept busy ferrying materials back and forth across the river. It was at this time that Sam decided to purchase the ferry from Grant County and, although he knew that completion of the dam would be the end of his ferry, he thought that he would get a good price for it. (The family tradition is that he bought it thinking he would make a 'killing' from the government, a slightly different twist on this story - Charles Seaton, grandson). After all, it had done a man-sized job in its capacity as the only carrier of materials during the initial construction of the dam. Therefore, he was completely taken aback by the "might puny price" which was offered to him by the government when his ferry, plus his property, was finally condemned. (In the early 1960s, Sam told me that the contractor ran unmuffled diesel trucks on the borders of his property to scare him away. "It only made me meaner", he told Charles Seaton).
Not only did he refuse the offer, but he also refused to move. He took the case to court and, although they "lawed up one side and down the other" it was no use. The day finally came when a bulldozer descended on Sam's property and began to mow down his fences. Sam snatched up a shotgun and the driver made a fast exit, leaving his dozer behind. (The shotgun is in the possession of Charles Seaton).
The result of this episode was a restraining order against the old ferryman. (About 20 marshals showed up the next morning, ringing his property - Charles Seaton, grandson).
Now, 34 years later, Sam works around his ranch and remembers the old days on the river. All that he has left of his ferry is the old schedule board from the Okanogan County side of the river. Fares for crossing ran from 10 cents a head for stock to $2.50 for a loaded wagon with two teams. A buggy or hack, with one team, was $1.50.
"I saw it all," Sam says, "from the time when there was nothing at the mouth of the coulee but that little ferry and a cattle trail and, although I was in the thick of it back when the dam was being built, this time I intend to be only an interested bystander and let the people who live up there do the worrying."
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