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Posts Tagged ‘Sherwood Mountain’

Originally published in the Voice of the Valley, March 16 and 23, 1977

By Jalo Lahtinen

Self-styled stump jumper Jalo Lahtinen of Hobart, standing here along the modern version of the East Fork of Issaquah Creek, reminisces about Hobart 59 years ago in the following article and offers some reflections on the present as well as sage advice for the future. He calls his piece, “Musings of a not-to-smart stump rancher,” but we’ll leave it to the reader as to whether or not this should be taken literally. — Ed. (Photo by Bob Gerbing.)

Self-styled stump jumper Jalo Lahtinen of Hobart, standing here along the modern version of the east fork of Issaquah Creek, reminisces about Hobart 59 years ago in the following article and offers some reflections on the present as well as sage advice for the future. He calls his piece, “Musings of a not-to-smart stump rancher,” but we’ll leave it to the reader as to whether or not this should be taken literally. — Ed. (Photo by Bob Gerbing.)

When you tell someone you’re from Hobart, “Where is Hobart?” they ask.

It is at the headwaters of Issaquah Creek, the two forks known to us old stump jumpers by the following names—north fork as Holder’s Creek, east fork as Carry’s Creek.

It’s part of Cedar River Valley, nestled in the foothills of the Cascades with an eastern view of the Stampede Pass area and Mount Rainier to the south.

Once a sawmill town and farming area with self-sustaining farms and part-time stump farmers it was a paradise, a boy’s dream. Our mountains—Tiger, Taylor, and Sherwood were covered with the forest primeval, a cathedral of the Gods, an emerald jewel that God dropped in the right location, only a three-to-four mile area.

Near the summit of Sherwood is a beautiful spring two to three feet across, a trickle of the most beautiful blue water you could lay your eyes on running out of it—cold, refreshing, and thirst quenching.

Our streams were full of spawning salmon and land-locked sockeye in the fall, spawning by the hundreds. We called them red fish, cut-throat, and steelhead—no trick to catch a mess at any time. (more…)

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