Dutch Clarke - The Early Years. Brian Ratty
the time came, my father had his own mission, although I didn't hear the stories from him. Instead, Grandfather loved to tell his tales to me. Dutch Clarke, Jr., was born into this austere and rigid family in 1892. His mother, my Grandmother Alice, was a generous and loving woman who could bring warmth to any home. For some untold reason, he would be her only child.
Grandmother made sure my father had a good education and a large family home in which to grow up, Fairview Manor. Dutch, Sr., built the house, at her insistence, on Long Island in 1901. Junior proved to be a very smart and talented son, and he went to the best schools Alice could find. At nineteen, he graduated from the University of Oklahoma with a degree in Geology. In September of 1911, he started his mission by traveling to the southwest territory of New Mexico, which was not yet a state. Here he would spend a year alone with a horse and two mules, doing a geologic survey of a large desert area.
He and my Grandfather had planned the trip well. Their objective was to find any oil deposits to which they might stake a claim after statehood. With the help of Uncle Roy, who knew one of the local rangers, my father had a base of operations for desert survival training and a point from which to start. Soon after his mission, New Mexico became the 47th state. In 1912, the Clarke’s, Senior and Junior, staked mineral claims on twenty sections of government land. Of these sections, six proved to be "commercial" oil producers, which added to the mounting family fortune. Junior now joined the petroleum business with Uncle Roy and Grandfather.
In 1918, my father married his college sweetheart, Mary Wallace Person, in Oklahoma City. I was born in New Mexico on May 31, 1920, as Eric Dutch Clarke III. Over the years, I came to hate all those names… with the exception, for some reason, of “Dutch.”
My mother and father were killed in an automobile accident in 1925. So it was then, at the age of five, I went to live at Fairview Manor with my grandparents. As I grew older, I deeply resented the fact that I’d lost both of my parents in a split second of squealing brakes and crashing metal. But, to tell the truth, I don't really remember either of them very well.
It was a time when there seemed to be a black cloud of death hanging over the Clarke family. Grandmother Alice died of pneumonia at age fifty-eight, just three years after I came to live with her and Grandfather. I have fond memories of that large, warm, and loving woman. Other than my mother, she was the only person I ever remember kissing or hugging me. In the few years we spent together, she tried her best to help me better understand and know about my parents, their lives and their tragic deaths.
Sad and shaken once again, I consoled myself that my beloved grandmother had joined my parents in heaven. From then on, I could only learn about my father and mother through the stories that Uncle Roy and Grandfather would occasionally tell. Most of all, Senior enjoyed recounting the details of my father's mission in the desert. He would take out old maps and point to the general areas of my father had traveled. Then he would rattle off stories about wild animals, Indians, survival, and finding just the right rock formations. He would always end the tale with his standard statement: "He went into the desert a boy and returned a man... a better man." As the years went by, it became an old sour story, told to deaf ears.
Green Sentinels
By mid-morning, I reached the forest line, where the logged landscape gave way to a rich and dense rain forest. The narrow game trail we’d ridden down eventually disappeared. From time to time, I’d find small creek beds that would lead my little party in the general direction I wanted to go. Other times, I’d dismount and use my hatchet and hunting knife to forge a trail. The forest was thick, and it made my work difficult and slow-going. The canopy of trees was so dense that at times I lost sight of the sun and seemed to be moving in a shroud of emerald-green twilight.
Most of the forest floor was littered with old trees and toppled snags, downed in many storms over the centuries. All trees—dead or growing—were covered with thick layers of green moss. The smell of damp and rotting vegetation permeated the forest floor. Growing through and around the downed trees was a crowd of green underbrush, and moving my horse and pack mules through these obstacles was taking much more time than I’d expected.
Every now and then, we’d come upon a small clearing where I could stop and fix my general position with compass and map. But these opportunities were few, as thick vegetation pushed through every nook and cranny in an attempt to reach an occasional ray of sun.
The animals and I strained through a patch of underbrush but soon broke through to a dry, rocky creek bed. The warm sun splashed my face. I looked up and over the large green sentinels and saw some patches of brilliant blue sky shining through. Many of these towering trees were hundreds, if not thousands, of years old, and at times made me feel like I was riding through a large cathedral, with the only light filtered by an immense green window from above.
Stopping every few hours, I’d give the mules and Blaze a rest and water. The mules each carried a heavy load of supplies. Blaze carried my 175-pound body, with an additional 100 pounds in my saddlebags, bedroll and backpack. Each time we stopped, I could see signs of the wildlife that inhabited the forest. There were tracks of deer, elk, raccoons, and cougar, but most of the tracks were from timber wolves, the most vocal citizens of this forest. Gus was having the time of his life, following all those smells.
At noon, I let my animals rest and drink while I ate a sandwich and an apple from my saddlebag. Having been in the saddle for almost six hours, I could tell by the feeling in my backside that it would be a long journey.
The weather had steadily improved throughout the day. Gus, who had been leading and exploring some few hundred yards ahead, now rejoined my little party and was soon asleep on some ferns in a sunlit area. He had been running, up and down, left and right, for almost six straight hours, and was exhausted. After eating, I stretched out under a large fir tree and dozed off.
Not long into my snooze, I was jolted awake by Gus’s menacing bark and snarl. As I leapt to my feet, I saw the backside of a large mountain lion some fifty yards away, running fast through the forest with Gus in hot pursuit. Fumbling for my pistol, I called out for Gus to return, fearing that he would be no match for such a creature. I wanted to run after him, but I knew I couldn’t leave Blaze and the mules unguarded in this environment.
For the next few minutes, I strained to hear the distant sound of a fight or a yelp, but my heart pounded in my ears so loudly that I heard nothing but that. Moments later, I saw the nearby brush quiver and then part. The hair was up on the back of my neck, and my pistol was cocked and ready. As I tightened my grip and dug my feet into the moss, Gus crashed through the underbrush and into our little clearing. His ears were up and he had what I swear was a broad grin on his face. I knew the lion had outdistanced him, but he was still very proud of his attempt. This was my first face-to-face contact with a wild animal, and thanks to Gus there had been no deadly confrontation. The encounter reminded me, however, that my animals were the keys to my survival. I would always have to be alert to protect them from the many wild predators of the forest.
Sobered, I packed up and we started our ascent of the trail again, with Gus at the point as always.
The Pacific Lady
As a young boy I don’t recall that Uncle Roy had been responsible for this back-to-the-earth mission stuff, but also I don’t recall his support for my loud protests. But then, I didn't hold that against him. He was Grandfather’s brother and closest business associate, and he provided, after the loss of my parents and Grandmother, the only truly warm family relationship I had. Grandfather’s and Roy's personalities were like night and day, ice and fire. Roy was relaxed and fun to be around while Senior was stiff, somber and always businesslike.
Uncle Roy told me that Grandfather’s whole personality had changed after my father died. Then, after losing his beloved Alice, my grandmother, it only