The following story comes from one of the members of the mining group, Fred Beck as dictated to his son in his book "I Fought the Apemen of Mount Saint Helens". Here is the senior Beck's story:
First of all, I wish to give an account of the attack and tell of the famous incident of July 1924, when the Hairy Apes attacked our cabin. We had been prospecting for six years in the mount Saint Helens and Lewis River area in southwest Washington. We had, from time to time come across large tracks by creek beds and springs. In 1924 I and four other miners were working our gold claim, the Vander White. It was two miles east of Mt. St. Helens near a deep canyon now named Ape Canyon, which was so named after an account of the incident reached the newspapers.
Hank (pseudonym) a great hunter and good woodsman, was always a little apprehensive after seeing the tracks. The tracks were large and we knew that no known animal could have made them; the largest measured nineteen inches long.
It was the middle of July, and we had received a good assay on our claim, and everyone was excited. I remember I had a tooth that was aching, and I suggested to Hank that he should take me to see the dentist; but he was so excited in the prospect of the gold mine, he barely took time to answer me. He replied that "God or the Devil" could not get him away from there. We had all come up in his Ford, and I had no way to get to town unless he took me. So when we went to our cabin, on the north side of the canyon, I had a nagging toothache and little appetite for our evening meal of beans and hotcakes.
Hank, though apprehensive was still determined. We had been hearing noises in the evening for about a week. We heard shrill, peculiar whistling each evening. We would hear it coming from one ridge, and then hear an answering whistle from another ridge. We also heard a sound, which I could best describe as a booming, thumping sound just like something was hitting itself on its chest.
Hank asked me to accompany him to the spring, about a hundred yards from our cabin, to get se water and suggested we take our rifles to be on the safe side. We walked to the spring, and then, Hank yelled and raised his rifle, and at that instant, I saw it. It was a hairy creature, and he was about a hundred yards away, on the other side of the canyon, standing by a pine tree. It dodged behind the tree, and poked its head out from time to time, Hank shot. I could see the bark fly out each of his three shots. Someone may say that this was quite a distance to see bark fly, but I saw it. The creature I judged to have been about seven feet tall with blackish-brown hair. It disappeared from our view for a short time, but then we saw it, running fast and upright, about two hundred yards down the little canyon. I shot three times before it disappeared from view.
We took the water back to the cabin, and explained the affair to the rest of the party; and we all agreed, including Hank, to go home the next morning, as it would be dark before we could get to the car. We agreed it would be unsound to be caught on the way out.
Nightfall found us in our pine log cabin. We had built the cabin ourselves, and had made it very sturdy. It stood for years afterward, and was visited by many sightseers until a few years ago when it burned to the ground - the circumstances of the fire, I don't recall.
In the cabin, we had a long bunk bed in which two could sleep, feet to feet-the rest of us sleeping on pine boughs on the floor. At one end of the cabin, we had a fireplace, fashioned out of rocks. There were no windows in the cabin. So darkness found all of us in the cabin, calmer now (and my tooth was better, somehow the excitement seemed to work a temporary cure on it). We were sitting around, puffing on pipes, and talking about the trip home the next day.
Each of us settled down in his crude, but welcome bed, and soon fell asleep. About midnight, we were all awakened. Hank, who was sleeping on the floor, was yelling and kicking. But the noise that had awakened us was a tremendous thud against the cabin wall. Some of the chinking had been knocked loose from between the logs and fell across Hank's chest. He had his rifle in his hands and was waving it back and forth as he kicked and yelled. (Hank always slept with his gun near by-it was a Remington automatic, my gun being a 30-30 Winchester, which I still have).
I helped get the chinking off him, and he jumped to his feet, then we heard a great commotion outside; it sounded like a great number of feet trampling and rattling over our pile of unused shakes. We grabbed our guns. Hank squinted through the space left by the chinking. By actual count we saw only three of the creatures together at one time, but it sounded like there were many more.
This started the famous attack, of which so much has been written in Washington and Oregon papers through the years. Most accounts tell of giant boulders being hurled against the cabin, and some even fell through the roof, but this was not quite the case. There were very few large rocks around that area. It is true that many smaller ones were hurled at the cabin, but they did not break through the roof, but hit with a bang and roll off. Some did fall through the chimney of the fireplace. Some accounts state I was hit in the head by a rock and knocked unconscious. This is not true.
The only time we shot our guns that night was when the creatures were attacking our cabin. When they would quiet down for a few minutes, we would quit shooting. I told the rest of the party, that maybe if they saw we were only shooting when they attacked, they might realize we were only defending ourselves. We could have had clear shots at them through the opening left by the chinking had we chosen to shoot. We did shoot however, when they climbed up on the roof. We had to brace the hewed-log door with a pole taken from the bunk bed. The creatures were pushing against it and the whole door vibrated from impact. They pushed against the walls of the cabin as if trying to push the cabin over, but this was pretty much an impossibility, as previously stated the cabin was a sturdy building. Hank did most of the shooting-the rest of the party crowded to the far end of the cabin; guns in their hands, the others clutched their rifles. They seemed stunned and incredulous.
The attack continued the remainder of the night, with only short intervals between. A most profound and frightening experience occurred when one of the creatures, being close to the cabin, reached an arm through the chinking space and seized one of our axes by the handle (a much written about incident and a true one). Before the thing could pull the axe out, I swiftly turned the head of the axe upright, so that it caught on the logs; and at the same time Hank shot, barely missing my hand.
The creature let go, and I pulled the handle back in, and put the axe in a safe place.
A humorous thing I well remember was Hank singing; "if you leave us alone, we'll leave you alone, and we'll all go home in the morning." He did not mean to be humorous, and sang under the impression that the "Mountain Devils," as he called them, might understand and go away.
The attack ended just before daylight. Just as soon as we were sure it was light enough to see, we came cautiously out of the cabin.
It was not long before I saw one of the apelike creatures, standing about eighty yards away near the edge of Ape Canyon. I shot three times, and it toppled over the cliff, down into the gorge, some four hundred feet down.
Then Hank said that we should get out of there as soon as possible; and not bother to pack our supplies or equipment out; "after all," he said "its better to lose them, than our lives." We were all only too glad to agree. We left about two hundred dollars in supplies, powder, and drilling equipment behind.
I tried to persuade everyone not to relate the happenings to anyone, and they agreed, but Hank soon let the cat out of the bag. We made our way to Spirit Lake, and Hank went to the ranger station. He had told the ranger earlier about the tracks, and the ranger replied, :Let me know if you find out what they are." That was just what Hank did, to the puzzlement of the ranger.
The group returned to Kelso, Washington, where the story leaked out. And the rest is history.
This story and many more fascinating accounts are in my book "Notes From the Field, Tracking North America's Sasquatch", available on amazon.com and Barnes & Noble's websites.
Fred Beck holding his Winchester 30-30.
Ape Canyon