Would You Be Interested In a Big Engine?

By Staff
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The two 2-speed John Deere D's purchased from Mr. Hansen, part-owner of Twin Ledges Mine, shown on the author's farm north of Spokane, Washington.

N. 1322 Bessie Road, Spokane, Washington 99206

I want to share with my fellow iron collectors a story that
resulted from that question. It happened last fall just as the
leaves were turning yellow and summer was losing its grip on
northern Idaho. Todd Silk, Max Kunze and I took my old green pickup
into the hills south of Bonner’s Ferry, Idaho. Our purpose? To
check out a story Max had heard from his fellow worker that
‘ten years ago, there had been an abandoned steam shovel and
other steam equipment sitting along Twenty Mile Road.’ Well, if
you know Max, he loves power shovels, particularly steam shovels.
So there we were one Sunday charging around the hills trying to
follow a set of ten-year-old directions. You’ve probably been
on enough wild goose chases to guess the results. We saw lots of
pretty country, but nary the hint of steam equipment.

On the way in on Twenty Mile Road, we passed a farmstead that
had a John Deere 2 speed ‘D’ sitting out along the road
with a ‘For Sale’ sign sitting on its hood. I think all of
us made a mental note to check that out later! As we were coming
out, it was still too early to head back to Spokane, so we did just
that. The place is owned by Mr. Hansen, and yes, the John Deeres.
were for sale (at a quite reasonable price, too) provided the buyer
took them both. Well, we looked them both over and I agreed with
Mr. Hansen that I would buy them both as soon as next payday rolled
around. Then I sprang it on him. ‘Do you have any other old
equipment or know of any that can be bought? How about one cylinder
gas farm engines?’ He replied that the only engine he’d had
he’d given to the neighbor fellow who was sort of interested in
them. So we talked some more and I thought to myself, ‘This is
all he will be able to help us.’ But as I was getting into the
pick-up to leave, he asked, ‘Would you be interested in a big
engine?’ Of course I quite likely would, depending upon the
circumstances. What was it? He said it was a ‘Harvester’
engine. I thought, ‘A combine engine, maybe?’ ‘No,’
he said, ‘it has two big flywheels on it. We used it to pump
water out of a gold mine I used to own part of.’ ‘How long
ago?’ I asked skeptically. ‘Thirty years ago.’ So we
talked about it some more and finally he said, ‘Let’s go up
and see if it’s still there. You haven’t got anything more
important, have you?’ So up the hill we went. The gent was a
little hard to understand, so I didn’t really know what I was
letting us in for. But I thought, ‘What the heck!’

So back up the hill we went, right up the way we’d just come
down. Bounced back up over the same rocks and washboard road till
finally he said, ‘Park here. Now we walk.’ We got out of
the pick-up and down the side of the canyon from the south side of
the road we went. The first 200 yards or so were so steep we had to
watch our steps to keep our feet under us. The pine needles, grass,
and small stones made landing on your fanny quite likely. The
ground finally leveled out so you could get your eyes up off the
ground and look around. That first drop was really steep! In
another 50 yards the ground dropped off again and we had to go back
to watching where we put our feet. Two hundred yards of this and
now we could hear a small creek in the cedar thicket below us. We
were down in the canyon far enough that the late summer sun
wasn’t shining on us anymore and we became comfortably cool.
Coming down a stony hogback, I spotted a small building dug into
one side of the hogback. Mr. Hansen said, ‘Well, there’s
the powder magazine.’ That was a relief because I wasn’t
all that sure that he wasn’t lost or leading us on a wild goose
chase. From the front of the powder magazine, an outhouse-sized
cedar shake covered building, we could see the creek in the bottom
of the canyon. A trail led from the front of the powder shed around
the hogback point to the west. We headed down that way, climbing
over or around the place where part of it had slid off into the
creek, till the remains of another structure came into view. From
the creek bed where I was I couldn’t see very well because it
was above me and the only part left standing was part of the wall
on the side toward me. I scrambled up the bank, over the fallen
boards and other debris, and peered into it.

There in the center was the remains of the roof covering
(somewhat shakily) an open, water filled shaft, and on an elevated
ledge toward the north was this beautiful piece of iron and rust.
The four of us ‘swarmed’ around it in our eagerness. It did
indeed say ‘Harvester’ on it, preceded by
‘International.’ All the brass had been removed by previous
scroungers: the main bearing shells, the con-rad bearing box, and
the fuel pump. The mag was gone, too, but the igniter and
carburetor were there. I’ve got to say this for the guy that
took the main bearing shells; he very carefully saved the bearing
caps, nuts, and bolts just as a mechanic would. I’m surprised
they weren’t thrown all over the place or down that handy mine
shaft 3 feet ahead of the engine. But it really hurt to see that
some brainchild with a hammer or a big rock had severely damaged
the rocker arm, the intake valve cage, and the valves. But, what
can you expect? The flywheels weren’t broken and looked to be
about 45′ in diameter. I knew right then and there that it
would be a real battle to get the engine out because it looked

I asked Mr. Hansen if the engine belonged to him now. He replied
that it had belonged to his three partners and himself. Was it for
sale and could he sell it? He replied that as far as they were
concerned, the engine was abandoned and would belong to whomever
claimed it and got it out. Well, how to get it out? It definitely
was a long steep way back up the hill we’d come down. Maybe
there was an old road in some other way we could clear to bring a
truck in closer. Mr. Hansen said that there was only the pack trail
they’d used originally to bring their supplies in. He estimated
it would meet a usable road about five miles down the creek. That
would mean a lot of clearing, and most likely a vehicle could not
get up it anyway. He didn’t know how the engine had been
brought in originally; it was already installed when he bought into
the mine. So it looked like we had to find a way to drag the engine
back up the hill.

We examined the remains of the barn, cook-shack, bunk-house, and
the one-holer. The snow hadn’t collapsed these yet, but it
won’t be too many years till they would go down too. In the
cook-shack there was the remains of one of the most beautiful old
wood stoves I’ve ever seen. I hope to see a good one like it
some day, but this one was beyond saving. All this time we were
talking about life at the mine, its history, and how they’d
done their work. The mine had been discovered by the usual means,
panning up the creek. Mr. Hansen and his partners had not been the
discoverers. They had bought the claim. The discoverers had found
the ‘blowout’ as they panned the creek. They’d found
two small veins of gold and filed the claim, naming it the Twin
Ledges Mine. Mr. Hansen said that must have been all the gold there
was because he and his partners worked the mine off and on for ten
years and never did any good. He made money working summers for the
Forest Service so he could feed his family while he worked the mine
during the winter. The engine had run a lineshaft mounted in the
top of the now collapsed building over the shaft opening. The
lineshaft had in turn run a pump jack, the pump and jack were long
since gone. According to Mr. Hansen, the mine shaft was more than
80′ deep. Water must have really been a problem if it took an
engine that big to keep it pumped out.

Coming down a hill can really fool you as to how steep it is,
but the truth comes when you climb back up. Because I’m not in
as good shape as I should be, I took lots of time on the way back
up to contemplate routes between trees through which to move the
engine, and where and which trees to use as dead men. Luckily there
were lots of sturdy trees all the way up the slope. But in many
places the trees and/or brush were too thick and it obviously was
going to take some planning to get the engine up through them. I
planned right then and there to bring a chain saw to clear some of
the brush. Todd and Max beat Mr. Hansen and myself up the hill by
quite a while, but we made it. Let me tell you; none of us made it
without being pooped. We drove back, dropped Mr. Hansen off at his
house, and Todd, Max, and myself headed for home. You can imagine
the conversation as we drove in the dark to Spokane. ‘Man, what
a place to get it out of.’ Silence. ‘Do you think it’s
possible?’ Silence. ‘That’s a nice engine.’
Silence. ‘Well, there are enough trees to pull from.’
Silence. ‘Boy, what they must have gone through to get that
engine in there!’ So went the planning, each trying to remember
all the details of the engine, its location, mounting and the
tree-to-tree distances we’d have td know to bring the rigging
and equipment needed. I’m sure you can guess what each of us
fell asleep thinking about that night.

By mid-week, with the advice of several friends, I’d
formulated a plan. We’d go back with the intent of spending a
whole weekend (or several weekends if necessary) to get the engine
out. We’d came out right where we figured to load the engine so
as to spend as much time as possible working on the task rather
than driving back and forth to town. Todd and Max consented to go
the following weekend, so I borrowed a chain saw-winch with 120
feet of aircraft cable on it and collected every piece of light
chain I own. Gathered up my cable blocks, cable, tools, and two
come-a-longs. Then the necessities: food, water, sleeping bag, and
other camp gear. Max and Todd brought their gear over, and at 10:00
A.M. the next Saturday, we embarked on what turned out to be a long
strenuous weekend.

We arrived at our campsite above the engine about 12:30 P.M.
Saturday, tried to figure out what we needed down at the engine,
gathered it up, and headed down the hill. We got to the engine
about 1:00 P.M. I delegated the picture-taking responsibility to
Todd because he wasn’t supposed to do any hard work with one of
his hands. He had seriously cut some tendons in it several weeks
prior and his doctor had given him strict orders. We took pictures
of all of us with cat-that -ate-the canary looks on our faces as we
sat on and around the engine. If the truth were known, I think each
of us was a little scared to plunge into our task. Finally, we
could put it off no longer. I hooked the winch to a stout cedar up
the hill and the line to the engine and started to pull. The engine
moved off its rotten base of timbers and away from the edge of the
shaft; but when it encountered the first rise, it stopped cold.
This was our first indication that the winch would not pull as much
as its owner had said it would. We rigged double and still no dice.
So we tried a new approach; we rolled the engine upside down out of
the hole sideways and then rigged to pull it up the hill.

 First rig was two-to-one; no good. Three-to-one; almost.
Four-to-one; some progress, but the hill quickly got steeper and
everything stopped again. Next try was three-to-one pulling on
two-to-one to give a result of six-to-one. Now we started making
progress, slow but sure. The only trouble was we’d pull 10 feet
and then have to re-hook. And how do you keep the engine from
sliding or rolling back down the hill while you’re re-hooking?
Took time to prevent that, too. We did hit one space of about 20
feet that required eight-to-one, but most of the pulling worked
well at six-to-one. By now it had started to get dark, and our
progress for six hours has been 100 feet. We had 1200 feet more to
go. Finally, it had gotten so dark we had to quit. We gathered our
equipment together at the engine, chained it down and headed up the
hill, hoping no one would disturb our stuff while we were gone. By
the time we had climbed back to the truck, it was so dark we had to
light a lantern to see to heat up supper. We made short work of
supper and each of us selected the flattest spot we could find to
roll out our sleeping bags. In the morning we found out how level;
all of us were half way down the hill by the time we got up.

We made short work of breakfast and were down ready to start
pulling on the engine at 7:00 AM. Having had all night to get my
thoughts organized, I decided to try to make our method more
efficient or we’d be coming up again next weekend. The biggest
problem was the winch. The drive chain kept coming off and then all
would have to stop while we put it back on. This might happen every
pull or so. So we very carefully adjusted the chain and by holding
the winch at a slight slope, managed to stop most of the problem.
Then too, I found that, if the winch were hooked to the engine
instead of the deadman, it would run a lot longer before refueling
and it seemed to have more power. So things proceeded faster as we
got smarter. Most of this we could pull 6-1. Pull 10 feet; rehook;
pull 10 feet; rehook, and so on. Only several times did we have to
resort to 8-1. About 10:30 we were to the somewhat level part and
now 3-1 or 4-1 would pull it. The problem now was that the soft,
slightly side sloped ground made the engine want to roll over on
one flywheel. But we made good progress. That is, we thought we
were doing fine until on the last pull before lunch break, the
winch drum spread and bound up so tightly that the cable could not
be rolled off of it. I remember thinking to myself, ‘We’re
all through for today.’ The steepest part, about 200 yards of
100% grade was yet to go before we were done and the winch had
broken. Lunch looked like the best immediate activity. The other
two guys were a little down, too, because we were so near our goal,
but all of a sudden it looked impossible to score, that weekend

After lunch we decided to go back down to the engine to
reconsider the problem. As it was, we could not get the rigging
unhooked because of the winch problem. By lubricating the spot
where the spread winch drum was binding against the frame, prying
with a screw driver, and forcing the drum to turn by means of a
large Crescent wrench on the free-spool clutch, I was able to get
the cable off the drum and unhook the rigging. But now the drum was
no longer in a bind because there was no cable to spread it. Well,
it would be slower, but we could still keep going. Then it dawned
on me that if I always spooled the cable onto the side of the drum
that was okay, it would not bind anyway. So we proceeded up the
hill that way, wiping out several of the Forest Service’s prize
baby firs in the process. The same sequence: pull and rehook, pull
and rehook.

At the top of the hill the Forest Service had provided (I’m
glad I got something for my taxes at least) a shallow ditch to
drain the rain water away from the road. This ditch, having been
made with a cat. was steep on one side, shallow on the other. Just
right for backing a pickup into. Only a few shovels of dirt had to
be moved to make a perfect loading ramp. We carefully positioned
the engine, upside down as we’d moved it the whole way, behind
the pick-up with the crankshaft end toward the pick-up. I am sure
my helpers didn’t quite know what I was up to, but I let them
wonder. I made a few measurements and had them drag the engine to
the exact spot I’d marked on the ground. They caught on when I
instructed them to wrap a chain over the base of the engine (which
was now up) and start pulling with a come-a-long. The engine
up-ended, rolling on the flywheels, and landed exactly where I
wanted it in the pick-up bed. We packed our camping gear, tools,
and rigging in around the engine and we were ready to go.
However, it wasn’t quite that simple. We had
to pull the pick-up out of the ditch with the winch because the
weight of the engine had dropped the bumper down too solidly on the
ditch bank for the tires to pull it off. No problem, just took
time. The trip back to Spokane was uneventful including our attempt
at gold panning in the creek several miles below the Twin Ledges

Upon arrival in Spokane, Clarence Harsch identified the engine
as a 10 HP International Famous. It has a full base, in contrast to
the half base on most of these engines one sees. The piston was
fairly well stuck, but it yielded in several days to penetrating
oil, heat, and being solidly bumped with the crank. The piston was
stuck at the rear of the cylinder, leaving very little on the bore
exposed to the weather. The bore ahead of the piston looks new. The
engine weighs 1600 pounds as we moved it and is now residing in a
nice dry shed north of Spokane. Next to it sits the two John Deere
2 speed ‘D’s that sort of started it all. Mr. Hansen has
promised, that if I come up next spring, he’ll show me some
more of the country up there, maybe some more iron. He may remember
another big piece somewhere back in those hills and ask, ‘Would
you be interested in a big.-‘, and another adventure will

‘We proceeded up the hill that way, wiping out
several of the Forest Services’ prize baby firs in the

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