The events leading up to the ape episode were filled with the psychic element. Since a young man I had always been clairvoyant. When just a boy I was in the pasture playing with my beanshooter. I had bought it with some long earned coins. It had a twisted wire handle. I lost it, and as I was crying, a kindly woman came up to me and put her arms around me. I felt warm all over. "Little boy," she said, "don't cry. Go home, you will find your beanshooter there." I went home and found it, and as far as I knew then it was the same one. But years later I found the one I lost. It was weather beaten and the rubber was rotten.
I would be sleeping on the hard benches of the Adventist Church my folks used to attend, and I would have my head in a lady's lap, only when I mentioned it to my folks, they said there was no one else there and took it to be a boy's musings. As I grew older, I saw visions and eventually I was holding spiritual meetings. After 1924 I spent many years in healing work.
There was another spiritual being which appeared to us — more in the role of a comforting friend, and we learned her name. One of our party suggested later that we name our mine after her; and so the mining claim we later filed bore her last name. The big Indian being told us there would be a white arrow go before us. Another man, who was not present during the attack in 1924, could see the arrow easily and clearly at all times. And I could see it nearly as well.
So we started by the Lewis River, south of Mt. St. Helens, and went up the Muddy River, and in all we followed the white arrow four days. The going was slow, for in those days it was very rugged territory. Hank's temper was growing short as he climbed the hills. He had always been a believer of spiritual things, and afterwards he was a believer. But he lost his temper and cussed. He swore at the spirit leading us. His face was red and we could not stop him: "Just a wild goose chase," he exclaimed, "they lied to us, and got us running all over the hills, and I want nothing more to do with them." He went on and on.
Then just when he had started to calm down, we all saw the arrow soar up high, change direction and swoop down. We had to follow in the general direction before we could find it again. It hovered near the top of the north cliff of Ape Canyon. That was the site where we later blasted out our shaft. We got a little closer, and we all saw the image of a large door open, and the big Indian appeared in front of it. He spoke: "Because you have cursed the spirit leading you, you will be shown where there is gold, but it is not given to you."
With those words, he disappeared. Then we saw the door slowly close. There was a huge lock and latch, but as the door shut, the lock did not latch: a closed door but it was not locked! "We just as well pack up and go home," one of the party said.
I want to tell you a very amazing experience I had in my mining days at Mt. St. Helens. I was walking from Spirit Lake on the trail. It was in the afternoon and I was feeling a little lonely. As I came around a curve in the trail, I met a very pleasant, beautiful young lady.
She began talking with me just as though she had always known me and had casually met me again. She said her father was hunting and that she was headed back to her camp. She had a jacket with her, and she let me pack it as we walked along the trail together. She told me all about herself and her father stating that she and her father came up every summer for an outing, to hunt, and to enjoy the beauties of nature. She was one of the most pleasant persons I had ever talked to in my life. When we parted, she told me where she and her father were camped, and asked me to visit them that evening.
I went, and had to walk about a mile. Her camp was east of ours, and quite a distance for a young lady of eighteen, I thought, to wander around in away from her father. When I arrived at her camp, I did not see her father, and never did see him. She had a fire going, and a light colored blanket was spread out and she was sitting on it. It was a warm summer evening, and we held another pleasant conversation. I remember her telling me how she liked the fresh air of the mountains, and how wonderfully she loved nature.
She would be talking on a subject, then pause and say, "Isn't that right, Dad?" This she said several times. There was no tent, cooking utensils, no food, and certainly no visible father. The most amazing thing was I did not at the time think her different than any other person. When she spoke to her invisible Dad, I felt just like her Dad was there.
I left her and walked back to camp, but my mind seemed like it was a thousand miles away. I could hear the other men talking, but it seemed like they were below me, and their voices sounded soft and distant.
I do not know anyone who had seen her but myself.
One day we needed a pencil to make a description of our claim. We found we had not brought one along with us. Everyone was a little put out. But then it came — a pencil was in my hand. It had tooth marks all over it. When that trip was over and I was home, I showed the pencil to my wife, and she said, "Why, that's a pencil I bought when you were gone. How did you get it?" She said my oldest son, then a young tot, was chewing on it and she took it away from him and had put it in a drawer. She went and looked and she found no pencil.
That last paragraph, and possibly the first, sounds a bit like the pixilation referred to in an earlier post. As for the rest of the story, what can I say? After describing, in vivid detail, an exorcism he witnessed, Rabbi Jakob Fromer added: "Now that I am committing these thoughts to writing, I can, if I wish, call these men fools. What is there to prevent me? I am sitting alone in my room, I have paper and pen and can think and write what I please. But . . ."
Likewise, I am sitting safely on the other side of the world, and Mr Beck is safely deceased. If I want to call him a liar, what is to stop me? Just the same, I have to admit that there is no evidence to that effect one way or the other. If he merely wanted to reclaim his fifteen minutes of fame, telling the original story would have been sufficient. Like most of the other events described in this blog, the only thing arguing against it is that it is fantastic. In any case, you can make up your own mind. At least the story has not been allowed to get lost.