Ben and his daughter, Karen Ben Schaad, and his brothers and sisters, began fishing Marion Creek and Marion Lake in 1946. For several years, they took extended vacations at Marion Lake with Hal Moon, fishing for large rainbows. They also explored adjacent areas, and in 1948, discovered the beauty of Prill Lake. Memorial Day weekend of 1947, Ben made the acquaintance of Mom and Pop Young, the original proprietors of the Marion Forks Restaurant. At that time, the Marion Forks Restaurant was the only business between Detroit and Sisters that was licensed to sell both beer and hard liquor. Though none of the survivors will admit it, it's been suggested that there may have been an affinity between that fact and a bunch of young men headed out on fishing expeditions. With none of the affluence of our generation, Ben and his buddies often slept beneath the Marion Creek Bridge on Highway 22. In exchange for an early awakening to help Ma Young make donuts, clean the restaurant, and fire up the griddle; they were provided with a full breakfast prior to their fishing expeditions.

By the time of Doug's birth in February 1949, the Schaads were destined for a long-term involvement in the North Santiam. Ben and Marciel first brought Doug (Fish) to the Santiam that July. The third weekend of August they camped at the now defunct Marion Creek Ranger Station. Joined by relatives and friends; it was a reunion! And, as the original fire pits decayed, the Schaads replaced the CCC efforts with new mortar and bricks. They enjoyed that lovely campground until the summer of 1955. At that time, the Ranger Station' Campground was closed to public usage. Needing an alternative, the family moved to the Whitewater Creek Campground. By crossing the footbridge to the other side, they could almost feel the same privacy they'd enjoyed at Marion Forks.

For the next five years their annual reunion was held at the Whitewater Creek campground. If they were lucky, they managed to get the 'A-Frame' site. Though they never camped within the 'A-Frame,' it was a great place for young kids to feel like pioneers and adults to congregate for an evening game of cards and conversation.

That all changed in 1960 when a young college student from Texas, named 'Sanny', became the Forest Ranger at Marion Forks. Unlike other temporary employees, he returned to the district for 3 consecutive summers - always to the Marion Forks Station. Ben's nephew, Alan, befriended Sanny over a Memorial Day weekend. The Marion Forks Guard Station was literally falling down upon itself. Water flows were intermittent, at best. There was no bath or shower. The roof and flooring needed repairs. For the next 3 years the Schaads enjoyed a private campground. Sanny, as directed, kept the campground closed until Alan or his family needed a place to camp. The campground was then closed ("Except for Alan and Friends*). In exchange for their private campground, they dug up the CCC waterline and replaced it, re-roofed the cabin and transplanted rhododendrons from above the Whitewater Creek campground to the Marion Forks Guard Station (several still survive!) They planted lawn along the circular driveway, and cut firewood for the 'brass' that used the Ranger Station as a winter retreat.

In the summer of 1963, Sanny did not return and the Schaads reverted back to the Whitewater Creek Campground. Though a lovely campground, it suffered in comparison to the Marion Forks Guard Station. Whitewater Creek ran murky in August and provided slim pickings for trout. It was definitely a second choice.

The winter of 1964 changed everything. As the hydrological records will show, we enjoyed a massive early snowfall followed by torrential rains. With nearly 3 feet of snow on the ground, Marion Forks received a record 18" rainfall in 36 hours. Rivers rose torrentially, destroying numerous roads and bridges. The least consequential of those bridges was the one at the Whitewater Creek Campground that separated the 'car-campers' from the 'walk-ins.' The Marion County side of the campground was instantaneously inaccessible. The work of the CCC was destined for a rapid decline.

But 4 years later a certain poorly attended "Fishing Trip" would change the course of that side of the old campground again, possibly even more than the washed out bridge.