The flume that ran past the mill camp passed my house.  The sound of water flowing in the flume became second nature to me as I could hear it from my bedroom window every day, especially at night when the air was still.  The flow of water had a calming effect, especially during days when the flow would be at its lowest level.   The “Park” where I went with my sister to play was towards the back of my house about 50-100 yards away.  Though we already had a "short-cut" path used for many years by those that lived in that part of the mill camp, the shortest route was to climb the flume at the lowest point, where it was easier for us "little girls" to reach the planks (about 4-8 ft. from the ground) & walk on the planks which was on the side of the flume.  We never climbed the flume to get to the park as my mom was always at home and could hear and see us.  But when it was time to go home from the park we would “chance it” making sure we were extremely quiet until we reached the back of my house. Oh...we were warned many times by our parents..."don't you ever climb the flume!"  Being youngsters, taking a chance of "not getting caught" was just as much of an adventure as walking on the flume as far as you dared without being seen by anyone who would probably report to your parents what they witnessed. Yes...we had many "adventures" walking home on the flume & we also had "lickins" too, thanks to my Lelong (grandfather) Carpio who would yell out loudly in Ilocano  “Okinam ti obing. Ibagak ken Inang mo.” (But in Pidgin English was an expletive!! “Ha laaaah, you climbing the flume!  I going tell your mudduh (mother)  you wen climb the flume!”  Though our butts took a few whacks over the years, this was my fondest memory of "Da Flume".

As told by Thelma Panem Acoba

Flume rides –“E” Ticket Rides Free (Long before Disneyland and Knott’s Berry Farm)

 The flume was a thrill ride for me and my friends whenever we walked away from the camp to go  for a swim in ponds fed by mountain rain.   Just to name a few there were Blue Pond, Mullah Pond, or Motta Pond (could have been named Motor Pond), that were scattered far and in between the cane fields that surrounded our "little town".  During the summer months, we would stop & pick fruits on our way home. There were the Common Mango, Voavonga (Spanish fruit known to us as “Vi”), Rosie Apple, Makopa (Waxed Jungle Apple), or Guava.  We ate to our heart's content.  They sure were delicious after a good swim.  There were times we got lazy  when it came time to walk back home so we figured we would save time if we jumped into the flume & ride all the way home. We knew better not to do this after a big rain for the water current in the flume would be too swift to maneuver ourselves.  We gathered a bunch of dried “Wainaku Grass” to sit on so we wouldn't get splinters on our butts. We pushed our way down to our destination as we rode along with the flow of the water back to the camp. Though our pants would get a little wet, we did not want our shirt / or underwear to get wet at all. If we did that, the evidence would show when we got out and made our way to our homes. We didn’t want to show the proof to anyone, especially our parents, that we "rode the flume"!  So we broke off a branch from any bush or tree and removed our shirt and (?)underwear(?) and tied it on the tip of the branch and held it high above our heads during our "thrilling “ride home. It was a long & fun ride to the spot where we had to get out. If anyone happened to look up at the flume as we passed the camp, he probably said, "there goes those crazy kids riding the flume", only because they saw a line of moving "flags" waving evenly along the top of the flume.  As we grew older, riding in the flume became a thing of the past for we were “wiser" and less "daring" than "small kid time"!

By Fernando "Nando" Ducosin