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Dive Bar Detours: ‘IT’S NOT LIKE THE COLLEGE CROWD IN ARCATA’ — Supco
By Matt Kapko, Matthew Mais and Michael Schnalzer
Tavern Trailblazers
The Lumberjack
December 10, 2003
LOGGER BAR — It was already 10 p.m. and we were still apprehensive about sacrificing our Wednesday night to go to the sticks, more precisely—Blue Lake. Five of us strapped into our ride and crept our way through the fog on the 299.
As we approached the Logger Bar we kept thinking of all the stereotypes that such a name creates. Would we be run out of the place by ax-wielding loggers in Carhartt attire, or given a warm-hearted welcome with a slap on the back and a friendly priced domestic ale?
Nestled in the historic downtown center, the wooden front door was an exit from the commercialized college culture into the uncharted realms of genuine dive-bar dominion.
The scene we walked into was right out of a movie. All eyes set upon us momentarily, then quickly went back to their conversations and libations. Hovering around us was a plethora of chainsaws and more than a hundred old photos that gave the place a cozy, homely feel.
The cobwebs weaving between the Campari and Johnny Walker Black Label bottles reminded us of our grandparents’ decades-old liquor cabinet.
The unofficial motto hanging above the bar let us know we were welcomed one way or another. “Everyone who enters this place makes us happy. Some when they arrive; some when they leave,” it read.
We set upon the task at hand—a round of Guinness and a 7 & 7 for MJ, a member of our group with a wily look in his eye who kept up this non-conformist attitude all night.
Planted on stools said to be older than any one of us, we sat back and soaked in the barrage of logging memorabilia—evidence of the area’s tree-cutting heyday.
As we enjoyed subsequent rounds of generous 7 & 7’s poured by Ty, the night’s bartender, a fresh crowd arrived in good spirits. One guy began riding a pool stick around the bar as he serenaded the crowd to Louis Prima’s “Just a Gigolo.”
The youthful theatrics riled an obviously drunk man—who called himself Jimmy—into a frisky frenzy. “Don’t I look good?” he asked our female drinking buddies. “Every time I fall down I look good. I’m the cutest man in the world.”
As he slurred on, MJ lunged shamelessly closer from the background with his tongue wagging, inching closer to Jimmy’s ear.
Despite the not-so-distant tongue lashings unbeknownst to Jimmy, the conversation died in the same fashion it began with Jimmy swaggering on to his next jibberish-laden monologue.
The Logger Bar has been a staple for the likes of Jimmy and many other characters in Blue Lake since 1899, when first opened by Walter Ingham. By all accounts the bar’s décor was, for the most part, like any typical bar in rural America.
The tides changed 20 years ago when a first-time patron wandered in and flatly told the owner: “One day I’m gonna own this bar.” A decade later, Gino Supco lived up to his word and turned the place into the museum watering hole that it is today.
In his seasoned raspy voice, Supco told us how he became the owner of the historic bar. After graduating from Hollywood High School and running a transmission shop in the San Fernando Valley, he decided it was time to leave the heat of Los Angeles behind to pursue “greener pastures” in Humboldt County.
Making his way north through the Grapevine in 1983, he recalls looking back on the smog-blanketed city and thinking: “What a beautiful day to be leaving this son of a bitch.”
He added, “I never missed L.A. When I crossed the Golden Gate it could’ve fallen down.”
The unique collection of local history began when he purchased a drag saw and hung it on the wall above the bar. Soon local loggers took notice and offered their own donations of artifacts, ranging from photos to massive chainsaws.
“I ain’t takin’ nothin’ down, once it goes up it stays,” Supco proclaimed. “I enjoy doing it—preserving a little bit of history—it becomes part of a collection.”
MJ’s liquid courage and pondering mind cued him to inquire about a particular piece of the collection—a small confederate flag on the wall. Supco replied: “The rebel flag’s up cuz’ I’m a rebel.”
Supco’s colorful creativity extends to a wood stove he had designed by local blacksmith, Doug Harnden, to look like a steam donkey (a machine used to haul logs uphill). He considers it the centerpiece of the collection.
Stoking the stove is more or less a communal activity. The ability to toss logs into a roaring fire adds to the rustic, unpolished ambience of the tavern.
The warmth of the place distinguishes it as the fraternal alternative to the glitzy casino down the road. Enjoying the heat emanating from the stove, we realized how easy it was to feel at home in Blue Lake of all places.
Wanting more than ever to purge ourselves of the perpetually contrived bar scene on the Arcata Plaza, we had experienced one of the alternatives.
As we left our empty glasses behind, we knew we were on to something. Meanwhile, one couple we saw dry humping against the wall outside was clearly on to something else.
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