Kevin – Monday Memorial Day. IMPORTANT: On our way back to Utah last week, I told Denny that I felt the need to be much more explicit in connecting what happens to us with what happened to those folks of 175+ year ago. Things I reference obliquely may not be apparent if you’re not familiar with the journals.
Try this one: What do you think they did on their lay-over days? Just sit around? NO! Harnesses needed mending. Animals needed re-shoeing. Wagons needed fixing. Clothes to wash if they had water available and I assure you, the laundresses did NOT wash for all the men. Most men washed for themselves. Guns needed to be cleaned. Packs need to be repaired and re-packed. Cooking for the next few days was a big order. Rations were doled out to the messes. Animals were butchered and meat distributed. The ‘best cook’ in the mess was very busy.
Denny ‘cooked ahead’ for us, then froze the food instead of making jerkey like the Battalion men did. I’ve had to work on the equipment. Some of the men wrote in their journals – most of the time. Denny and I are trying to get a blog out every day – when the situation allows us the time, energy, opportunity and we have internet connectivity to upload such. Levi Hancock sketched scenes. I have photos to archive, name, crop and alter as necessary to make them fit the blog posts.
So, if you’re not getting the connections between 1847 and what we’re doing today, I’ll try to be more like Captain Obvious.
As the sun comes up (6 AM-ish), I fire up the truck again to power up the RV batteries. Still no apparent reason for the batteries to drain. Ah, well. The fridge is cool, so we will leave this mystery for another day.
At 9, I moved the RV to our hook-up location where I’ll be based out of for the next week. I unpack the car, put things away in the trailer, fix a few things that need fixing, and coordinate with Tammy, the owner for payment of our fees. In 1847, the company wagons were unloaded at night and reloaded the next day. The commander’s assistant, the adjutant, had to keep fiscal records and see the NCO’s made their daily reports which he carried to the commander. They would then discuss what needed to be done that day. New orders were prepared and given to the company commanders who communicated such to their subordinates.
About 2 PM, I finally get out the door to look at trail. First, I backtrack to Guernsey. In the back of my head, I am entertaining the fact that today is a federal holiday. I don’t expect the National Guard to be training today, soooo … maybeeee … Warm Spring isn’t in use by the Guard today, soooo … maybeeee … I could sneak onto the military reservation and snag some photos. To try be legit, I call the Operations Office (not expecting anyone to answer ‘cause it’s a holiday) and … surprise! No one answers. Now I’m faced with a conundrum: Do I hike out to Warm Spring without permission because no one answered and refused admission, or, do I obey the ‘No Trespassing’ sign? Easier to get forgiveness than permission. Hummmm … what to do?
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FACTS influencing the decision: It would be a four-mile round trip – on foot, so it would take at least an hour and a half to hike in and out plus the photography time. Easy enough to do, so yeah – let’s go! But, a cool wind is picking up and there’s a line of showers in the distance headed my way. And, then, of course, there’s that ‘No Trespassing’ sign. Secondary FACT: Denny isn’t here to bail me out of jail should I get arrested – and how would I explain THAT to you, Dear Readers, and our co-sponsoring trails groups? It would look very bad to them and spoil any relationship with them for years. Sooooo …. (hangs his head with a heavy sigh).
“Thus, conscience doth make cowards of us all.” (Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 3).Warm Spring is one site visit that will have to be arranged another day. I may be unsupervised, but I’m not stupid, though (just between you and me) I strongly suspect I could have gotten away with hiking it on a holiday with no one around.
Instead, I drive out to Cottonwood Creek following Greg Franzwa’s book instructions. There’s wagon swales on the way, here and there. I get some distant photos of Porter’s Rock, purported to have the initials of Orin Porter Rockwell carved into it – though some doubt it. Then I follow Cottonwood Creek and the trail from east to west. It’s a decent enough valley with a modest creek running along. Big ranch operations which I don’t visit. Nothing much to see except a ‘cold creek’ and a ‘gully’ mentioned by Clayton’s Emigrant’s Guide book from 1847. Franzwa’s text adds that a short section of swales are visible tracking along a small hill. They go up and over a small saddle of the hill.
Exiting Cottonwood Canyon on the west end, I drive north on the frontage road of I-29 to an underpass, then turn west and immediately I’m confronted by a slug of “Do Not Enter’, ‘No Trespassing’, and ‘Private Road’ signs. Hummmm …. My maps show this as a county road, free for the general public to enter and drive. Strike two for the day? It’s getting late. This road leads to the start of the Black Hills section which I am especially eager to survey as it is so poorly documented for the general public. It’s one of the main reasons we are doing this trek. Hummmm …. What to do? Same conundrum as before.
Off in the distance I spy a pickup headed my way. It has to come right by me so I start signaling that I’d like to talk. The driver slows and we chat for a few minutes. He asserts this is NOT a public road and that I should NOT proceed without permission. So, I ask his permission. After all, he’s identified himself as one of the property owners. He hesitates, then reads the Mormon Battalion sign on the side of the truck and comments, ‘Maybe you should talk to the Hammonds.’ He provides a phone number and we part amicably. He likes history he said.
1847 CONNECTION: How did the Mississippi Saints find out that Brigham Young and the pioneer company were NOT in front of the MS group? They talked to other people on the trail who were headed the opposite way. They asked for directions. The other group had intelligence which helped the Mississippi group make a decision.
With a contact phone number in hand, and the sun going down, I beat it back to the RV and rustle up some dinner. After cleaning up, I contemplate how to approach the Hammonds – what to say and how to say it. They’re an unknown and I don’t want to do or say anything to put them off. I need cooperation to find the route and get permission.
Calling, Jean answers, listens to my pitch and then passes me off to her husband, Bill. He gets the same story treatment from me and happily, they’re willing to meet tomorrow morning. So we arrange to meet at their place at 9 AM. At one point, Jean mentions that they had lived in New York for many years, not far from where Brigham Young had lived. When I asked how she knew that, Jean said she had been interested in LDS history – since she is a member of the Church. Wow. No wonder the truck driver said I needed to talk to the Hammonds. He knew their relationship to the Mormon story. “Coincidence” for the ‘random’ train of events this day to put me where and when I needed to be somewhere to meet someone I could get a solid connection information to the Black Hills area? I don’t think so.
Signs are … to those who believe. – Mark 16:17