Trek Journey 2001

Background:

Trek started for me I think somewhere in March when Bro. Argyle from the Stake high council asked Jean & I if I could participate in trek. I did not have a calling during that brief time, but about a month later, however, our Bishop called me back into Scouting as Varsity Coach - so all the sudden I was really booked! There were no absolutes about assignments on Trek, but they had some idea that, me being an outdoorsman and long time Scouter, I might be able to help with the Mormon Battalion event and the technical pull. They anticipated a dangerous incline and cliff which needed to be negotiated by the heavily laden carts. They also identified Sid Rodebough as a member of my sub-committee. In previous years, there had been a Pony Express event and a Battalion muster; also there was some desire to have some horses available for transporting a few key leaders if possible. There were no takers as we went around the table and it would have died, but I thought maybe with the help of the horse people I know, we might be able to keep those events as I felt they would add a nice touch along with the “formula”. I felt that there was possible room for improvement in the general plans and felt inspired to pursue adding additional historical context to certain events. The committee approved my request to recruit my wife and Sister Julie Dance to help.

Preparation:

Sid and I determined that we could call upon our various contacts and come up with 2 horses each and get sufficient personal training to bring each of us up to speed. Sid owned horses a while ago, so it was a much smaller deal for him than me - a total green-horn. The Smarts readily agreed to help me train and provide 1 of their horses; Mountain- Man. Sister Laura Cook agreed to help train me in horsemanship and with transporting the animals. Sister Julie agreed, despite my concerns for the age of her horse that Misty would go as my second horse. Both Sister Julie and my wife Jean signed up to assist in the historical committee.

I began a crash course in horsemanship by reading books and spending every available minute with some horse - any horse. Sister Laura had her hired hand teach me grooming, general horse sense and tack handling. I went several times and learned a whole lot. Rachael, Sister Laura's daughter gave me a very useful riding lesson. About that time Sister Kim Howard really took a dedicated interest – bless her heart and agreed to train me on a regular schedule. I could not have proceeded without her. For the next several months, I was constantly involved with horses, even when we went to Hawaii and visited Erik & Shelly Marler. Sister Shelly would take me frequently to help feed and water the 5 horses she was caring for. I was at this point very wary (scared) of the big beasts; Especially the one that had just kicked & stepped on the owner (who nearly died).

When I got back, I began to work on Misty and Mt Man grooming and working on ground manners. After getting stepped on a few times, I went to the western ware store and bought a pair of steel toed cowboy boots. These were no fun at all to walk in but subsequently saved me a cripple’s future more than once. One week while working with Sister Christy, I even got to help clip Mt Man’s hooves. I was so impressed that Sister Christy and even young Shelby could be so fearless and strong in handling those powerful legs. Mt Man was still quite green and every once in a while you had to watch out and move quick or get clobbered! After several weeks working on ground manners with Sister Kim’s horses and grooming and caring for Misty & Mt Man, I began riding training in earnest. Mt Man was so green, you felt like you were riding a keg of dynamite. He is 100% getup and go. Misty, who used to be a really well trained horse, had not been ridden much at all and then by young folks allowing bad habits, so actually, while she was a gentle horse, she was a good one to learn with as even the slightest bad move on my part was exploited. Sister Kim spent a few sessions training us before Sister Julie came to the conclusion that maybe Misty was too old for the rigors of trek. That was the right decision. Nevertheless, the time I had spent with gentle Misty had been most valuable as I had become much more comfortable and experienced with horse handling without having to deal with the fear factor heaped upon.

We then shifted to training on Mt Man. Sister Kim was wonderful in seeing the slightest goof and every 2 days we got together for several hours over the last couple of weeks preceding Trek as we refined Mt Man, the Gear and of course the rider.

Sid’s horse resources didn’t pan out and job difficulties precluded Sid from participating, so only myself and Mt Man would make the journey.

The Rig

I was surprised come Fathers day to find a very new looking 1979 Ford F250 truck in my driveway. Since it could pull about anything, I informed Sister Laura that since I had this truck, I could pull a trailer. She lent me a 2 horse trailer. It needed a few repairs from sitting in the pasture a few winters so I spent a couple of days welding the gates and restoring the wiring and brake systems. My truck seemed to have its own unforeseen traumas the week before Trek as the drive shaft failed on Saturday; the main lighting switch failed Monday and just as I was leaving to go get Mt Man for trek on Tues. a clutch linkage snapped in half! Yikes. What more can go wrong???. This ate up Sat – Tue. which would have been horse-training for galloping and trailoring. The clutch linkage was the toughest. There was no getting a fix at an auto store as the clutch system turned out to be some kind of aftermarket deal. The only hope was to weld it up and fabricate the parts from scratch. Unfortunately I had used up all my welding gas on the trailer the days before. Bro. Kevin Tame, the machinist was out of town, but I remember seeing an old set of tanks at Bro Josh Smarts out-building. I drove there and found the tanks full but the lines rotted. No trouble – I swapped lines with my gear. I found a bolt at the hardware store (lucky find) and cut the head off and welded up a ball in place of the head on the end. Spinning it up on my drill press, I ground it smooth and round with stones and cut the required grooves with a carbide tip from my wood radial arm saw blade. McGeiver would have been proud as I pulled the rig back out onto the road at 9PM Tuesday. On the way to the Smarts, I received the impression that God was trying to tell me not to go this evening - hence the delay tactics; that there was something else I should do. A young man needed help launching his eagle project. I loaded all the gear at the Smarts and picked up Tanner Smart instead of Mt Man and returned home. There, we worked on his proposal til about 1AM when we all crashed.

Trailering the Beast

Sister Christy had told me that Mt Man went right in the trailer last time, so I really didn’t anticipate the big trial that awaited us. Seems she wasn’t there to actually see the loading herself. From talking with Brother Josh, who actually was there, the cowboys had employed a ramrod technique using force, speed and ropes. Seemed Mt Man had a good memory for that as he had no interest in getting in the trailer. We started at 6:30AM. We got him to the trailer but not one foot inside.

Finally Brother Josh thought it best to use the ropes to force him in. I wish I had had seen that done before because it was harsh, dangerous and ineffective and guaranteed to make it even more difficult next time. Mt Man exploded with fright just inside the trailer binding the ropes terribly on his head and getting numerous cuts, burns and bruises. We had to cut the tangle of ropes off his bleeding head. Sister Christy suggested we pray. Amazing how long it takes for a bunch of believers to come to that conclusion. We no sooner said amen, when Sister Kim arrived. Halleluiah! Christy and Josh, who were Ma & Pa’s had to head out to do their part with Trek and so in a matter of a few minutes Sister Kim and & I were alone to resolve the debacle.

It took 3 hours to alleviate his fear, using clicker-training and a string pulling his dock between his legs as an irritant to get him to walk up to the trailer. We added lots of goodies and set up ropes from the back of the trailer leading out to keep him lined up. We used a rope to his halter leading through the trailer to gently motivate him. We pulled a little harder; he struggled a little and then just walked in. We wanted to make sure he would do it again, so we backed him out and trailered him 5 more times. I bid my good friend farewell and drove off to the sunset.

Wednesday at Trek

While I was trying to get the horse loaded, the wagon masters were trying to get 300 teenagers loaded and divvied up into families for the journey. 1^st was the shakedown to eliminate 20^th century artifacts and then they took the families a few at a time to the top of the nearby hill for some spiritual pep talks prior to actually setting out. Since I was not there, I can only report on this phase generally. Somewhere around noon they had their ‘last meal’ so to speak and then set off. Almost immediately the road steepend to a hash angle and the heavily gullied road became somewhat of a boulder garden. The sun bore down harshly as they struggled with the 600 lbs carts. They strained on the ropes, pushed and pulled and to rest blocked the wheels lest the whole arrangement careen off the embankment. To be sure this was not planned as a realism enhancement, but someone in charge of the water failed to clean and sanitize the barrels in ample time before the event, then concerned, decided to add some chlorine to the water. Unfortunately, they added way too much chlorine to the water barrels making the water almost too caustic to drink; Many would not.

Thus, with only water to drink, they proceeded up the mountain, across the rolling pass and then to follow the ridge into the wee hours of the night.

The kind Sisters

My new truck pulled like a champ up the Snoqualmie pass and then on up the dirt roads outside of Thorp. Thorp is a one-horse town and I brought the one horse! It was late afternoon when I pulled into a pleasant grove of trees. The long dresses and bonnets of the sisters told me I had arrived somewhere out of time. I quickly unloaded Mt Man and saddled him up with as much gear as I could manage to tie off or stuff into his saddlebags. I really wished I could have had that last week back to train him for the extra loads. He was pretty edgy about all these new surroundings and wanted to move about, but he responded to my steady hand well enough. Before I left in search of the company, the sisters at Tamarack Springs insisted that I eat something. They were very kind and solicitous even though I was there between meals and fixed me up a sandwich and a few treats. The daylight was waning in strength so we departed post haste.

The Ride in the Wilderness

I don’t think I was but barely out of site of Tamarack Springs when Mt Man suddenly ground to a halt, his ears doing the radar thing. He was very frightened by what turned out to be deer movement a short distance off. He danced about and used his every effort to do an about-face and retreat. It took all my effort to help him through it. Eventually he settled down to where I got off and walked him through the spot while I spoke gentle but firm words of encouragement. I remounted and continued into the wilderness. This pattern would repeat itself a half dozen times before things would come to a real impasse.

The Wrong turn

I had 3 maps; 2 were ‘topo’ maps and 1 was hand drawn which identified the key sites. One of the brethren spoke before I left Tamarack Springs of a hollow where a creek passed. That’s where I was to cross over. Unfortunately, his hand drawn map agreed poorly with the toppos or the lay of the land. So when I came upon such a place as he described, I concluded to cross over and proceeded at Mountain-Man’s jarring trot for several miles. We passed a small coral and then the road swept around a good-sized pasture nestled in the surrounding woods. Quite a few cattle grazed with their young heifers in tow. I wondered when Mt Man was going to freak out, but he nervously held his pace until just passed the main lot of them; then when he really picked up the pace and made fast tracks to put some distance in. We eventually came upon a county signboard with a very faded map. One thing was clearly readable though; “You are now leaving the National Forest land”. Hmm, this did not seem good as I thought the trek was wholly on National Forest Service land. The map was in real bad shape and I could make out but one distinct but important landmark; a coral. These are very few up here and I was confidant that the one I had passed was the one on the map. Putting all the maps together, I finally figured I must have turned too early. As the sun settled behind the mountain peaks the West, we did an about face and I set Mountain-Man to his fastest trot. Occasionally, I would nudge him into a gallop, but only a stride or two brought a sobering buck so I settled mostly for standing or posting to spare my spine.

The Spooky old tree and the moment of truth

I got back to the main road and proceeded farther down in hopes of finding the real crossing before all light vanished. Dusk was definitely gathering and the weak evening rays left a gloomy view of things under the dense canopy of trees. A owl hooted, a raccoon scurried and Mountain-Man determined he had had enough. Thoroughly spooked, he slammed to halt and twisted against my reigns to escape. I held firm and he reared. I gave a little then brought him back to bear down the road. Again he struggled increasingly violent, so I removed the pressure and let him turn and calm himself. This was getting exciting and with so little light left, no flashlight nor bedroll, I really didn’t see how this was going to help things. He had been so violent, with his 2-legged cha-cha-cha, that I seriously considered just heading back to Tamarack. I prayed in earnest for some guidance. I was told there were young folks that needed me and needed me tonight. I know sometimes you wonder just who is giving this advice, but it seamed real enough, so I walked him though it like I had done before. I mounted him again and almost instantly; he thrashed about to flee back from whence we had come. I reined him hard as he fought for escape. This only scared him the more and he reared and began the rodeo thing. “Oh man – he has got to trust me or we will get nowhere” – I spoke to him to that effect, but received a buck that sent me in the air as his answer. If I attempt to physically dominate him in this state, I wondered if the young trekkers would find my cold corps hanging from a nearby tree bough the next day. Again, I was impressed to take my reigns anyway and lay them into his flank. Since most of that was covered with saddlebags and he was dancing and rearing all at once, this was no easy feat, but I took aim as I could and gave him a deft whack just as he came up on two legs again. He blanched at the stinging rebuke and with my two heals to his sides, he launched back down the rode not to give another trial as we headed up the other side of the narrowing valley.

Thank God for a biffy

We rose up the hillside quickly as the last dusk faded. Due to my marginal preparations for the evening and being quite alone in the woods, probably for the first time in my life, this was somewhat nerve wracking. I knew many men had weathered far far worse and I surely could do this thing. I could see a clearing up a short ways, and wondered if this might be the place where “Fort Bridger” would be sited. To my real joy, as we rounded a knoll, a Biffy came to my view. “Heehaw!” I was elated. Truly I was only a few scant minutes befor total darkness enveloped me, so I dismounted, Identified a certain tree and gathered grass bedding to make my sleep a little warmer and perhaps more comfortable. I had tried to get Mt Man to drink at creeks as we walked by, but he was very wary of natural running sources. In fact he had been terribly afraid of either running or standing water along the trail so I filled my hat with water from a barrel and offered it to him. I never saw so much water disappear so quickly. I had seen it done in the movies so I filled my hat with water from a nearby barrel and offered it to him. Boy could he tank down the water. In one big slurp, he would drain the whole hat again and again. I had hardly finished when a few trucks pulled up from behind. …Amazing twist of events! They were support staff bringing up the evening meals. One of them lent me a flashlight and proffered his best guess as to where the trekkers might be. I grabbed a chaw of jerky for myself and a few handfuls of grain for my steed before I determined we needed to press on.

Jim Bridger and the Tired saints

With the small flashlight in hand, I mounted and directed Mountain-man on up the hillside. The road wound steeply, high up to a ridge and I let Mountain-Man with his keener eyesight pick his way to where it finally rolled off and met another road which traversed along its back. Leaving the heavily treed hillside for the more open ridge allowed a flood of starlight to guide our way. The road forked and I contemplated which way they might have come. One path was an optional longer route as some of the leaders thought the way might be too short without an extra loop. I had been on the other side of this rocky ridge some weeks earlier. It was steep and very hard. Owing to how late it was, I guessed they took the more direct route and plodded along in that direction. It didn’t seem too long, but it must have been an hour since I left Fort Bridger before I heard a distinct clatter echoing off in the unseen darkness. In only a short while the clatter grew loud and dark shapes and young voices emerged against the backdrop of stars.

In new character, I approached the youth who were startled as I suddenly appeared out of almost total darkness.

To each of the groups as I passed them I would spout something like, “howdy, my name is James…James Bridger” Folks call me Jim though. Ah met Briham & ol’ Port up the trail a’ways. Says you plan on settling that God forsaken desert valley. You know I bet ‘im a $1000 dollars for the 1^st bushel of corn he grew. Well you know what ‘e said. Said, I’ll take you on that bet and see if God doesn’t just bless that valley like a rose garden. Well I’ll be darned if’n he didn’t do it. We’ll Ah ended up settling that bet when ol Brigham bought me ol fort. Heard tell you folks are plannen on campin there tonight. Best of luck to you-all."

When I got to the last cart, quite a ways back, they where totally wasted and resting prostrate in the dirt road! I offered that Mt Man might help them over the last steep and rocky hill. One of the youth choked emphatically, "Oh thank you mister!" They gratefully accepted and with new hope stirred to life. Mt Man pulled steadily from the rope I attached to his saddle and the youth pushed with renewed life. Even with this help, toward the top of the last rise, they seemed to be about out of strength. We stopped for a moment and I heard a joyful noise echoing off in the distance. “Shhh”, I hissed quietly to the family. “Listen”, when they heard the cries of joy, they knew well that the journey was nearly over. Like a shot of adrenaline, they came to life with second wind and pushed and pulled the clanking cart over the last crest. It seemed in no time the last cart rolled down the hill into “Fort Bridger”. All seemed very grateful, happy but deadpan tired as they ate a meager but tasty fair; prayed as families and curled up to sleep under a glorious canopy of stars.

The Overnight Stay

I only carried with me emergency supplies for the horse/people food & water and a wool jacket. A cool night was approaching and the Smart family offered me a tarp to sleep under which I gratefully received. After feeding and watering Mt Man, I tied his halter rope to a lounge line and then to a nearby tree. I then snuggled into the grass for a little shut-eye. Seems about an hour later, I awoke to a little commotion and saw him meandering away in the field. I caught him easily and retied him. I don’t think another hour passed by when I heard a thump and peered out to see him struggling violently against the rope. I guess too much freedom is the wrong approach. Now I was a little perplexed as to how to manage him, when I struck on an idea that I would tie his rope to my saddle horn. As I was using it as a sort of pillow, at least I would know right away if he were trying to get away. He has been raised around little children and I surmised he would not step on me, but I suppose in hindsight that was a risk. As it turned out he never bothered the saddle and gave me a good nights rest from then on.

Thursday at Trek

The Sore Toe

The camp staff wanted to meet early with all the Ma & Pa’s when I got world that Sister Mackavoy had a nasty blister and didn’t want to move from her perch until the doctor could attend to her.

Problem was, the doc was not to arrive until a couple of hours later. I had a pretty decent 1^st aid kit for Mt Man, so I offered to help her case. As I approached, this time as ‘Doc Marquis’, I hailed her a hearty good morning and said matter of factly, “Hi, I’m here to fix your toe.” She puffed up indignantly, crossed her arms and pouted, “ And what are your qualifications?!” Quick as a whip, and holding an impassive face, I retorted, “ Well, I got my wood carvin’ merit badge!” That about disarmed her as I asked firmly for her foot. As I checked it over, I reassured her all would be well as I recounted how my father as a young boy visited a lumber camp in the 30’s sporting a nasty ingrown toenail. How, faster than a flash, the ‘ol bull of the woods lumberjack had taken his razor sharp knife and slit my fathers toenail clean off his foot. That was the end of my dads toe troubles. This story had the desired comforting affect as I proceeded to drain the blister and apply the cure. In a few minutes she walked off on her own somewhat chagrined but grateful.

The Widow and her sick baby

Sister Julie had walked with the youth the day previous and shared with them her dilemma as her husband had died at Winter Quarters of cholera as they prepared to leave with an earlier handcart company. She had decided to wait and try to go with the next company as theirs had too many widows and fatherless as it was. She asked the young folks she met if they wouldn’t mind if she could join them on their trek. She would let the young ladies help hold her little one and comfort him as the little babe too was suffering sorely from the cholera.

Mountain training and the itchy back

After helping that sister with the tore toe and feeding and watering (still from my hat) Mt Man, I saddled him up and worked our way back down the hill.

We didn’t hardly get out of sight when he began acting up again. He was almost as obnoxious as the previous night and as before I had to walk him and eventually give him a taste of the reins on his flank to move him along. When he finally struck out, though, his hard trot twice caused my poorly secured Army uniform to fall off into the dirt. I tried again in vain to lead this horse to some water at a stream but you know what they say about that. Maybe there’s some primal fear as the watering hole might have been a likely place for predators, but in any case he would have nothing to do with the bottomlands. After waiting and sunning myself some, I remounted and we worked our way back up the road to a curve somewhat past that erroneous turn off from the previous night. I spied a suitable steep hillside having a commanding position from which I might prosecute my recruitment effort for the battalion. I’ve seen horses flip over on such steep hills, but for some crazy reason, I thought I might be able to work him up and back down. It would be quite impressive if done well; just the sort of arrogant entrance commensurate with one Captain Ford, US Army. I put on my uniform and changed hats for the occasion. I turned him easily into the gully besides the dirt road and then set my heals to his sides urging him to climb the hill. Almost effortlessly he charged up and then smoothly responded to my gesture to turn down and hold our place on a small flat spot overlooking the road. Perfect! This was going to be grand. We negotiated the hillside once more before I pressed him up and then across the road to a thin trail leading to a sheltered valley where we could wait and graze. It was really gorgeous tall cool grass; definitely horse heaven. I let my reigns relax so Mt Man could lower his head unencumbered to feed. To my astonishment and shock, he collapsed to his knees with me still in the saddle. “Oh man! I’ve killed him!” were my first thoughts as I stepped out of the stirrups. I did so just in time, it seems, as no sooner had I done so when over he went, saddle and all, hooves straight up in the air, as he wreathed on the ground. Now it was clear what Mt Man wanted was a good back scratch. Crazy loon! I’m just glad for the sake of the saddle that he chose a soft grassy field to satisfy the urge. Having done so, he rolled back over and steadied himself - never so much a tendering the slightest apology.

Recruiting the Battalion and the surly captain

The distant sound of the clanking metal rims heralded to arrival of the lead wagons. At just the right moment, I charged out from my hiding place and road briskly up to the lead wagon demanding in a loud voice if this wasn’t the Mormanite band of settlers heading for Salt lake. Upon determining the affirmative, I charged up the steep bank to my prearranged perch and commanded their attention. By this time almost 10 wagons from this company had gathered close enough to hear. I read my orders loudly approximately as follows; “By order of the President of the United States and countersigned by The Secretary of War, I am herby authorized to accept up to 500 able bodied men for service in the US Army for the purpose of prosecuting our just war against the belligerent State of Mexico. It is my understanding that some of you might harbor some bitter feelings against the US government for your treatment in Illinois or Missouri. I cannot speak to that issue other than to say, this is your opportunity to show your loyalty to these United States in a way none may question. I am only authorized to accept one such volunteer per wagon. We will be building many roads on this journey, so you are requested to bring a sturdy shovel as your primary instrument of war. I heard tell that yo’ Prophet, Brigham Young promised ‘no man among you would fall to the sword or bullet’. Well, I can’t vouch for that. What I can vouch for is that you will be offered standard military pay, a rifle, which you can keep, following your honorable discharge and a clothing allowance - service being for 1 year. You have 2 minutes to decide amongst yourselves as to who will go. Volunteers step forward along this ditch for the swearing in.”

Sassy Girls

“What about girls” spouted a sassy young lady, “can't we volunteer?” I could tell by the tone and carriage, she was trouble. “Young lady”, I condescended, “wars are fought by men folk and are no place for a lady. However, I am authorized to accept to services of a few washa’ women. If you want to come along, take some dirty laundry and start washing up at that creek as you might well get used to it now.” Well that put an end to the female recruits as none stepped forward or tested me again.

Turning to the now assembled recruits, I commanded to come to attention and raise their right hands to repeat after me; “I solemnly swear to obey my commanding officer and to uphold the US constitution, with my life if necessary, so help me God.” With that I directed the men to return to their respective wagons and to wait for my command at a later time wherein they would be mustered into service. With that, I spun Mt Man about and charged up the steep hill to where it again crossed the road and I disappeared from their site.

I repeated this entire scene one more time as the next company passed by and then a little later for the last group as they were somewhat delayed due to wheel repairs.

A Cart Full of Trouble

It seems that 6 of the 30 handcarts had been borrowed from another stake whose mechanical acumen was somewhat poorer than our own. The wheels were not properly dished and the shock load was too much for the overly ridged wheels. That the welding looked like bird doodoo didn’t help much either. As the pioneers struggled up the terribly rocky hillside the previous day, spoke after spoke broke loose from the hub. The families did everything they could to hold them together - liberally using “modern” duct tape to at least keep the loose spokes from tangling as the wheel rolled along. It was for several of them too much and the wheels collapsed altogether. Other families took on the extra burden on their heavily laden craft and the displaced youth teemed up as they could with their adopted families. The wagon masters were able to communicate their troubles to the support staff back at Tamarack Springs via radio. These good brethren and their wives worked all night without stop acquiring generators & welding equipment, supplies and additional fresh water - this time no longer tainted by excess chlorine.

The Widow Buries her sick baby

Seems somewhat down hill from my location at the start of the woman’s pull, someone had started separating the carts by some distance and having them walk in silence. I hadn’t anticipated this turn of events so I had to quickly ride down the road and muster the boys out as they walked and commanded them to double time it to the top so I might gather them all together. As I marched the last stragglers up the road, we passed Sister Julie and here youngeon. He passed away last night I guess and was being buried and grieved sorely for. Bein a Missourian I made some cruel remark about one less Mormon and marched on. Seein’ her morning, so so sorrowful was finally too much even for a bitter man as ma self. I promised maself to show decent respect in the future. So when I returned for each subsequent group of soldiers, If the boys didn’t at least remove their hats, I’d lay into them some sayin’, “Didn’t your momma teach you no respect boy, Take yo hat off.” More than one real tear was shed as all who passed realized how many real children were mourned for in earnest. Many boys picked flowers and adorned the wee grave as they passed by the grieving mother.

The Women’s Pull and the Muster

When I got up to where the 1^st mustered out group had gathered, I found that the adult sisters nearby seein’ the boys idle had coaxed them into burying some dead-man. The ground was so darn hard that only about 6 inches had been dug. I surmised he was either a Mormon of a Texan and in either case I indicated that that was plenty deep enough for the likes of them kind. From our vantage point as we walked along the hillside, the soldiers could get a good feel for the hardships the girls endured without them to help pull the heavy cart up this section of the road.

The Final pull to Salt Lake

President Dance said a few words to the crowd and then they headed off road straight up the steep hillside re-cutting an old heavily overgrown trail. The families frequently double-teemed it on the numerous steep sections and one cart collapsed as its wheel folded in half like a taco. I believe that was my son, Jordon’s. At the top of the hill, the young saints poured out into the vast mountain valley of Salt Lake that would be our home for the next 2 days. They quickly set up camp and attended the many pioneer activities like black powder and candied apples. The hair wash was a serious success with the gals. I found several of the battalion recruits and requested they assist with the rescue of the broken cart. I thought it would be a hard sell, I even argued the point to a wagon master who would spare no quarter for reward. To my pleasant surprise, each boy I asked readily volunteered to assist and in no time I had a strong team. We requisitioned a rescue wagon from a willing family and proceeded back to the hill. It took little effort with so many hands and Mt Man assisting to extricate the wagon and transfer its load; really quite heartwarming. At Salt Lake, many activities soaked up the last several hours of daylight. There was the stick-pull, Tomahawk throw, Taffy-pull, Candied apple, candle & cornhusk doll making, Hair washing (very popular with the girls) and black-powder riffle shooting (equally popular with the guys). A nice feast was prepared by each of the families consisting I think of corn bread & stew.

Making Grub Stick Pull Contest Sister tries the stilts

The Damsel and the Beast

Off at the far end of the “valley” most of the youth had gathered for some song and dance, but they mostly just sat and enjoyed the several live performances. I had nothing to do for a little while, so Mt man and I just ambled about. I chanced to happen upon a young Damsel in distress, who was hobbling from the privy with a lot of aid from a gent. I offered to let her hitch a ride back to her camp. She was quite reluctant to accept, as she was most anxious about riding the beast. I joked with her a little and finally persuaded her to join me. The gent helped her up and together we rode up the gentle slope to where her family was camped. I set her ‘at ease’ by relating my extensive experience with horsemanship. Ha. Seems the poor gal twisted her ankle but good early the 1^st day out and was in moderate pain and mentally was positively miserable. She had not wanted to go on this "stupid" Trek in the 1st place! She had ridden in the chase vehicle with the doc the whole way rather than let her ‘family’ carry her in their cart. She positively wanted to go home and that - yesterday! I rode back to the infirmary and got some ice for her. We had several chats as I tried to reach her. Her ‘Pa’ informed me how the family really wanted her to accept their service, but she would not.

Settling down for the night

The Smart family invited me to stay the night, so I brought up my gear from nearby Tamarack springs. Then, I returned to the corral at Tamarack Springs to feed and groom Mt Man.

Mt man was very tired, hungry and thirsty. His usual explosion of energy was gone and his trot almost sedate. I could only get him to drink from my hat previously, as he was such a scardy-cat about any body of water, still or otherwise. He really had a hankering for the buckets of horse Gatorade I brought him after he cooled off a bit. He vacuumed down 2 large pails of it and snarfed a bag of oats. He ignored the hay as he laid down and rolled in the corral on his back for a good scratch.

The staff sisters prepared a wonderful meal and we had a pleasant hour to relax. I drove my rig back down the road to within a easy walk to Salt lake and hiked up to the Smarts camp. Brother Josh and Sister Christy gave me a neat gift of a journal book.

It was totally hand made and had DC 64:33 printed on the sturdy cover. A pouch was constructed made from deer hide and embossed with the Camp motto, “Come Come Ye Saints”. It was a precious gesturer.

Friday at Trek

President Dance and other stake leaders wandered about greeting and sharing their spirits with all. President Dance was never without his icon-walking stick. Only later did I find out that his hip was son to be replaced! When folks talk about what the youth can take, I just remember Ol' President Dance and that walking stick.

The Dirty Bird

Friday morning was our trek Sabbath and we would have a part to play delivering mail. I began to clean and tend Mt man. Was he ever dirty! I think he had more manure in his nostrils that his hind end. I think he also caught a little sniffle – perhaps from any of the previous horses penned the day before in his round-pen. I had to tend his many cuts, rub fly repellent all over and ointments on his tender places where the flies had been biting. He was also very thirsty and really liked tanking up on the horse-Gatorade mix I made in the buckets. After about 3 hours of cleaning, brushing, feeding and watering, he was finally looking very handsome again.

The Letter

While I was fixing my Pony express outfit at staff camp, I was impressed with concern for Rachel Lafond as I saw the Sisters sorting the mail that I was soon to deliver. They really seemed to have things organized to make sure everyone had a letter from home and their Bishop. Yet I inquired if there was anyone left out. “Yes” they said, “There are two missing letters from home, Do you think you could write one?” “Sure”, I said “ who is it?” “It’s a girl named Rachel Lafond” she said. “Why, I know of this girl. I’d be happy to.” So it was that I set about to write a letter of testimony and about my conversion and a few other personal notes that I felt impressed to share. My pony express outfit was in need of repair and a few sisters helped me with some leather.

Rodeo and the Pony express

600 letters didn’t look so big on the table but packed into the saddlebags, it was quite a heap. Previous campers had left a set of extra large saddlebags and someone offered them to me. It was perfect and we used them to stuff the many bundles of letters. They were organized into stacks tied with twine for each company and each family. Mt man looked like a pack mule when all loaded, but stood patiently through it all. I mounted swinging my leg very wide to avoid the bags; last thing I wanted was a spooked mount at his point. We took an easy pace to a staging area at the edge of the “Salt Lake Valley” behind tome trees. I wanted to see if Mt Man would tolerate a gallop without ejecting his rider! After all, he had bucked several times without all this baggage when I tried to push him passed a trot. I gave him a little heal and then some more and in one quick tuck his head dropped and his legs pushed me skyward. Out of the saddle I flew but with one hand I regained the saddle horn on the way back down guiding me back to the saddle. I grabbed a 2-way radio and called in that maybe a fast trot was all we could expect from us. Then with a renewed determination from somewhere I dug my heals in again and prepared to sail solo. Mt man obliged, but as he kicked I wrapped his barely exposed flank with the reigns smartly. He launched forward this time into a hard rollicking gallop through the brush. I guided him to the road and held on for all I was worth. I felt like I was flaying around on the saddle but after a number of paces we seemed to find a rhythm. I was still teetering and sliding around on the saddle as I sought a

balance when the blast of Black powder riffles announced my entrance. This time Mt Man tried to rear, which I’m sure made for an even grander entrance. I leaned forward and pressed his side and again we shot into a wild gallop. I pulled to the right and into a rutted side road leading to a great crowd of pioneers. We careened left and right seeking a smooth passage finally spilling out into the midst of an excited crowd. I spilled off his speed twirling him about 2 or 3 times to the delight of the crowd. “Mail!” I called, “clear from St Luis. Any takers for mail from the folks back home? Red company! Blue Company,” I hollered and tossed great packs of mail to eager hands.

Rodeo and the Canvas Tent

I had heard that some of the youth wanted to write a letter back home. I had made a canvas tent, which I thought would make a capital field post office with my tattered American Flag hung, so I gathered all the canvas and packed them on Mt man. He had done fine pulling from his saddle horn the handcarts the day before, so I determined to try one more step this time with me in the saddle with a rope to the tent poles to be skidded. I think this would have gone OK except for a nasty little habit not quite gone. As I mounted, Mt Man stepped off and angled across the tongue of his trailer. “Dang,” I muttered with an instant vision of what would happen if that rope snagged. Sure enough, no sooner than the thought entered my head, he felt the odd tug and wheeled about and began frantically back pacing. It was only a couple of seconds at best I figured before we would run out of rope as the poles jammed. I swung out of the saddle just as the rope went taught. My left foot was just clearing the stirrup as he reared against the strange entrapment. Down I tumbled in an instant commune with God. The dance began now in earnest with me trapped directly under his front legs. Prayer notwithstanding, I thought I was a gonner. He pummeled me from behind with his knees, but Good Horse! He never set a hoof to me, but avoided me as hooves pounded all around me. I called out from below WOOOO easy boy and he settled and stood. Thank the Lord! One of the support staff rushed over. Boy I saw the wreck! Are you all right? Yeh Yeh I guess so. I just brushed myself off and led him away from the trailer. Really we just rode calm as a daisy all the way to “Salt Lake” where I set up the Postmasters quarters and unrolled my bedroll. The afternoon was pretty lazy from then and a few experienced riders talked me into loaning Mt Man for a little walk here and there.

Families and activities

Arrund fuller & Rebecca Farnsworht John Farnworth with Family

Jordon Marquis’ Family

Josh & Tanya Smart

Smart Family

One unhappy girl

I had let Mt man be ridden by someone at the time I saw a Brother trying to assist that same girl I had helped the day before. He had a 100 yards or more to go. Lacking the horse, I showed him how to do the Boy Scout carry and so we hand carried her thus to the biffies. On the way back I retrieved Mt man and gave her a ride. She was very afraid of horses… Her Ma asked me if I could obtain more ice so I went back to a support camp near the biffies in the trees. While I was getting the Ice Mt man tries to snarf some oranges. When he got shooed away, it startled him so much, he jerked and tore his bridle. It took about 20-30 minutes to affect a makeshift repair and get back. I had a chance to chat with the young lady for a few minutes, pointing out that her foot would hurt no less at home and that the only thing that can make pain worse or better was her own attitude. It was about then that young Sister Mandy Glenn came in. She had quite an ankle trouble herself earlier but had come on Trek and was really doing quite well. Sister Mandy was in the same family as Sister Rachel and so I left the troubled teen in her good hands.

The Testimonies and the Celestial glories

Young Sister Mandy Glen really had to be cajoled to go on this Trek. She hates being dirty. Her uncle managed to finally talk her into the journey. So it was that I was especially pleased when she rose to share her testimony of the Lord and expressions of gratitude for having come. There were several usual travel log testimonies and I was really a bit under-whelmed when the last girl stood – it was Rachel. She told how she the Lord had reached out to her this day – Julie Dance had likewise been impressed to seek out Rachel. She spoke of reading the Book of Mormon and wearing out her knees seeking guidance from God. She testified that God has spoken to her and she knew without a doubt that Jesus was the Christ and that this was His Church and Kingdom on earth. I’m sure many others felt as I did a confirming spirit that God indeed was reaching out to one of his precious children. The sky glowed and shimmered almost like the northern lights and cast a wondrous glow to seal a special day indeed.

Sat at Trek

The Piggy Back ride to the Biffy

I think Mt Man was again being ridden at the time, when again that young lady from the Ward family with the twisted ankle was in need of the privy. I happened by as she was being assisted in that direction by a gent, but the two were really struggling. I offered to carry her piggyback and so off we went. She seemed light enough at 1^st, but after a hundred yards I was bushed. I waited for her when she came out to assist again, but spotting a couple of young bucks, recruited the available young men to help carry her back.

Preparing to leave

All about, families began packing, newly repaired carts arriving just in time from the welding area back at Tamarack Springs. Bless their hearts; those men and women worked night and day keeping those craft working sometimes getting no sleep at all. All the companies gathered for group photos and assembled for the last leg of the journey.

Farsworths Prepaing to Leave Salt Lake

Snoqulamie Valley Ward

They then proceeded almost cross-country over a very faint trail finally merging onto the main road through Tamarack Springs. Even I did not know where the final destination was and Mt Man & I walked slowly along with the youth pushing and pulling their rigs.

Rachel accepts her families offer

It was with great joy that I passed up the Ward family. The sad girl I had helped had finally accepted her family’s love and help. Instead of sulking in the chase car behind all, she rode atop her card with a joyous smile and her family beamed. For the 1^st time I saw Sister Rachel happy and singing with her family as they walked the final 3 miles. Up until then, she had been mostly unwilling to accept the charity of her family. As she let them serve her, they all sang and rejoiced.

The Final few hundred Yards!

The Double ride back

It was only a few miles, some up but mostly rolling and down a bit, before I heard a whoop of joy and for many blessed relief as the corner gave way to a sea of cars with waiting loved ones. Tears were shed and a lot of hugs given. The bucks helped stack the carts on the transport and soon most had scattered to waiting cars. Jordon & I mounted Mt Man and rode double all the way back to Tamarack Springs. It was really nice and peaceful, just the two of us.

Trailering Mt Man

By the time we got back the the Springs, there were only two people left. One of the sisters gave me some oats to help with Mt Man. He went into the trailer right away and so I decided to spend a bit more time and train him in and out a few more times. He decided our offerings were not as good as the pickings outside and refused to re-enter. Jordon and I worked for an hour until he became more agreeable. We were now the last ones left way in the boonies and much to my chagrin, the battery was dead! It was then that I hear the faint sound of music. I found a slightly drunk gal and her young son enjoying a picnic nearby. She was glad to give us a jump and with that last helping hand, we head off into the sunset.

The truck has one last surprise

The trip had one last trick to pull. As we traveled the freeway, I suddenly noticed that the truck was accelerating without me asking it! I had a stuck throttle – boy what else? I found a wider part of siding, shut the runaway engine off and coasted to a halt. It was just a rubber hose that had gotten in the way and in a moment we were back on our way. We enjoyed juicy hamburgers from Mountain High Burgers while savoring the weeks experiences.