Backpacking the Wind Rivers, Green River Lakes, 4k August 2021

Had a great time backpacking in the wind river mountain range.  Here is the video I made of it.

Memories of Horsethief Creek

I sent an email around to my family members and asked them if they had any memories of this particular area.  The little stream is called Horsethief Creek and it flows into Antelope Creek on the right in the above picture.

Smiley Mountain

Dad's Memories

We first saw this place in 1978 or 9.   Brian May and his wife took Harriet and I up there over fish creek summit and leadbelt.

There are many memories of things that took place while camped here over the years.  We shot a lot of game from this campsite to catching a lot of fish.

The last memory here with your mom took place last year.  I wanted to go fishing and she was feeling well enough to go with me.  We drove up there and I fished Antelope for a bit and caught a couple of nice brookies, but then decided I wanted to try horse thief.  Over the years we always saw a few pan size but never took time to fish it. 

I drove up to the creek and got out to fish not paying attention to the weather.  The creek of course is very small but has a few good holes in it.  The water path had changed a little and was flowing in place out of the creek bed.  I caught a couple of small ones but then also caught a couple of keepers. 

I wasn’t watching the clouds but realized that it was getting chilly and dark.  I looked up and there was this huge black cloud right over us and I decided I had better hustle back down to the pickup pretty quick or I was going to get wet.  I didn’t make it but didn’t get to wet before I got in the pickup.  It really pounded.  Needless to say we had to give up fishing and head for home.

Whenever we hunted elk or deer up, on the high ridge, I would watch Smiley.  When the clouds stated forming around the peak I knew it was time to head down before it started raining or snowing.  We had to hustle or we would get wet before we got back to camp.  

That trip last year with your mom was her last one up to Antelope Creek.

Looking down Antelope Creek Valley
The Lost River Range in the far distance.

Leigh's memory

I have memories of hiking Brockie lake up there.  Of fishing on the banks with patches of snow next to us.  And mom and dad riding the horses and putting my kids in front of them.  We would also fish that stream right there and the sunsets were beautiful in the evenings.

Horsethief to the left and I believe Slim to the right

The hill Morgan was shooting into

Morgan's memory

Looking at that small hill to the right in the second pic, i was once shooting a couple rounds into it with dad's old 357 snubnose rossi. Some forest service boys showed up and asked me to stop. I thought it was a ridiculous request but obliged anyway. Maybe fall of 1999 or fall of 2003.

Hunting season 2007, i packed up the trail with a 70 pound pack and camped in the basin for 4 days. I met the gunwriter John Taffin up there that weekend. After 4 days of walking everywhere, I stalked small herd of deer and shot a 2 pt buck at 350 yds right through the heart with my 7mm rem mag. Took me all day to bone him, pack up camp, and then hike out. I estimated my pack to weigh around 90-100 lbs of meat and bone when I packed out to the truck which was parked in the spot of those pics.

My tidbit:  John Taffin is a really neat guy.  Has a giant cowboy hat.  I have a signed book by him.  He told me "God Bless and keep shootin"

The camping area.

Chad's Memory (me)
My memory of this area is mostly of hunting and camping here. My most vivid memory is the time I had brought the wall tent to sleep in while hunting in 2008.  At the time I did not have a wood stove for it.  Me, Hal and Hugh slept in it and it was literally the coldest night I had ever had, even to this day.  I had a 10 degree sleeping bag but I was up on a full size air mattress.  I didn't know how bad air mattresses were for not insulating at that time.  I know now.  If you want to freeze, use an air mattress when its below freezing.  The next night I stuffed another sleeping bag inside the main one and put on my coveralls and I still froze.  Ice had covered the creek the next day both times, and for it to freeze moving water its really cold.  I have much better gear now and sleep pretty toasty even in colder weather to this day.  That was a real learning experience on what not to do.

I believe the first time I hunted up here was with David, Sam, Dad and I believe it was Morgan.  This would have been around 2003.  David got a nice buck which you can see in one of the photos.  We only saw one cow elk if I remember right.  Earlier years they had gotten elk out of here and seen many more but it seems like maybe the wolves were starting to change where the elk hung out.

Another time I went hunting here was with Mom, Dad, Morgan and Hal, possibly Hugh.  We rode the horses up the canyons.  I remember riding one which I think is the one Morgan bought from dad later and it being a little nervous about something in the brush.  It did one buck and popped my back pretty good.  After that it was quite nervous all the way down, so I am thinking maybe there were some wolves nearby.  I think if it had been a moose, it would have only been nervous around the moose but it acted like something was following us.  I remember Hal saying it was very easy hiking those mountains compared to our mountains.

We had a few family reunions up here.  The last one me and Teresa put on in 2017 was just a little ways down the road from here.  We rented a porta potty on a trailer and pulled it up.  This story is in my August 2017 section of this blog.  Another time the Shupe's had a family reunion up here and we decided to go but we couldn't make it until late Friday.  We set up our tent and went to bed and then as we got up (kinda late), people were driving away and saying goodbye as they left.  Some family reunion.  It wasn't long before we were the last ones sitting around in front of our tent wondering why we made the effort. 

A couple times we fished this creek and caught some nice brookies.  In September of this year Me, Dad, Quinn and Jeremy stopped and fished for a few minutes on the main creek behind this spot.  Jeremy caught one or two, Quinn caught a really colorful brookie in spawning colors and I caught a decent rainbow.

 

Hugh's Memory

I've camped here a few times while hunting.  Here are some stories.

1.  In 2000, David got an elk in massacre canyon (or butcher ridge or whatever we call it).  Me and dad came up that night to hunt deer and met up with David.  We camped here in this spot for the night and then the next morning, rode the horses to his elk and helped get the elk back to camp.   That evening, we went up dry canyon and me and David snuck up near a nice 4-point buck and I was able to shoot it. By the time we got the deer cleaned, it was dark so we left it to come back and get the next morning.  David had to leave that night (or early in the morning, I forget).  The next morning Dad went to start the pickup, but it would not start.  The battery was dead.  Unfortunately, David had already left. Luckily, there was another camper close who was nice enough to give us a jump.  Then we loaded up the horses and drove to Dry Canyon.  We left the pickup going while we rode the horses up to get my deer.  Unfortunately, the night had been really cold and the deer was very stiff.  It was a job to get the deer on the horse (we had to use a block and tackle).  After we got the deer on the horse, we started to ride back to the pickup when this little herd of deer came running up.  They stopped a short way from us and stood and stared at us.  Luckily, they stood there long enough for Dad to get his rifle out of the scabbard and shoot the buck.  They were so close that Dad's 300 mag seemed to blow the deer backwards (almost doing a backward somersault).  We cleaned that deer and loaded it on the other horse (I really miss horses when hunting).  It was a great hunt.

2.  In 2001, Dad, Jon, and David camped there while hunting.  They hunted one day and didn't see anything.  I came up early the next morning and Jon left.  Me, David, and Dad rode the horses up to butcher ridge.  As we were riding toward the ridge, a herd of elk came out on butcher ridge.  I was able to shoot a cow and Dad shot a calf.  If I remember right, there was a bull spike in the group and David had a Bull Spike tag.  I think he shot at it, but I can't remember the details.  When we had started shooting, we had dropped the ropes of the horses.  As expected, they took off.  After the shooting stopped, Dad and David went to start working on the elk and I took off after the horses. They were at the bottom of the canyon on the trail to go back to camp.  I was able to head them off, jumped on Dun, and grabbed the rope to one of the other horses and started to ride back up the ridge with the third horse following.  We spent a good amount of time cleaning the two elk, halfing the cow and putting a half on a horse and putting the calf on one of the horses.  Then we led the horses out.  It was a great hunt.

3.  In 2002, Dad, David, and Morgan (I think) camped in that area and hunted and got some elk.  I came up the next morning.  It was kind of weird for me when I drove in that no one was moving.  The horses were eating hay, but no one was working on saddling them.  When I knocked on the camper door, they were still cooking breakfast, or eating it.  Dad told me they were done hunting and told me the tale.  I was happy for them but felt bad that I had been to late for the fun.  David was nice enough to hike up with me where they had got their elk.  As we were glassing, we saw five elk in a clearing feeding.  We couldn't see what they were so we put a sneak on them to get closer.  When we got a couple hundred yards away, we were able to tell they were all bulls.  I had a cow tag so I was a little disappointed.  But it was sure pretty watching those bulls feed not knowing that we were there.  I kicked myself because I had forgotten my camera.  It was a pretty sight.

4. In 2008, we camped in the spot.  Mom came on this trip and her and Dad slept in the camper.  Me, Chad, Hal, and I think Morgan slept in the wall tent.  It was extremely cold that night.  I don't remember much about the hunting, just the cold and the snow.  

5.  Over the years, we have caught many fish out of the stream, both rainbows and brooks.  

Other stories

1.  In 1995, I went with Dad to camp near that area (closer to the cattleguard) to help him with the scouts.  We had taken the horses to ride  One day, we were riding the horses near the special spot and something spooked my horse and he suddenly started to buck (I was riding the horse named Jackson which was Chads horse).  I tried to hang on, but eventually I got bucked off and landed on my side, knocking the wind out of me.  It was embarrassing.  

2.  In 1995, me and Karen camped in the area.  That night, as we were trying to go to sleep in the tent, we kept hearing something outside walking around and brushing against our tent.  It was a little spooky.  At one time, I got out of the tent with my gun to look around.  It was a full moon and was pretty light.  There was no wind and there were no tracks in the dirt.  It was very quiet.  I got back into the tent and shortly after, the noises started again.  I poked my head out again, but there was nothing there.  It was a restless night.  I had my pistol close to me all night.     

Probably a wolf or a Big Foot

 

David with his nice buck, Dad and myself doing something weird.  The horse is Dun.  I had this photo already and then David sent me the one below.  Not sure why I had one and not the other.

The following photo caption is 2003, Dun, David, Sam, Chad, Pepper

David boning out his deer while Sam chatters with him.  David's pickup was a '93 Mitsubishi Mighty Max.  I don't remember the name of the grey horse (maybe Sage?), but we called the brown horse Dun.  That old blue and yellow tent was the tent we used as kids while camping.  David owns it now.

Dad on the left.

                                                        David's Memories

 I first saw this place when I was 14. Dad took me here in early June. I slept under the stars with a manti folded over me. In the morning, there was a heavy frosty over everything. The skies were blue. Dad and I watched two big bucks on a ridge through the binoculars.

 Dad and I went fishing up here, lots out times.

 I go camping here every year with my kids. We take the wall tent and the stove. The view is really pretty. We sometimes fish, but stop after catching one or two.

 I shot a buck near here once. Chad, Dad, and Sam were there. I think Hugh was? Or was it Morgan? I boned out the buck on the tailgate of my little blue pickup. We were camped here.

 I shot an elk up here once. Dad and Hugh came up that night and we packed it out with the horses. Then we went to another canyon and Hugh shot a nice buck. We were camped here.

 Morgan, Dad and I camped here once while elk hunting. We all had cow tags. Dad shot a calf. Me and Morgan shot the same cow. Hugh came up the next day and he and I hiked in and found a bunch of bulls - but no cows.

 Elwin caught a fish here once on a family reunion and won a contest.

 Elwin, Emma and I had a cool camp fire here this year.

 Emma and I burned a big log here last year that took all night to burn up.

 This is where I shot a rifle for the first time while wearing glasses.

 A friend and I camped here once and I shot an elk. It was the first elk I ever boned out and packed out on my back.

 Hugh, Dad, and I camped here once and Hugh and Dad both got their elk.

 First time I ever watched a movie on a laptop was here. Dad and I came up here to go elk hunting. Jon came up the first day and brought this new fangled computer thing, called a laptop. We watched "The Emperor's New Groove" in Dad's camper. The next morning, we rode the horses for miles. Then Jon went home and Hugh came up for the rest of the hunt.

 There are some caves near here, across the creek. There's a big fallen log crossing the creek. My kids like to cross over to see the caves.

 Emma and I camped here last year to go elk hunting. The ground was frozen so hard that we could pound the tent pegs only a couple inches into the ground and later struggled to get them out. But we had a wood stove to stay warm. The next day, we could hear wolves howling when we started hiking. When we came back that evening, in the dark, we could hear wolves howling, again.

 I camped here once and there were a couple sheepherders camped nearby. They were drinking and had a huge campfire. One of them threw a bottle of beer in the fire and it shattered and the fire whooshed and their mules broke free and stampeded past my camp.

2013, Spring Camping Trip in Antelope Creek

I spent three days with two of my sons, Pearson and Elwin, in Antelope Creek in late May, 2013. We set up our wall tent in our usual spot at the mouth of Horsethief.

David, Elwin, Pearson

We roasted marshmallows in camp and relaxed in the tent.

We hiked up Antelope Creek. There’s an old truck a mile or so up the trail.

We fished up Horsethief Creek and caught a few fish. We built a fire and cooked fish in the coals, wrapped in tinfoil.

2016, May 25-27, Antelope Creek Camping Trip

I went camping with Emma, Henry, and Elwin in Antelope Creek. We took our bikes and had a good time. Henry caught a nice rainbow in Horsethief Creek.

The picture is looking down into Slim Creek. Smiley is the snow covered peak. Horsethief is behind me.

Henry

 A Story David wrote:  (The Pictures won't come across)  Not sure the year.

Title:  "Ice and Dust, A November Hunt"

 

"Is that blood on your knees?" Dad asked.

I had just shut the door to the frigid night air and turned around, where my dad and my brother, Hugh, were taking a break to get warm in the camper's heated interior.

I quickly looked down at my coveralls and winced. It had been dark for several hours already and l had forgotten that blood was smudged into the material covering my knees and shins.

Then he cried out, "You DID get an elk!"

Darn it! Until now, I'd given only vague answers to their questions and I'd managed to avoid telling them the best part of my day. I had wanted to tell the story properly, with all of the excitement and adrenaline, disappointment and despair. I wanted to see the looks on their faces when I reached the grand finale, and watch it transform into their own excitement and anticipation for tomorrow's hunt.

Still silent, and feeling a bit deflated, I looked back and forth at their wide, expectant eyes and, after a moment, shrugged with one shoulder and put them off, replying simply, "Yeah, I've got a cow down."

Despite their excited, and somewhat angry, prods, I refused to say another word until we were settled in for the night, our gear having been stowed and the horses were fed and out of the icy breeze drifting down from the frozen peaks. When we were finally seated in the warm camper, with our coats off and supper on the table, I looked at Dad and Hugh, making sure I had their full attention before I began.

Hunting High

I had parked my truck at the mouth of Horsethief Canyon at 5:30 on that frozen, black November morning. Shooting light was still a couple hours away and I had a few miles to hike. It was so bitterly cold, and I hiked at a slow, steady pace, trying to stay warm but not break into a sweat.

After a couple miles, the big canyon splits into two forks. The left fork is long and deep with just a few thin, treelined gullies slicing down its steep walls. The right fork, however, is wider, with several small, but deep, canyons nestled into the looping, western ridge. Evergreen forests and islands of quaking aspen brake up the monotony of sagebrush, offering a variety of forage and security to elk and deer alike. After crossing the small, frozen creek, I paused for a moment, then trudged softly toward the right fork.

Dawn found me sitting below a bare, rocky ridge, high above an expansive panorama of snow-covered mountains and forest, interspersed with brown hillsides of sagebrush and course grass. Blue skies welcomed the cold morning and the penetrating chill soon urged me to my feet. I hunted slowly along the big western ridge, glassing into sheltered, snow-filled coves, creeping over windswept ridges, and wading through deep, crusty snowdrifts among forests of douglas fir. As the day warmed to a point somewhere below freezing, patches of snow on south-facing slopes softened and shrank in the sunlight, while cold shadows pooled among the thick trees.

Near lunchtime, I stopped in knee-deep snow, overlooking a pass not far below the treeline. Bright sunlight dazzled off the soft, still snow. Choosing a sheltered spot below a jumble of ridgeline boulders where I could soak in the sun, I scuffed a seat in the snow with my boot and sat down on my folded poncho. Then I dug my lunch out of my daypack and leaned back against a boulder to enjoy the pristine, winter landscape.

Tired, and now relaxed, it wasn't long before sleep claimed me. An hour had drifted by when a shift in the cold breeze slowly brought me back to awareness. I burrowed my gloved hands deeper into my coat pockets and squinted up at the thin, white clouds stretching high across the icy blue sky. Thick, soft snow coated the higher mountains and wrapped each fir and spruce tree in fluffy blankets of cotton. White sunshine reflected sharply off icy ridges and tenuously caressed my camo pattern coat, orange vest, and brown coverall pants. My chin and cheeks were nestled deep into my coat's thick collar; only my eyes and the tip of my nose were visible beneath my orange hat brim as I reclined against the mountain.

My barriers to the cold were slowly failing against the cold breeze. A mild shivering crept through my muscles and I began to feel restless, but I lingered, enjoying the magnificent view of winter engulfed mountains. My eyes searched for brown shapes among the trees or new trails cut through the white powder. I spotted three tiny figures on a long, brush-covered ridge, about a mile southwest of the pass and much higher, in an extremely rough section of deep canyons and steep ridges. Pulling my cold hand from my pocket, I raised my binoculars... and sat straight up, my heart beginning to pound!

Three cow elk were standing on the sunny ridge. But that wasn't brush covering the ridge, those were bedded elk! A big herd! I began to count, but had to keep starting over. On my side of that ridge lay at least 135 bulls, cows and calves!

Repacking my lunch and poncho, I raced across the pass and entered the outskirts of a steep forest of mature douglas fir, dark and still.

My eager progress soon came to an abrupt halt in impassable, waist deep snow. Impatience and despair began to sink in. All those elk! Surely I could put my tag on one if I could just get above this forest and across to that ridge! I floundered a while longer before stopping to reanalyze the situation. After pondering my options, I realized that it might be better to simply keep track of this herd for now. The snow was very deep in the high canyons, covering most of the forage that the elk would need to maintain their body temperatures; surely they would soon move to lower country where the snow was mostly melted. I should just back off and wait for now.

With that thought in mind, I reluctantly circled the head of Horsethief Canyon, away from the elk, and hiked down the long ridge that divides the two forks. A few old tracks crisscrossed the ridge here and there. Dropping into a narrow draw with a few trees at the very bottom, I jumped a half dozen deer, all does and fawns, and watched them as they stotted stiffly across the brush-covered slope and out of sight. A sunny spot, dry and clear of snow, beckoned from the foot of some nearby cliffs and I settled in, with an all-encompassing view of Horsethief's entire left fork.

After a couple hours, some more lunch, and another nap, the cold was again succeeding in penetrating my thick clothing. The sun had long since dropped behind the cliffs, surrendering my comfortable refuge to winter's cold embrace. Shadows were extending their chilly fingers. On a cold day like this, and with only an hour of daylight left, the elk should already be up and feeding. I'd seen no elk here, so I shouldered my daypack and rifle and climbed over the ridge, intending to glass the forested draws along the right fork of Horsethief.

I gasped and dropped down to my stomach, trying to melt into the ground! Across the big canyon, the upper portions of two deep draws were alive with movement. Elk dotted the hills! The small brown shapes were moving slowly across finger ridges and narrow canyons, through pines and sagebrush, working their way lower, toward slopes that were nearly free of snow.

A great twitter of sound, as if from a huge flock of birds, floated on the cold breeze. The elk were so boisterous in their conversation that I knew I didn't need to worry about making any noise; but I was certain some of the elk would be alert for predators, so I couldn't let myself be spotted. I crawled back out of sight and trotted north to a patch of forest that extended across the ridgeline.  I slowed to a walk and carefully crossed the ridge, toward the expansive, rippling herd, trying to keep the bushy trees between myself and the moving elk as they fed. My feet soon carried me into a narrow gulch full of fir trees and I broke into a lively jog, leaping over snow-covered logs and plunging down the hill, snow crunching under every footstep. The long, dead grass beneath the snow was slick, and fear of an injury forced me to slow somewhat in my headlong rush.

Reaching the bottom of the canyon, now deep in shadow, I hurried through a grove of naked, white-barked quakies, crashed through frosted willows, skipped over the frozen creek on ice-coated rocks, and rushed up the sagebrush-covered slope beyond. This little finger ridge was bare on its southern flank, but its north-facing slope was completely covered with evergreens. After climbing a short distance up the bare side, I carefully crossed the ridge into the forest. The elk were now spilling over the ridge above, fanning rapidly across the broad, upper portions of the opposite slope, grazing on the exposed, yellow grass.

Over 400 yards now separated me from the nearest elk; that's a long shot with a dead rest, and nearly impossible without. I moved slowly from tree to tree, trying hard to expose as little movement as possible as I very slowly cut the distance. A cow stood on a high, granite outcropping, an alert sentinel carefully surveying the canyon below. From her vantage point she could see clearly into the forest, and I soon reached a point that was as close as I could get without her spotting me.

I pressed myself into the branches of a fir, watching through a screen of branches and twigs at the elk feeding among the snow and sagebrush. Very slowly, I eased carefully into the open so I could see clearly across the canyon, but that sentry spotted me and let out a loud, high-pitched bark! Heads jerked up as half of the elk froze in place, while the other half turned as one and ran a short distance toward the ridge high above, before stopping and looking in my direction.

All the elk stood like identical statues, heads up, searching for me. I remained standing, frozen in place, as hundreds of pairs of eyes stared in my direction. Gradually, a few elk dropped their gaze and began to feed. Then, as a group, the entire herd relaxed and resumed browsing voraciously among the sagebrush and partially snow-covered grass. That single cow, however, stood riveted, her eyes nailing me to the open spot in which I stood. She just wasn't going to let me take another step!

I slowly eased to the ground and sat with my lower back against a thin log for meager support. A vertical slice of the mountainside was clearly visible through the trees, and I aimed up at a cow that was feeding near a lone, scrubby pine. As the rifle shot echoed across the canyon, the elk scattered in all directions! I quickly got the crosshairs back on the same cow and pulled the trigger again. A few elk, the cow among them, mingled and bunched as they ran up the hill and I watched intently until they were out of sight. She had shown no signs of being injured.

The herd had scattered, with many of the elk thundering uphill and over the ridge into Slim Creek, a narrow, steep, heavily forested canyon paralleling Horsethief, but several small bunches of elk lingered in various gullies, folds, and thickets, calling back and forth. I hurried through the forest, crossed a shallow gully with a stream of ice lying motionless in its bottom, and climbed quickly among the sagebrush. My diaphragm elk call was hanging from my lips and, whenever I stopped for a breather, I blew a few lonesome mews. Elk kept peaking over rocks and between trees at me, thinking I might be a lost elk. I searched near the tree and along the snowy path my targeted cow had taken, but found no blood, no hair, no sign of a hit.

After climbing nearly to the top of the ridge and finding no blood, I conceded that my aim had been too shaky. It was a clean miss. I turned my attention to the elk that were now calling above me and I mewed again. About 30 elk poked their heads over some rocks above, staring down at me, then disappeared. The hunt was back on! I gave free rein to my urge to pursue the elk, and hurried up the remaining slope, breathing in huge gasps of cold air.

The sun was just disappearing behind distant, icy peaks as I clambered onto the ridge near the narrow head of Slim Creek. The nearly re-formed herd was bunching up on the opposite open slope, beyond a finger of snow-covered forest that extended up out of the tight, hidden canyon below.

Down the very ridge on which I stood, in a saddle about 150 yards away, stood a single cow elk. My legs shaking from exertion, I stepped over to a large boulder and knelt heavily, resting my rifle across the rigid surface, steadied by my gloved hand. A second, larger cow appeared and then the two elk were trotting through the pass. I led the larger of the two and fire. At the shot, both elk burst into a run and disappeared among the snowy trees. Five more elk followed, loping through the pass and into the dense forest.

The forest was only a hundred yards wide at this point, so I remained on my knees, hunched over the boulder. I searched among the timber, occasionally glancing at the mingling elk herd. I was astonished at the number of elk on the mountainside! There had to be several hundred elk in the immense herd! Without my binoculars, and at a distance of about a quarter mile, I easily counted over 30 branch-antlered bulls among the milling animals.

Finally, the stragglers began exiting the forest. One... two... three... four... five... six.... No more. They melted into the herd and the elk began to swarm over the hill and out of sight. Earnestly hoping my elk was dead, I began searching the forest through my binoculars. Almost immediately, I spotted her! But she wasn't dead; she was standing among the trees, in the rapidly fading light, her head high. I was pretty sure this was my elk but, I was chilled by the thought of accidently shooting two elk. I kept my rifle ready and watched for a sign that this elk was wounded. Suddenly, she took a few steady steps and disappeared.

I waited, disappointed and worried. Finally, I slung my rifle over my shoulder and hiked through the sagebrush to the churned path. No blood. Turning toward the pink and orange horizon, I began following the obvious path into the forest. I hadn't gone far when I found blood on the snow, then a steady bloodtrail! I followed it to the opening where I'd spotted the standing elk, where the snow was splashed with red. I was now certain that this was my elk. The weak light was fading fast, softening colors and details into broken gray shadows, as I stepped out of the far edge of the forest. There she was, standing below a lone pine among the sagebrush, just 50 yards away. I lifted my rifle, aimed at a point just a few inches behind and below the ear, and squeezed the trigger. My hunt was over.

 I moved over to the elk and sat down, feeling the tension ease out of me with each breath. I could relax now; darkness was already setting in and hurrying would only cause mistakes. After setting my rifle and daypack against the tree, I gathered wood, building the pile high, knowing that I might be here for awhile. I started a small fire, then removed my coat and shrugged my coveralls down, tying the sleeves around my waist.

With no one to help, I held my little flashlight between my teeth as I bent over the fallen elk. After she was gutted, I stood up to exchange my knife for my little bone saw and discovered that my back was covered with ice! I realized that I had made an error that was potentially fatal: I had sweated through my jacket beneath my coat and coveralls, and the sweat and fabric was now frozen into a sheet of ice that was clinging to the skin on my back. This frightened me a little, but I had learned my lesson the year before while gutting an elk in a wet snowstorm: Always light a fire before gutting an animal when it's cold and you're alone!

Gratefully, I hustled over to my fire and piled wood onto the hot embers. The flames crackled back to life and I was soon thawing out. When my clothes were warm and much drier, I returned to my work. But, before I could finish, my flashlight's batteries had run out and I was working completely by faint starlight. I searched for more batteries, but I had none. Another big mistake.

I could do no more tonight. The elk was cleaned out and could be finished in the morning. After cleaning up and putting out my fire, I set out for my truck... and made my third, potentially fatal, mistake of the night: I took a shortcut... at night with no flashlight... in subzero temperatures through unfamiliar wilderness!

Shortcut

Instead of crossing back into Horsethief Canyon and taking a familiar and easy-to-follow, but longer, trail to camp, I hiked straight down Slim Creek. I knew there was a trail in the bottom that would lead me around to the road, but I didn't realize how long and steep the upper portion of this rugged forest was.

I spent the next couple hours easing carefully down the log-strewn mountain, among rocks and brush, pushing through dark branches and black night, while slipping in the ankle-deep snow. Some stretches were so steep and so dark that I was forced to scoot down the slope on my rear end, over deadfalls and hidden debris, fearful of braking a leg. I shivered with cold and, at times, I quivered with fear. All I could do was take deep breaths and try to move slowly downhill. Often, all I could see were blackness above my head, snow beneath my feet, and faint branches surrounding me.

Finally, the trees began to thin as the ground leveled out. The canyon floor widened before me. With relief, I welcomed the feeble starlight shining through the broken canopy and scattered clouds. My confidence returned and I quickened my pace, crunching through the snow at a slow walk, searching for the trail that I expected would lead me safely to the road.

As I neared the turn in the canyon where the trail came down from a low pass, I began to worry that the path would be of no use. Crusty snow covered the canyon floor, hiding the narrow creekbed beneath its even texture. During daylight, or with a flashlight, subtle depressions in the snow would reveal, somewhat, the course of the tiny brook but, at night, the muted starlight merely obscured those variations, creating an even surface that glowed dimly. I was already stumbling and struggling in my attempt to avoid the tiny creek as it snaked back and forth among the trees, buried in deep grass and snow.

But I was in for a pleasant surprise: Someone had walked down this trail in the last day or two and black footsteps were clearly visible where the trail crossed a small meadow of flat, white snow. Even through the trees in the narrowed canyon, the warm sunlight had completely melted just the footprints, leaving a path of black footsteps in the white snow that showed me exactly where to step. The most dangerous section of my hike out was now a cakewalk.

It was 10:30 when I reached my truck and I discovered that Dad and Hugh had not yet arrived. Thick frost coated my pickup. All my water - in my bag and in my truck - was frozen solid.

I started the truck and waited with the heater on full blast, but the cold that pushed through the glass windows was hardly kept at bay. By 11 o'clock, I was getting impatient and a little bit concerned. I turned on the headlights and went looking for them. After just a few miles, a pair of blazing lights appeared, crossing a distant bridge through the willows and cottonwoods lining the creek, and I pulled over to wait for them. Their headlights grew ever brighter as they drew closer and I could detect the dark shape of a camper rising out of the pickup's bed. Faint red light from the horse trailer's lights reflected among the billowing dust behind the pickup. This had to be them!

They slowed and eased up next to me. Dad was leaning out the open window. The first thing he said was, "Did you see any elk?"

I was eager to spread the good news, but I didn't want to just scream "I got one!!!" Many hours had passed and my excitement had calmed to a hot simmer; I wanted to tell the whole story, with all the suspense. Thinking a little deception was warranted, I told them, "Yeah, I saw a big herd and shot a couple times at a cow, but I missed. I'll tell you all about it when camp's set up."

This fired them up. As we set up camp near the mouth of Horsethief Canyon, they constantly pressed me for more details. They discovered the blood on my clothes a little too soon, but their brief anger was soon swallowed up in the thrill of the hunt.

The Elk Are Gone

 

Me and Dad with my elk, split into halves and tied down over the horses.

Our excitement was short lived. Despite an early start on Thursday morning and carefully hunting the ridge along Horsethief's right fork, we saw no elk. Finally, we rode the three horses high over the ridge into the top of Slim Creek to my frozen cow. We finished splitting it, loaded it onto two horses and packed it back over into Horsethief. We hunted a little on the way out but, once again, saw no elk or deer.

That afternoon, after arriving in camp, another hunter stopped by to chat and told us they'd seen a lot of deer in Dry Canyon. The horses were tired and we wanted them to be fresh in the morning, so we fed and watered them, then piled into my pickup and drove down to Dry Canyon.

We had never hunted these canyons and draws before and, not knowing where to start, we parked below a secluded, little draw that harbored a few scattered fir trees. Unlike in the higher mountains, there was very little snow here except in deeply shadowed pockets. The rocky creek bottoms were void of any springs or running water. Dusty sagebrush sprinkled the hillsides, interspersed with exposed rock and small, ragged cliffs. A few small patches of fir and aspen lurked among the canyon's deeper, more sheltered, folds.

We climbed to a low bench and watched for animals, but the peaceful hills refused to reveal any sign of game. After a brilliant yellow and orange sunset, we returned to the truck and began the slow, dusty drive back to camp.

Suddenly, Dad spotted a couple small bucks on the rim of some cliffs directly above the road. We stopped and looked, but all we could see was their heads as they stared down at us. There was no time to go after them, so I put the truck in gear and started forward when some does materialized in the road right in front of us! There were still a couple minutes of shooting light left and Hugh was tempted to try for one of these does (the deer hunt was open to harvest of either-sex), but he hesitated too long and, just as suddenly as they had appeared, the deer were gone.

On Friday, we branched out, looking far and wide for elk. Clear skies persevered and, despite the bitter cold, reclining in the saddle was very enjoyable and we covered miles of rough, but beautiful, country. We talked to a few other hunters who had seen no elk, except for one fellow who had spotted a herd of 300 elk in another deep and distant drainage. By mid-afternoon, feeling discouraged, we rode out of the hills, having decided to spend the evening pursuing deer in Dry Canyon.

Stalking Deer

A long, thin gully cut down through the mountainside. failing painfully to spread its banks any wider as it extended toward the canyon floor. We parked at the bottom of this gully and got out, studying the bare mountains for the shapes of deer or elk while we loaded our rifles. A well-used gametrail beckoned to us, and we followed it, along the gully's edge up to an exposed, forlorn patch of quaking aspen.

Dusty, brown mountains stood all around us, silent and resolute. Almost immediately, a tiny shape appeared on the skyline at the top of a long, bare ridge. Staring through our binoculars, we watched the silhouette of a deer feeding against the blue sky. Another deer soon appeared beside it, then another. Soon, a small herd of does was browsing peacefully among the scattered sagebrush. A final doe trotted over the ridge, and right on her tail was a buck, sporting a really nice set of antlers! The buck was restless and wandered among the others, constantly following and sniffing each passing doe.

We watched the deer across the half-mile of open grass, brush, and rock. There appeared to be no easy way to stalk this buck. After some quiet discussion, Hugh and I made a plan to sneak up past the leaf-bare quakies and through the scant sagebrush to a low pass just above us, then circle around and try to approach the deer from behind, from the very ridge which they had just come over. Dad would stay on the edge of the quakies and watch; if we spooked the deer, they might head toward him.

Crouched low and moving slowly, Hugh and I crept away and eased up the hill. The buck was preoccupied with the does and his own actions were distracting them, which helped us to successfully trek across the open space and slip through the pass unnoticed. We then hustled up the backside of the ridge, crossing the beginnings of several long, shallow gullies.

We hadn't gone far when the deer began streaming over to our side of the ridge, much closer now, but still high above us. The buck was really stirring them up, amorously following one doe then another, with his swollen neck bent low and his nose reaching straight out, just inches behind each doe. They ate rapidly as he prowled among them, repeatedly interrupting their feeding.

Crawling out of a gully, we realized that there just wasn't enough cover for us to close the remaining 300 yards of open mountainside to the deer. Also, the milling does were agitated by the big buck and might move away at any moment. Hugh needed to make the shot now, and it was going to be tricky: There was no chance of a solid rest since Hugh needed to raise his rifle above the thigh-high brush while aiming on a steep uphill angle.

Hugh slowly raised above the sagebrush, lifting his rifle. His body leaned backward as he aimed his rifle steeply uphill. Through my binoculars, I watched the buck switching back and forth, following different does. He stopped to sniff another doe and she jumped forward, trotting through the small herd. He bulled after her and she left the perimeter of the herd, angling toward the ridge. Just a few steps below the ridge, she stopped, the buck mere inches behind her, his full attention riveted on her.

"He's clear," I said.

Hugh fired. The buck dropped! I watched as the does scrambled over the ridge and disappeared. There was movement in the brush where the buck had fallen.

"He's down, Hugh! But you're going to have to hit him again!"

Unfortunately, neither of us could clearly see the buck where it lay in the sagebrush. Hugh leaped to his feet and ran uphill, clutching his rifle in both hands while climbing higher with each lunging step. I raced after him, close on his heels. When we stopped to catch our breath near a large boulder, I looked through my binoculars and saw the buck holding his head up, barely above the brush, watching us.

Hugh hunkered down against the boulder and aimed, still breathing hard. After a few long moments, his rifle thundered again and the buck disappeared beneath the brush. I continued watching for over a minute. There was no movement.

More carefully now, Hugh and I finished climbing the steep slope. We soon found the buck, lying still, its eyes glazed over. We were both grinning like silly little kids as Hugh notched his tag and wrapped it around a heavy antler. Then Hugh pulled out his knife and I grabbed a back leg.

 A little later, the cleaning job all finished, Hugh and I dragged the big bodied buck over the ridge and stopped to catch our breath in the glow of the setting sun, looking down toward the quakies. There was Dad, already halfway up the slope, climbing steadily. He stopped and looked upward. I lifted the buck's antlers and a few lingering rays of sunlight glinted off the tines. Dad lifted his binoculars and, after a moment, raised a fist high and vigorously pumped his elbow downward.

We drug the big buck down the mountain to a single fir, standing alone with heavy, wide-sweeping branches. Here the buck would remain, overnight, for Hugh and Dad to return to in the morning with the horses.

The fun was over for me. I had to work the next day, so after returning to camp and sorting my gear out of the camper, I set out, driving away down the dark and dusty road.

 Dad Gets His Chance

On Saturday morning, with bright, blue skies persisting high overhead, Dad and Hugh trailered the horses over to Dry Canyon, where they saddled up and, leading the spare horse, rode up the frost-coated gully to retrieve Hugh's buck. They hadn't traveled far, however, when a half-dozen deer came out of a draw, single-file, intending to cross the gully near the horsemen. They stopped and stared, just 20 yards away, as Dad calmly got off his horse, slid his rifle from the scabbard, stepped away from the horses, sat down, and fired at a 2-point buck, which promptly fell over dead!

After cleaning the little buck, they rode to the solitary pine high on the mountain, and struggled mightily to load the heavy, frozen buck onto the spare horse. When it was securely tied down, they rode back down the mountain, loaded up the 2-point and headed out to the truck and the cold, dusty road toward home.

Dad, Mom, Hugh

David, Dad taking out some elk halves.  David has Buster and Dad is on Dun.  Not sure the middle horse.

The previous two photos, I believe, belong to the story above and the next two photos are of different hunts.

2002, Dad, David, and Morgan took the photo
The horse on the left looks like Dun, and then Buster.  Not sure the Black horse name.

2004 David and a cow

Roberts Family Reunion 2019 Fish Creek Reservoir

Sunrise Fish Creek Reservoir

June 27-29, 2019

This year the reunion was put on by Jennifer at Fish Creek Reservoir.  Fish Creek Reservoir is a lake where we frequently used to go camping and fishing when we were kids.  It usually grows fish pretty fast once they are planted there.  The last several years there has not been enough water in it to do much and recently they have made it so it could hold water again.  The level of the reservoir is still lower than what it was when we were kids but you can put a small boat on it now.  

Morning Reflection on Fish Creek Reservoir, taken with Iphone

Click this link for:    Fishing Video

My family did not arrive until Thursday afternoon on the 27th.  It is about 3.5 hours to drive there.  Those that came were myself, Katy and Quinn.  Teresa had to stay home because we have too many employees that are too new and she didn't want a wreck when we came back.  Macey had some other commitment as well. We left kind of late in the morning as we still had to pack up a lot of stuff.  I decided not to take the Wildcat since the roads around there are so dusty, and to take the pontoon boat instead.  The kids wanted to take their home-made kayaks too.  It was a little difficult in getting them and the pontoon boat all in one load since they are so awkward in shape.  I ended up using the Wildcat trailer to put the pontoon boat on and all the camping gear and then the kayaks in the back of the truck.  I had to tie everything in weird places because the trailer has lots of gaps where things could slide out.  Plus I had to have the tailgate down to fit the kayaks.  

We got it all loaded and then headed out.  It was a nice day of driving and we made it all the way across the desert to Arco without hitting a deer.  We fueled up in Arco and headed across the next stretch past Craters of the Moon, and about 5 miles before Carey turned off the highway north, onto a dirt road.  Its only a few miles to the reservoir from there.  I was really surprised to see a whole bunch of campers and tents already in the spot we were going to camp and at first thought I was in the wrong place.  Usually we are one of the first to show up.  Then I realized we usually would show up on Wednesday and this was Thursday so, yes, everybody should be there.  We drove through the gate  on the dusty road to the campsite and then kind of went around and to the south side of the main group.  There were some really nice flat areas that we could set our tents up.  You could tell the water used to come up that high because of the scarcity of vegetation and the flatness of the soil.

We set up a small tent for each of us, since there were only three of us.  It was more compact to load the truck with three small backpacking tents than to bring the big family sized tent.  We set up the canopy and the kitchen.  It only took a few minutes but since we were out in the open and the wind could blow really hard I went around and asked for some big stakes to borrow to hold the canopy down.  Jennifer had some and they were stout so I pounded them in the ground.  

We cooked hamburgers that night and realized we had forgotten all seasonings.  We did have a bag of really salty sour cream and onion Lay's brand potato chips so I crunched them up into the hamburgers.  Quinn was supposed to cook since he had a rank advancement he was working on, but it ended up being more me and Katy doing it.  He did help clean a little though.  The hamburgers turned out to be pretty decent with the chips in them.  

Sunset with the Roberts' family reunion

Dad came over sometime after we ate and we rode with him over to some small cliffs overlooking the reservoir.  We climbed down to them and fished there for a little while but the wind started blowing obnoxiously and we decided to quit.  A lot of other family members had come over as well and I don't think anybody caught any fish but a rattle snake did show up.  Dad told me that earlier they had found one or two rattlesnakes down by the beach area and Morgan had shot one.  There is a photo of it in his set.

We talked to a few people after supper and by then David had showed up.  He was the last one to get here after me.  All family member siblings were present but we were missing a few people here and there from each family that had to work or had other commitments.

There was a pretty good sunset so I set up the tripod and took a few pictures with my 5D Mark IV camera.  I went to bed after that as Katy and Quinn were already snoring.  I slept really good on my new Thermarest pad which is mainly for backpacking but it inflates higher than my standard pad.  Quite amazing technology and it's supposed to have a high R value for winter camping.  

Sunrise

I woke up before 6 am the next morning and looked out.  It had the makings of a really good sunrise which stinks because if that happens I can never go back to sleep in case of a good photo opportunity.   Of course it just fizzled and there was no really good sunrise but I got out and took some photos anyway.  I got some shots with my phone looking out my tent door and they are the crooked ones.  I then got my Canon and the tripod and got some nice shots as well.  I would say they are not spectacular but I do like them.

Phone pic sunrise from tent

Phone pic out of tent door while I'm lying there.

The rest are morning pics from the DSLR

All of my camp.  My tent on left, canopy, truck then Katy and Quinn's tent.  All the campers and other tents belong to the rest of the family

My camp

One of my favorites

One of my other favorites.  Quinn's tent in foreground and David's camp in background

Katy and Quinn's tents

Dust from a leaving vehicle

Add caption

Currant bush

 After breakfast we went out walking and looking for somewhere to put in the kayaks and the pontoon boat.  Dad drove over and told us there was  a spot over by the dam where we could get it in.  He was headed over there with his and Jennifer was with him.  We hopped in the truck and pulled the trailer over where he was and was able to get the pontoon and kayaks in with minimal effort.  The mud was pretty gooey though but we got through it ok.

The kids scooted out in their kayaks and as kayaks are so fast they were out there a long ways before I was.  Dad also was out there a long ways and so I paddled across the water before getting out my fly rod.  I put on a dry fly that looked kind of like a mayfly but after awhile had no success.  I noticed the wind was moving us pretty fast along the shoreline so decided to try trolling with a fly.  I found a really big heavy black bead-headed stonefly and put it on.  It sank probably 5 or 6 feet down since I only have regular fly line on.  It was low enough though and before long I had a hit.  The difficult thing in those pontoon boats is you can't row and fish at the same time (which really is in any boat).  I had my rod in a holder that is rubberized and sticky and so when you go to grab it, it takes a sec to get it out.  By then the fish is off.  So I missed a couple good hits before hooking my first fish.

Dad on his pontoon

Quinn and Katy in their home-made kayaks

Jennifer after we put dad in

My trailer and pontoon boat

Finally, on one of the next good hits, I set the hook properly and fought with a nice brook trout for awhile.  It was pretty good sized and unfortunately, I don't have a good picture of it.  I kept it to eat later as it was obviously not a planter.  It later turned out to be a very tasty fat hunk of meat.  I do have it in my video but you cannot see it very good.  It had bright colors and I'm guessing was around 13-14 maybe 15 inches.  It was heavy and strong.  We had a hard time getting it in as I had forgotten my net.  (Seems like I forget a lot of things these days).  Dad paddled over to me and was able to net it.  It was kind of hard catching a fish while trying to keep my pontoon in the right spot so he could get close enough to net it.  But in reality, it turned out to be easier for the other guy to net the fish than to net it yourself in the pontoon boat.  We ended up teaming up like that on the next few fish.

After putting the brookie on the stringer I started fishing again.  Dad was asking me what I was using and so I told him.  I did not have another and he did not have one he could get to easy enough and so he started paddling ashore so he could dig into his boxes of flies and find one.  I kept fishing and the same thing would happen and I would get a hit and then not be able to grab the pole fast enough.  It was still fun and its always a good feeling when you find a fly that will work well.  

Tragedy soon struck however, when something huge hit my fly and before I could even grab the pole the line was hitting me in the face.  Something had grabbed my fly and had snapped it off with so much force that it had bent my pole like a bow and shot the line toward me like an arrow.  I was quite sad to lose that fly.  It had caught me a lot of fish over the years, especially in high mountain lakes.  In my bag in the truck I knew I had another but it was a long paddle back to the truck.  I went over to where dad was and found he had a whole box of big black similar flies, both with bead heads and without.  He had tied one on without a bead head.  I grabbed a more showy one with a bead head about the same size as the one I lost.  It was probably an inch and a quarter in length.  We started out fishing again and before long I had another hit.  Dad  had gotten out sooner but had not gotten any bites so he switched to a bead head.  Not long after he got a strike but had the same problem of getting to the pole fast enough.  

Bam!!  Suddenly I had a huge hit and my fly came out of the water.  I flipped it back immediately, and BAM!  The same fish hit it again and with my pole in hand hooked him easily.  It turned out to be a rainbow a little bit bigger than the brookie but also heavy and fat.  Dad netted him for me again.   We started rowing up-wind back toward the dam which was a long ways away.  I decided since we had been out on the water a long time I wanted to get closer to the truck.  I had a few more hits but was unable to hook another.  We had paddled quite a ways toward the dam when dad finally hooked into one.  I ended up netting him.  I wish we had the kids around and they could have video'd our teamwork but they had left long ago and had taken the video camera with them.  This turned out to be the biggest fish of the day, about an inch bigger than my rainbow, and it was also a rainbow.  

We ended up going back to the beach and loading up after dad caught his fish.  We'd been on the water quite awhile and my legs were getting pretty sunburned.  The wind was also kicking up.  We got our stuff out of the water and some other people in a big fifth-wheel camper had showed up on the beach and were waiting for us to move so they could camp there.  They had also parked another vehicle right in the road that lead back to our camp.  Not too big of a deal, there weren't too many rocks so I started going around in the sage brush.  All of a sudden I heard honking and thought maybe somebody was trying to tell me I was headed for disaster.  It turned out to be a mad guy coming from the other way also wanting to go the way I was.  He started honking and yelling.  I had made Katy get out and check for rocks or holes but once I heard him yelling I just told her to get back in and went on my way.  Pretty soon that guy came up behind me and was tailgating me as I slowly made my way down the bumpy road.  He soon pulled off at a spot that looked camp-worthy though, and we forgot about him.  I'm amazed at how intolerant people can be sometimes.  

My camp

We went back to camp and rested until dinner which was going to be combined with the whole camp.  We took over our potatoes, chicken and salad for the people preparing it.  Most of the dinner was cooked on dutch ovens and turned out to be pretty good.  There was cobbler and ice-cream for dessert.  

Quinn wanted to be a cyclops

After dinner we had a program where Dad conducted and then Katy told a story about William Butler who was an ancestor of ours and an early convert to the church.  Rather than re-tell that story I will try to put her notes in this blog at the end.  Katy did a good job and spent about 20 minutes telling the story of this pioneer and missionary.  After Katy's story Dad had asked James to sing us primary songs, but instead of singing us songs he tried to make us sing them instead.  It was good, however and we had fun.  Unfortunately, I have no photos of the group or food.  I'm slipping.

Night photos.  My tent on left then Katy's is the whitish dome and Quinn's is the yellowish greenish tent

My tent on left and then Katy and Quinns

One of Hugh's tents in background and then Katy and Quinn

David's camp

My tent all by itself on a starry night

Again, I stayed up to photograph the camp at night.  There was no sunset but I decided to photograph our glowing tents with the campers in the background.  I had each of the kids and myself hang a flashlight in the tents so they glowed.  I got some neat photos that way.

We packed up most of camp that evening and by morning we only had a few things to put away and tie down.  We woke up and did our few things to pack up and suddenly were ready to go.  I think we left before 9 am.  We had packed light with only a few things and were still comfortable and had a good time.  In the past, we brought so much stuff that it was quite a chore to go camping.  I've never had much desire to buy a camper, as a tent and outdoor stove has always been fine.  Now I might even go lighter than before from now on.

Hugh's Photos:

Hugh and Morgan sent me some very similar photos.  They must have had two people, one from each family, standing side by side taking the same photo on a couple of these.  Thanks Hugh.

Abigail, Kirsten, Evelyn and Troy in the background

Logan, Meghan and Chloe

Chloe and Meghan

Zoey and Jaden

Holly

Kirsten

Morgan's Photos

The next series is Morgan's photos.   Thank you Morgan.   Unfortunately, I did not take many photos of people and so he has lots of his own family's photos and a few others.  I'd like to have at least a couple pics from each family.  If anybody else would like to send photos I can always add them later.  Also I am not sure of the order for Morgan's photos but they can be arranged later if necessary

Logan fishing

Logan, Jennifer and dad in his pontoon.  Looks kind of heavy on the back.  This might be when he was trying to mount an electric motor on it.

Evelyn, Grace, Logan, Jennifer

A rattlesnake curled up in the bush

You can see it better

You can see  it a lot better but its dead

Grace and some of the other families in the back.  James is in the Yellow

Meghan, Chloe and Jaden

Chad, Quinn, Katy, Dad

Logan

Grace and Jaden

Adam, James, and I believe Alex, Toby, Gavin, Jeremy and Seth

Grace

Grace, Zoey, Jaden

Alvin and the chipmunks

Zoey

Abigail, Kirsten, Evelyn

Morgan and Chloe

Logan, Meghan, Chloe

Morgan and Chloe

Grace

Zoey, Logan, Meghan, Chloe

Chloe

Logan and Dustin

Jaden and Grace

Chloe and Meghan

Gavin

Chloe

Morgan, Chloe and Grace in their camper

Zoey

Zoey

Abigail, Evelyn and Zoey

Chloe, Mom and Grace

Mom, Grace and Morgan

Logan

Chloe

Evelyn

Leigh's Photos:

Toby and his trident-tailed fish

Excited dad

Leigh and Jennifer

Jackson and Alex

Sunset

The gang

Logan, Dustin, Gavin

Holly and Liza

Jon and Sherry

Jon's rig and a bunch of kids

Katy's story: 
This is how she wrote it.  There is a huge story written about him if you would like to read all of it.  You can contact Katy or Dad.

William George Butler

Relation: Grandpas grandmas (Vincey Miriam Butler)- Vincey’s father (Jonathan Harvey Butler)- Jonathan’s father William George Butler.

Grandpas 2 great grandfather

Background: William was born on August 15, 1825 in Gorey Ireland. When he was 15 his father died, then five years later is mom died. His father’s business was raising racing horses. One-year William bet all the money he could borrow into one horse. Unfortunately, the week that horse was to race it got sick and died. Because of this misfortune William lost all the money he bet on and was not happy about it. So, on his 21^st birthday he decided to leave and go to Canada. But, if he would have stayed in Ireland, he would have inherited 118 acers of land with nice horse stables on it. So, he gave the estate to his little brother and left.

“I got a job on a river boat and worked as a stevedore to a town by the name of Richmond, Canada. From here I went on foot, working my way, until I came to the Saint Lawrence River. Here again I worked my way to pay my passage to Toronto, Canada. Here I found my uncles, Henry and Robert Colburne, and we all journeyed to DuPage Co., Illinois. When I last heard from them, they were still there. Not being satisfied to stay here – the spirt of travel being so strong on me, I went still further west till I came to St. Louis. From thence I took passage on a steamboat for Council Bluffs.”

“We traveled on to Council Bluffs. Here I found Orson Hyde organizing companies for the Salt Lake Valley. He being the first Mormon I had heard preach, I noticed particularly what he said to the people – the promises he made that they would proceed in safety on their journey to the end. I also noticed that those who disobeyed his council brought sickness and death upon themselves.”

So, this when the gospel first sparked his interest. William then travelled with the saints and tended to the sick. When they came upon Platte River, they were so worn out that they decided to rest for 12 days. He decided that this was too long of a wait, so William and another man left and started on foot.

Bad Water and Milk

·       Pretends they are William

·       Really thirsty would they drink the bad water?

·       Yes, they get sick and lay in the hot sun

·       Travelers come and give them milk and take care of them

Bear: “We traveled on till we came to two men travelling alone. We traveled in company with them until night and then camped in a low place in the brush. One of the men, and Irishman, got up at midnight to light his pipe. His comrade woke me and exclaimed, “There is a bear!” Whereupon I called my comrade. We got a pistol and a knife with the intention of going for the bear, as we supposed, when to our surprise we found it to be the Irishman, who, seeing the danger he was in, Exclaimed, “I am not a bear!” Where at we had a good laugh. 

Next Day/After Bear: “I kept gaining strength daily, so that I was enabled to travel with ease. My companion kept getting worse all the time. With great difficulty I got him along as far as Green Rover, when we began to get short of provisions. Here we found a cow that had been left by a company on account of it lameness. We drove it about a mile to a camp and sold it for five pounds of bacon and fifty cents in money, which enabled me to get to my journey’s end. A the Green Rover crossing the ferry man had been murdered for his money, and the ferry boat sunk by some fasten together with willows. Previous to this we tried to ford the stream but found it impartible. I took a pole and ferried ourselves a crossed. The logs sunk under the water up to our knees and in this plight, we got across. Our p[provisions also got wet and we had to dry them as best we could.”

More Background: “We traveled on till we came to the head of Echo Canyon. Here I left my companion, he being sick, with a company we had overtook. I then took my knife and pistol, tightened my belt, my provisions being about gave out, and started out on a trot, realizing the importance of getting to the valley as soon as possible. The last day of my journey I had but an ounce of pork. On this I made my way to the first house in the valley, where I was treated to a good supper and bed – the first bed I had slept on since the first of April, 1850 till I landed in the valley on the 16^th of August in 1850. It was just 16 days since I left Deer Creek on the Platte, a distance of four hundred and twenty miles, making twenty miles a day. The company I left at Deer Creek did not arrive until about the last of September. It was Saturday when I arrived. The next morning I went to a meeting in the Old Bowery on temple Block where I heard the Elders speaking upon the very things I had passed through and seen on the plains, especially in regard to those who had persecuted the saints from the states of Missouri and Illinois.”

“I commenced on the Monday following to work for Brother Van Cott who lived close by the Temple Block and who proved to be an honorable man. The next man I worked for was Chauncey Webb. About the middle of the fist month (September) I was with this same Brother Webb. I called on him to baptize me in City Creek, Salt Lake City. I was confirmed under the hands of Bishop Taft Webb.”

“About a month later the Spirit manifested to me that I had to go back to my native country and the nations of the earth to preach the Gospel. My answer was, “Oh, Lord, why has thou called me, for I am uneducated and unqualified.” But the answer was, “The blood of that people will be required of you if you disobey.” Thereupon I said, “I am in your hands and will do the best I can.”

On the dedication for the old tabernacle in Salt Lake City William was able to take the sacrament for the first time. Before he left on his mission, he needed to earn some money. He worked in digging drainage and irrigation ditches.

Shipwreck

Now William is on a ship heading to Ireland. They have been through a couple of storms but, they’ve had sunny skies for the past couple of days. Until they are almost there and their shipwrecks on some rocks.

·       Hold your wrecked ship (Sticks)

·       Sit on your rocks

·       Get sprays by the ocean

·       You have to stay there for 3 weeks until someone can help you

Siblings: When William arrived in Ireland the first thing, he did was visit his brother Henry. Henry was on his death bed and would not except the gospel. Henry and William’s friends told William that he was wrong and a madman. After Henry died William had a dream that his older brother George was going to pass away. So, William went to visit him. George also did not listen to William and begged him to stay home and not go back to the Mormons. William did not back down to his brothers wishes. Soon George passed away.

England: After serving some time in Ireland William was then transferred to England. Here he met his wife Emma. After Emma excepted the gospel they got married, Emma’s mother did not agree so, they sailed to Boston.

Back to the Valley: Emma and William left from Iowa City with the handcart companies. William was appointed to driving the milk cows and the beef cattle. On the trail William got sick. He told Emma to go on and leave him. So, Emma drove the cattle for William. A couple of days later William was better and could catch up with the others. Emma and William safely to Salt Lake Valley. Then later moved to Ogden.

Rainbow: Although it is impossible to reach the end of the rainbow, the rainbow has since become an Irish symbol of hope. As most people hope to one day find the riches in the pot, others use the rainbow to signify fulfillment, desire and purpose. They use this imagery as a way to reach the land beyond, and the land that holds all of their hopes and dreams.

There are hundreds of symbols in Ireland, but one of the most important images in the Irish culture is the rainbow. Although largely associated with the Leprechaun, they also stand on their own two feet as symbols in themselves…