Salina Canyon
Leaving town we drove about three miles to the mouth of Salina Canyon,
and put in about two and a half hours at noon so that the horses might
be in good shape for the climb. It was sixty miles, we were told, to
the town of Emery in Castle Valley, thirty miles of which was up grade
and very rocky. We had a sack of oats and a bale of hay, and expected
to make it in two days and a half.
There had been twenty miles of railroad built up this canyon, but it
had been all washed out and hung up among the scenery, before ever a
train was run over it; and that seemed to be the condition of the
trail also as we got higher up. All the afternoon we drove three
horses, and the trail kept getting worse. Finally we found a piece of
railroad grade we could drive on, and later drove through a railroad
tunnel. The water in places had washed trees and boulders weighing a
ton up on to the tracks, where it had not washed the grade away
entirely. I can laugh now, but I evidently did not laugh then as I
read the following extract from my diary:
“This is the most dangerous canyon yet, and driving a spike team on
the edge of perdition, with a road full of boulders as big as a bushel
basket, is not restful.”
We made only about six miles this first afternoon in the canyon, when
darkness overtook us, and after getting through the tunnel we found a
level spot and camped.
The next morning, June 18, was perfect, and our camp at the mouth of
the tunnel, in a circular basin, was so interesting we did not get
started until seven-thirty. Right at the start we had a long climb
that taxed the strength and patience of the horses, as well as our
own. In some places we could not drive spike, so Kate and Bess had to
do their best alone. The trail twisted and doubled, went straight up
and straight down, and so near the edge of the canyon there wasn’t six
inches between the outside wheels and nothing. It was in such places
that it was dangerous to drive three horses and awfully hard getting
up with two. Between watching the road and the horses it was a
sleight-of-hand performance not to have smashed the water barrel on
the inside next the rocks, but I bumped the rocks only once, and then
did no damage.
About ten o’clock we worked down into the bed of the stream, and
driving up through the water and over the rocks we met two teams. The
drivers apparently didn’t know whether they would be able to go any
farther or not and were off on foot looking over the country, leaving
the teams in the care of the women, right in midstream. We drove
alongside and asked how the trail was above, and one woman said it was
impassable, but that they had gotten that far and it seemed to be
getting worse. We told them if it was impassable above they could get
down very easily, and as people do not seem to want to talk much when
they think they may be doing something foolish, I avoided smiling and
drove on up stream, just as a colt of theirs jumped off the bank about
ten feet high, and fell into the creek behind us. Fortunately its legs
were not broken. It seemed under the impression that our outfit was
the one it belonged to, so it floundered up stream after us, but, soon
discovering its mistake, turned back.
When we stopped for lunch a lone horseman pulled up and inquired if we
had seen the Johnson outfit. We concluded that was as good an excuse
as any for his stopping and we let him have some tobacco, which was
evidently what he was looking for instead of the Johnson outfit. He
was a sheep herder, so we let him pass without much notice, as we
still had some of the cowpunchers’ antipathy for any one who herds
sheep, although many years had passed since we had “punched.”
Starting on again after lunch, the first three miles were worse than
any we had been over. Doc went ahead with Dixie and would wait for me
at an extra hard pull and put her on. Bob went ahead and mended the
road. Often I nearly fell out of the wagon at the bottom of a chuck
hole on a down grade, and by 4 P. M. we had done everything but break
the wagon to bits. At this time, however, we were encouraged by
finding that the canyon had widened out somewhat, which indicated we
were getting to the top. The trail got better in spots and then worse.
[Illustration: SALINA CANYON]
Reaching an open spot with some grass, we camped, not knowing how far
we had come or how much farther it was to the top. We made a guess it
was twelve miles and that about three more would take us to the top.
Climbing up the side of the canyon to a big rock, and looking down
over our camp and horses, we overlooked all their shortcomings and
gave them credit for keeping their heads and feet under the most
trying circumstances, and were quite enthusiastic over their ability
as mountain climbers, and their willingness to attempt any task we put
them at. We sat here until the moon came up and gazed long at the
valley and mountains without much, if any, conversation, and then
climbed slowly down and turned in.
The next morning, Sunday, the nineteenth, we started late and took
things easy. We stopped to watch some sheep men separating a bunch of
sheep. It was an interesting performance and quite a riddle to us for
a few minutes until we learned what they were doing; then it was easy
enough to follow the performance. It seems that the man who owned the
sheep had sold a certain number of yearling ewes to one man, who was
there to take and pay for them, and a certain number of two-year-old
wethers to another man. Now the manner of separating and counting was
as ingenious as it was exact, as the reader will readily see from the
following explanation and diagram:
A few hundred yards of fence crossing at right angles, with the flock
of sheep in corner “A,” is how the game started. They were all driven
through “B,” a chute just wide enough for the sheep to pass in single
file. Two men worked the chute, and when a yearling ewe entered, one
man would drop a gate behind her and the other man would open a gate
(1) in front of her, and she would walk into “D.” Then the gateman
closed the gate and made a pencil mark on it; the tally man tallied
one ewe on his sheet, and the chute was open for the balance of the
flock of rams, ewes, and lambs. But when a two-year-old wether got in
the chute, down would come the gate behind him, gate 2 would open, and
he would walk out into “E,” and the gateman would make a pencil mark
on this gate and the tally man would tally one two-year-old wether on
his sheet. So the performance went on until the required number of
yearling ewes were in corner “D,” the two-year-old wethers in corner
“E,” and what was left of the flock was over in “C.” The tally sheet
checked up with the pencil score on each gate, and settlement having
been made, the man with his yearling ewes went up the trail; the man
with the two-year-old wethers went down to the railroad, and the flock
went back up into the mountains, and all that was left was a few
hundred yards of wire mesh fence and a chute with closed gates, which
had helped to accomplish in an hour what would have been impossible
otherwise.
We were told by the sheepmen that it was about five miles to the top,
which we finally reached about 11:30 A. M. In the thirty miles from
Salina to the top we have not seen a sign of any habitation, which
accounts for the condition of the trail. If any one lived up here who
had to drive in and haul out provisions, he would have to make a road.
We have been just two days making this thirty-mile ascent and as it is
said to be thirty miles from here to Emery, our plan to make Emery in
two and a half days from Salina is knocked into bits, but we feel very
well satisfied to have got up whole, and are actually hilarious as we
apply the brakes on a fairly good trail and start to slide down into
Castle Valley.