Early Days of Canyon Country Told By Noted Pioneer

VACATION LAND, 1929 ARIZONA HIGHWAYS Paage Twenty-one Early Days of Canyon Country Told By Noted Pioneer By ANTHONY W. IVINS, First Counselor to the President of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.

On the twenty-second day of Octo-ber 1875 fifty-three years ago, I first came into the Kaibab Forest. At that time it was commonly known as the Buckskin. Mountain because of the fact that the Indians brought many deer skins into the settlements for trade which were taken from deer killed upon this mountain. The Indians who occupied the mountains were the Kaibab branch of the Piute tribe. The word "Kaibab" in the Indian dialect means a mountain which lies down, or freely translated, flat top mountain. The forest was at that time, as now, the home of many deer. I came here on horse-back. From the time that my legs were long enough to reach across the back of a horse I was in the saddle, until I reached the age of middle life. On that trip which brought me here I crossed the Colorado at Lee's Ferry when the crossing was very dangerous. We went through what is now the states of Arizona and New Mexico, the northern part of Texas, and down into the interior of Mexico. We traveled three thousand miles, were nine months in making the trip and I did not sleep in a bed on the entire trip which was not carried on the back of a horse, so that you will understand some of the hardships which we experienced at the time.

There was not a mile of railroad of any kind in the state of New Mexico, in Arizona, Southern Utah, Northern Texas or in Southern California. Had I or any other person suggested at the time that good roads would be constructed into this then remote region, that people would come from all parts of the world to gaze upon and admire its beauty and grandeur, that the journey would be be made from the then outposts of civilization to this point in a single day, that a palatial hotel would be erected here for the accommodation and comfort of guests, he would have been regarded as either a harmless dreamer or a dangerous lunatic, but notwithstanding this, we who have lived through this period see all of this and more accomplished.

Roads made by men thread the world. We travel over them now on bands of steel, in luxurious motor cars, or through the air. Only yesterday our roads were mere trails, blazed by fear-less, intrepid men through unknown forests, over snow-clad mountains, and across trackless deserts. The romance and tragedy of these old trails will never be told or written. It cannot be because the men who made unrecorded history along these devious ways have long since gone to tread the paths of another world, leaving little of recorded history behind them.

The lure of gold, the lust of conquest, the uncontrollable desire of man to penetrate unknown fields for new discovery, the devotion of a Jesuit priest or Friar of the Order of San Francisco to carry the cross to the unbelieving heathen regardless of the sacrifice involved freedom from religious and political thraldom, are among the impulses which have moved men to depart from the beaten paths and enter new and untried fields, whether it be in science, sociology, or the discovery and colonization of unknown parts of the earth's surface. It is the spirit of the pioneer which prompts finite man to reach out in his endeavor to penetrate the infinite.

On these old trails men have perished from thirst in summer and from cold and lack of food in winter, have been massacred by savages, have killed each other for possession of the precious fluid contained in the water holes scattered along the way, and murdered for the gold taken from the hills through which the trails passed. Young men and maidens have plighted their faith as they traveled over them; mothers have given birth to children, and holy men have sacrificed their lives for religion's sage. No one can tell the story as time and fate have recorded it.

Who was the first to enter and explore this intermountainous country I do not know. Father Escalante, so far as we are aware, was the first white man to pass through the neighborhood where we now are. He left Santa Fe, New Mexico, with the intention of blazing a trail through to California. Reaching Utah Lake he turned south and finally decided to return to his starting point, which he reached after experiencing many hardships. In his return he crossed the Colorado at the Vado de los Padres, about thirty miles above Lee's Ferry, just east of us.

Lewis and Clark went up the Missouri and down to the mouth of the Columbia in 1803-06, more than two years having been consumed in making a journey which we now accomplish in as many days.

In 1832 Captain Bonneville wintered on the Salmon River in Idaho, and in the same year Nathaniel Wythe, the first white man to cross the continent from the Atlantic to the Pacific, established Fort Hall.

In 1823 Jedediah Smith, with a small party of trappers explored the Salt Lake Basin, traveled south on the route which we followed in coming to this place until he reached the Rio Virgin, which he followed down to its junction with the Colorado, where he crossed into what is now the State of Arizona -the first white man, so far as we are aware. Four years later William Wolfskill with a small party went over the same route, leaving the Rio Virgin and striking across the desert to Las Vegas, in Nevada, and through the Cajon Pass to California.

The first effective effort made to colonize and develop community life in the Rocky Mountain Region was by the Mormon pioneers. It is true that others had passed over the road before, isolated forts and trading posts had been established, but no one had come with the intention of remaining and making homes in this inhospitable part of the Great West.

When the pioneers first entered what is now the southern part of Utah and northern Arizona it was a wild, uninviting part of our country, the hunting ground of the Ute, the Piute and Navajo, and when these men saw the white man come with his covered wagon on and plow, so forcibly portrayed by Emerson Hough, with his flocks and herds to eat their grass, and our civilization to frighten away the game which abounded, they naturally resented our encroachment. Eternal vigilance was the price of safety, and even then we were never safe.

Food and clothing were indispensable, and these could be obtained from cultivation of the soil and from our flocks and herds. They gave us food with which to sustain our bodies, clothing with which to cover them. They became our most cherished possessions, and like Israel of old we became a

Page Twenty-two

pastoral people. Little attention could be given to the professions and other occupations by which men now accumulate wealth.

It was in this environment that my early life was spent. I, too, became a tender of flocks and herds, first for others and later for myself, and it was under these circumstances, in constant contact with men of like occupation, that the ideals and aspirations which have governed my life were formed. They were men of few words, these silent riders of the hills and planes, men of unsurpassed courage, but with hearts as tender as the hearts of women where acts of mercy and service were required, as was often the case. Profoundly religious, they held in reverential respect the religion of others. Not many audible prayers were said by them, but when the day's work was finished and the blankets spread down for the night, many petitions went up to the Throne of Grace in gratitude for blessings received and other desired.

One day a man put his thoughts into verse, and this is what he said: O, Lord, I've never lived where churches grow, I love creation better as it stood The day you finished it so long ago, And looked upon your work and called it good.

I know that others find you in the light That's sifted down through tinted window panes. And that I too have found you near tonight, In this dim quiet twilight on the plains.

I thank Thee, Lord, that I am placed so well That Thou has made my freedom so complete, That I'm no slave of whistle, clock or bell Or weak-eyed prisoner in a walled-up street.

Just let me live my life as I've begun Give to me work that's open to the sky, Make me a partner to the wind and sun, And I'll not ask a place that's soft or high.

Let me be easy on the man's that's down Let me be free and generous with all. I'm careless, Lord, sometimes when I'm in town, But never let them call me mean or small, Make me big and open, like the plains on which I ride, Honest as the horse between my knees, Clean as the wind that blows behind the rain, Free as the hawk which circles down the breeze.

Forgive me, Lord, when sometimes I forget; You know the reasons which are hid, You know about the things which gall and fret, You know me better than my mother did.

Just keep an eye on all that's said and done, Just right me always, when I turn aside And guide me on the long, dim trail ahead Which stretches upward toward the Great Divide.

It was the example and teaching of such men and women which left indel ible impressions upon my mind, and my associations with them made it possible for me to become the representative of the people who were the owners of the entire Kaibab Mountain and the Great House Rock Valley which lies to the east.

These are some of the characteristics of this pioneer man which I so much admired: He was not an egotist whose vision was confined to his own restricted environment. He knew that other men found the Lord in temples built with hands just as he felt him near, here under the stars, in the solitude of these everlasting hills. He was not a Pharisee, who magnified the faults of his fellowmen while blind to his own shortcomings, but one who, acknowledging his own imperfections, spread the mantle of charity over those of his neighbor.

He was not one who sought the downfall of his neighbor that he might rise to greater heights, but just a brave, plain spoken man, who asked only to be left to follow his own faith and occupation, knowing that the Lord is knocking at the door of the hearts of all men, and that if they will only leave the latch string on the outside, as it always hung on his cabin door, the Lord will come in and bring peace to their souls.

The canyon below us and the mountain above have witnessed scenes more pathetic, more tragic than those told by any book maker. The trees, the grass, the animals and the living spring of water teach lessons which cannot be taught in any university where the student has not had personal contact with them. Battles with Indians have been fought not far from where we are tonight.

Samuel Clavinger had sold his ranch in Arizona and started for the state of Washington to make his home. He had a team of four fine mules attached to a wagon which was driven by a negro, a buggy with a fine pair of horses attached which he drove himself, and a small band of loose horses which were driven by a young cowboy. They reached this mountain and camped just above us for the night. Early the following morning while Clavinger was lacing his boots the white man killed him, while the negro killed his wife, who was still in bed. The white man then took the property, and, compelling the daughter of the Clavingers to go on with them, continued their journey until they were overtaken and arrested by officers who followed them.

The tragedies of the canyon are many. On the 24th day of May, 1876, Lorenzo W. Roundy was drowned while attempting to cross the river at Lee's Ferry. In 1889 Frank M. Brown was drowned while endeavoring to make a survey of the canyon, with the view of constructing a railroad through it. Five days later Peter Hashborrough, a member of the Brown party, was also drowned and the undertaking abandoned.

Probably the most pathetic tragedy was the death of O. G. and Seneca Howland and William H. Dunn, These men were a part of those who accompanied Major Powell on his first voyage of exploration down the canyon. They left the Major, declaring that they preferred the risk of climbing the sheer walls of the canyon and attempting to reach the settlements, believing that it would be impossible to survive in a further attempt to pass through the gorge. The Major offered to release any who desired to go with the two brothers, and Dunn left with them. When they reached the cliffs, far above the river, they waved farewell to the Major as he pushed his boats off into the rapids. A few days after the Major reached his journey's end the Howland brothers and Dunn reached the rim of the canyon, where they were killed by Shevwitt Indians.

My association with the mountains and woods has brought much of happiness and joy to me, as well as sorrow. This story, which I will relate in closing, may be of interest to you.

One evening we drove into a mountain valley through which a stream flowed to the north. Following it about two miles, it dropped into a deep canyon. There was no road and descent was steep and rough, but by careful driving we reached the bottom in safety at a point where the canyon widened out and two streams came together. In the forks of these streams on a spot of high ground covered with grass and shaded by scattered pine tress, we established camp. The stream was bordered with willows and there were meadows on either side, upon which cattle were grazing, while the mountain sides were covered with varicolored flowers. We unhitched our horses, hobbled and put bells on them and turned them out to graze, gathered some wood, pitched our tent, and by the time darkness set in were ready for the night.

It was a beautiful night. The full moon rose over the ridges to the east

VACATION LAND, 1929 ARIZONA HIGHWAYS Page Twenty-three

It was a beautiful night. The full moon rose over the ridges to the east and looked down through the pines like a great searchlight, illuminating the canyon until it was almost as light as day. Trout splashed in the stream, frogs croaked, and crickets chirped in cessantly. Myriads of insects fluttered round our camp fire, many of them to be caught in the flames and destroyed. Night hawks drummed as they passed swiftly through the air in pursuit of the insects upon which they fed.

From the top of the giant dead pine just across the creek a horned owl hoot ed, and away off on the mountain side a coyote howled dismally. From the top of a juniper tree, just above camp, a mocking bird sang as only a mocking bird sings on a moonlight night. Chang ing rapidly he imitated all of the notes known to his feathered companions and many peculiar only to himself. His song was like a medley of old melo dies. A whippoorwill called from the bushes near camp and was answered by another farther away, and off down the canyon we heard the bark of a grey wolf.

I thought, as I contemplated it all, tonight in the great city the electric lights are converting night into day, as the moon is the canyon here. The human beasts of prey are there, too, and come out from their hiding places in the darkness, seeking whom they may devour. The human moths are also there, fluttering around the light, many of them to be caught in its flames and destroyed. And I thought, how alike we are, how like man nature is, and man like nature, with this ex ception: There in the great city it is all the result of studied design, while here in the wilds it is the spontaneous response of every living thing to the call of nature.

The following morning the sun rose warm and radiant. There was not a cloud in the sky. We walked up to the juniper tree where the mocking bird was singing and carefully drawing aside the inner branches found a nest there with the mother bird upon it. She only flew when we almost touched her, and then just to a branch of the dead pine across the creek, from which she scold ed us for our intrusion. There were four young mocking birds in the nest, little fluffy things with big heads and wide open mouths. As soon as we left the nest the mother bird returned to it, while the male, from his perch on the dead pine, sang as though his throat would split.

We fished down the stream, taking a trout from behind a rock here, a rif flew there or under a willow yonder, the fish taking the fly as I had never known them to do before. Just below camp we disturbed a wild turkey hen and her brood that were scratching on the river bottom and they scrambled up the mountain side and took refuge in the rocks. A little farther on a flock of parrots flew from where they were feeding on the cones in the top of a pine tree and were away with a great chattering and flapping of wings, the morning sun reflecting the red and green and yellow of their bodies like burnished gold. A doe and two fawns ran out from the willows and stopping on the mountain side looked back at us with their big hazel eyes as though wondering who we could be. As the day advanced the heat became oppres sive. Suddenly the fish ceased to bite, the birds to sing, the cattle left the meadows and hastily trailed off into the side canyon, a flock of crows flew silently over our heads and took refuge under a projecting cliff on the moun tain side. All nature had suddenly be come hushed and oppressed.

We knew it was the calm which pre cedes the summer storm and turned hastily back to camp. As we did so the clouds rolled up over the ridges to the south like great piles of pop-corn and a breeze was blowing from that direction. When we reached camp we found the horses already there, backed up on the leeward side of a grove of trees. We hastily tied and threw blan kets on them. The dogs whined and crept into the tent. The mocking bird flew from his perch on the juniper tree and took refuge under a projecting rock near by. We had scarcely time to gather our camp equipment, carry it into the tent and securely tie the door when the storm broke in all its fury. The wind had increased to a gale. The clouds were black and ominous, light ning flashed and thunder rolled. Rain came down in torrents. Great hailstones fell, beating down the grass and flow ers and tearing the tender branches from the trees. A bolt of lightning struck the giant dead pine just across the creek and tore it into a thousand pieces, scattering them all around us and leaving the trunk, which was strongly impregnated with pitch, burn ing brightly, while the storm raged. The creek, which a few minutes before had been a clear mountain stream, was a raging torrent. Trees, torn up by the roots, floated past, while great boulders loosened from the mountain side by the rivulets which flowed every where, rolled down into the canyon with a noise like thunder.

Fortunately the storm was of short duration. It ceased as unexpectedly as it had come. The clouds rolled away and the sun came out and looked com plaisantly down on the havoc wrought, as though it had been an uneventful autumn day.

As we stepped out into the sunshine the mocking bird flew from his shelter under the projecting rock and hopped among the branches of the juniper tree, uttering notes of alarm. We went over and drawing aside the inner branches found the mother bird there upon the nest, dead. True to the in stinct of all flesh she had protected her young while the storm beat out her life the little birds were safe. We took the tiny body and digging a grave at the foot of the pine tree near camp carefully buried it. There was a grave already there, the mound of which was covered with large stones, and on one side of the tree, the trunk of which had been blazed, the word "FEETE" had been marked by driving nails into the trunk, the heads only being visible. But the story of that grave would be the story of another tragedy of the woods.

Before we left camp the little mocking ing birds were grown. Faithfully the male bird had fed them by day and sheltered them by night, but there had been no more singing; he had just done his duty with a heavy heart, as many fathers have done before and since, and as he sat watching his young while they tried their wings in short flights from tree to tree, I knew he would soon lead them away to their winter home in the south, where he would find another mate to take the place of her who had given her life that his offspring might live.

Again I said, how alike we are after all. The joys and sorrows of life come to the wild things of the woods as they do to us. How much they feel and suf fer by them, who can tell.

HARD SHELLED

"How did you get your head cut up that way? Railway accident?"

"No, a fellow threw some tomatoes at me."

"But surely tomatoes wouldn't crack your head?"

"No. but the man forgot to take the can off them."