M. Mark Miller, Author

Category: Trappers

  • A Tale: Joe Meek Flees Blackfeet and Finds Wonderland — c. 1829

    About 1829 a nineteen-year-old trapper named Joe Meek camped along the Gallatin River in southwest Montana with a brigade of mountain men led by William Sublette of the Rocky Mountain Fur Company. When a group of Blackfeet attacked, the trappers scattered. Young Meek fled across the mountains and found geothermal features in what later became Yellowstone National Park. 

    Joe Meek

    When the fur trade collapsed, Meek moved to Oregon where he helped organize the territorial government and became its federal marshal. In the 1860s, the historian Frances Fuller Victor interviewed him several times. She later published a book about Meek’s adventures. Here’s how Victor described Meek’s first look at geothermal features in Wonderland.  Interestingly, there’s no mention of boiling fountains or geysers.

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    In November the camp left Missouri Lake on the east side of the mountains, and crossed over, still northeasterly, on to the Gallatin fork of the Missouri River, passing over a very rough and broken country. They were, in fact, still in the midst of mountains, being spurs of the great Rocky range, and equally high and rugged. A particularly high mountain lay between them and the main Yellowstone River. This they had just crossed, with great fatigue and difficulty, and were resting the camp and horses for a few days on the river’s bank, when the Blackfeet once more attacked them in considerable numbers. Two men were killed in this fight, and the camp thrown into confusion by the suddenness of the alarm. Capt. Sublette, however, got off, with most of his men, still pursued by the Indians.

    Not so our Joe, who this time was not in luck, but was cut off from camp, alone, and had to flee to the high mountains overlooking the Yellowstone. Here was a situation for a nineteen-year-old raw recruit! Knowing that the Blackfeet were on the trail of the camp, it was death to proceed in that direction. Some other route must be taken to come up with them; the country was entirely unknown to him; the cold severe; his mule, blanket, and gun, his only earthly possessions. On the latter he depended for food, but game was scarce; and besides, he thought the sound of his gun would frighten himself, so alone in the wilderness, swarming with stealthy foes.

    Hiding his mule in a thicket, he ascended to the mountaintop to take a view of the country, and decide upon his course. And what a scene was that for the miserable boy, whose chance of meeting with his comrades again was small indeed! At his feet rolled the Yellowstone River, coursing away through the great plain to the eastward. To the north, his eye follows the windings of the Missouri, as upon a map, but playing at hide-and-seek in amongst the mountains. Looking back, he saw the River Snake stretching its serpentine length through lava plains, far away, to its junction with the Columbia. To the north, and to the south, one white mountain rose above another as far as the eye could reach. What a mighty and magnificent world it seemed, to be alone in! Poor Joe succumbed to the influence of the thought, and wept.

    Having indulged in this sole remaining luxury of life, Joe picked up his resolution, and decided upon his course. To the southeast lay the Crow country, a land of plenty—as the mountain-man regards plenty—and there he could at least live; provided the Crows permitted him to do so. Besides, he had some hopes of falling in with one of the camps, by taking that course.

    Descending the mountain to the hiding-place of his mule, by which time it was dark night, hungry and freezing, Joe still could not light a fire, for fear of revealing his whereabouts to the Indians; nor could he remain to perish with cold. Travel he must, and travel he did, going he scarcely knew whither. Looking back upon the terrors and discomforts of that night, the veteran mountaineer yet regards it as about the most miserable one of his life. When day at length broke, he had made, as well as he could estimate the distance, about thirty miles. Traveling on toward the southeast, he had crossed the Yellowstone River, and still among the mountains, was obliged to abandon his mule and accoutrements, retaining only one blanket and his gun. Neither the mule nor himself had broken fast in the last two days. Keeping a southerly course for twenty miles more, over a rough and elevated country, he came, on the evening of the third day, upon a band of mountain sheep. With what eagerness did he hasten to kill, cook, and eat! Three days of fasting was, for a novice, quite sufficient to provide him with an appetite.

    Having eaten voraciously, and being quite overcome with fatigue, Joe fell asleep in his blanket, and slumbered quite deeply until morning. With the morning came biting blasts from the north, that made motion necessary if not pleasant. Refreshed by sleep and food, our traveler hastened on upon his solitary way, taking with him what sheep-meat he could carry, traversing the same rough and mountainous country as before. No incidents nor alarms varied the horrible and monotonous solitude of the wilderness. The very absence of anything to alarm was awful; for the bravest man is wretchedly nervous in the solitary presence of sublime Nature. Even the veteran hunter of the mountains can never entirely divest himself of this feeling of awe, when his single soul comes face to face with God’s wonderful and beautiful handiwork.

    At the close of the fourth day, Joe made his lonely camp in a deep defile of the mountains, where a little fire and some roasted mutton again comforted his inner and outer man, and another night’s sleep still farther refreshed his wearied frame. On the following morning, a very bleak and windy one, having breakfasted on his remaining piece of mutton, being desirous to learn something of the progress he had made, he ascended a low mountain in the neighborhood of his camp—and behold! The whole country beyond was smoking with the vapor from boiling springs, and burning with gasses, issuing from small craters, each of which was emitting a sharp whistling sound.

    When the first surprise of this astonishing scene had passed, Joe began to admire its effect in an artistic point of view. The morning being clear, with a sharp frost, he thought himself reminded of the city of Pittsburg, as he had beheld it on a winter morning, a couple of years before. This, however, related only to the rising smoke and vapor; for the extent of the volcanic region was immense, reaching far out of sight. The general face of the country was smooth and rolling, being a level plain, dotted with cone-shaped mounds. On the summits of these mounds were small craters from four to eight feet in diameter. Interspersed among these, on the level plain, were larger craters, some of them from four to six miles across. Out of these craters issued blue flames and molten brimstone.

    For some minutes, Joe gazed and wondered. Curious thoughts came into his head, about hell and the day of doom. With that natural tendency to reckless gayety and humorous absurdities, which some temperaments are sensible of in times of great excitement, he began to soliloquize. Said he, to himself, “I have been told the sun would be blown out, and the earth burnt up. If this infernal wind keeps up, I shouldn’t be surprised if the sun war blown out. If the earth is not burning up over thar, then it is that place the old Methodist preacher used to threaten me with. Any way it suits me to go and see what it’s like.”

    On descending to the plain described, the earth was found to have a hollow sound, and seemed threatening to break through. But Joe found the warmth of the place most delightful, after the freezing cold of the mountains, and remarked to himself again, that “if it war hell, it war a more agreeable climate than he had been in for some time.”

    He had thought the country entirely desolate, as not a living creature had been seen in the vicinity; but while he stood gazing about him in curious amazement, he was startled by the report of two guns, followed by the Indian yell. While making rapid preparations for defense and flight, if either or both should be necessary, a familiar voice greeted him with the exclamation, “It is old Joe!” When the adjective “old” is applied to one of Meek’s age at that time, it is generally understood to be a term of endearment. “My feelings you may imagine,” says the “old Uncle Joe” of the present time, in recalling the adventure.

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    — Text from Frances Fuller Victor, Eleven Years in the Rocky Mountains and Life on the Frontier. Harford Connecticut: R.W. Bliss and Company 1881. Pages 73-77.

    — Image from the Wikipedia Commons.

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  • When All the Fish Were Natives

    Yellowstone Lake, Thomas Moran.

    Just in case you missed it, I decided to post a link to my article, When All the Fish Were Natives, that was published in the 2012 Fly Fishing issue of The Big Sky Journal.

    Early travelers to the area that became Yellowstone National Park depended on the abundant fish in the Yellowstone River watershed to supplement their larders, but they often they went hungry after discovering other streams and lakes were barren. At first, people thought the strange distribution of fish was caused by chemical laden hot springs, but that proved to be wrong. The article describes how scientists unraveled the mystery.

    The article also tells about Cornelius Hedges discovery that anglers could catch fish in cold waters and cook them in hot springs without touching them, Lord Blackmore’s fabulous afternoon catching 254 fish, and General W.E. Strong’s thrill at landing his first fish in the park light tackle—a four-pound trout.

    The article is accompanied by a slide show of historic images.

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    — You might also enjoy “The Two-Ocean Pass and the Mystery of the Fishless Waters.”

    — To find more of my stories in The Big Sky Journal, click on My Media.

  • A Tale: A Bedtime Story — Osborne Russell, 1835

    The trappers who visited the Yellowstone Plateau in the early 1800’s told about the wonders they had seen, but their reports often were  dismissed as tall tales. Perhaps that’s because they had a well developed tradition of entertaining themselves by spinning yarns around their campfires. Osborne Russell, who visited the upper Yellowstone with the Jim Bridger brigade in the 1830’s, described a story telling session in his famous Journal of a Trapper.

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    We killed a fat elk and camped at sunset in a smooth, grassy spot between two high, shaggy ridges, watered by a small stream which came tumbling down the gorge behind us. As we had passed the infernal regions we thought, as a matter of course, this must be a commencement of the Elysian Fields, and accordingly commenced preparing a feast. A large fire was soon blazing, encircled with sides of elk ribs and meat cut in slices, supported on sticks, down which the grease ran in torrents.

    The repast being over, the jovial tale goes round the circle, the peals of loud laughter break upon the stillness of the night which, after being mimicked in the echo from rock to rock dies away in the solitary gloom. Every tale reminds an auditor of something similar to it but under different circumstances, which, being told, the “laughing part” gives rise to increasing merriment and furnishes more subjects for good jokes and witty sayings such as a Swift never dreamed of.

    Thus the evening passed, with eating, drinking and stories, enlivened with witty humor until near midnight, all being wrapped in their blankets lying round the fire, gradually falling to sleep one by one, until the last tale is encored by the snoring of the drowsy audience. The speaker takes the hint, breaks off the subject and wrapping his blanket more closely about him, soon joins the snoring party.

    The light of the fire being superseded by that of the moon just rising from behind the eastern mountain, a sullen gloom is cast over the remaining fragments of the feast and all is silent except the occasional howling of the solitary wolf on the neighboring mountain, whose senses are attracted by the flavor of roasted meat, but fearing to approach nearer, he sits upon a rock and bewails his calamities in piteous moans which are reechoed among the mountains.

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    — From Osborn Russell, Journal of a Trapper. Syms-York: Boise, Idaho, 1921.  Pages 49-50.

    — You might enjoy these stories by Osborne Russell:

    — You can read more excerpts from Osborne Russell’s Journal of a Trapper in my book, Adventures in Yellowstone.

    — Wikipedia photo.

  • A Tale: Colter’s Run — 1807

    People have told and retold John Colter’s adventures with embellishments that turn him into a legendary figure like Pecos Bill and Paul Bunyon. But Colter really did cross the plains naked after outrunning hundreds of Blackfeet warriors who were screaming for his scalp. He really was the first white man to visit what is now Yellowstone Park. And his reports of a stinking place where springs spout steam and boiling water were greeted as fantasy and labeled “Colter’s Hell.”

    Colter was a member of the famous Lewis and Clark Expedition that first explored the American West beginning in 1803. He came within a hundred miles of what is now the park in 1806 when he accompanied William Clark on the return trip down the Yellowstone River.

    Later, Colter sought permission to muster out of the Corps of Discovery so he could return upriver with a pair of trappers. After extracting a promise from the rest of the men that they wouldn’t seek similar treatment, the Captains acceded to his request.

    Colter’s partnership soon broke up and he joined  Manuel Lisa’s Missouri Fur Company. In 1807, Lisa sent Colter up the Yellowstone River to make friends with the Crow Indians and bring them back to his trading post. While he was on this mission, Colter passed through parts of what is now Yellowstone National Park.

    Apparently illiterate, Colter left no written accounts of his travels. But on a visit to Saint Louis, Colter told his adventures to the English writer and naturalists William Bradbury. In a footnote in his 1819 book, Travels in the Interior of America, Bradbury reported the famous story of Colter’s Run.

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    Colter came to St. Louis in May, 1810, in a small canoe, from the headwaters of the Missouri, a distance of three thousand miles. I saw him on his arrival, and received from him an account of his adventures. One of these, from its singularity, I shall relate.

    He trapped in company with a hunter named Potts. Aware of the hostility of the Blackfeet Indians, they set their traps at night, and took them up early in the morning, remaining concealed during the day.

    They were examining their traps early one morning, in a creek about six miles from that branch of the Missouri called Jefferson’s Fork, and were ascending in a canoe. Suddenly they heard a great noise, resembling the trampling of animals. But they could not ascertain the cause, as the high, perpendicular banks on each side of the river impeded their view.

    Colter immediately pronounced it to be occasioned by Indians, and advised an instant retreat. Potts accused him of cowardice and insisted that the noise was caused by buffaloes. In a few minutes their doubts were removed by a party of Indians making their appearance on both sides of the creek—five or six hundred—who beckoned them to come ashore.

    As retreat was now impossible Colter turned the head of the canoe to the shore. At the moment of its touching, an Indian seized the rifle belonging to Potts. But Colter, who is a remarkably strong man, immediately retook it. He handed it to Potts, who remained in the canoe, and on receiving it pushed off into the river.

    He had scarcely quitted the shore when an arrow was shot at him, and he cried out, “Colter, I am wounded.” Colter remonstrated with him on the folly of attempting to escape, and urged him to come ashore.

    Instead of complying, he instantly leveled his rifle at an Indian, and shot him dead on the spot. This conduct may appear to have been an act of madness, but it was doubtless the effect of sudden and sound reasoning. For if taken alive, Potts must have expected to be tortured to death, according to their custom. He was instantly pierced with arrows so numerous that, to use the language of Colter, “be was made a riddle of.”

    They now seized Colter, stripped him entirely naked, and began to consult on the manner in which he should be put to death. They were first inclined to set him up as a mark to shoot at. But the chief interfered, and seizing him by the shoulder, asked him if he could run fast.

    Colter, who had been some time amongst the Crow Indians, had in a considerable degree acquired the Blackfoot language. He was also well acquainted with Indian customs. He knew that he had now to run for his life, with the dreadful odds of five or six hundred against him. Therefore he cunningly replied that he was a very bad runner—although he was considered by the hunters as remarkably swift.

    The chief now commanded the party to remain stationary, and led Colter out on the prairie three or four hundred yards—and released him, bidding him to save himself if he could.

    At that instant the horrid war whoop sounded in the ears of poor Colter. Urged with the hope of preserving life, he ran with a speed at which he was himself surprised.

    He proceeded towards the Jefferson Fork, having to traverse a plain six miles in breadth, abounding with prickly pear, on which he was every instant treading with his naked feet. He ran nearly halfway across the plain before he ventured to look over his shoulder.

    He perceived that the Indians were very much scattered—and that he had gained ground to a considerable distance from the main body. But one Indian, who carried a spear, was much before all the rest, and not more than a hundred yards from him.

    A faint gleam of hope now cheered the heart of Colter. He derived confidence from the belief that escape was within the bounds of possibility. But that confidence was nearly fatal to him. He had exerted himself to such a degree that the blood gushed from his nostrils—and almost covered the forepart of his body.

    He had now arrived within a mile of the river, when he distinctly heard the appalling sound of footsteps behind him, and every instant expected to feel the spear of his pursuer. Again he turned his head, and saw the savage not twenty yards from him.

    Determined if possible to avoid the expected blow, he suddenly stopped, turned round, and spread out his arms. The Indian, surprised by the suddenness of the action, and perhaps of the bloody appearance of Colter, also attempted to stop. But exhausted with running, he fell whilst endeavoring to throw his spear, which stuck in the ground and broke in his hand.

    Colter instantly snatched up the pointed part, with which he pinned him to the earth, and then continued his flight. The foremost of the Indians, on arriving at the place, stopped till others came up to join them, when they set up a hideous yell. Every moment of this time was improved by Colter, who, although fainting and exhausted, succeeded in gaining the skirting of the cottonwood trees, on the borders of the fork, through which he ran and plunged into the river.

    Fortunately for him, a little below this place there was an island, against the upper point of which a raft of drift timber, had lodged. He dived under the raft, and after several efforts, got his head above the water amongst the trunks of trees, covered over with smaller wood to the depth of several feet. Scarcely had he secured himself when the Indians arrived on the river, screeching and yelling, as Colter expressed it, “like so many devils.” They were frequently on the raft during the day, and were seen through the chinks by Colter, who was congratulating himself on his escape, until the idea arose that they might set the raft on fire.

    In horrible suspense he remained until night, when hearing no more of the Indians, he dived under the raft, and swam silently down the river to a considerable distance. He landed and traveled all night. Although happy in having escaped from the Indians, his situation was still dreadful. He was completely naked, under a burning sun—the soles of his feet were entirely filled with the thorns of the prickly pear—he was hungry. He had no means of killing game—although he saw abundance around him. He was at least seven days’ journey from the nearest Fort.

    These were circumstances under which almost any man but an American hunter would have despaired. He arrived at the fort in seven days, having subsisted on a root much esteemed by the Indians.

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    — Story adapted from pages 17-21 (footnote) in John Bradbury, Travels in the Interior of America in the Years 1809, 1810, and 1911 (London: Sherwood, Neely, and Jones, 1817).

    — Illustration, “Old Bill Williams,” Wikipedia Commons.

    — You might also enjoy “Jim Bridger’s Descriptions of Yellowstone.”

    — Here’s another version of Colter’s Run.