The Big Horn Mountains

1930-37: The Older Road---One Lane and Down
The main highway through Sheridan was US 87. US 14, from the east, joined 87 at Buffalo and continued north through Sheridan as far as Dayton, then heading west into and across the Big Horns. Outside of Dayton, US 14 entered the foothills and after a few miles, a sharp turn and the now steep, very narrow road followed up the face of the mountains. Very narrow means that it was a single lane, graveled road that had some wider stretches that could be used if a car was met coming in the opposite direction. The vehicle going uphill had to back down until reaching the closest wide spot so that they could pass. The only guard rails were the trees beside the road and not even trees always.
The climbing turns followed the valleys and ridges on the face of the mountains---then the switch-back, Horseshoe turn, and a stopping point where there was a spring that could be used to fill a boiling radiator. Many more turns and then Sand Turn---now following the side of the canyon with Turkey Creek flowing in the bottom. The bottom was straight down at least 8,000 feet----not really---it was only about 1000 feet---no guard rails---a narrow road, and no trees---just down. On the other side of the canyon was the Fallen City---a collection of very large, straight, square-sided, l-slabs of rock. At the head of the canyon---looming overhead was Steamboat Rock and, finally, in the mountains instead of climbing the face of the mountains---around a turn and to a spring and another welcomed stopping point.

Horseshoe Turn---1
First Spring---2
Sand Turn---3
Steamboat Rock---4
5---Second Spring
6---CCC Camp
7---Prune Creek Camp Ground
8---Kuzara Cabin
9---South Fork of the Tongue River
 
 
The Old Road---Two Lanes and Down
The narrow one-lane road up the face of the mountains was widened and black-topped. The blasted rock was loaded into trucks with a big steam shovel. This steam shovel became a dinosaur during this job. It sat unmoving, on a wide section of the road between Horseshoe Turn and the first spring. Sometime after, it was fired up one final time and driven to the edge of Horseshoe Turn, allowed to cool down, and then pushed over the edge, to fall into the canyon. I tried to walk down to see where it was in later years, but the canyon walls were too steep to go down.

The second spring, in the 30's, was the site of the CCC camp (Civilian Conservation Corp)---one of the economic recovery programs during the depression. This was a way to provide a very low paying job for young men. They made improvements to existing bridges---built new camp grounds, etc. The camp was a tent city with mess halls and other buildings. The road past the second spring was hilly, curvy and narrow, but not scary---over Cutler hill and descending to overlook a wide valley that narrowed, with enough space for Prune Creek and the road to follow. Four or five miles on down, Prune Creek flowed into the South Fork of the Tongue River, a much wider valley and a larger creek and, Prune Creek Campground. Across the creek, on a wooded overlook, was the site of the log cabin that my father built---laying the corner stones in 1937.

Early 30's: Wet and Cold in Shell Creek
The first fishing trip that I remember, is one that is a "frozen in time experience"---a happening that is still very real, and crystal clear. My father and I were fishing Shell Creek, in the canyon. The stream as it flows through the canyon, has a lot of white water---tumbling over huge boulders and rock slabs that have fallen into the stream, from the canyon rim that looms, high, overhead.

We were standing on a sloping, flat top slab of rock---only a few inches above that rushing white water. The water had a hypnotic effect and that "frozen in time picture" was of that small boy, sliding and sinking, into the white water. My father shifted his fly rod to his left hand---reached down, with his right hand and, grabbing me by the hair, pulled me out of that rushing, white water . . . . .
Cold and Snow on the North Fork
1932 July 4th---The trip began before the 4th but that is the day that I remember. We were fishing the North Fork of the Tongue River, a few miles west of Burgess Junction, just off Highway 14A. The stream was bending it's way through a large meadow---the banks covered with willow bushes. It had gotten cold during the previous night and that morning, after daylight, it just kept getting colder instead of warmer. We were fishing the stream, the day was overcast---the fish not biting. Then, it started snowing---just a few flakes at first---still fishing---more now---no fish---more and more snow. We finally stopped fishing---packed up and headed for home. The date of the snow storm is easy to remember---my sister was born the next day, the 5th of July.
June responds: "I was puzzled when I read your account of the fishing trip, because I didn't think Mom would be cavorting around in the mountains at 9 plus two weeks pregnant, so I questioned her about where she was when you recall coming back to a new baby sister. Mom said that you were with the Mentocks and Andrew (Dad) on the fishing trip you remember---and losing (looking for?) a watch (?). Vi (Mom) was staying at the Kuzara's taking it easy, and beating the heat by eating huge quantities of cool fresh watermelon. In the middle of the night, when the labor pains started, she thought it was a stomach ache from too much watermelon. At some point, reality set in and the trip was made to the hospital. I was apparently born early the next morning . . . an easy birth with no trauma, so I was "BEAUTIFUL"---and I've been that way ever since!!! Well, perhaps not exactly! However, three weeks later, when I made my first trip to the mountains in one of grandpa's bread baskets on the back seat of the car. Remember the wood basket in the kitchen at the cabin?---one and the same---has since been Ed's and his two daughter's baby basket! The miners were there to greet and oooh and ahhh over "Mrs. Andrew's beautiful baby." Mom said she never had to worry a second about my welfare for there was always a miner to tell her if I was crying, or later to assure my toddling wanderings were safe."
A fishing trip campsite
Willow Creek Campground on the North Fork of The Tongue River
Just north of Burgess Junction
Holding the fish caught by---who?  It's my uncle Mike, my brother John---and myself!
Catching Grasshoppers
Everybody knows how to catch grasshoppers. They hop---you run or jump and try to get your hand over the hopper. You miss---he hops---you jump and on and on until you finally catch one. Now why does anybody want to catch hoppers?? For fish bait of course. That is the only thing that they are good for---well, a few birds eat them and they use the same technique---hop and jump or hop and fly.
But if you are an avid fisherman---that's a lot of hopping and jumping! In the early summer, trout love grasshoppers. So we figured out an easier way---simple too. My brother and I each grabbed one side of a gunny sack---holding the sack open---and ran into the wind. The hoppers hopped---the wind blew them back as we ran forward and just like that we had hoppers in the bag. We had built a wood frame cage---covered with window screen and with a little grass in the bottom, they were taken to the mountains for the coming trip. If anybody saw that going on, they probably figured we were cuckoo, but we caught the fish---always . . .
 
Cache La Poudre River, Colorado, 1960

From Lisa:

I love it that my father included his stories about growing up fishing.  The picture of my father above was taken by me with my first camera.  I was 6.  I loved eating the trout my dad caught! My first memories of loving fish were my dad's trout.  As I grew older, I went fishing with my dad many times.  He taught me how to fly cast.  And yes, I will always have an image in my mind of catching grasshoppers with my dad and watching him put them on his hook.  

I went fishing with him in Colorado, in Wyoming outside the cabin he built with his father in the Big Horns, and in Arizona.  I went back-packing for two weeks in California's King's Canyon, and I remember thinking about him every day as I camped and fished along and in the King's river.  Thank you Daddy for such sweet memories of my childhood.

 

One of my favorite movies is because of you Daddy: "A River Runs Through It." ♥