Everybody did their part around the camp. There was work a plenty and even man’s best friend got pressed into service. Mundane chores like getting kindling for the fires were made easier and more productive by using the family dog and a device called the travois.
The travois was simply two long poles held apart by a couple of stretcher poles to form an “A” shape when seen from the top. The top part of the “A” was then attached to the family dog for its motive power and off to work you went.
There was a compromise made between the owner and the dog as to how much one would load onto the travois. Too much and the dog would simply lie down. Not enough and the dog was insulted, so the dialogue was constant. “How you doing boy, can you handle some more?” and reinforced with many “atta boy’s” and “good dog’s” a bargain was struck, good will was maintained and work got done. Travois were love powered.
In its larger form the travois was attached to a horse and a families lodge and all their possessions could be loaded on it and the entire camp could be on the move in no time at all. Sometimes one or more of the families’ kids could be strapped on top of the load so mom didn’t have to carry them. Making work easier was always a priority because there was so much of it. Travois were the utility trailers of the day.
When there were trappers and mountain men staying in the fort for awhile it was time for them to replace worn out gear, maybe buy a new pistol or rifle if they got a good price for their pelts. And to decide to pick up anything they thought would make life easier when they were out on the trail.
This old boy decided he needed a new pistol to balance out the one he wore on the other side of his sash. Now today this would be a rather simple matter. He’d go into a gun shop and choose the appropriate gun then meet the following easy requirements.
The buyer must be a current citizen of the United States or a permanent resident (green card holder).
The buyer must not be under indictment for a crime punishable by a year in prison, or to have been previously convicted of a crime with a similar punishment.
The buyer must not have a current restraining filed by an intimate partner or child, and the buyer must not have been convicted of domestic violence. This means that ex-wife. The mean one.
The buyer must not be a fugitive, or a user of controlled substances.
The buyer must not be committed currently to a mental institution. Or have done really crazy stuff like Andy Stillson shooting off Lars the Earless’s ear.* This last requirement would have caused a certain amount of apprehension for the buyer as it was thought that you had to be a little crazy to be a mountain man in the first place.
Then complete the following.
You’ll need to furnish a photo ID and fill out Form 4473. This is used to confirm your status as a citizen who is qualified to own a firearm in the United States. Then a background check is made. While this is going on you wait. Sometimes the retailer provides comfortable seating while you wait, sometimes you wait in your car listening to country and western music, sometimes you just go home and they call you to inform you that you are indeed a splendid fellow and worthy to buy a gun. So you race back there to pick up your brand new weapon.
When the image above was taken things were much more difficult. To buy a weapon during this time the customer went to see the trader in his store there in the fort, tried to bargain him down from the outrageous price the customer thought the trader was charging, and the trader did his best to convince the customer of the incredible deal he was getting, and the third guy stood there at the ready to whack one or both of them on them on the forehead with his Hawkins 50 if the negotiations got out of hand.
Once the price was set the buyer would many times load the weapon, walk over to the door, and shoot one of the chickens roaming around in the plaza to see how good the gun worked. It usually worked just fine. Payment was concluded and that was that. He owned a new pistol. Difficult I know but you got to remember these were the old days. Things were harder then.
So it’s up to you. Do you want the easy way of doing things like we have today, or do you want the old difficult way they had back then. Course if you choose the old difficult way, you have to go back there. That means new leather clothes, moccasins, mules or horses, a quick course in how to trap animals, and how to get along with the neighbors out in their lodges. Let us know what you decide.
Anyone seen a mule? He’s 19 hands tall, sort of a creamy color with a big dark splotch on his face, one ear’s been chewed on pretty good and he’s got two different colored eyes. Tends to be moody and prone to bite. Occasionally answers to the name of Get Back Here.
Mountain men have a special relationship with their animals. They need them for every thing they do from riding them, packing on them, helping to keep watch at night by causing all kind of hell if there’s something around that shouldn’t be. Plus they’re good companions. Normally they’re well behaved and tend to stay close to their owners.
There are exceptions however, and old Get Back Here is a prime example of just how contrary they can be. He’s a master of the quick escape. Hobble him and he can jump walk three miles by morning. Tie him to a picket line and he’ll get that knot loose like Houdini. Stake him out on a tether and come morning he’s gone, stakes gone and you’re on foot thinking, just how tough would mule meat actually be.
Course the rest of the fellows in the group are going to make comments and suggestions about how to handle that mule. Nobody will laugh outright at him because the mules owner has been known to be unpredictable after he’s chased that mule all over the canyon.
He’s going to be fortunate this morning because some of the boys that were watering their own stock down at the creek latched on to him and he was soon back in camp. History does not relate what happened or was said between mule and owner but that’s probably a good thing. There’s a lot of sensitive folks that read the blog and we’re pretty darn careful about offending them.
After a long winter of solitary life the Mountain men and trappers could not wait for the summer rendezvous to take place. There they would get to see old friends that they hadn’t talked to for a year, maybe more, and let off some steam. They had a lot to talk about. Where the trapping was good and the plews (hides) were plenty. Who wasn’t there and did his hair get lifted. Which tribes were friendly this season and where to stay away from if you knew what was good for you. And whether or not the traders had brought in enough tobaccy and whiskey.
I sort of threw that whiskey in there like an afterthought but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Whiskey was all they thought about when they were standing knee deep in the freezing water of some creek back behind no where. Well, maybe they thought of women a little but it had been so long since they had seen one, at least a white one anyway, it didn’t pay to spend time thinking about them. No, whiskey is what they thought of. How gloriously they were going to get monumentally drunk. Thinking of whiskey is was what filled their days. If they were sitting around the campfire on the rare occasion that a friend showed up, they would talk of the rendezvous and the outrageous drunks they had been on. How Andy Stillson had convinced Lars, the Earless, Who had got his ear chewed off in a fight, to let him shoot a cup of whiskey off his head to show everybody what a great shot he was and promptly blew off Lars’ other ear. Man, they laughed at that one every time it was brought up and it was brought up enough to become legend amongst the campfire crowd.
When they did make rendezvous the most favorite pastime was drinking huge, prodigious amounts of whiskey. They also would have foot races, horse races, card playing, wrestling, shooting sports, or just plain shooting for the sheer joy of it. They told stories, some of which were true, they threw knives at targets, hatchets too, traded mules and horses, got new gear, and spent nearly every penny they had made through the winter. But mostly they liked to drink whiskey.
When supplies began to run low and the rendezvous was thinking about drawing to a close any body that had squirreled away some whiskey was the man of the hour and seriously sought after by his friends both old and new. He was invited to all the doings and hailed and treated as a most splendid fellow. At least as long as the spirits held out.
The gentlemen above are waitin’ on friends that managed to keep a bottle or two from getting consumed and had promised to share them with their new found buddies. The shadows are getting long so by the time this night is over they will have had the last of it, maybe not a drunk to make it into the legendary category but a good one none the less. Tomorrow brings a new day. Time to start tearing down camps, packing horses and deciding where they’ll head off to this time. It’s been a great rendezvous, one for the stories of future campfires.
While photographing at the Robidoux Artist and Model Camp this year I had the great privilege of meeting John Carson the great-grandson of the famous scout, mountain man, wilderness guide, Indian agent, and U.S. Army officer, Kit Carson.
Much has been written about Kit Carson, movies have been made of his exploits, and he became a famous personage in his own time. I think people tend to think of famous people as static characters in a static time, yet their lives go on and families are created, descendants continue the name, and the result is we sometimes have the good fortune to meet them. John Carson, his great-grandson, looks remarkably like his famous ancestor and from what I have read about Kit Carson being a quiet, unassuming man despite his adventures, John carries on that trait. It was an honor to meet him.
He is seen here at Fort Uncompahgre wearing an exact copy of a coat that his great-grandfather wore that John made himself. It is a truly beautiful and remarkable garment. A skilled mountain man in his own right John carries on the traditions that made his Great-grandfather into the beloved figure he became. Thanks for allowing me to take this photo, John.
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