Stories and Poems of Past Memories

Like Father Like Son	Like Father Like Son The Wichita Millers lived in one of those lovely old homes, blessed with fine trees lining the streets, large shady yards, and an easy arrangement within, that made family or visitors feel welcome. Three stories and a basement allowed plenty of space for a family of six. The roomy dining area looked out onto the grassy backyard and flower garden, but the windows were rather small. About this time, the notion of picture windows came into being. C.D. thought about this for a spell; good idea! I want more light and a view. Following through on the idea, he fetched his sledge hammer one afternoon and with a mighty wallop, he broke through the dining room wall! Presto....a larger scene. It took a while to trim out the whole, but the end result was totally satisfying. This "grab the bull by the horns" attitude was passed through to Dwight. We had moved into a nice modular home in December 1979. A few years later, we decided we needed a garage; the solution was to lift the house and build a lower floor beneath it. Dwight, his Uncle Ed, and I drove to the ski area where some used oak railroad ties had been cast aside. We gathered a large number of these (Have you ever tried hefting a tie?) and we hauled them home. Dwight had four extra-powerful jacks that he'd used previously to lift houseboats down at Lake Powell. After undoing all the foundation bolts, we started lifting, first one end, then another, building increasingly high cross-hatch type supports near each corner as we raised the house higher and higher. We lived there the entire time this was going on and the house shook with our every step. By the grace of God, no huge winds came up during the whole process. Each morning, Dwight disconnected the water and the sewer lines. Each evening, he reconnected everything. When we were up about eight feet, Dwight and his uncle built stud walls and stood the first wall beneath one side of the house. Would you believe that, thanks to the irregular ties, the house was skewed about six inches out of alignment? Troubles. Now what? Dwight decided that he would take his CAT and carefully push the house back into line, readjusting the braces as he went. That was the day I chose to go to Denver for supplies, knowing full well that when I returned, my piano and good china would be sitting in Ranch Creek. But no. When I got back, all four stud walls were securely in place and the upper floor was resting safely on top. Was it the luck of dumb dumbs? Brilliance? Who knows? Well, in order to go downstairs, we had a fairly steep stairway. We had looked at our various options for less steep stairs, but one would have ended up in the middle of the garage and the other would have had to start in our bedroom. Not good choices. Thus it was steep. Somebody accused us of having the only carpeted ladder in the county. It was also rather dark. One Thanksgiving Day when the family was gathered round, Dwight got the brilliant idea to cut an opening in the upper section of the wall at the top of the stairs, to make it lighter. The family agreed that this was a great idea and they were excited to see how this was accomplished. Out came the skill saw, bursts of sawdust flew into my nice clean living room and onto my counters where I was trying to prepare a festive dinner. I tried to shield the food from sawdust. I tripped over the cord while setting the table. I scrambled over scrap wood trying to reach pans and dishes. But the family loved it. By supper time, a rough hole definitely brought more light, and amazingly, we were still married!
My Granby, Little Old Log Church	My Granby, Little Old Log Church Contributed by Vera "Stathos" Shay, Kremmling...Granby resident 1930-1945 From what I hear It is very near To be torn away The little church of my childhood day The most beautiful to see That can ever be Inside and out Without a doubt Built of log so fine In the style of old time In my own little chair Every Sunday I was there The chime of its bell For miles around Heard its wonderful sound For a while our school We didn't fit So in our church were classes For a bit Beside our church on the hill We sledded for a thrill That poor little church They moved it around All over town Proudly it's hung together In all kinds of weather Every time I go to Granby town I look around to find And have a look At my log church for my eyes' Memory book Now they say it's got to go Pray it won't be so All of you Granby folk Louder you should have spoke To save that church with its Memories and history For there could never be Anything that would compare Built or put there With my magnificent, beautiful Childhood Granby log church Find it in your hearts To never let it be torn apart. April 2005
Next stop - Kremmling	Next stop - Kremmling The rails reached Kremmling town The train tracks were all lain down That wonderful, exciting day from far and near Were there to see and hear click-clack Of the train coming down the track Bringing hope, dreams and plans far and Their way From that 1906 June day On July 4^th a Kremmling Day that never again Could be so exciting and fun as it was then Celebrating the trains and the tracks The eight or nine saloons were filled to the max Guests came on the train from the City to join in With all of them A big fish fry, Bar-B-Que of elk and antelope Greased pole to climb, games and prizes A bucking horse contest The day was the best A way back in time That train was by travel line I could tell tales to you Of exciting adventures or tow And then-when It was called the "Moffat Road" Still is to me Always will be
Sir Edmund Hillary visits Grand County	Sir Edmund Hillary visits Grand County The Middle Park Times announced with excitement: Sir Edmund Hillary is going to visit Grand County! The paper reviewed his famous climb up Everest in 1953 at age 33, his New Zealand background, his other well-known exploits; his picture was highlighted on the page with his story. This was news of great interest to the area citizens, for there was little in the way of unusual happenings as a rule. Dwight Miller had wandered down to the Hideaway Park Post Office one summer afternoon, when a man, asking for information, stopped him. "Can you tell me where the Tabernash Campground is?" Dwight took one look at him and recognized the long, somewhat horsey-looking face. The chap's accent sounded British to Dwight, too. "Are you Sir Edmund Hillary," he asked? "Why yes, I am," answered Sir Edmund. "We're traveling through this area and want to spend the night." For a moment Dwight considered asking him and his party to stay at Miller's Idlewild Inn that night, but he thought probably the group really preferred being alone to enjoy the countryside, rather than having to deal with crowds. He was aware that the climber was a very shy, modest man. So he told Hillary to drive about six miles on down Highway 40, through Fraser and Tabernash; then follow the road to the top of Red Dirt Hill. The campground he wanted was on the right side of the road, just before it descended toward Granby. Close by, on the left side of the highway, Hillary would see a large meadow, in which were dairy cows, belonging to the Acord Dairy, I believe. "The campground is set among the pines with just a few camp sites, so you shouldn't be disturbed," Dwight said. Sir Edmund thanked Dwight and the two of them chatted a bit more. "We just came over Berthoud Pass a bit ago; in fact we ate lunch there. Something that really puzzles me is that I see you Americans just eating lunch while sitting in your cars or on your tailgates; and yet, if you were to take your lunch and walk about 100 feet, you would have all the valleys before you and never know that you that you were even near another person!" "That's true," said Dwight. "I think that Americans are always in a hurry. They don't want to take time to walk a few feet. It's just eat and run." "Well, it amazes me. You live in such beautiful country." They said goodbye then and the Hillarys drove on down to the campground. Dwight was so very pleased to have had this chance to meet him. This campground was shut down some years later when the U.S. Forest Service traded that land to the Silver Creek group for some other property, so that Silver Creek could have a convenient road into their development. The campground was located just beyond the turn in to Snow Mountain Ranch, as one heads west. A few site remnants can still be seen there.
Sounds of Christmas	Sounds of Christmas Contributed by Vera "Stathos" Shay, Kremmling A blast from the past A frosty night in December A wonderful time to remember Fun on a hay ride My husband at my side Friends young and old Dressed for the cold A pickup truck Praying it wouldn't get stuck Snuggled together in the sled of hay We were on our way Our hearts and voices filled with song From our Christmas caroling Kremmling did ring Everyone could hear Us ringing Merry Christmas cheer.
The Middle Park Band and the Music Man	The Middle Park Band and the Music Man The Middle Park High School band wasn’t much to brag about, and that’s a fact. Several members were very capable young musicians, however. For instance, Stuart played a hot set of drums that set people’s feet to tapping and hands to clapping. Debbie was an excellent trombonist, good enough so that one year, she was invited to march with Pierre Laval’s All American High School Band in the Rose Parade! And Jack was right behind her in skill. Martha led the flutes beautifully, and there were Alan, Bert, Roxanne, Carolyn, and others. But the group never seemed to coalesce into a single playing unit. Then a Music Man came to the school. Wes Robbins was a showman; he was enthusiastic; he had flare; he had color. He took those young people in hand and soon had them marching in time down the same street. People flocked to hear the music, whereas before, they just groaned. By the end of the school year, Mr. Robbins decided that the band needed uniforms, sharp uniforms to match the cool music. Now most of the extra-curricular funds went into sports, particularly football. But the band leader convinced the administration that with uniforms, the band would rouse the fans to a high pitch, encourage parents and family to attend games, incite the teams to greater, and winning, efforts. So he got the uniforms. That fall the band players tingled with excitement as they waited to try on their new duds. They looked wonderful. All the effort was worthwhile. But Mr. Robbins didn¹t stop there. Every spring, on the first weekend of May, Canon City held a Blossom Festival. Bands from all over the region came to march and compete. The Middle Park Band proposed to join this event! You must understand, there were only forty students in the band, for this was a small district still. When the youngsters arrived in Canon City, they met bands from Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas, and Nebraska, as well as from New Mexico and numerous Colorado schools. Many of these bands had 100 to 120 or so members! All were much larger than our little group. The Middle Park students felt rather overwhelmed. But it wasn’t long before the big bands had adopted this nifty minuscule band as a mascot. Saturday came and the bands lined up at the foot of the Canon City prison wall. Just then, two inmates jumped from the top of the wall, presumably planning to escape into the mob of students and onlookers. Prison guards shot the men dead in the air. This rather rocky start for the event didn’t phase the boys and girls; the parade commenced. Grand County enthusiasts lined the edge of the avenue as the bands marched down, drums beating, horns tooting, and music filling the air. “But where is our own band?” they wondered. Suddenly, applause erupted and you could see why. A Nebraska band of some 120 members filled the street. Shortly after, striding bravely along, a compact band of forty students in spiffy navy blue uniforms, played beautifully and vigorously. Following behind them was another band of over 100 members. The contrast was astounding and people loved it! Clapping onlookers whistled and shouted. That afternoon the many groups competed on the football field, doing intricate formations as they played their music. Middle Park picked up two first place ratings for their performance that day. That was truly a triumph for our musicians, as they realized that even though they were small, they were mighty. This must have been about 1971.
The Rocky Mountain National Park	The Rocky Mountain National Park Poem contributed by Vera Shay, July 2006 Once you've been there It'll be your most favorite anywhere The beauty up through the trees It's bound to please From May through September Sights and Sounds you will remember Deer and moose grazing on meadows so green All in their splendor to be seen You will return again and again In the fall just heat the bugle-call Of the elegant, determined elk so strong Choosing his mate to follow him along Mountain lion and even brown bear are there They you might hope to only from afar Or the windows of your car The Grand Lake Lodge in the park Cabins looking so cozy and fun A plan my husband and I to spend the night We didn't get it done In the Lodge Restaurant we had dinner A many a time With food so fine My birthday dinner, year after year With happiness and cheer Yes this is a park to yourself and your friends you say I love this park any summer day The Rocky Mountain national park For me many memories in this park
What I Got For Christmas by Nicolette Toussaint	What I Got For Christmas by Nicolette Toussaint It’s December, the tail end of 1959, and I’m hanging onto the back of an Airstream trailer. I have shimmied my ski pants down as far as possible. Now I‘m struggling to keep my balance, trying to keep my new toe-to-thigh cast dry and do my business — the only business that could have forced me out into this sleety, blustery night. The combination of the cast’s weight, the sloppy, slippery snow, the fabric bunched around my knees, and my wobbly attempts to avoid peeing on my underwear overthrow me. I tip over and slide partway beneath the trailer. Now it looks like a very big dog has dug a bathtub-sized hole while using the trailer’s rear corner as a fire hydrant. But dogs are much better at this leg-lifting maneuver than I am. So much for dry underwear. The day before Christmas, I broke my leg skiing at Winter Park. My parents could have taken me back to Denver — an hour and a half over icy Berthoud Pass, but more since our car is pulling a rented trailer. The better option was to go to Kremmling, an isolated mountain town an hour west of Fraser, a town nicknamed “America’s ice box” because it usually reports the coldest temperature in the country. The clinic in Kremmling was tiny, just a few white rooms. I don’t remember how I fell, just that my ski bindings— the old-fashioned “bear trap” kind rather than the new-fangled, heel-release kind — didn’t let go. My heavy, wood skis torqued my leg, snapping the bone. I do remember the ski patrol bringing me down in a toboggan. I remember my Mom, Myra, sitting in the back seat so she could hold my hand and put my head in her lap during the long drive. My leg screamed every time we went around a corner, and it seemed like it took 50 years. I don’t remember who carried me from the car. But I do remember my pants’ leg being slit up the seam, and I remember being X-rayed by Dr. Ceriani. I don’t think I will ever forget getting my leg straightened. My Mom and Dr. Ceriani’s nurse held my shoulders while the Doc pulled my shin straight. I screamed bloody murder. After the Doc and his nurse made my cast — layers of plaster-soaked gauze that were wound round and round my cotton-wrapped shin — Dr. Ceriani said it would take a day to harden. It would be best for him to keep an eye on me for awhile. So I stayed in Kremmling while my family went on with their ski vacation. That’s how, at age 9, I wound up spending my first Christmas apart from my family. I had coloring books and puzzles, but no TV. The radio was intermittent. I was feeling kind of sorry for myself, being alone on Christmas and all, until the nurse promised she would visit me. She was from Ireland; I think her name was Kathleen.Sure enough, she came on Christmas Day, bringing a record player and a brown paper bag tied with a red bow. Kathleen put on a ’45 and danced an Irish jig for me. Then she gave me the bag. Inside was a tree made from papier-mâché. It was layered up like my cast, but scalloped and decorated with shiny beads and buttons, and built over an empty mayonnaise jar. When I turned it over, I saw the lid. I unscrewed it, and out fell a small avalanche of Tootsie Rolls, peppermints, and Hershey’s Kisses! I felt loved. My parents came back in a day or so, of course, and I spent the rest of the family vacation in the Airstream trailer (rented because we couldn’t afford hotels) and in day ski lodges, bored silly, with my right foot propped up on a chair. When I got back to school, I had to gimp to class by way of a somewhat sloping hall with a slippery, speckled stone floor. Try that on crutches! I wasn’t a popular kid, and because of the ski vacation, I’d missed the school Christmas party. But suddenly I was as popular as a Pez dispenser! Everyone in my third-grade class wanted to try out my crutches, carry my coat, and sign my cast. The next fall, I was back skiing, albeit with better skis and new Cubco safety bindings. I didn’t think about my broken leg until decades later. Fast forward to around 2000. One unusually warm spring day, I walked from the San Francisco office where I worked to a food court in a high-rise on Market Street. As I was looking for a place to eat my Pad Thai, I noticed a photo display on the other side of the lobby. The Knight Foundation, whose programs I sometimes attended, was on the top floor, and they often mounted photo-journalistic shows, so I strolled over. The exhibition was called “The Country Doctor”. A historic collection of photos by W. Eugene Smith, the images had first appeared in Life Magazine in 1948. Stark, black-and-white, and unflinchingly intimate, those photos solidified Eugene Smith's stature as one of the most humane and preeminent photojournalists of the 20th century. Those photos instantly transported me back 50 years, out of sunny San Francisco and back into cold, snowy Kremmling, Colorado. From the exhibit, I learned that following World War II, a fundraising committee had raised $35,000 to turn the home of the Kremmling’s retiring doctor into a 14-bed hospital, stocking it with as much equipment as they could afford. Some of it was war surplus machinery. The new clinic had an autoclave, an oxygen tent, and an X-ray machine — probably the same one that had revealed the spiral fracture in my right tibia. In 1947, that committee had hired Dr. Ernest Ceriani. Born on a Wyoming sheep ranch and educated in Denver, the young doctor was the only physician in Middle Park, a barren, windswept Rocky Mountain valley above 8,000 feet. His practice spanned 400 square miles. As the photos showed, he was a general practitioner, tending to the dying, delivering babies, cooling fevers, and patching people mangled by farm, ranch, auto, and sports injuries. Injuries like the one I had suffered nearly 50 years before! With tears pricking my eyes, I realized that I had only been able to walk unaided through the exhibition thanks to the foresight of that 1947 committee in Kremmling, Colorado. I owed a debt of gratitude to a group of people I had never met, people who undoubtedly had passed away long ago. We stand on the shoulders of those who have gone before us. In my case, the “standing” part is literally true. Without the initiative of that committee, there would have been no clinic in Kremmling. Without them, I wouldn’t have been hospitalized for what seemed, at first, to be a sad and lonely Christmas. I wouldn’t have had the experience of nurse Kathleen turning that clinic stay into the most memorable Christmas of my life. And I wouldn’t have been able to stand in tribute to Dr. Ernest Ceriani. While the hula hoops, bikes and Barbies I received as a child have long-since been broken and forgotten, across the miles and years, the gift given to me by that country doctor has remained whole and straight, strong and true.

Mountain Names

Topic: Mountains

Mountain Names

While the origin of the names of many mountains in Grand County has been lost to history, we do know the source of many of the more notable mountains. The name originations of some mountains of Grand County are as follows: Adams Peak – Named for either Jay E. Adams who owned a cottage in Grand Lake or Alexander and Louise Adams, original owners of the Grand Lake Lodge.

Mount Alice – 13,110 ft. – Named in 1911 by request of geologist Dr. William S. Cooper. Who “Alice” was, was not explained. Arapaho Peak – Named for the Arapaho Indian tribe who frequented Grand County during hunting season. Arikaree Peak – Named for the Arikaree Indian tribe by James Grafton Rogers in 1955. Baker Mountain – Named for John Baker from Indiana, a well known prospector and hunter of the 1850’s and 1860’s.

Bills Peak – Named after an early settler in the area whose last name was not known. Bottle Mountain – Named for the bottle shape of the mountain, three miles north of Byers Peak. Byers Peak – 12,790 ft. – Named for William N. Byers, publisher and editor of the Rocky Mountain News and early promoter of Hot Sulphur Springs. Mountain Cairns – 10,800 ft. – Named for James Cairns, first storekeeper at Grand Lake. West Carter Peak and North Carter Peak– Believed to have been named for a member of the original U.S. Geological Survey team. Cascade Mountain – Also known as Loder Mountain, popularly named for cascading stream.

The Cleaver – Believed named by early settlers for location between two other peaks. Coal Mountain – Named for visible coal seam. Mount Cumulus – 12,725 ft. – Named for cloud formation resemblance. One of three “cloud” peaks. Diamond Mountain – Named for rumors of diamonds found there or its shape. Located four miles East of Muddy Pass. Mount Epworth – Believed named for a Methodist youth group founded in 1889. Located east of Rollins Pass.

Fairview Mountain – Named for scenic view. Located ½ mile south of Parika Peak. Mount Flora – Named for fields of flowers on mountain. Mount George – 12,876 – Named for Dr. R.D. George, a geologist. Its north spur is Lone Eagle Peak. Green Mountain – Named for the green trees covering the mountain. Grouse Mountain – Named for the grouse that inhabit the area. Hallett Park – 12,713 – Named for William H. Hallett who lived from 1851 to 1947. The mountain was named in 1887.

Howard Mountain – Named for John Howard, a prospector. The mountain was named in 1880. Mount Irving Hale – Named for Brigadier General Hale who lead Colorado troops in the Philippines during the Spanish American War. Hale was a member of the first graduating class at Denver High School and won an appointment to West Point. Camp Hale, near Leadville, was a training site for World War II ski troops and was also named for him.

Community Life

Topic:

Community Life

What was it like to live in Grand County in the 1800's or the early 1900's? Click on the drop down menus and find out about community life in the “olden days.“

Ute Bill Thompson and His Memorial Marker

Topic: Biographies

Ute Bill Thompson and His Memorial Marker

Dark clouds covered the Continental Divide as we looked east from the ridge leading toward Elk Mountain's remarkable view. Cool winds and spitting snow followed us. We weren't seeking the height of Elk Mountain, but instead, were tracking the historic path of Grand County Pioneer William Jefferson "Ute Bill" Thompson. Specifically, we wanted to locate the memorial marker for Ute Bill that Henry Grafke and Otto Schott placed along this ridge after Ute Bill died in 1926.

Tracking Thompson requires divergent paths. On one hand, Ute Bill's early presence in Middle Park places him in an era when mountain men and Ute Indians shared the vast herds of elk and deer. Only a handful of hardy souls called Middle Park home when Bill Thompson arrived in the late 1860s or early 70s. On another hand, Thompson settled just east of Hot Sulphur Springs as a young man, where he carved out a cattle ranch that remains in his family today.

Records prove he owned and operated a billiard hall, drove stagecoaches and established a homestead along the Colorado (then, the Grand) River. But tall tales and oral legends abound too, capturing hair-breath escapes, harrowing western adventures and the mischievous nature of a 19th century westerner. Looking through the numerous historic photos of Ute Bill at the Pioneer Village Museum in Hot Sulphur Springs leaves an impression of a capable trapper, businessman and rancher who textured his image with stories of western adventure.

With Don Dailey - fellow historic trekker and great grandson of Ute Bill - along, I hoped to pursue the fact and folklore of Ute Bill. As Don pointed out an isolated cabin in the valley below, a Ute Bill tale from the Georgetown Arbitrator of September 1886, "as narrated at the time by one of the participants," captured my imagination.

Bill Thompson breathed a sigh of relief. The rugged, hungry band of Ute in front of him smiled approvingly as his long black hair fell from his broad-brimmed black hat. A tense moment before, he'd worried about his future as the small band of Ute Indians led by Yarmony came upon his isolated cabin in Middle Park. Fact is, Bill Thompson's hair had just saved his life. Not bein' cut since the Sioux captured him as a child, it hung nearly to his waist.

Bill was all set up for a Middle Park Winter, with supplies to last through the toughest stretch, when Yarmony and his band came along. Thompson cursed softly at himself for not payin' closer heed to their approach. "Figured they'd be out west by now," Bill muttered as he squared up to his guests.

Speakin' through a mix of hand signs, broken Ute and English that most fellers in the mountain parks west of the divide understood well enough for basic communication, Bill impressed the band with his manly firmness and calm self-confidence. Then Yarmony spoke, "Beescits," was all he said. Bill hesitated to open his cabin supplies. "Why, them folks are so hungry," he thought to himself, "they're near certain to go mad if they laid eyes on my bacon and flour." At best he'd be without supplies at a risky time of year. "No biscuits, fellers," Bill said with as much certainty as he could muster, "barely enough food fer myself. There's still a shaggy buffalo er two fer the takin' and every feller's got the same chance." When Bill finished talkin' he looked Yarmony square in the eyes. He watched the headman's leathered face swing toward his rough-sawn cabin door thoughtfully. "Beescits," he repeated.

Yarmony's band, snuggled in their elk skins and trade blankets, looked stoically at Bill. "Well," Bill said, throwing down his last ace, "seems you're intent on havin' my grub and I'm intent you ain't." Then, regrettin' it before he finished sayin' it, Bill raised the stakes, "Why don't we have us a shootin' contest fer it?" No immediate reaction caused Bill to wonder if he'd communicated clearly. Slowly, though, excitement spread through the crowd of Ute, as the entire band - from the pretty young girls to the big-bellies - looked to one feller. In front of Bill stepped a mountain-sized-Ute feller, creating a shadow as he approached. "Piah," the Ute whispered, breaking into a quiet chaos of conversations. Movin' quick and hopin' for some break, Bill scooped up his improved Winchester rifle as he threw off his broad-brimmed black hat so nothin' could obstruct his shootin' eye. Just as soon as his long black hair fell near his waist, the tense moment ended with a gasp from the Ute, followed by a welcome reception that meant more to Bill than any he recollected! Bill determined then and thar on never cuttin' his hair again!

As he eased down the gun smilin', all them pretty Ute girls began paintin' his face and braidin' his locks. Bill was feelin' positively giddy about his good fortune. Decidin' he just might owe these hungry Utes a favor fer endin' a potentially tragic shootin', he led 'em to a nearby ravine where he'd been watchin' a small herd of shaggy buffalo. Now Bill Thompson figured he'd repay 'em with meat, and still keep his own supplies. Leavin' the Ute on a rise above the ravine, he sauntered down to the fresh buffalo trail just as he heard the thunder of hooves around the ravine's bend to the south. Settlin' into a remote stand of lodge pole pines, he sat right along the path of the rumblin' bison. Pickin' out his choices as they rounded the bend, Bill's Winchester boomed repeatedly, each shot bringin' down a fat cow or a young bull.

Swaggering toward his kills, Bill was suddenly confronted by Sandy Mellon and Len Pollard, sneakin' along that ravine behind the buffalo. Not recognizin' Bill through all the paint and braids, Sandy thundered to Len that this Ute feller must "a stole Bill Thompon's gun," because there weren't many repeaters like his. Both their guns were trained on Bill. Calmly, Bill broke the silence. "Don't over-reach yourself, Sandy." Yes sir, Sandy knew from the voice that this-here Ute feller in front of him was really Bill Thompson. That day, he became Ute Bill.

Breathing hard to make the final incline, Don and I reached the point along the ridge of Elk Mountain where we expected to find the memorial. There it was, as we had hoped. After a hurrah for our success, we slowly read the plaque: "Hunting Grounds of "Ute Bill.'" As we snapped photos and drank water from our packs, I decided that where historic fact and local folklore meet, an authentic western tale begins.

Stage and Freight Lines

Topic: Stage & Freight Lines

Stage and Freight Lines

Berthoud Pass Stage Road was built by the extreme efforts of Captain Lewis Gaskill. It came from the top of the Pass through Spruce Lodge, Idlewild (now Winter Park), the Cozens Ranch (near Fraser) Junction Ranch (Tabernash) and Coulter. From there once branch lead over Cottonwood Divide to Hot Sulphur Springs (and points west) while the other went to Selak’s and over Coffey Divide to the Lehman Post Office and on to Grand Lake.

At the summit of Berthoud Pass there was a large house of hewn logs, occupied by Lewis Gaskill and his family. They collected the tolls for the road and gave welcome shelter to those weathering the variable passage. The house was located on the West side of current Hwy. 40 but no trace of the building remains.

At the steepest portion of the west side of Berthoud Pass was the Spruce House rest stop, which by 1900 was a sold structure of two and a half stories. There the traveler could find a warm meal and corral for livestock. No trace of it remains today.

The Idlewild Stage Stop was located in present day Winter Park and was a popular place to change horses before the steep assent up the pass. Mrs. Ed Evans served a hearty noonday meal there for only 35 cents.

Cozens Ranch was also one of the more popular stops and Fraser Post Office until 1904. Built around 1874 by William Zane Cozens, it remains today, outfitted in period décor and is the home of the Cozens Ranch History Museum.

The Gaskill House, in Fraser was built by Lewis De Witt Clinton Gaskill, one of the original investors in the road and a prominent Grand County citizen. The house now houses the Hungry Bear Restaurant.

Junction House at Junction Ranch (Tabernash) could accommodate up to fifty travelers and was built by Quincy Adams Rollins, and subsequently leased to Johnson Turner.

The Coulter Stage Stop was built by John Coulter, an attorney from George town and shareholder in the stage road. It also served as a Post Office from 1884 to 1905.

Frank and Fred Selak, sons of a pioneer Georgetown brewer ran the Selak stop which was north of Granby and east of current Hwy. 34.

Cottonwood Divide (Pass), at 8904 feet above sea level, was laid out by Edward Berthoud and Redwood Fisher in 1861. The route was used by stagecoaches from 1874 until the railroad arrived at Hot Sulphur Springs in 1905. The last driver on the route was Charlie Purcell. Summer travel time between Hot Sulphur Springs and Georgetown was typically twelve hours. Travelers between Hot Sulphur Springs and Kremmling could stop at the Barney Day or King Ranches, both near current Hwy. 40. The Pinney Ranch House, used by the firm of Whipple and Metcalf for the connecting service to Steamboat Springs, is still standing on Hwy. 134 on the east slope of Gore Pass. There a traveler could pay 50 cents for a meal, 50 cents for a bed and expect a change of horses every ten miles. It ceased operation in 1908 when the railroad reached Toponas.

Ute Legend of the Quaking Aspen

Topic: Indian Legends

Ute Legend of the Quaking Aspen

It is amazing to behold the continuous quivering of aspen leaves in groves around Grand County, even when there is no apparent breeze.

According to Ute legend, the reason for this unique aspect of the aspen tree happened during a visit to Erath from the Great Spirit during a special full moon. All of nature anticipated the Spirit's arrival and trembled to pay homage. All except the proud and beautiful aspen. The aspens stood still, refusing to pay proper respect. The Great Spirit was furious and decreed that, from that time on, the aspen leaves would tremble whenever anyone looked upon them.

Logging

Topic: Business/Industry

Logging

In the early decades of Grand County, lumbering was a key contributor to the local economy. Logging was necessary as the principal source of building construction and also as the only available fuel. When the railroad first made its way over Rollins Pass, the production of railroad ties became an important industry. In the Grand Lake area, the brief mining boom of the 1880s created a steady demand for timber.

Some remains of log structures from abandoned logging camps were still evident late in to the 20^th century. These include the Middle Park Lumber Company on St. Louis Creek (southwest of Fraser), an operation that had it's own railroad line into town. In the same area, the independent logging settlements of Lapland and Stockholm date back to 1915.

Above Tabernash was located the Deiler Mill, ten miles up Hurd Creek. In 1910, the Western Box Company bought the mill and moved it to the head of Meadow Creek. A box factory was located in Tabernash and the logs were floated down in a flume, thirteen miles long. Mrs. Braddock was the "flume lady" at one time and would balance on a log while breaking up log jams on the trip downstream.....a task that required "great skill and derring-do".

Other operations included Koppers Camp up Pole Creek (above Tabernash), Mr. Daves Mill at Hideaway Park and Bob Morrow's camp on Byers Peak. Broderick Wood Products Company of Denver was a major purchaser of Grand County timber starting in 1930. In 1939, Smokey Harrison founded the Timberline Sawmill at Kremmling.

A huge box making plant was built on a site now covered by Granby reservoir. Its main supply point was a logging camp at southwest corner of Monarch Lake. You can still see remnants of the logging machinery along the shore of the lake. For a short time there was a branch railroad from Granby to the box factory, which later burned to the ground, In 1949, American Timber built a sawmill and log pond at Granby, west of the Highway 40 overpass. The west end of the county was logged by the Kremmling Division of the Edward Hines Lumber Company. Later, Louisiana Pacific built a wafer board plant in Kremmling but it closed in the 1980's.

The short growing and harvesting season created many challenges for the loggers. According to Ed. "Jr." O'Neil, it takes over 100 years in Grand County to grow a tree big enough got a 35 foot telephone pole. In contrast, it would only take 30 years to grow a similar tree in warmer climes. There is still private logging activity in Grand County, most of it for the construction of luxury log homes.

Stafford Family

Topic: Early Families

Stafford Family

James "Jimmy" M. Stafford was born in 1849 in Wexford Ireland. Jimmy immigrated to Leadville in the 1870's to work in the booming silver mines. In Leadville, he met and married Deborah Helen Acey (born 1846 in Trenton New Jersey) in 1880. In the 1880's the couple moved to Dillon and then homesteaded the Stafford Ranch on the Blue River at Spring Creek Road. Jimmy built their home by hand carrying logs from Green Mountain. They had one son, Frank Elmer Stafford, born in 1886. Jimmy and Deborah also operated the stage stop, boarding house and saloon called the "Halfway House" between Kremmling and Dillon on Highway 9. It remained in operation until the stage lines ceased in the early 1900's and the buildings were dismantled in the 1940's.

Frank went on to marry Alice Smith in 1909 and they had six children, including their first, a son, James Elmer, who died at age 8 in the worldwide flu epidemic of 1918. Frank and Alice built the Stafford General Store, directly across from the "Halfway House". Frank was instrumental in installing the first telephone lines in the area and served as Grand County Commissioner from 1928 to 1936 and as County Commissioner from 1948 until his death from injuries in a car wreck in 1950. Alice was called the "Blue River Belle" and kept the general store until 1960. Alice lived in Kremmling until her death in 1969.

Fire Engine No 1 - Hideaway Park Fire Department

Topic: Volunteer Fire Departments

Fire Engine No 1 - Hideaway Park Fire Department

"What Hideaway Park needs is a fire engine! No way can we fight fires without more water; all we can do is watch some building burn!" The half dozen volunteer firefighters were seated around the table in Hildebrand's little grocery store on Highway 40. "I agree," said Ray. "We've talked long enough! Who's got the want ads?"

Claude pulled out the latest Denver Post want ads. "I don't see any fire engines. I looked up fire fighting equipment too. Nothing there. But here's a 1940 Chevy truck for $400.00. That's just eight years old; maybe it would do."

"We could mount a tank and a pump on the back," said Dwight. "Do we have enough money to pay for it?" Claude pulled out their account book. " We've $550.00. That would pay for the truck and we volunteers could use the rest to put up a shed. We can always have more Bingo nights.

"Dwight, you're the Fire Chief. Why don't you and Ray go down and look at it. We'll give you a blank check so you can bring it home if it looks good." The men agreed. At last they were getting started.

The following week Dwight and Ray drove to Denver to the car lot and took a look. The truck wasn't much, but the engine worked and the tires weren't too bad. Ray commented, "I know a fellow who has a galvanized tank. We can buy some 2" hose and a pump from American LaFrance.

"Okay," said Dwight. "Let's take it." He brought out the check Claude had sent along and signed it. The used truck salesman looked at it and looked at Dwight. "How old are you, Mr. Miller?"

"I'm 20 years old," he answered. "What's the problem? I'm Fire Chief."

"Hmph, you look more like sixteen! We're not supposed to take checks from anybody younger than 21. Let me go talk to the bookkeeper." It took a long time and Dwight and Ray were getting nervous. At last the salesman returned. They'd accept the check.

And so Hideaway Park got its very first fire truck. The men in town finally got the tank and pump put together and started in on a wooden building, along the main road off Highway 40 where Cooper Creek is now. Winter came early that year, and the fellows didn't have time to get the roof completed. The rafters and sheeting were up, but the 90# roofing material had to wait; so snow drifted in with every storm, and ice built up, to melt and leak later onto the truck. But the men knew they could finish up the following year. Periodically they got together to try out the pump and drive up and down through town, with their new siren wailing. Everything seemed to work.

A few years passed. When fires occurred, however, the buildings still usually burned to the ground. One winter in 1952, Dwight was wakened before midnight. "The Spot is burning. Let's go! Let's go!" Ray's voice broke with excitement. Dwight jumped from bed and threw on his clothes. He could see the flames down on the highway leaping above the trees.

Men were gathering at the firehouse. Dwight ran through the door and clambered up on the fire truck. He tried to start the engine. R-r-r-r --. Nothing happened. R-r-r-r. "The battery is dead," he cried.

Ray and Wally were struggling to get the overhead door open and the miserable thing was frozen shut! They took a hammer to the base, but the frost wasn't about to give way and let door move. Finally Dwight cried, "Let's slip a cable under the door and hook it to the truck. We can pull the truck out and on down to Vasquez, to fill the tank."

The cable was soon in place and Claude jumped into his truck and started pulling. With the fire truck in gear, it moved forward, hit the double garage door, and continued on. With a groan and a jerk, the engine and siren finally started. Dwight guided the rig onto the road with the door riding on top of it, blinding him. At last, the door fell to the ground.

At the creek, the fellows pulled the hose down to the water and chopped a hole in the ice. Another started to hook the hose onto the pump. "The hose has shrunk! It won't fit!"

"What? It did the last time we practiced!" The volunteers looked at each other and threw up their hands in disgust. The Spot to Stop was burning fiercely by this time, but Ray said, "Let me string my garden hose across the highway. I think it's long enough, and maybe it will do some good." This is what he did, but it was too late. That building was a goner.

The townspeople stood around until there was nothing left but ashes; then they went home to bed. The firemen met the next morning to decide what to do about the truck. They eventually chose just to leave it there all winter. It sure wasn't going to do anybody any good. The next winter, that fire truck had a new hose!

Some years later, Dwight and Jean Miller gave land for a volunteer fire building, which was made of metal and which had a heater. And over the years, better trucks were purchased and the men received some proper training. The early volunteers had a perfect record ? they never saved a building.

Some of the volunteers in 1947-48; there may be others.
Dwight Miller
Ray Hildebrand
Claude Brock
Bill Polk
Jim Quinn
Wally Tunstead
Easy Butler
Leroy Hauptman
Dick Mulligan, Jr.

The Blue

Topic: Regions

The Blue

Because gold had been found at the headwaters of the Blue River at Breckenridge, hopes were high among prospectors who worked the downstream tributaries in Grand County. However, this lower section of the Blue contained no mineral wealth.

The Denver and Rio Grand Railroad planned to run a route through the valley and began constructing grades, but the tracks were never laid because Moffatt's railroad crossed the county first.

An enterprising Canadian, 25 year old Willis Charles Call, had been employed as a cook for the grading company in 1881. When the railroad abandoned the project, Call became a registrar of voters, and in 1886, the county assessor. By 1890, he had a choice ranch near Kremmling. His Austrian wife, Mary Rohrocher, was a very popular hostess. It is believed that they owned the first automobile in the county.

The conflicts between the white settles and Ute Indians came to a climax in 1878 when the Ute leader Tabernash was killed by a posse and the very next day, Abraham Elliott a homesteader on the Blue, was killed in retaliation. The remains of his ranch can be seen on Highway 9 at mile marker 135.

Across the river was the ranch of Henry Yust, who settled there in 1885. Another early ranching family was that of Thomas Pharo, An Englishman from Franham in Surry, near London. Settling there in 1880, he developed a major cattle and horse ranch.

The Blue River area was connected with a route west in 1913, when the co-called Trough Road was constructed, beside the Gore Canyon to State Bridge.

Ellen E. Crabb, Parshall Postmaster

Topic: Biographies

Ellen E. Crabb, Parshall Postmaster

Ellen Elaine Engelhaupt was the first of nine children and was born in Chambers, Neb., on July 13, 1912, to Michael and Ollie Engelhaupt. She attended schools in Sterling and Crook, Colo., driving a pony trap to school when the distance was too far to walk. She graduated from Sterling High School at age 20, as one high school year was spent recovering at home from rheumatic fever. In 1919, she also missed her first grade year recovering from the Spanish Flu.

She met James Samuel Crabb, a resident of Crook and they eloped on Jan. 29, 1934. They farmed outside of Crook until 1941 when they joined partnership with Joe Spacek, growing winter wheat at the Company Ranch on the Williams Fork.

After building a house in Parshall, Ellen was commissioned in 1948 as Post Master. The Post Office was operated out of the Crabb's house. Being the Post Master, Ellen was in the position to be the contact person for needs and emergencies in the community. As she approached retirement, Ellen worked diligently to obtain another Post Office site in Parshall, which would guarantee continuous service to the town and surrounding community residents' emergencies in the community.

Ellen was known for her green thumb and her sewing arts. Throughout the summer months, her yard was in constant bloom and a source of pride for her and her family. She sewed clothes for her daughters, knitted or crocheted gifts for family and friends, and in her retirement years, designed and made quilts as a hobby. She won numerous ribbons for her craft at the Middle Park Fair.

She was member of the Williams Fork Demonstration Club, a past Worthy Matron of Eastern Star Starlight Chapter 129, and in retirement worked with Grand County Social Services on behalf of the senior citizens. She worked diligently for low-income senior housing including development of the Silver Spruce Senior Apartments in Kremmling.

Ellen and Jim had in common their love of music and dancing. Often at local dances others would step aside to watch Ellen and Jim. They would dance at the Trocadero Ballroom in the old Denver Elitch Gardens where other dancers would also create a circle around them to watch their foxtrot. Ellen and her husband of 58 years, Jim had three daughters: Frances, Leota and Margaret.

Grand County History Stories

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