John Wesley Powell was a Civil War veteran who had lost part of one arm as a result of combat.  He was a professor of natural history at Illinois Wesleyan Collage, who took field trips with his students to the Rockies.

He came to the Grand County region looking for a vantage point to conduct an exploration of the Colorado (the Grand) River. With six local men he made the first recorded ascent of Long's Peak, the 14,255 foot landmark of the Front Range, on August 23, 1868.  From that summit he could view much of the headwaters area of the river.

Descending back into Middle Park, he ventured to Gore Canyon where he decided the turbulent rapids were too dangerous for his boats.  He decided to take an exploratory  party of students to the Green River in Wyoming, a tributary of the Colorado.  Losing one boat in that expedition, the party made the first known trip through the Grand Canyon in 1869.

He later became leader of the first U.S. Geological Survey, and because of his study of Indian tribes, the first head of the U.S. Bureau of Ethnology.

"You have tuberculosis." Frightening words to be sure, especially in times when the life expectancy rate for such a disease was slim. Tuberculosis, or consumption as it was commonly called, is a disease that primarily affects the lungs. Something as simple as the common cold quickly develops until the patient is suffering from severe chest pain. Soon they are coughing up blood. For most diagnosed, the result was eventual death. As a last hope, many people fled westward, desperately seeking the arid climate that would dry up the fluid in their lungs. Little did they know that while the west would cure them, it would by no means make their lives easier.

Elenor Smith, a woman in her early thirties living in Wisconsin, was one of the many so diagnosed. The doctor who examined her did not have much hope for her survival. He ominously predicted she would live no more that a few years longer and she would be unable to bear any more children. With this devastating prognosis ringing in her ears, Elenor, along with her husband George and their five children, packed up and headed west. Their long journey brought them to Fraser, Colorado, where they ended up settling in 1910.

The Smiths soon became an important part of the community. They built a log cabin in what is now "Olde Town Fraser' and, like everyone else, allowed their cattle to roam freely. George, affectionately called "Whispering George" by those who knew him well, owned the only livery stable in town. He could regularly be found escorting "Doc Susie" to her patients, be they man or beast.

The climate seemed to have been the perfect cure for Elenor. She lived a hardy and wholesome life, and went on to have four more children. Being the hard worker she was, she would often cook for the men working in the nearby logging camps. When she wasn't cooking, she was washing laundry. She was known by many and loved by all.

However, things were rough all over and all too soon the Smith family learned how harsh life could be. In 1921, their second eldest son, Oliver, at the age of twenty, was killed while working at Virgil Linnegar's sawmill. Then in 1944, things again took a turn for the worst. Her youngest daughter's (Georgene) two children contracted polio, a contagious disease that causes muscle paralysis and stunted limb growth, while their father was away in World War II.

As the story goes, the eldest of the two children, Sherry, showed signs of polio first, so she was rushed to the hospital in Denver. Not thinking George, the youngest at the time, had also contracted it, his mother left him with his Grandma Elenor, so that she could be with her ailing daughter. However, one day Elenor found him hiding under the table crying. Knowing immediately the two-year-old wasn't just throwing a fit, she scooped him up in her arms and rushed to get help.

Polio had been going around for a few years now, leaving a swath of deaths in its wake. People were doing everything they could to prevent bringing the disease upon themselves and their families, which was why the woman working in the telephone office locked the door when she saw them coming. Not knowing what else to do, Elenor searched frantically for someone, anyone, to help her. She even began knocking on house doors. Finally one brave man offered to help. He took her and little George to Denver in his car. Luckily, both children survived, though they would carry the repercussions of the disease for the rest of their lives.

Having conquered tuberculosis, polio, and everyday hardships, Elenor Smith died in 1974 at the ripe age of 93.

Once upon a time on the land that lies beneath Lake Granby and Shadow Mountain Lake there were ranches, pastures and an almost forgotten town, Monarch.  It is a story that goes back 100 years to the Summer of 1905, and the arrival of train service in Middle Park and promoters who were "honest men, but too visionary and lacking in experience", according to Frank H. Wolcott, a brother of one of the founders.

The Monarch Consolidated Gold and Copper Mining and Smelting Company owned the King and Queen copper mines on Arapahoe Range above the South Fork of the Colorado River.  They felt their assays indicated ore worthy of a mill and arranged to haul in the heavy machinery and proceeded to build a town with cottages, a small hotel, stores, a bowling alley, theater and dance hall.  By 1907 Monarch had a school and post office.  However, records indicate only about $150 worth of copper per year was ever produced.    

Soon the promoters realized a sawmill was needed to provide both timber and cash to support the mine operation. A dam was built creating Monarch Lake at the junction of Arapahoe Creek and the South Fork of the Colorado, and a canal was built to float logs cut near Strawberry Lake to Monarch Lake.  A stern wheel steamer bunted rafts of logs into flumes and canals towards the sawmill downstream in Monarch.

In the spring of 1906, Monarch management obtained a charter to build the Rocky Mountain Railway, a standard gauge, for lumber and passengers, from the Moffat tracks in Granby to Grand Lake, with a spur over an unspecified pass to Walden, in North Park.  The track was laid following the river from Granby to the sawmill, by Japanese and eastern European laborers.  Ranchers along the route, excepting Fred and Frank Selak, quietly granted rights-of way. The only rolling stock owned by the railroad was a small, ancient locomotive and a caboose.  The night before Thanksgiving 1906 the first train rolled into Monarch, and the rails never extended any farther.  There was daily service, and local ranchers could flag a ride or have their packages dropped off.  There were no cattle guards, so the fireman would step off the locomotive, open a ranch gate, and close the gate and hop back on after the train passed through. 

During the winter of 1905-06 a box factory was started. It operated briefly before it was destroyed by fire in the fall of 1908.  The fire forced the mill and railroad into receivership.  Visitors, particularly former stockholders, helped themselves to equipment and entire buildings, but Monarch's core was preserved and developed by Harry L. Dierks of Kansas City into KaRose.  This summer resort was named in honor of Dierks' daughter Katharine Rose.  Other Monarch buildings went to neighboring dude ranches and the bowling alley went to Granby.  

To hold the railroad right-of-way, Ernest Behr restored the locomotive in 1912 to carry parties of fishermen along the river from one pool to another.  Ed McDonald, a dude rancher, ran a Cadillac touring car on flanged wheels on the rails to carry mail, supplies, and passengers to the valley ranches.  Just before World War I the engine and rails were sold for scrap. 

Frank H. Wolcott wrote, "In September 1954 my wife and I drove over the site to discover any signs of Monarch or the railroad...It gave us a queer feeling to realize that substantial things like railroads and buildings that we helped build have vanished.  Was it all a dream?"

The unrest and hard feelings between the Indians and settlers in Middle Park gave rise to an inevitable conflict the last week of August, 1878. About forty Utes, led by Piah and Washington, started to set up camp in William Cozens’ meadow, near Fraser, taking fence poles to make fires. Cozens drove them off, telling them to replace the poles and leave. The Utes moved down valley about five miles to a spring not far from Junction Ranch (named for the junction of the Rollins Pass and Berthoud Pass wagon roads).

There, Johnson Turner, who leased that land, became increasingly uneasy as the Indians were drinking heavily and expressing anger that Ouray given away their land in treaties with the white man. They wanted Turner to pay them for the hay he was cutting. They tore down his fences for firewood, turned their 100 horses into his meadow, and set up camp. They also laid out a race track on drier ground about a mile way.

Turner complained to the sheriff, Eugene Marker, who rounded up a posse of men, intending to remove the Indians or at least convince them to move on. Accompanying him, on September 1, were Frank Addison, a transient prospector, John Stokes, T.D. Livingston, and Frank Byers.  The posse found only women and children at the camp, since the Ute men were at the race course. Marker, the sheriff, ordered the encampment searched for firearms and when the Ute men returned, an angry confrontation ensued. 

Tabernash and Frank Addison exchanged threats, and Tabernash jumped from his horse and snatched one of the guns piled on the ground. Frank Addison immediately shot him. Tabernash tried to pull his rifle from its scabbard, but that it became entangled, and Addison then fired twice more. Tabernash slumped over the neck of his pony, which ran away through the willows. Apparently Addison recognized Tabernash as the Indian responsible for the killing several of his companions while trapping furs on Grizzly Fork in North Park six years earlier. 

After this bloodshed, the posse persuaded the rest of the Utes to leave, after they buried Tabernash’s body in a shallow grave. No one was ever sure where Tabernash was buried. There was a rumor that the slain Tabernash was buried in a draw not far from Junction Ranch, but when the Grand County Historical Association excavated the site, nothing was found.

A day later, September 3, on a Ranch near Kremmling, Abraham Elliott was shot while cutting wood, and his horses stolen.  In response, the posse moved north in the direction of the White River Reservation. 60 Utes met the posse, and explained that the culprits were Piah and Washington, neither of whom was a part of the White River band.  Ultimately, the Utes signed a council report, returned horses stolen from the Elliott ranch, while the  ranchers returned guns confiscated from the Utes at Junction Ranch.  The matter was considered legally settled, but outrage and fear continued among the settlers and the Utes of the area.

In 1902, E.A. Meredith, chief engineer for the Denver & Salt Lake Railroad, named the town that had grown up with the building of the railroad, after the slain Ute, Tabernash.