Indians

My Granby, Little Old Log Church

Topic: Stories and Poems of Past Memories

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

Leisure Time

Topic: Leisure Time

Leisure Time

Of all the leisure time activities available to the pioneers, dancing was the favorite. Dances were held in grand hotels that remained from the mining boom, such as the Fairview House and The Garrison House in Grand Lake. Quadrilles, a type of square dance, were popular at the time. A fiddler would provide the music and serve as the caller. These parties would start in the evening and last all night.

The formidable temperatures and great traveling distances were incentive for getting the most out of every gathering. Winter Sports have also always been a popular pastime. Skiing was introduced to the region during the winter of 1883. Snowshoeing and sleigh rides were also enjoyed. 1882 officially brought the arts to the Grand Lake area when the Dramatic Society was organized. A production of the well-known comedy "Our Boys" was the premiere performance.

The search for Spruce Lodge

Topic: Places

The search for Spruce Lodge

You gotta love a mystery! My curiosity rose, my anticipation of being the one with the real story was more than my appetite could stand. I looked at pictures, figured angles, mused at what other people said, reviewed topographic maps and finally said to myself “it just can’t be.” The terrain doesn’t look like that. It isn’t two miles from the last switchback on Hwy 40. I don’t care what the writing on the back of the pictures say.

I want to know once and for all, where is the real location of Spruce Lodge? How can it be located so everyone will agree. I’ve got it, find an expert wilderness person with my same curiosity. As fate would have it, entered Debora Carr, author of Hiking Grand County Colorado, complete with pictures, maps, GPS coordinates and trail narratives. Her coauthor Lou Ladrigan also caught the bug. “We can find it.”

Exploration began early in the spring but the snow was just a little too deep to find any artifacts. Failed attempt, but the appetite was there. Wait till the snow melts in the trees. Again, as fate would have it, entered Carol Hunter. Carol has been instrumental in the efforts to resore the Berthoud Pass wagon road. Carol has lots of maps and pictures of the development of the wagon road and just happened to have an original U.S. Bureau of Public Roads 1920 survey map for the construction of Hwy 40 from Empire to Fraser. I loaded it into the computer, expanded the image and found lots of strange numbers. Almost like mile markers. Carol said they were numbers used by the work parties. They seemed evenly spaced and the map had a distance legend. It even had a marked location for Spruce Lodge. I couldn’t wait to add this map to Deborah and Lou’s reference material.

Armed with new references, Debora and Lou hiked both sides of Hwy 40 from the switchback to the entrance to Mary Jane. Looking for artifacts, existence of remnants of the old wagon road, foundations and terrain that matched the photos in the GCHA collection. A couple places looked promising, but not quite. Finally, a white station post number 390 was found lying on the ground on the west side of today’s Hwy 40. Then another white station post was found to the south, number 380. That was a match! Just what we needed. That confirmed the surveyor L.J. Young’s map. To the south of 390 a flat part of ground revealed what looked like part of a foundation and surrounding the location were remnants of discarded cans and possible buildings. A two holer! Now check the terrain with the pictures. Well maybe. Don’t forget that Hwy 40 didn’t exist. Step back and look from the east side of the existing Hwy. A great match with the slope and tree line. This was it! Just .9 miles North of the last switchback.

Mining in Grand County

Topic: Mining

Mining in Grand County

Ghost towns and broken dreams are legacies left by the early miners and prospectors of Grand County.

Ever since 1879 when the first mines were staked out and claimed on Bowen Mountain near Grand Lake, “gold and silver fever” grew like an epidemic. Men blinded by greed and prospects of a better tomorrow scrambled to the Kawuneeche Valley with picks and shovels to unearth their fortunes.

Women worked just as feverishly along side their men and encampments gave way to mining towns almost overnight. Land offices, eateries, and boarding houses sprouted like wild flowers. Claim jumping became a common practice, resulting in fights and even murders. Most of these injustices would go unpunished, for no one wanted to risk losing their chance of riches.

In Grand County the mother load was a false prophecy, as only small quantities of low grade gold, silver, and lead ore were found. In a few short years, Gaskill, Teller City, and Lulu City, three of the more noted settlements, suffered the same fate as the other boom towns. By 1885 the mining boom had ended in Grand County and ranching had taken it’s place as a sustaining industry.

Monarch & KaRose

Topic: Towns

Monarch & KaRose

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?"

Timothy & Clover at Hurd Creek Ranch

Topic: Agriculture

Timothy & Clover at Hurd Creek Ranch

Before the invention of seeding machines, a farmer or rancher would walk across his field in a straight line carrying a bucket or sack of seed with one hand. With his other hand he would fling fistfuls of fertile grain in a wide arc in front of his path. On reaching the end of the field, he would refill his bag, move over a few yards and repeat the process on the way back. After hours of walking and the casting of numerous sacks of seed, one handful at a time, the field would be planted.

I guess I was about 13 or maybe 14 when my father decided to plant timothy and clover on the east half of the meadow on the mesa. The area to be planted was probably forty acres or more that the ranch had leased to a Hindu man to grow lettuce and other truck crops. For several years we had gotten free lettuce for our table and our milk cows had loved the turnips from his harvest that were either too big or too small to be sold. I guess the profits from his work weren’t very good and the risk of growing lettuce in the rainy valley was too high. The Hindu had abandoned his lease and we would now put the water and the land to our own good use. Since we had no seeding equipment, we would broadcast the seed by hand. It would take hundreds of pounds of it to do the forty acres.

I was eager to help. Dad looked skeptical but finally agreed to let me try. After a bit of instruction he sent me off across the field. “Remember,” he had said. “You have to spread it even and don’t miss any spots.” I soon developed some regrets about volunteering. Not only did we have to plant the field once, but we had to plant it a second time as well. It seems that a planting of timothy and clover grows only a few inches high the first year and doesn’t produce a harvest. In order to avoid losing an entire season, it was customary to plant a second crop on top of it. In our case, Dad had chosen oats for the second planting. This choice would produce lots of feed right away even though the growing season in the Fraser Valley was too short to yield any grain. We planted the hay crop on one day and the oats the next.

I was exhausted by the time we had finished. In fact, if memory serves me right, Dad did the last five or ten acres by himself. When fall came, we had oats four feet high. They were cut, stacked like hay and fed out the following winter. The year after, there was beautiful timothy and clover that has continued to produce a fine crop for more than 60 years. When I visit friends on Ranch Creek every August, I drive by our field both coming and going.

Each time I see it, I remember my work and experience a sense of joy and accomplishment. All the things I produced over a professional career of nearly 40 years are now obsolete but the timothy and clover seeds planted so long ago are still growing. They will continue to do so until the Hurd Creek Ranch sells its water right and the field dries up. In our modern world, a 40-acre field of timothy and clover isn’t much. But how often, today, does a teen-ager have the opportunity to do work that will serve for a lifetime?

The above material is copyrighted by the author, Robert K. Peterson. Reproduction is any form is limited to the personal use of the view and/or to educational purposes. Neither the sale of nor any other commercial use of the text or illustrations is authorized.

Sudden Death in Old Arrow

Topic: True Crime

Sudden Death in Old Arrow

A shooting in the Old West I know was not much like the shootings on television today. There was no glorification of the bad man. Killings were usually like the fatal shooting of Indian Tom on that 6th of September, 1906, in old Arrowhead (or Arrow). Nobody called anybody out. Nobody told anybody to draw or asked him if he was wearing a gun. It wasn’t a fight. It was a killing.

1906 Arrow had six saloons, a grocery store, one small hotel and a livery stable. But two thousand people picked up their mail there. The woods were full of tie-hacks: the three sawmills hired may lumberjacks and teamsters, most of them Swedes, who seemed to make the best lumbermen. I had arrived in Arrow the 18th of April that year to work as a teamster for my brother Virgil, who had been operating a sawmill there for about a year. I was just sixteen.

My brother Dick, the tallest Lininger, had been Virgil’s foreman. Virgil had also bought the only hotel in Arrow. My mother, two sisters and my little brother Gilbert and I came from our farm in Osawatomie, Kansas, so that my mother could run the hotel. My brother Wesley came at that time too: he planned to buy a lot and build a café. Whole families often followed the first member who had come to these early Colorado towns. I soon discovered that driving logging horses needed a lot more technique than driving a small farm team, but Virgil was patient, and I soon received a raise to $2.75 a day as top teamster.

The town was a wide open as it could get. My first introduction to the violence was the day my brother Dick fired three drunken lumberjacks. They drew their pay and went to Graham’s saloon to get drunker. As dick passed the saloon later, one of the men grabbed a quart whiskey bottle, and ran out and struck Dick behind the ear, knocking him cold. The three then proceeded to kick him around. Dick’s roommate Charley came to my brother’s rescue. When Dick came to, he started for the hotel. Charley guessed what he was after and beat him to the six-shooter. “I’ll make sure you can taken them one at a time” Charley promised him. I came along just as my brother knocked the pick from the pick handle. Something was up! In less time than it takes to tell it, Dick had three drunks out cold.

Mother patched Dick up. I think this was her introduction, too. A man couldn’t stay boss long if stayed whipped. Every other Sunday was a holiday for me although I always saw to it that I put in enough overtime to bring my monthly paycheck to $75. That September Sunday I was dressed in my holiday garb – tan peg-top dress corduroys, light blue wool shirt, Western hat, and high-laces boots as befitting a teamster who drove four or six horses hauling logs from timber country to the saw mill. When I drove six horses, I rode one of the wheel-team horses and held the lines over four. If I drove four horses, I rode the wagon and sat on a sack of hay.

About noon, I stopped in front of the MacDonald saloon to talk to Ed MacDonald, one of the few saloon men my mother didn’t disapprove of. After all, Ed had come to Colorado as a TB and couldn’t do heavy work; filling glasses over a bar was about the only light work in those old mountain towns. Later Ed owned the famous MacDonald Ranch on the South Fork of the Grand Rover – now Colorado River- and managed boats on Monarch Lake just above his ranch. He always served great dinners and good food. While Ed and I were talking, Indian Tom rode up. He was a flashy cowboy of the old school, a very good looking man with predominantly Indian features although he was only half Cherokee. When riding, Tom always wore leather chaps, spurs, and a big Stetson. As wagon foreman for Orman and Crook, contractors for building the Moffat Road, he was a very important figure, for he had charge of all their wagons and teamsters. The greeting between Ed and Tom was cordial.

Everyone liked Indian Tom. When Tom learned I was a teamster for my brother Virgil, Tom showed a much keener interest and invited me in to MacDonald’s for a drink. Ed rescued me. “Oh the kids doesn’t drink; but he might like a cigar”. As they ordered drinks, I puffed away in my best imitation of a Kentucky colonel; however I soon excused myself, saying that I had to target my 30-30 rifle for the upcoming deer season. I puffed until I was out of sight. The corn silk I had scorched behind the barn paid off. I didn’t disgrace myself, nor had I broken my pledge to my mother not to gamble, use profanity, drink, or perform any act inconsistent with the conduct of a gentleman. I took my rifle northwest of Arrow to Fawn Creek.

It was a beautiful fall day. The aspen were just beginning to turn. Fawn Creek Gulch had been burned over many years before by the Indians who hoped in this way to discourage settlers, and the aspen were all young, straight and shimmering in the way that has never ceased to delight me. The fire thirty years before had made the gulch an excellent place for deer hunting because the new growth gave the deer some inviting protection, but the terrain was open enough for a hunter to locate his game. I figured I’d have to shoot from at least 200 yards, so I planned to target for that distance. I tacked a piece of cardboard I’d cut from my brother’s Stetson hat box (he never took off his Stetson off anyway) to a tree and stepped off the 200 yards. That 6-inch target looked pretty small but after each three shots, I’d examine the target. Finally satisfied, I took a long walk looking for deer sign, tracks, or droppings. I found good sign but no droppings. About feeding time for the horses, I went back to the barn in town to feed the four, Cap, the big bay, Bird, the glossy black (those were my two wheel horses- t e ones next to the wheel); Kate, the little lead horse; and Bud, her mate.

Virgil had bought Kate, a grey mare weighing about 1400 pounds, at a very reasonable price from the Adams Express Company because she had run away at every opportunity and had destroyed several wagons. He couldn’t run away now pulling Cap, Bird and a load of lumber with her, but her high spirits made her an excellent leader. The heavier team, always used as the wheel team, weighed about 1700 pounds each. I was very proud of this unusually fine team. Virgil had trained Cap and Bird so that after they were harnessed in the barn, they could be turned loose to go to the watering trough, drink long and thirstily, then walk out to the wagon, back into position by the tongue, and stand ready to have the breast straps snapped in place and the tongue attached. When tourists trains stopped and hundreds of passengers stood around the eating places looking the town over, I’d drive slowly by, and then stop to rest the team a minute, to give the dudes a chance to see a good, four-horse team. Then with a single “Yup!” I’d pull all the lines tight, and they’d start as one horse while the tourists explained and pointed.

That Sunday after I put a gallon of oats in their food box and shook some hay into their manger, I left the barn and started up the steps alongside the depot. It was still light; the sky hadn’t even begun to color. Time to head home for supper. I’d have to be up, hitched and pulled by seven the next morning. We’d probably have roast beef or roast chicken with noodles, since it was Sunday. Mother would be cooking on the big wood-burning stove at the hotel, and my sisters would be taking the heaping platters to the tables where everyone would pass them around. Probably there would be hot biscuits.

Suddenly a shot cracked just above me and across the street. I knew instantly it had come from the Wolf Saloon ahead. It wasn’t common to hear shots in those days. You hear more in a 20-minute Western on TV than you heard in a couple of years unless a few boys rode into town on a Saturday night to shoot up the air. I broke into a run and could see a man lying on the board walk in front of the saloon. As I got to him, one of the ladies I wasn’t permitted to mention came out and fell to her knees beside him. Raising the man’s head, she tried to pour whiskey down his throat. With a queer, paralyzed feeling, I realized it was Indian Tom. I reached for his wrist. His hand was warm as life, but there was no pulse. Several men ran our. “Ragland got him!” one of them shouted.

We carried Tom’s body into MacDonald’s and laid him on a roulette table that was in the back room for repair. Somebody went to wire for the sheriff at Hot Sulphur Springs. Word soon reached Orman and Crook’s, and the Indian’s many friends began to jam into Arrow. Indian Tom and Ragland had evidently had words during the afternoon and had quarrels once more before at a rodeo. The women from the saloon said that when Indian Tom left after the quarrel, Ragland had stationed himself, gun in hand, inside the saloon door. Everyone agreed that Ragland knew he wouldn’t have had a chance in a fair fight with Tom. The moment they heard Tom’s spurs outside , Ragland pushed the door slightly open and shot point blank through the aperture along the hinge. The he ran out the back door. We searched the town inside and out for Ragland. The sheriff joined is in the search late that night, but we found no trace of him. Just after midnight a wire came for the sheriff. Ragland had turned himself in at Hot Sulphur. We learned later he had run to a ranch down below, borrowed a horse and ridden for his life. A coroner’s jury was called.

My brother Virgil, named foreman, took a firm stand. The only verdict he intended to take out of that room was murder, and, after only a few hours, that was their verdict. After three days, Ragland was released on $3,000 bond posted by his father, but you may be sure he didn’t show himself around Arrow. His attorney, John A. DeWeese, got a change of venue from Grand County to Jefferson County at Golden, claiming an article in the Middle Park Times of September 7, 1906, reporting the verdict of the coroner’s jury, made it impossible for Ragland to get a fair trial in Hot Sulphur. The article said in part: Four witnesses for the prosecution, and seven for the Defendant were examined, making eleven in all. The testimony of the witnesses on both sides failed to show that the shooting was justifiable. According to the testimony, the fatal shot was fired when Reynolds (Tom) had his revolver in his scabbard and when he did not even see Ragland who was standing opposite the cut-off. (As told to Donna Geyer by A.W. Lininger)

Fraser Valley

Topic: Regions

Fraser Valley

The principal population centers in the Fraser River Valley are Winter Park, Fraser and Tabernash. When the early stage coaches came over Berthoud pass into the Fraser Valley, the most popular stop was at the Cozens Ranch, which now houses a historical museum in Winter Park. The valley is now bisected by U.S. Highway 40, which was designated the "Victory Highway" in 1931. The new route of the highway leads through the main streets in both Fraser and Tabernash and the backdoors of some business became front doors because of the new highway alignment.

Tabernash was the name given to a railroad siding, named for the Ute leader who was killed during a confrontation with local ranchers. The town became a key station on the railroad line, and included a roundhouse, and a supply of helper engines for the steep climb over Rollins Pass. When the Moffatt Tunnel was opened in 1928, the railroad no longer needed service there and the town lost its' main economic support.

George Easton founded the town site of Fraser in 1905. The rest of the country became familiar with Fraser when the winter temperatures were often the lowest recorded in the U.S. and Fraser was know by the nickname "Icebox of the Nation". Lumbering was one of the prime industries in the region until World War II. During the war, the military built a Prisoner of War camp at Fraser to help lumber for the mills in the area.

The current area of Winter Park has had many names over the years. First it was called simply "Old Town" or "Vasquez", named after the fur trader Louis Vasquez. "Woodspur" or "Woodstock" referred to Billy Wood's lumber mill in the area, which furnished ties for the railroad while it was being built over Rollins Pass. During the construction of the Moffatt Tunnel, the name "West Portal" came into usage. Rail workers also called the community "Little Chicago" as it was as it was a favorite gambling, saloon, and brothel site. As tourists began to arrive it was known as "Idlewild" and also "Hideaway Park". Finally, the name "Winter Park" was settled upon to correspond with the adjacent ski area of the same name.

The area population declined from 1232 people in the 1920's to only 373 people by 1930. The Great Depression ended the construction boom and the price of beef became too low for ranches to turn a profit. However, since that time, the area has thrived, mostly based on a tourism economy. The valley's main source of income is now recreation and second home construction.

Gaskill and the Wolverine and Ruby Mines

Topic: Mining

Gaskill and the Wolverine and Ruby Mines

The Wolverine Mine was discovered in 1875 by James Bourn and Alexander Campbell. Bourn was the brother-in-law of James Crawford, the founder of Steamboat Springs. James Bourn was the twin brother of Crawford's wife, Maggie. A Grand County recording error forever changed the name of Bourn in the area to "Bowen". The mine was located in the Rabbit Ears Range on Bowen Mountain, up Bowen Gulch, approximately 10 miles northwest of Grand Lake. This discovery sparked additional exploration in the area that lead to a number of new mines. Within a week of the original discovery, interested parties formed the Campbell Mining District which included Bowen Mountain, Bowen and Baker gulches. Some of the Middle Park residents who participated in the mining exploration were John Baker, Charles Royer, Charles Hook, John Stokes and the Redman brothers, William and Mann. The Redman's eventually discovered the Sedalia mine. Bourn and Campbell in less than a year lost the Wolverine mine by not fulfilling a grubstake agreement with the Georgetown grocers, Spruance and Hutchinson.

John Stokes leased the Wolverine Mine from the grocers until Edward Phillip Weber, an agent representing a group of Illinois investors, purchased the Wolverine Mine in the Summer of 1879. Weber continued purchasing other Campbell Mining District claims which created a great deal of local excitement. Weber hired Stokes to assist him and also hired Lewis Dewitt Clinton Gaskill to act as the first foreman for the Wolverine mine. Gaskill had mine operation experience, having successfully operated the Saco Mine, on Leavenworth Mountain, above Georgetown for several years. A mining camp was built below the Wolverine Mine that contained a large bunk house building and a more substantial mine office building.

Gaskill, a Civil War veteran of the 28^th Regiment of the New York Volunteer Infantry, had come to Colorado in 1868 as a representative of a group of Auburn, New York bankers to invest in mining properties. He eventually successfully operated the Saco mine in 1873 and 1874. He invested in the Georgetown, Empire and Middle Park Wagon Road in 1874, which was a toll road that finally made the Berthoud Pass road passable for wagon traffic. Gaskill also acted as the foreman during the construction of the road. The principal investor in the road was William Cushman of the First National Bank of Georgetown. The bank had a financial collapse in 1877. At that time, Gaskill was the secretary of the road company and lived with his family in the company house just below the summit of Berthoud Pass on the west side. William Hamill, a wealthy Georgetown businessman, bought the wagon road in a foreclosure auction in 1881 for $7,000. Gaskill continued to live with his family in the Berthoud Pass summit house until 1885, when he moved his family into the Fraser Valley and homesteaded 160 acres along Elk Creek.

The settlement of Gaskill began when in August of 1880, Al J. Warner built a log cabin store in a meadow below Bowen Gulch on the trail/road that lead to both Bowen Gulch and Baker Gulch. The settlement was also strategically well placed midway on the trail/road between Grand Lake and Lulu City and the Lead Mountain Mining District. Another store was built in September by John K. Mowery. By that October, Mowery was appointed as the first postmaster of Gaskill. The following spring E. Snell, opened a large general merchandise store that prompted the original store keeper, Al Warner, to relocate to Grand Lake as Al's Place. The town was named to honor L.D.C. Gaskill, the greatly respected foreman of the Wolverine Mine, the road builder/operator and the Civil War veteran. By 1882, the town covered 60 acres. E.P. Weber of the Grand Lake Mining and Smelting Company got involved in the town real estate development by laying out a city grid and offering lots for sale. Weber's plat renamed the town Auburn after L. D. C. Gaskill's home town of Auburn, New York, but the Gaskill name stuck. By the close of 1882, there were over 100 residents living in Gaskill. The most substantial building was the Rogerson House, a well appointed two story, squared log hostelry, Horatio Bailey Rogerson, proprietor. Rogerson, would be elected County Commissioner in November of 1882, but would not serve because of a sudden discovery of ineligibility. Instead, lame duck Colorado Governor Pitkin, appointed E. P. Weber to the post. Weber was killed in the infamous July 4, 1883 shoot-out at Grand Lake.

The Bowen Gulch trail lead to many of the most productive and worked mines in the Campbell Mining District which included the Wolverine, now owned by the Grand Lake Mining and Smelting Company, E. P. Weber superintendent and the Ruby and Cross mines owned by Kentucky and Colorado Mining and Smelting Company, John Barbee superintendent. Barbee, who lived in Grand Lake, would go on to serve as superintendent of schools, Justice of the Peace and briefly the editor of the Grand Lake Prospector. Barbee's partner in many endeavors was Antelope Jack Warren. Warren was as rough as Barbee was refined. He acted as a foreman and, by one account, a bodyguard for Barbee. The Bowen Gulch trail continued up the mountain to Bowen Pass and then descended into North Park and the Jack and Park mining districts which were organized by the end of 1880, to the settlement of Teller City. Passable roads that could handle wagon traffic were needed and often planned but rarely built. The high cost of building and maintaining wagon capable roads in Middle Park was a difficult proposition for local governments and private entrepreneurs.

The Grand County Commissioners in July of 1877 had declared the trail from Grand Lake to the mining gulches of the Rabbit Ears Range to be a county road. However there was little county money to pay for improvements to make the trail a road. Private investors were reluctant to invest in wagon roads when there was the persistent rumor that railroads were coming spawned by the numerous railroad surveys that were performed in the area. Albert Selak, a Georgetown brewer, in August of 1878, organized a toll road that would branch off of the Georgetown, Empire, and Middle Park Wagon Road at the Ostrander Ranch on Red Dirt Hill, and proceed to Grand Lake and continue on to the Rabbit Ears Range mines and continue on into North Park and on to the Wyoming territory line. John Barbee invested in the Middle Park Toll Bridge Company, a toll bridge company that intended to build a bridge across the Grand River above the confluence of Willow Creek and the Grand River. However, this project languished, and was taken over by the county with an expenditure of $150.

If ore wagons would need to haul ore to the nearest reduction mill which was over 60 miles in Georgetown, the toll road might have been a financial success. However, the lower grade ore from these Rabbit Ears Range mines would not yield a sufficient profit to cover the transportation and processing costs in a market where the market value of silver annually declined. So the ore piles grew. What was needed was a nearby reduction mill or cheaper transportation, like a railroad or a higher price for silver. Weber had repeatedly promised that a reduction mill was coming, but nothing was ever built. By April of 1883 with tons of ore piled up and waiting for transport to be processed, Weber temporarily closed the Wolverine Mine and laid off his miners. He admitted in June of 1883 that the ore from the Wolverine was “rather refractory” and that it would not justify shipment without local reduction. Some hoped the closing was a strategic move by Weber to trigger a sell off of area mining properties so that he could acquire additional mines before he built the reduction mill, but it was not to be. Weber would soon be shot dead by his political rival, John Gillis Mills.

The favorable newspaper stories of Rabbit Ears Range mining would continue, but for the informed, it had become clear that without a major investment in improved transportation including a railroad or a major investment in a reduction mill in the area, the mining concerns were doomed to fail. Mining claims had to be worked in order to be kept. A minimum of $100 of labor or $500 in improvements had to be expended each year to maintain the claim or else the claim would be deemed abandoned. Many claim holders leased their claims to miners to work for a percentage of the return. Without the ability to sell and process the ore for a profit, there was no return. The speculative mining investment money began to dry up and the miners and their supporting merchants began to leave. By the end of 1886, the Middle Park mining boom had ended. To further add to the decline, a border dispute that arose between Larimer County and Grand County over the taxation and mineral wealth of North Park was finally decided in 1886 by the Colorado Supreme Court in favor of Larimer County. North Park was part of Larimer County, not part of Grand County. A lawsuit would follow so that Larimer County could recover the wrongly collected taxes of $20,000 from Grand County. Grand County's total tax income at the time was less than $3,500 a year.

Redwood Fisher

Topic: Biographies

Redwood Fisher

Article contributed by Corinne Lively

There were two Redwood Fishers, grandfather and grandson, who made significant contributions to the development of the Grand Lake area.

One of the earliest pioneers was the senior Redwood “Woody” Fisher, born in Urbana, IL in 1839. He learned surveying skills in New Jersey, and received a degree in Civil Engineering in New York City, where he met his future wife, Louise Perrenoud. He arrived in Denver in June 1860 and borrowed money to purchase his first surveying instruments. His bride to be, her two sisters and widowed father arrived in Denver in July 1862 in a mule drawn ambulance. They had traveled for six weeks from Omaha to deliver the vehicle which was used as an ambulance and hearse. The first marriage license in Denver was issued to Woody and Louise, and their wedding took place May 6, 1865.

The day after his marriage to Louise, Woody joined General Hughes and E.L. Berthoud as Chief Surveyor in building the wagon road from Denver to Provo, Utah over Berthoud Pass. The expedition followed a route laid out by Jim Bridger.

Woody held the offices of Denver city and county surveyor and county commissioner. He was foreman of Hook and Ladder Co. #1, and helped fight many Denver fires.

In May 1870, Woody was killed attempting to stop a runaway team of horses at the corner of California and 14^th Streets. While trying to save the lives of several children, he fell and the wagon wheels ran over him. Woody left his wife with three children, Louise, Charles and Ella. He is buried in Riverside Cemetery.

Redwood must have spoken in glowing terms about his time in Grand County since his son Charles, only two when his father was killed, spent most of his life near Grand Lake, built a summer home on the North Inlet below the Rapids Lodge, purchased 160 acres on the east side of the Colorado River from the Fred Selak estate. He died here in August 1945. Charles and his wife Sara had a son in May 1907, whom they named Redwood.

The junior Redwood “Red” Fisher also spent most of his life in the Grand Lake area. He was an early Park ranger and helped stock many of the high lakes on horseback. After his marriage to Helen Schultz in 1928 he started ranching below the present Shadow Mountain dam on land purchased from Mrs. Cairns. He later acquired the 7V/ on Stillwater Creek. He was President of the Colorado Dude Ranch Association in 1947 and traveled to conventions in Chicago and elsewhere promoting Colorado’s guest ranches with displays of fancy roping and riding. His own dude ranch, Fisherancho, was on the land below Shadow Mountain Dam and served guests until the 1950s. The barn still stands, and is now part of the Arapahoe Recreation Area.

Sources:
Lela McQueary, Widening Trails, World Press, 1962
Middle Park Times, August 12, 1945 and May 6, 1993
Colorado Families: A Territorial Heritage, CO Geneological Society, 1981
Brand Book, Middle Park Stock Growers Assn.
BLM General Land Office Records
Conversations with local decendant Toots Cherrington

Grand County History Stories

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My Granby, Little Old Log Church

Leisure Time

The search for Spruce Lodge

Mining in Grand County

Monarch & KaRose

Timothy & Clover at Hurd Creek Ranch

Sudden Death in Old Arrow

Fraser Valley

Gaskill and the Wolverine and Ruby Mines

Redwood Fisher

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