At the time, Lost Canyon was sort of familiar

 “Sometimes being lost is the best way to find yourself.” 

 ― LJ Vanier, Ether: Into the Nemesis 

 “Not all those who wander are lost.”

– J.R.R. Tolkien. 

 Finding what is Lost in the canyon

By Rob Carrigan, robcarrigan1@gmail.com

Familiar, or Lost, on the edge of Dolores. Some of that was difficult language to resolve for a young buck, like me. How can it be lost, when it is so familiar? Like a trip to the Dump, or on past one of the cemeteries.

Chunks of emptiness carry names like Cajon Canyon, McElmo, Hovenweep, the lower Dolores watershed, the Paradox Valley, Outlaw Trail, and (appropriately enough) Disappointment. The vast stretches of canyons and mesas run up the edges of Colorado, New Mexico, Arizonia  and Utah. It is remote, water-challenged, and easy to get lost and stay lost there. Even the rivers sometimes run the wrong way.  

But over Fourth Street Bridge. And down the canyon near the creek and/or canal down passed the Lobato's place, and the Pole Yard and into the Canyon on the old rail grade as it narrowed?

If you were coming from Durango on the old Mancos cutoff on the Ridge, you would drop down into town near the Cemetery and Cline's place, anyway.

Old Beagle Suzie got lost in the Gamble Oak brush near the Dump turnoff one day, but for the most part it was hard to become lost in Lost Canyon near Dolores. She often had to be carried out of Oak brambles when she went on scent. But, just follow the rail bed (either way for three or four miles and you would likely run into a decent gravel or paved road out of there. Maybe by the sawmill and out on to small farm country on The Ridge, or back to the main branch of  the Dolores River, and then across the old steel bridge on into town.

The

Rio Grande Southern (RGS) Railroad (1889–1951) was a  162-mile narrow-guage line that ran from Durango to Ridgway traveling in the rugged San Juan Mountains. A key, scenic segment of the route followed Lost Creek through Lost Canyon before descending into the town of Mancos on one end, and into the Dolores River, at Dolores, Colorado, on the other end.

For the first few years of its life, the RGS would have fallen under the definition of a "Bonanza Railroad" which meant it was an instant success, quickly generating more than enough money for the investors and covering costs spent to build the railroad, but their wealth would not last long due to the Silver Panic of 1893, which would permanently cripple the railroad's finances. 

The town had marks of the railroad all over it, when I was a kid. But Dolores in the 1970s had been separated from the rails just long enough to have an identity crisis, but not long enough to forget where it came from.

 

It was as Mark Twain said. “A railroad is like a lie, you have to keep building it to make it stand.”

 

 

Rio Grande Southern narrow gauge locomotive, engine number 20, in Dolores. 

 

Galloping Goose #5 was out in the town park over by the marshal’s office on the jail side of the town hall. If you were a skinny runt, you could squeeze into the cab through the loosely chained bus-like doors and pretend.

“Driving that train… Casey Jones you better watch your speed.”

 

The main highway in and out was called “Railroad Avenue.” Various buildings around town were labeled with left-over monikers such as the ‘track warehouse’ or the Rio Grande Southern Hotel. 

 

Corrugated tin, painted Rio Grande yellow, covered the outside of dozens of other buildings, and platforms, built to service freight from boxcars, still appeared in front of about a third of the businesses in town.

The boarded-up section house still stood between the Sixth and Seventh Street out on the highway.

 

Legions of cub scouts were still able to gather rail spikes, track hardware and telegraph insulators from the rotting ties and weathered poles in Lost Canyon and pack them over across the rusting Fourth Street Bridge back into Dolores. They would end up in a coffee can in someone’s garage or as tent stakes, or sold for scrap at Curt’s Trading Post.

 

I remember one cub scout trip where a Little League baseball team, the "Orioles" dominated the troop, and me, being in the minority, as a Yankee, had to eat my sack lunch with other members of minority in troop, Twins and Tigers.

 

The town of Dolores was born with the railroad in mind.

“In 1889 plans were made by Otto Mears for a railroad running through and around the western flanks of the San Juan Mountains from Ridgway in the north to Durango in the south,” according to the Mountain Studies Institute. “The railroad would tap the riches accumulating in the booming mountain mining towns of Telluride and Rico and the smaller mining camps between the two towns. The 162-mile railroad would, as well, link two segments of the Denver Rio Grande Railroad coming into Durango from the east and into Ouray from the north. The new railroad would be known as the Rio Grande Southern.”

 

But as we all know, it is important to be near where the action is.

The fledgling settlement of Big Bend, which had been located nearly two miles downriver from present-day Dolores since 1878, basically pulled up stakes and moved to where the rails from Durango entered the Dolores River Valley.

 

“In 1890 two Big Bend businessmen laid out the town site of Dolores at the mouth of Lost Canyon. The rest of the citizen’s of Big Bend soon followed. By the time the tracks reached Dolores on Thanksgiving Day, 1891, the community of Big Bend was no more,” according to Mountain Studies Institute. 

 

Born as a product of the rails, for 60 years Dolores lived in the shadow of the line, finally waving goodbye from the platform in 1951 when Rio Grande Southern closed and most of the track was pulled up and sold for scrap.

The RGS closed down and was dismantled in 1952–1953, but it is well known as one of the most rugged and iconic narrow-gauge mountain railroads in the history of Colorado. 

Out on the Ridge, when I was in high school, you were able to come up the connector to Haycamp Mesa Road in the bottom of the canyon and come up to a switch back around an old sawmill that we used to ride intertubes down in the winter in the snow, right near what then Walker's Sawmill. 

Tom Casper writes "When you mention Lost Canyon I hope you are referring to the part just east of Dolores; I drove to the 2nd Smalley (lumber mill site) twice and hiked to 1st Smalley once in the 80's. The other end of the canyon past Glencoe is a road open for car travel from Millwood. Part of it is on Indian land so is not always open to drive. [the spur is named for R.O. Smalley, who operated a sawmill south of Lost Canyon with a 1-car spur (called Smalley) at MP 109.0 in 1917. As was often the case with these small mills, it was moved north to MP 108.5 (near Lost Canyon), existing there from 1917 to (approx) 1920 with a 6-car spur.] 

Tom also refers to Road S, which turns into Forest Service Rd. 556 (and eventually becomes Haycamp Mesa Rd) When you turn on this road, it drops down grade to the bottom of the canyon and cuts the old roadbed. "Just past the grade and as the road starts back up the hill, there was a field road that could be driven with a high clearance vehicle that goes to the creek and would get you on the grade. I haven't been back there since the late 80's so don't know if it is fenced now or not. The trail to the grade was getting thin in a few spots from creek erosion so maybe by now all you can do is walk."

"Past Smalley, the grade crossed the creek and that is as far as one could drive. There are trestle bents and a few stringers left in the canyon when I hiked it plus lots of ties. In a couple of spots, there was stacked stone retaining walls to keep the grade from washing out."

 

 

 

 

End of watch in Larimer County

 

View of a beet sugar plant in Fort Collins (Larimer County), Colorado,, in about 1907. 

 Welcome to "the Jungle."

By Rob Carrigan, robcarrigan1@gmail.com 

There is a quote engraved on the National Law Enforcement Memorial, “It is not how these officers died that made them heroes – it is how they lived.”

"To the families, I know it’s hard. May the souls of those you love and with whom you served rest in peace and rise in glory," says President Joe Biden, May, 15, 2022.

 

"While Fort Collins has experienced its share of tumultuous situations over the years, it has fortunately not faced a large number of police officer deaths. There were, however, two men killed in the line of duty," says Fort Collins Police.

"Joseph N. Allen died on July 3, 1907, at age 45. Allen often patrolled some of the city's tougher areas such as one located just over the bridge on Linden Street. It was nicknamed "the jungles" because of the houses of prostitution, bars, and dance halls operating just outside of the city limits and drawing citizens into the unseemly side of life," according to the city.

"Allen left the Larimer House on Jefferson Street about 7 p.m., telling the manager, "You may not see me again until after the 4th. I'm going to have a good time." At 9 p.m., he was seen by a local physician making a house call in the jungles. The doctor reported Allen having what appeared to be a friendly conversation with Scotty Hall and at 10:30 p.m., Roy Kelly heard groans from the alley near Hall's barns. He found Officer Allen unconscious on the ground in a pool of blood. Allen was taken to the hospital but later died, never regaining consciousness." 

Investigators found a bloody brick near where Officer Allen's body was discovered. His gun and club had been stolen. The coroner's jury ruled Allen died from a crushed skull. Three men were arrested, but released based on a lack of evidence. Three other men, were detained as witnesses, only to be released later. In 1914, one of those witnesses was arrested, but released due to a lack of sufficient evidence. Officer Joseph Allen's death remains Fort Collins' first cold case file. 

In Loveland, the town marshall was also killed in July, a little more than six years later.  Date of Death: 07/13/1915, 

Loveland Town Marshall, Frank Peak, was fatally shot at age 35. His body was found draped over the railing on the east side of an irrigation bridge over the English Canal on Lincoln Avenue, south of 2nd Street in Loveland. He was killed in a shootout with suspects who were never found. The case was re-opened in 1991 but is now inactive because all known witnesses are deceased, " 

 

More than One-hundred years ago, also in July, Loveland night marshal Frank Peak became the first and only Loveland officer ever killed in the line of duty.

Loveland officials will hold a commemoration event in honor of Peak and his family’s sacrifice May 2, on the 100th annivesary of his death, kicking off Historic Preservation Month and Fallen Officer Month.

On July 13, 1915, at 2:30 a.m. Peak was shot and killed on duty crossing a footbridge over English Ditch near Second Street after walking a Loveland woman home.

Despite a few initial suspects, including two men who quit their jobs at the sugar factory and fled town the day after his death, his homicide remains unsolved.

Nikki Garshelis, business services coordinator for the city of Loveland, said she is looking to make last May’s “Tour de Pants,” which was was an exhibition surrounding a pair of trousers worn by 19th century trapper Mariano Medina, an annual event.

“The idea is that we want to communicate the history of the time that we choose and also what law enforcement was like back then,” Garshelis said. “It wasn’t necessarily organized like it is today, a lot of marshals had other jobs.”

This year’s event, which is free to the public, will include a guided bike tour with Loveland historian Jeff Feneis, a presentation by some of Peak’s descendents including Kevin Bates from Seattle, Wash., a display of Peak artifacts at the Loveland Museum/Gallery, food and entertainment events including a frozen pants contest.

“Last year I froze five pairs of blue jeans and whoever got them over their pants and zipped up first won,” Garshelis said.

While the event is intended to commemorate Peak in a lighthearted, educational way, Loveland Police Chief Luke Hecker said the Peak homicide speaks to our community even 100 years after the fact.

“I think the idea would be to focus on Frank Peak and his family’s sacrifice,” Hecker said. “And to honor the blessing to this community that he is still the only one. That says a lot about the community.”

Corwin Schlingman, Peak’s granddaughter, said that his wife had a hard time after his death, illustrating just how different things are for officers today.

“After the incident, she couldn’t find a job and she had to go to Estes Park to work,” Schlingman said. “Now, when (Officer) Garrett (Osilka) was shot, his hospital bills were paid and everything was covered. There was no money for Nell, which was too bad, but that’s the way it works.”

 "The second Fort Collins officer killed was Charles Brockman, 36. Witnesses said a suspect stabbed Albert Kelly in the back on December 17, 1911. Brockman heard someone yell "murder" and responded by chasing the suspect. Brockman was wearing a long coat that held his badge, but as he gave pursuit, he discarded his coat throwing it in the door of the marshal's office. The suspect hid behind a building at Pine and Jefferson and, as Brockman approached, shot him in the head and neck. As Brockman fell, he shot the suspect, grazing his hip. The crowd took Brockman to the Armstrong Hotel on Pine Street where he died immediately. John Kaiser, a Union Pacific night watchman, witnessed the action and fired his pistol hitting the fleeing suspect in the right arm. The suspect kept running and disappeared," 

 The story says a posse formed by Sheriff Clarence Carlton and Marshal Reid Strahan searched surrounding towns and information was telegraphed across the state. The next day, the bus driver of an open motorcar headed to LaSalle reported a man on his bus was bleeding profusely. Sheriff's deputies arrested the suspect as he got off the bus. Sheriff Carlton picked him up and transported him to Fort Collins on Dec. 18.

The suspect went to trial April 1, 1912, was found guilty, and sentenced to death. It was Larimer County's first death sentence. His attorney appealed saying his client was insane, and on November 24, 1912, a stay of execution was granted. In 1915, the court ordered a new trial based on two things: evidence of insanity and the claim that the suspect didn't know Brockman was a police officer. The death penalty was dropped and changed to life in prison, which was later changed to life in a mental institution in Pueblo.

"Allen's murder was well-known, but Brockman was forgotten until 1988, when Brockman's great-grandson contacted Tom McLellan (then a lieutenant) with Fort Collins Police Services. After researching the events, McLellan and others in the department made efforts to ensure recognition for the two fallen officers. Joseph Allen and Charles Brockman were honored on May 7, 1999, during a memorial ceremony at the Colorado State Patrol Training Facility at Camp George West in Golden, Colorado. Their names were inscribed on the memorial wall that stands outside the facility and were also placed on the national monument in Washington, D.C. Coloradan," says  Jan. 11, 2014 newspaper article.

"Officer Joseph Allen, a relatively young man who was said to have connections in “the jungle,” that unincorporated area surrounding the sugar beet factory, was murdered in 1907 by an unknown assailant. The case is still listed as an unsolved murder by Fort Collins police."

“The jungle” was an area known to have problems with crime from time to time. Because it was not inside the city limits, liquor was available there in what were known as dives. Allen, who apparently had a wife and family in Kansas, had come to Fort Collins on a bicycle, according to historian Rose Brinks. He found a job in the police department and liked to tell people that he knew people in the jungle and could deal with problems there. Unfortunately, on the night of July 3, his luck ran out.

Allen was ambushed as he strolled along on his beat. There were numerous large cottonwood trees in the area at that time, and his attacker evidently concealed himself behind one or behind some bushes, jumping out to attack Allen from behind. There is evidence that Allen tried to defend himself, but the assault was so unexpected that he could not. He was hit in the head repeatedly, probably with a brick. Moaning and unconscious when found, he died at the hospital a few hours later.

One newspaper account indicates that Allen had once been a Pinkerton man, serving with the detective agency founded just before the Civil War. He later served in the Army in Cuba and the Philippines. He was only in his late 40s when he was killed.

"Shortly before the murder, a doctor making a house call nearby reported having seen Allen talking with one of the men who were later arrested; however, they appeared to be having a friendly conversation, with no evidence of anger between them. This sighting took place about an hour before the murder but was in the exact spot where the attack happened," says Fort Collins historian Barbara Fleming.

A jury was empaneled to investigate the incident and determined, after viewing the body, that Allen had died from several blows to the head.

Although the police appealed to the public to help solve this shocking crime, and two men were subsequently arrested, no charges were brought and no one came forward with information. The murder appeared to have been planned, for it was known that Allen did his rounds nightly in that area. Allen’s revolver, club and knife had been taken by the murderer.

"City officials, businessmen and citizens were aroused and angered by the murder, some vowing to get rid of the jungle, “a plague spot,” altogether. Others were deeply concerned about the city’s reputation as a law-abiding community. In time, the jungle changed, and other events diverted attention. Most people forgot after awhile — but the police have not," said Barbara Fleming, historian in articles about the murder.

Barbara Fleming was a native of Fort Collins and author of several books of local history. Fleming died in January of 2022. 

Fort Collins Police Services last lost an officer on Dec. 17, 1911, when night policeman Charles Brockman, 52, was shot and killed by a murder suspect while chasing him downtown. The suspect was later apprehended and convicted of murder, according to the Officer Down Memorial Page.

The agency’s one other loss was July 3, 1907, when officer Joseph Allen was assaulted by unknown assailants. He was found unconscious in the street and had been beaten on the back of the head with a blunt object, according to the website.

According to the Coloradoan, in a 2018 newspaper story,  Larimer County Sheriff’s Office has lost four officers in the line of duty, though none were to homicide: deputy Travis Wayne Sass died in a crash in 2004, Cpl. Ronald Rexford Beatty died of a heart attack in 1995, Sheriff Robert Watson died of a heart attack in 1979 and deputy James Wendell Mitchell died in a crash in 1968. 

The Loveland Police Department lost one officer in the line of duty, Marshall Frank Peak who was killed by gunfire July 13, 1915. He was shot and killed while on night patrol and his body was later found on a bridge with two gunshot wounds. His killers were never found.

Former Windsor resident and Colorado State Patrol Trooper Taylor Thyfault was killed May 23, 2015, when he was struck by a vehicle fleeing from other officers on Colorado Highway 66, near Weld County Road 1. The driver was convicted and sentenced to life plus 342 years in prison.

Sled dogs, first in Colorado, then on to Alaska

 

Susan Butcher leads her dog-sled team on Norton Sound close to the coastal village of Elim, a checkpoint near the end of the 1991 Iditarod. The trek of more than 1,000 miles ended in Nome.  

Photo by Jeff Schulz / Alaskastock.com

'Alaska, Where Men are Men and Women Win the Iditarod, (and again, and again, and again)'

By Rob Carrigan, robcarrigan1@gmail.com

Sled dog mushing and Susan Butcher came up in a recent conversation at work, and I had to "pipe in" with a memorable experience of seeing her kennel from the riverboat Discovery near to where the Chena River and Nenana River come together, near Fairbanks. I think all 150 dogs were barking to be included when folks at the kennel started hooking up a four-wheeler to pull that summer day.

The Chena is known for recreational floating near Fairbanks and Hot Springs, while the Nenana is famous for its dramatic canyon and role in the Nenana Ice Classic, both offering unique Alaskan experiences with distinct characterstics, from the Chena's gentler journey through forests to the Nenana's wilder rapids and cultural significance. 

 

Susan Butcher, the four-time Iditarod champion and kennel founder, helped inspire the popular phrase "Alaska, Where Men are Men and Women Win the Iditarod (and again, and again, and again," while she dominated the sport of mushing in the 1980's. My wife, born and raised in Fairbanks, I remembered, had a shirt that reflected that sentiment that her Alaskan dad had given her.

Susan Howlet Butcher was an American dog musher, noteworthy as the second woman to win the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race in 1986, the second four-time winner in 1990, and the first to win four out of five sequential years. She is commemorated in Alaska by the Susan Butcher Day. 

 

Susan Butcher introducing her newborn daughter Tekla to her legendary lead dog Granite. Image from Trail Breaker Kennel, owned by Tekla,  debute a new sled dog and multisport race in March, 2024 in honor of Susan Butcher.

 In a March 26, 2015 edition of "Cancer Today" by Jocelyn Selim, Butcher's experience in breaking the 'glass ceiling' of mushing is related.

"In 1985, Susan Butcher was a favorite to win the Iditarod, the grueling 1,000-mile-plus dog-sled race across Alaska’s empty interior that some consider the toughest athletic event on the planet. Over the previous five years, Butcher had enjoyed a meteoric rise from total unknown to top contender, including second-place finishes in the Iditarod in 1982 and 1984.

"Although a few women had completed the race in prior years, none besides Butcher had come even close to finishing among the top contenders. Many thought the race was too brutal to be won by a woman—a typical Iditarod at that time took close to two weeks to finish, during which time a musher might sleep for a total of 24 hours, all the while braving 100-mile-per-hour winds, blizzards with whiteout conditions and potentially deadly thin ice. "

"On the surface, Butcher seemed an unlikely person to shatter the Iditarod’s glass ceiling. Just 5 feet 6 inches and of average build, she was hardly physically imposing. Moreover, she wasn’t a native Alaskan. Born Dec. 26, 1954, she grew up in Cambridge, Massachusetts," wrote Jocelyn Selim.

"Butcher knew at an early age that she wanted to escape to the wild. She moved to Denver when she was 17 and learned the essentials of mushing from a woman who raced dogs there. She also took veterinary technician classes at Colorado State University in Fort Collins, but had no interest in sitting in a classroom, instead preferring the outdoors. "

"Her family was skeptical when she decided to relocate to the remote Alaskan wilderness to raise and race dogs professionally. But Butcher was nothing if not determined. When, in 1975, the 20-year-old moved to the Wrangell-St. Elias Range, 50 miles away from the closest road, she felt she was exactly where she wanted to be," says Selim.

“She loved the outdoors. She loved the dogs. She loved the adventure and the solitude,” says David Monson, a successful musher who met Butcher in 1980, a year after she became the first person to lead a dog sled to the top of Mount McKinley. The couple married in 1985 and lived in a one-room cabin in Eureka, Alaska, where they ran a kennel and trained hundreds of dogs. “She was very competitive and focused on her dogs—that’s what really made her different.”

 Susan Butcher (born December 26, 1954, Cambridge, Massachusetts, U.S.—died August 5, 2006, Seattle, Washington) was an American sled-dog racer and trainer who dominated her sport for more than a decade, winning the challenging Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race in Alaska four times.

Butcher began to train dogs at age 16. By 1972 she had moved to Colorado, where she attended Colorado State University in Fort Collins and raced a group of 50 Alaskan huskies owned by a local musher. Butcher moved to Alaska in 1975 to start her own kennel. A serious athlete from the outset, she broke onto the international mushing scene in 1979 after driving a team of huskies to the top of Mount McKinley (Denali).

Butcher first entered the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race in 1978. The roughly 1,100-mile (1,770-km) Iditarod is the longest and most physically challenging of all sled-dog races. Butcher twice finished in second place (1982, 1984). She began the 1985 race with a solid lead but was eliminated from the competition when a moose charged across her path, killing 2 of her dogs and wounding 13. That year Butcher lost to Libby Riddles her chance to become the first woman to win the Iditarod. The following year, however, Butcher came in first with a record-breaking time of 11 days 15 hours 6 minutes. She was victorious in both 1987 and 1988 to become the only musher in the history of the sport to win the Iditarod in three consecutive years. She won for a fourth time in 1990.

Butcher retired from competitive sledding in 1994 and opened a kennel in Eureka, Alaska, where she housed more than 150 huskies and trained dogs year-round. She was considered by many to be one of the strongest and most-disciplined female athletes of the 20th century for her determination to rise to the top of a physically grueling sport that is dominated by men. In 2006 Butcher died of leukemia.

Recognizing her Champion tendencies,  stories  appeared about challenges in mushing life. In "Cancer Today" by Jocelyn Selim offers the following:

"In 1985, Butcher’s dogs were looking especially good, and many thought this would finally be her turn to win. As expected, she started out in Anchorage in the lead, well ahead of more than 60 other competitors. Then, about 120 miles in, Butcher and her dogs came face to face with a starving, pregnant moose that blocked the trail. Butcher, traveling at night, had no chance to steer her team away. The moose kicked her lead dog against a tree. Terrified, Butcher ran to the front of her team, waving an ax to try to frighten the moose into running away.

"It didn’t work. For 20 minutes, the moose kept coming at Butcher’s team of 17 dogs. The attack only ended when the next contestant, who happened to be carrying a gun, reached Butcher and her team. He shot and killed the moose, but the damage to her dogs had been done. Butcher, who minutes before had been driving the best team of her life, now surveyed the carnage. Two of her dogs were dead and 13 were injured badly enough that it wasn’t clear whether they would ever race again. Butcher and her team were flown to her veterinarian in Anchorage, where she slept in the veterinary hospital several nights with her teammates, " writes Selim.

"Meanwhile, a young woman, Libby Riddles, had taken a massive gamble in the Iditarod by heading out into a fierce storm that the other contestants had decided to wait out. Riddles’ gamble paid off with a first-place finish, and Butcher knew she had lost her chance of being the first woman to win the Iditarod. “Libby winning especially at the time frame that she won, which was only two weeks after the moose [accident] and when many of the … dogs who had lived through it were still at the vet [was difficult],” she said. “It was [a bit like adding] insult to injury of sorts, but it’s the lesser of the problems that occurred that year,” Butcher later recalled in another interview.

 

 Butcher raised and trained dogs year-round at her home in Eureka, Alaska. Photo by Jeff Schultz / AlaskaStock.com