know what the words mean?”
Soberly he replied, “Rimor is ‘explore,’ or ‘search’… something like that. And, if I remember right, Votum means ‘vow’ or ‘prayer.’ The words had great meaning to your grandfather, but the exact meaning is a little foggy to me, right now.”
Slowly slipping the watch into my pocket, I forced a smile. “Well, I guess Grandfather will have my obedience after all. If this was once my father’s, it’s mine now. I’ll use it with pride on my adventure. You better send Mr. Red Reed of New Mexico a telegram to see if he’s ready to take on another tenderfoot.”
Roy rose from behind the desk and extended his hand, which I took. Clasping my hand in both of his, he held onto me with a firm grip for a good long time. Looking right into my eyes, he finally said, "You know that Senior did this on purpose. He knew how I would feel about the Mormons and how you would feel about me. We both have been manipulated from his grave."
We both laughed. But it was a laugh of resignation, not joy.
All that night, I tossed and turned and reflected on my decision. Where would be a good area for my “mission?” How about some distant desolate island? How about somewhere up in Alaska? How about the same desert area where my father had roamed? How about that place in Canada the guys on the boat had talked about?
The next morning I sent a wire off to Captain Skip asking him to send me the charts and any maps or other information he might have on Nascall Bay in British Columbia.
Uncle Roy and I spent the next three months planning and outfitting my trip. I was to leave for New Mexico for "on the job" survival training in the middle of October 1940. I enjoyed this time with Uncle Roy, and I grew to know all the new faces around Fairview; they all turned out to be good folks.
Thunder Mountain
It was midday when I stopped at a large grassy ridge atop the last foothill before Thunder Mountain. Using my binoculars, I had a good view of the mountain some three or four miles ahead. The top of the monolith, 6,500 feet high, was hidden in a shroud of dirty white clouds. The place where I’d cross would be almost 4,500 feet up. I’d been told by an old trapper that there was a rough game trail that snaked up the east side of the mountain and down the west side. Unpacking the mules and taking the saddle off Blaze, I wanted all of us to have a little rest before our ascent.
With the animals safely hobbled, they began to graze on the thick grass. Pulling a bite to eat out of my pack, I began planning my climb up the mountain. From my perch on the ridge, I munched on a sandwich while looking north-northwest with the glasses, making mental notes of the terrain. The weather was looking threatening, with large black clouds moving down from the north. These dense clouds hid the top 1,000 feet of the mountain. Below the clouds I could see an outcropping of gray granite rocks. Here, I believed, I’d find the pass that would lead me to the other side.
Another 2000 feet below this outcropping was the timberline. In this rough and rugged region, there really was no distinct timberline, as some wind-blown trees had grown up to the top of the large mountains. But there was a place, about two or three thousand feet up, where the dense forest slowly blended with the much thinner trees that grew out of the granite face. Most of this high surface was blue-gray glacier-type rocks with patches of green. Through the binoculars, I could see areas were there might be a rocky trail leading up and over the pass. It looked like the last thousand feet above the dense timberline would be quite steep and that I’d have to walk and lead my animals up the trail. The path to the summit looked to be a narrow passage, some 1,500 feet below the top of the mountain. I took a bearing with my sighting compass and made a mental note of the general direction we’d have to take through the forest to emerge at the base of the rocks that would lead us up to the pass. As I packed the animals, it started to rain, light at first, then heavily within a few minutes. Pulling my poncho from the saddlebag, we began our wet ascent from the ridge.
The trail in the forest got steeper and steeper as we rode up the base of the mountain. I could hear the mules and even Blaze breathing heavily as we moved through the trees and underbrush. The temperature must have dropped 20 degrees since we’d left the ridge. It was still raining hard, but with the dense forest canopy we didn't seem to get as wet. A familiar pattern emerged—I’d lose the trail, then find it and lose it again. We settled into this kind of travel pattern for most of the afternoon. Late in the afternoon, we emerged at the thin timberline. From my recollection on the ridge, we were just below where the pass should be. As I looked up the last thousand feet, I couldn’t actually see the pass, but knew pretty much where it should be. The trail up looked a lot steeper standing at its base than it did from the foothill. The route would wind up through outcroppings of rocks with some trees and brush growing out of the crevasses in the granite. Moving my little pack train to the foot of the trail, I started up slowly. This time Gus didn't take the point and instead wanted to follow Harriet, the last mule. Without the canopy of the trees to protect us from the rain, the way up was wet, muddy and slippery.
It was a cold, miserable trail. Still riding Blaze, I got no more than up the first section of the trail where it switched back to another direction. Just then, Harriet suddenly stopped, almost pulling me off, and over the back of Blaze. She started making that horrible noise, "he haw... he haw." Gus began to bark at her and she kicked her hind legs at him. Letting go of the lead rope, I dismounted and moved Blaze and Harry up to a larger and safer spot. On the short trip back to Harriet, I was cold, wet and angry, calling her every name I could think of. As I approached her, I grabbed her rope and reins and gave them a hard jerk. She wouldn’t stop her frantic and annoying braying and she continued to kick to the rear. With a misstep, I was afraid she would slide off the trail, dragging the gear and me down with her. The route was too narrow and steep for her to look back and I think this frightened her. Back in New Mexico, Red and the cowboys taught me that the first thing to do when working with mules was to get their attention. Taking off my leather gloves, with my open left hand, I hit her hard along side the nose... once, then twice. Finally, she stopped her fussing and looked me straight in the eye, rainwater running down her face, her breath showing in the cool air. My slap seemed to calm her, as if letting her know I was in charge made her feel better.
Grabbing her lead rope, I slowly walked her up the path to the switchback area. By now I knew she’d be trouble all the way up the mountain, so I took two of the trail bags off and placed them on some rocks. Lightening her load would mean making two trips up the trail, but I thought it was the best option. Then I motioned for Gus to take the point, as I thought maybe he being behind her had added to the problem. Gus at first hesitated, and then moved forward up the steep trail. Mounting Blaze, I soon had my party moving again up the narrow, rocky track. My horse proved to be strong and sure-footed as I rode him at the lead of the mules.
About an hour later we arrived at the pass. The trail here had widened with large rocky cliffs above us on one side and a steep ravine on the other side. Scattered about were some fallen trees lying across the rocks. Looking around, I searched for protection from the north wind, which was now howling though the pass.
Soon I found an outcropping of large rocks with a dead tree lying up against the granite. Hobbling both Harry and Harriet, I positioned my saddle rope, stringing it from a small growing tree to the dead tree so I could also tie them up. Next, I unpacked and unsaddled the mules, laying the trail bags behind some small rocks. Then, I placed their packsaddles on top of the supplies for weight from the wind. Turning from the stack of provisions I told Gus, with both voice and hand signals, to stay with the mules. He wanted to come back down the trail with me but soon understood what I was trying to say and remained behind. Blaze and I moved down the trail again for another load. With rainwater pouring down the granite path,
