Elk Ridge and the Glade Pit

The Glade Pit.

Five years ago on this day, my wonderful daughter, Brittany, passed away from this world. Reminiscing on memories of her can sometimes be difficult. All too often the mind becomes dim and large gaps begin to take over the timeline. Often, memories of her are not specific, but come in the form of a place or event—and knowing she was there brings me joy. One such time and place was our family campout on Elk Ridge.
 
We went the summer before she died. It would be our only trip to Elk Ridge as an entire family. I was anxious to show the kids a piece of my past, not only of myself, but also of my ancestors.
 
I decided to take the road that goes over The Causeway and comes out through the Bears Ears. It is a journey with forests of ponderosa pine, mule deer and deep canyons.
 

Shortly after passing The Causeway, the road winds down a hill toward an open meadow with tall grass. This was our first break on “the tour.” I stopped the Trailblazer and twisted around from my seat to face the kids. “This place,” I said, “is called Chippean. This is where we used to have Fathers and Sons.” Being blessed with four daughters and only one son, Jordan was the only one who knew what I was talking about. I further explained: “It's a campout the church does, and all the fathers and their sons go camping together. I came here with my dad. We would play horseshoes, cook dutch-oven potatoes, and sing songs around the fire.”
 
I don't recall any of the kids being very impressed. But then again, Fathers and Sons was my experience, not theirs. Their experience was happening now. We found a grassy flat where we pulled over and ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch.
 
Further down there is a fork in the road with a path leading northward toward Maverick Point. If one looks on the left side through the branches of pinyon he will observe that the land slopes steeply into a deep valley.
 
This deep valley is called Mormon Pasture and holds a curious place of family history. My great-great grandfather, Walter Joshua Stevens, ran cattle here and also had a cabin and cheese press. He was neighbors with Brigham Young Jr., who had married his sister, Abigail. Brigham Young was using this remote, boxed-up valley to hide from the law. It was the late 1880's and the government was after many leaders of the Mormon Church for practicing polygamy.
 
I pointed out to the kids a cabin and corral, but from our vantage on a high perch, little was distinguishable. Mormon Pasture is one of the few places of private property on Elk Ridge. Thus, I've never been able to view the structures close up.
 
Just fifteen minutes later, we came near the base of Round Mountain where we sat up camp. We kept it simple, and if I recall correctly, we couldn't even build a fire because of fire restrictions. Although there was barely another soul on North Elk at the time, we unloaded a few of our accessories to mark our spot. We also let the kids get out and run around.
 

Just a few miles north of our campsite is a deep green-water lake called the Glade Pit. During the uranium boom of the 70's, it was an open pit with an underground mine going from the bottom of it. Some of the Shumways, as well as others, mined it for several years. Back then, of course, it wasn't filled with water, but was a wet mine, making it very dangerous. The texture in some places was like cottage cheese. Often they used a sump pump to remove water.
 
Back in the day there was a cabin where the miners would stay. At one time there were still relics such as wood and cable scattered around the site. The cabin is no longer here.
 
Dan Shumway tells of the first winter that he and his dad, Devar, spent at the Glade Pit. They got snowed in and had to be flown out by helicopter on Valentines Day. The following winter it snowed even more: 22 feet, 8 inches. It was so high that it completely covered the cabin. They had burrowed a tunnel from the cabin to the outhouse!
 
Eventually the mining was discontinued and the Glade Pit filled with water. We probably spent an hour there as a family, just wandering around the lake and skipping rocks over the water. Yellow and purple wildflowers grew along the bank, and I remember Brittany gathering a handful.
 

Back at camp, we ate a very unconventional dinner. I opened six cans of Progresso soup and poured them into a ten-inch dutch oven, which we warmed over a small propane stove and ate with tortillas.
 
And who spends an evening on Elk Ridge without taking a drive to look for deer? There seemed to be more trophy deer on the mountain when I was younger. It wasn't uncommon to see over 40 bucks in an evening, many of them with wide antlers.
 

With the family now back in the vehicle we drove the dirt roads, all the way North Long Point just before it drops into Sweet Alice. We stopped once to look into Dark Canyon, and then again to drink water from a spring. On this evening we only spotted eight bucks, but several of them good-sized. Being July, they were still in the velvet.
 
It was dark by the time we arrived back at camp. We sat up chairs around the fire pit and ate cookies. (It sure would have been better if we could have built a fire in it!) It was then that I told stories to the kids. I had planned this moment for quite a while, having recalled fond memories from my youth when someone had shared true-life stories of the great outdoors.
 
Before I was able to utter a word, however, our ears pricked to the yell of a wild banshee screaming and yelping while wandering through the pitch-black forest which surrounded us. The cry was loud and spooky, shrilling through the night air and soon joined with a choir of other coyotes, all howling in their high-pitched tone, audibly moving from one hilltop to the next.
 
Once the pack of coyotes finished their nightly yelps, I began sharing with the kids. I told a couple skinwalker stories, as well as one from my youth when I drove over these same roads in a dangerously muddy rainstorm.
 
Then I recounted a story told by Dan Shumway that took place at the Glade Pit during that snowy second winter. It was a bitterly cold January evening and they had already finished supper. The dishes were done and some of the crew passed the time playing checkers. That's when Dan thought he heard a noise from out in front of the cabin. He opened the front door and peered out. A light snow fluttered through the air like feathers, but he didn't see anything unusual. He returned inside.
 
He sat down, but the noise outside still bothered him. He peered again out the door, but this time looked over by the porch. There, maybe ten feet away down the road, he saw a lump in the snow that wasn't there earlier. Then he saw it move! He ran outside and discovered it was a man who had been crawling toward their cabin, but had now dropped unconscious.
 
The men quickly moved to help the mysterious guy, dragging him inside the cabin. He moaned in pain and incoherent speech. His lips were blue and boots frozen stiff. Dan used a knife to cut the shoelaces and pull off the boots. His socks had ice in them. Worried that perhaps he had a wife and kids with him, some of the crew ran down the road, but found nothing.
 
For two or three days the man convalesced in the cabin of the miners. They learned that he was out of Wyoming and was working for an oil company. His vehicle got stuck in Lower Cottonwood and he decided to follow some fresh tire tracks through the snow. He hiked all day long and into the night before he saw the glow of the cabin from about a mile away. As I told this story to my kids, I made sure to point out that he walked right past where we were camped. A few hundred yards away from camp he collapsed, and from there he began to crawl. He was very lucky to have survived.
 
After the stories, it was time to go to bed. Jenelle slept in the Trailblazer, while the three youngest girls in a tent. Jordan and Brittany slept with me on the tarp, beneath that wild canopy of the Milky Way and the lush, creamy band of galaxies that thrive within it. I watched Cassiopeia and the Big Dipper and trillions of stars that I knew no name of which to call them. But the obvious reality was that there were far more stars that I had seen in the sky in a long time. There was no moon that night, yet the sky seemed almost bright enough as if there were. There was no city glow, only the powerful shower of dazzling lights in the sky.
 
Just then, the coyotes again picked up their howling. It sounded as if a younger one lagged behind them. The choir didn't last long. Soon they were up and over the hill and into another arena.
 

After a long night on hard ground, morning finally came. We ate cereal for breakfast, and as we were packing up a stray dog wandered into camp. This was odd, as we had seen virtually no one else on the mountain. The hound wore a radio collar, so I guessed that he was used to track bear or mountain lion. The dog appeared tired and hungry, and was quickly adopted as a family pet. Jenelle poured him a can a soup, which he devoured in about ten seconds. We also gave him water to drink, which he lapped right up. The kids spoiled him with affection, petting and playing with him.
 
Of all the kids, Brittany loved the dog the most. She wanted to take him home. She was already a dirty mess from camping out and now she had a friendly animal jumping all over her and licking her face. It is interesting that of all our experiences on that campout, it was the experience with the dog that stood out most to the kids.
 
We let the hound run freely back to the road where he eventually met with his owner and other dogs of his own breed. It turns out that he was a bear-hunting dog.
 

Brittany and the hound.

 

On our way back to Blanding, we drove south, driving through The Notch and past Preston Nielson's corrals at the turnoff to Woodenshoe. At South Long Point we stopped and took a break, eating cantaloupe, Pringles, and juice. By now it was warming up and the kids were anxious to get back to Grandma's house. As for me, I was sad to leave Elk Ridge. It has always had a special place in my heart, one that I could never get enough of when I was a kid.
 
I loaded the family back up and we continued on the dusty road. We drove through the Bears Ears and down the steep switchbacks that lead to Highway 95.  Little did we know that our journey with Brittany was coming to an end. ♠