The Death of Alfred Whatcott (and what happened afterward)

The first European settlers arrived in the Panguitch Valley on March 16, 1864. They were hardy pioneers for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, most of them passing over difficult mountain terrain from Parowan or Beaver. Although higher in elevation, the valley seemed promising due to the relatively large water supply from the Sevier River. 

The new settlers hastily built “brush shanties and cellars” until more substantial accommodations could be built. A canal was dug to bring water to the fields. The townsite was surveyed and logs were hauled from the mountain. They named their new town “Fairview.” 

These early days were very grueling. Due to the difficulty of plowing and planting crops, coupled with the shorter growing season, the fall harvest was not as bountiful as they had hoped. And to make matters worse, the winter of 1864-65 was severe. Heavy snows blocked the passes before the local people could get their meager wheat harvest to the flour mills. They had to find other creative ways to grind their wheat. The men fished and caught whatever small game they could, but it wasn't enough to sustain the starving community. 

Old cabin in Panguitch Valley.  Mount Dutton in background.

It was during this time that a group of seven men made a journey over the mountain to Parowan to get provisions. The drifts were so deep that their light wagon and animals got bogged in the snow and couldn't move. Walking wouldn't do any good either because that, too, resulted in them sinking in the snow. 

A story that is now memorialized tells of the small group praying in a circle and then being inspired with the idea of laying quilts down and walking over the quilts. This they did, and to their amazement they did not sink in the snow. They continued all the way to Parowan where they successfully acquired supplies, which they brought back to the starving little town. 

Heavy snows resulted in heavy runoff the next spring. The heavy runoff in turn transformed the modest Sevier River into a swollen torrent that demanded caution and respect. The swollen river brought the first tragedy to the Panguitch community with the death of Alfred Whatcott. 

Cattle have always been a prominent scene in Panguitch Valley.

Alfred Whatcott was born in 1835 in Bethel Green on the east side of London. At an early age he became acquainted with grief and suffering. His father died when he was 7 or 8, then a few years later a sister died, and then a brother. By the age of 12 his mother died and Alfred was left an orphan. 

We don't know what Alfred did to survive during those difficult years after becoming an orphan, but we do know that at the age of 15 he became indentured as an apprentice on a merchant ship. He was bound for six years to Sed Nymph, a ship based in Stockton in northern England. 

Although the details of the story are lost in history, we know that in 1854 Alfred was baptized a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. This would be a decision that would change the course of his life. Also, likely in that same year, he met Isabella Paxton. They fell in love and were married three years later. 

In 1863 the young family decided to join the saints in Utah. They boarded a ship from England to New York City, rode the train to Nebraska, then walked the wagon trail to Salt Lake City. They first lived 230 miles south in Parowan. They weren't there long before they decided to move over the mountain and settle in Fairview in the Panguitch Valley. 

Sevier River.

That brings us to May 11, 1865. One account claims that Alfred Whatcott was attempting to cross the Sevier River with a herd of cattle. Another, more probable account, claims that he had already crossed the river safely to obtain a load of posts for the new settlement. Whichever the case, the river was swollen from spring runoff and as he attempted to cross the river again, most likely with a large load of posts, his wagon capsized and Alfred was thrown into the river, unable to make it ashore. 

No one else was there, so it is impossible to know the exact details of the incident. To me it makes more sense that he was hauling posts because as some can testify, fast-moving water combined with debris or logs can be a dangerous combination. Maybe he hit his head or got sucked under. The Sevier River, even in its most swollen condition, is not a gigantic body of water. Therefore, I think there had to be another factor that contributed to Alfred's drowning. 

As soon as news of Alfred Whatcott's accident reached the townspeople, several men answered the call and spent several days searching for the body to no avail. The news must have been devastating to Isabella. They were in a new and wild land and she was a mother of young children. She was pregnant with their fourth child. And now her husband was drowned and the body was nowhere to be found.

John Black.

Three weeks later a miraculous incident took place in the cabin of John Black, a brother-in-law to Alfred and Isabella. As he was working he looked up and saw Alfred standing in the doorway. 

“I thought you drowned?” John exclaimed with surprise. 

Alfred assured him that he was indeed dead, but had come to help them find his body. He explained that those searching for his body had passed by it several times, but couldn't find it because it was covered with posts. He revealed that the posts were hidden behind a clump of bushes around a bend of the river. He gave enough detail that John Black knew exactly where to go. Alfred then asked that some men be sent out on a raft to retrieve his body. After giving his message, Alfred Whatcott simply smiled and faded away. 

You can imagine the surprise of Isabella when her brother-in-law came with the news that her husband had just visited him. John wasted no time in gathering a group of men to locate the body. And sure enough, it was located exactly where Alfred described: beneath the posts that were hidden behind the bush. 

Having been three weeks, the body was quite decomposed. They chose to bury him on the shore of the river. Some time later his remains were transferred to the Panguitch Cemetery. It remains there this day and is the only Whatcott buried in the cemetery. Isabella gave birth to a baby son four months later. Not long after that they moved to Kanosh. 

Grave of Alfred Whatcott in Panguitch Cemetery.

This story has a couple different versions, but this account is given by Alfred's oldest son, Henry, who paid a visit to John Black before he died. Uncle John told the story the same as he always had, swearing it was true. Henry pressed him further asking if he was sure it wasn't a dream. “No,” he responded. “I wasn't dreaming. It was in the afternoon and I was as wide awake as I am now.” 

For me, personally, I love stories such as these. A deeper study of Mormon history reveals many stories of angels, clairvoyant dreams, faith, miraculous healings and visions. These stories build my testimony and give me hope that there is life after death, and attest to me that there is a greater purpose to life. ♠

 

Sevier River at dusk.  Sandy Peak in background.

 

San Pedro Market

One of the craziest, most chaotic markets I have ever seen is the San Pedro Market in the high elevations of Cusco, Peru. 

The market sprawled into all the streets surrounding the actual building of San Pedro. There was barely enough room to walk around. Vendors with fruits, potatoes, herbs, and everything else were overflowing onto the sidewalk while traffic on a single-lane road tried to push through. Horns honked. Exhaust blew. Pedestrians pushed through. A young boy urinated wherever he found room on the cobble-stoned street. 

I wished I could have taken pictures with my eyes, but I had to do the second-best thing⸺with my camera, trying to be as stealthy as possible. It was the people and their goods I wanted to capture, especially the Inca ladies in traditional dress, or with their babies wrapped on their backs. 

I looked at the food and filth and concluded that it was no wonder so many foreign tourists caught a bug while traveling to Peru. This food would be purchased and brought to the eating establishments where they would be prepared on a plate. 

Still, I was fascinated. 

Then we passed the meat section. Piles of heart, liver, hooves, jugular veins. It smelled the same as when I gut a deer. Blood and rotting stomach. It was here we saw chicken legs, skinned guinea pigs⸺and live bugs. 

At one point we decided to take a break on the steps of San Pedro Church, a 320-year-old house of worship watching over the market. Jenna and I plotted our next move when a foul and drunken man with dark hair and pudgy hands made his way toward us. He nearly fell over the guy next to us, then turned our direction and mumbled something in Spanish. I grabbed Jenna's arm, ready to protect her, but when he began to sway toward us, we quickly stood up and walked away. He spewed a few curse words, but we only smiled. As we gained distance we turned around and noticed he was getting lectured by a policeman. 

From one adventure to the next, we continued through the market, now passing through food being cooked. Ladies stood in front of large kettles with a fire lit below and steam rising above. Patrons sat on little plastic stools around the kettle and ate bowls of appetizing food. A common dish appeared to be rice with a drumstick and fried egg on top; or caldo de gallina, a brothy soup with noodles and chunk of chicken.

Some ladies grilled meat and others made juice. Ice cream was also popular. At the far end were booths of flowers. 

Bathrooms were of interest to me in Peru, and those at San Pedro Market were no exception. I paid the man at the booth 50 soles to enter, and he in return gave me a piece of toilet paper. The room I entered was large and had no door to separate it from the outside. Men and women alike entered inside. The room reeked of urine and feces. Although lines of enclosed stalls filled most of the room, there was also a line of urinals for the men, which was not covered at all. In my stall there was no seat on the toilet.⸺Completely squalid conditions for a food market! 

We ended our tour by walking through the artisan section. Here they have any souvenir a tourist might want: beenies, scarfs, coin purses, alpaca sweaters, Inca figurines and much more. There were no prices listed, so with everything we had to ask, then haggle. 

Eventually the market fizzled out and the normal chaos of Cusco streets filtered in. The market of San Pedro was definitely an experience we won't forget! ♠

 

 

Sun Gate of Inti Punku Cachiccata

We crossed the river on the old Inca Bridge and walked along a trail at the foot of a steep mountain slope. The trail, they say, is ancient and was used by the Inca to haul their quarried stone.

Just a few minutes into the hike we came across an old wall and structures. The rooms were made of gray rock and bushes grew within. The tops of the walls had collapsed. 

What a beautiful sight! To our right tumbled the Urubamba River, whose waters would eventually reach the Amazon. Humongous mountains towered all around. On the other side of the valley was the elusive Mount Veronica, whose snow-capped peak was now veiled behind a band of constant clouds. At times there were pockets when we could see a flank, or perhaps a quick glimpse of the summit. But in an instant it was veiled again. Mount Veronica towered at 19,334 feet. 

Urubamba River.

Village of Ollantaytambo.

In the beginning, the trail gained elevation slowly. Across the valley to our right we could see the town of Ollantaytambo and the massive ruins of the same name on the hillside. 

Our destination was the Sun Gate of Inti Punku Cachiccata, an Inca ruin near the crest of the mountain. We would be climbing over 4,000 feet to get there, and I prayed dearly that my body would allow me to do it. 

One of many old ruins on the trail to Inti Punku.

Trail to Inti Punku.

Village of Cachiquata in the Sacred Valley of Peru.

After the first resting point, which included a stone hut with shade, the trail took a sharp turn and began to climb even steeper. Here we could get see a shack where someone lived with a dog outside barking. It is mind-boggling to me that someone would live this far up. There were no roads anywhere near here! 

The foliage on these steep hillsides was not lush. From a distance they appeared bare, but walking through it was obvious that there was plenty of growth. Although we were above 10,000 feet, it reminded me much of what could be found in a desert: cactus, yucca-like plants the height of a human, and another plant similar to a manzanita tree. 

Ten minutes later we could hear the sound of flowing water. It was a rivulet shooting down the slope. It ran in a stone canal . . . one that had probably been in use for 800 years or longer. The Inca were masters of controlling water. 

Shaded rest-house along the trail.

The trail took a sharp turn and began to climb even steeper.

Shack located high on the mountain slope.

Here we could hear the sound of flowing water.

The Inca were masters at channeling water.

As we continued, the trail became steeper. We passed a team of Peruvian natives who were trotting down the hill with a group of pack horses. My guess is that they hauled them up for hikers. 

We passed the old quarry site where stones were hewn from the mountain and hauled down to the valley. The whole idea of the quarry being so far away blows my mind. Some of the rocks at Ollantaytambo are so big that they're considered megalithic. And how did they haul them down without pack animals like horses or oxen? 

We also saw a few thimble-shaped stone structures called chullpas. These were burial tombs used by a pre-Inca people. They are scattered around several places in Peru. Originally the corpses were buried in the fetal position along with some of their belongings, but nowadays the chullpas are empty. 

Chullpas.

Looking upward toward to old Inca quarry site.

Stone remains at the quarry site.

Around this point the slope of the trail really gave us a beating. I am no longer young, and health issues have taken a toll. We continued forward, albeit slowly. 

Much to our surprise we found cattle at this high elevation near 11,000 feet. The cows nibbled on grass and basked in the sun as if it were nothing. 

Beyond the cattle we came across another group of Inca houses. With the exception of the roof they were very well preserved. Each had a door and inside the room were several niches along the wall. 

We took a break here⸺on the front lawn of these old homes. And what a view! Mount Veronica rose even more majestically from this altitude, now clearing up from cloud cover. We sat on the fluffy green grass that felt as soft as any bed. We sipped Gatorade and ate a candy bar. 

From here we now had a good, albeit distant view of the sun gate. The stone edifice appeared as a tiny silhouette on the top of the mountain, with a piercing hole on its face.⸺We were getting closer! 

Much of the trail had stone steps built into it, probably ancient in origin.

High-elevation cow.

Old structure along the trail, perhaps homes for the quarry workers.

Jenna takes a break on the "front lawn."

Mount Veronica, elevation 19,334 feet.

Mount Veronica on right and sun gate on the left.

We spent the next half hour completing the final ascent. When we arrived, it was probably the grandest view I've ever seen. Not only did we have a front-row seat to view Mount Veronica, but we could also see the other side of the mountain, further into the Sacred Valley. Our panoramic view gave sight to several other snow-capped peaks, each with their own rugged destination. 

Inti Punku, literally translated from Quechua, means “sun door.” The stone building, which I believe is unfinished, has a set of stairs leading to an opening in a wall. Crossing the threshold through the door brings the visitor into an open-air room, with walls only a few feet high. Beyond this ancient temple stands Mount Veronica, which, from the right angle, can be framed through the door. 

The Sun Gate possibly worked as an astronomical observatory. It lines up perfectly with the constellation Pleiades and is closely associated with Winter Solstice and the Andean New Year. 

Sun Gate of Inti Punku Cachiccata.

Looking south from the sun gate.

It is interesting that Inti Punku served as an inter-dimensional bridge between the world of the living and dead. I have heard other Native American myths of there being a portal to the afterlife and I would love to find the origin of these beliefs. 

My altimeter measured our elevation at 12,820 feet. We were not, however, the tallest peak on our hillside. To our south stood a very rocky peak and I noticed a well-used trail leading to it up the backside. It would be at least a couple miles one-way if we were to go there, but we had neither the time nor energy for that. 

We spent an hour at the sun gate, taking pictures from every angle imaginable. We knew we had to relish every second. 

The Sun Gate of Inti Punku Cachiccata should not be confused with the sun gate at Machu Picchu.

Looking east into the Sacred Valley and Ollantaytambo. Other high peaks in the distance.

Sun Gate as seen from inside.

For our journey down, we chose to go a different route. Instead of the long drawn-out route to the Inca Bridge, we chose one that descended immediately and came out at the village of Cachiqata. 

This path was not as well maintained as the other. In some places it might have been considered a mule trail and there were times we had to make a decision between a right or left fork. 

As expected, there was a lot of zig-zagging. Down below the trail we could see a group of three horses playing around and running through the bushes. A small herd of cattle fed on a grassy slope. 

There weren't as many Inca ruins along this section, although we did find another chullpa. But this route was great for displaying Mount Veronica. By the time the clouds had cleared out, her beautiful white flanks radiated in splendor. 

Lone horse seen on the hike down.

Looking back up the steep slope.

Feeding cattle on the middle slopes.

The rugged slopes of Mount Veronica were very prominent on the hike down.

The view as we began to approach the village of Cachiquata.

At last we arrived on the outskirts of the village. I was a bit nervous here because I didn't know if the trail led through someone's backyard or across their property. But we traversed without incident. 

We walked through someone's farm. We saw no one, but passed pigs, ducks and different-looking cattle. Some of the modest dwellings were protected by stone walls. A couple of school boys strolled in front of us. 

Farm animals in Cachiquata.

Then Jenna noticed the cemetery. There was no sign and no gate, but a couple dozen obvious graves. Since I can't pass up a cemetery, we cautiously stepped inside the grounds and looked around. Most of the burials were marked with wooden crosses or an oval of rocks. Some had flowers growing inside the oval and others were decorated with figurines of Jesus or Mary. Wild grass grew all around and there was no attempt to have it manicured. I didn't know if we were allowed to be there, so we only stayed five minutes, then continued on our way. 

At this point it didn't take long until we were on the valley floor. This was the Sacred Valley, a long corridor that has been sacred to the Inca for hundreds of years. Once again we crossed the Urubamba River and took the only road available back to Ollantaytambo. By the time we arrived in the village the sun had set and darkness had begun to move in over the mountains. ♠

 

Cemetery on outskirts of Cachiquata.