Exploring the Old Family Mines at Cottonwood

From the other side of the wash we spot a portal to an old mine shaft. It is sealed shut with bricks. Disappointed, we continue to walk along the wash and within a minute we find another opening. This portal is smaller in size and a low mound of earth lies below it.
 
I leave the girls on the bank and slosh through the stream to the other side. With water dripping from my shoes I climb up the bank and stop in front of the opening. A cold draft issues from within. I poke my head through the orifice and peer inside. This is definitely a shaft!
 
With a little coercion, I persuade my two girls (ages 13 and 15) to come explore the mine with me. They don't want to get their feet wet so I carry them, one at a time, on my back over the water. On our bellies we slide into the shaft and once inside we are all able to stand up.
 

Sealed portal near Cottonwood Creek.

We found this entrance to the mine.

The mine is dry and the rock all around appears to be solid. I place my finger over my lips, telling the girls to only whisper. I would hate to trigger any sort of collapse. (As it is, I feel a little guilty for taking my daughters into a potentially dangerous place.)
 
With flashlight in-hand we walk through a tunnel that runs perpendicular to the portal we just entered. Within a minute it comes to a "T" with the main body going to the right. On our left we can now see the back end of the bricked-up adit we had spotted earlier.
 
We follow the main shaft that now runs deeper into the hillside. Lying on the ground is a gallon-sized oil can that looks like it came from the 1960's, but within this cavern it has been preserved as if it were purchased yesterday.
 
Above us on the ceiling of the tunnel is the yellow outline of uranium. This is what the miners were looking for. They called them trees and I believe at one time they were real trees that lived on the outside. The miners here also excavated carnotite and vanadium.
 
Continuing deeper into the mine we come to another fork. The right-hand passage is a dead end. We turn left and come into a larger chamber. Several thick pillars of juniper look as if they are placed to support the tunnel. The shaft continues in deeper, but Jenna is becoming a little spooked, so we decide this is far enough. But before we leave, I decide it is necessary to turn off the flashlight and for a moment experience true darkness. I snuff our light and as expected it is pitch black.
 

Cottonwood Creek.

The mines in Cottonwood run deep in my family. In 1931, my great-grandfather, Seth Shumway, and his brothers Arah, Harris and Lee were the first to haul ore from this area. But they did not discover the minerals.
 
As the story goes, the minerals were discovered that same year by a sheepherder named Benitio Sanchez. Near one of the springs he found an outcropping with some interesting rocks. He took a sample to his employer, Tom Jones, hoping it contained gold or silver. Tom, in turn, took it to his neighbor, Arah Shumway, who had an interest in minerals and had worked in the mines with his brother. Arah determined it was carnotite, a combination of uranium, radium and vanadium.
 
Since it contained no gold or silver, neither Tom Jones nor Benito Sanchez had interest in it. But they gave a description to Arah of where it was found. The next day Arah and Harris walked from Blanding to Cottonwood (about seven miles) to search for the exact location. When they couldn't find it they returned to Blanding and consulted with Tom to refine their search. They returned again and this time found Benito's campsite and ten outcroppings of carnotite. That day they staked ten claims. The rest is history.
 
For the next several decades, at least three generations of Shumways, which included son-in-laws, friends and cousins, worked the mines at Cottonwood. The surrounding area became a second home to their families. Some became rich and others broke. It was a place of pleasant memories as well as tragedy.
 

Anasazi ruins on a ledge in Cottonwood.

Outside the mine we begin to explore the proximity. The creek is a good nine inches deep, which is higher than normal. The flow is not perennial and usually dries up by fall. But we've had a wet winter and are now reaping the benefits. Cottonwood trees grow from the banks, concealing any evidence of a mine from the main road.
 
Through a thicket of willows, out of reach on a clifftop, we find a stone dwelling. Built by the Anasazi over 800 years ago, it is much more ancient than the mines. Although it is still well intact, I'm sure it has been picked clean of artifacts considering that the Shumways worked next door. The Shumways have a notorious reputation in the field of antiquities collection, and I'm sure much of it was procured during their spare time while working the mines.
 
Nearby is a quaint little pond. It is hidden from view by a small hill and a thick growth of vegetation. Upon closer examination, Jenna discovers a sealed mine shaft at the far end of the pond. It is sealed off with brickwork, just like the other portal we found. It is partially submerged in water. More than likely, this shaft was a “wet mine,” one which continually seeps water and which often needs a pump to drain the seepage. If left unattended it can create a body of water.
 
On our way back to the vehicle we find an old wooden structure and a few other mining relics scattered about. We find a reclaimed shaft that goes directly into the ground at a diagonal slant. We don't have a lot of time to wander, but I wonder what we'd find if we had all day to look around?
 

Mining debris near Cottonwood Mill.

We are fortunate to have been able to drive to the mines on a good graveled road. That wasn't always the case. As stated earlier, Arah and Harris had to walk to get here. My great-uncle, Merwin Shumway, described how the first road was built into Cottonwood: “. . . we had no way to haul ore except a little old pickup. To get the pickup into the mines we had to build a road from above Cottonwood, down through the sagebrush flats and into the Cottonwood area where the mill was. We grubbed the brush and piled it aside just wide enough that our pickup could haul in the parts to build the mill. That was the first super highway in Cottonwood.”
 
This road later became maintained by the county and has been used by countless people to access the mines. When the weather was good my grandma Shumway would drive the family to Cottonwood and have a picnic lunch with my grandpa, Burdett. My mom recalls that Cottonwood was always her favorite destination. As a girl she and her sisters could stay entertained for hours playing in the sand and water. They caught polliwogs and collected rocks. Even I remember as a child going to Cottonwood for family outings and playing games up on the bench and watching what seemed like a raging river when I look over the bank toward the wash. Of course, by that time Grandpa was gone and the mining days of Cottonwood were long over.
 

Ruins of Cottonwood Mill #3.

We drive a short distance up the road and come to the ruins of the old mill. The girls and I get out and wander around. I've driven past here dozens of times, but this might be the first time I've stopped to explore.
 
Mostly what is left are the foundations of several buildings and scraps of debris. To my untrained eye I have no clue how to piece things together, nor do I know what they used to be. Many of the foundations appear to have had a greater function, with workings at the base that may be concrete conduits of some sort. There are also piles of ocher-colored brick and rusty wires and cables.
 

Scattered bricks at Cottonwood Mill.

The first mill on this site was built in 1937. Frank Garbutt, a movie producer from Los Angeles, financed the mill, and Howard Kimmerle, who had experimented with vanadium recovery methods, managed the project. “[The mill] was built on a slope above the creek to allow gravity-feed for the milling process. Ore was hauled up the ramp at the top of the building and dumped into the roaster. Leach and precipitation tanks were on the lower levels, and at the bottom was the fuser for creating the vanadium oxide product.”—Nearly a year after the mill was built, it burned to the ground as a result of the high temperatures used to roast the ore.
 
The mill was rebuilt in 1938. Kimmerle added a few frame houses, a blacksmith shop and a boarding house. Again, the mill burned down.
 
In 1943, Cottonwood Mill #3 was built on the same site. The ruins we walk through today are from this mill. The venture was short-lived as the owners had a large debt and the ore contained high contents of lime, which made the mill unprofitable.
 
As the mill was dismantled, my grandma and grandpa Shumway purchased one of the buildings to use as a home. They went out to Cottonwood and chose from several of the structures a long and narrow building. They had to cut it in half to haul it back to town where they reassembled it in an “L” shape. Friends and family helped put up wall paper and finish off the inside. It was an exciting new home for my grandparents and their new baby, Sandy.
 

L to R in back: Burdett, DeVar, Deloy Shumway.  Merwin Shumway, sitting. (DeVar Shumway photo)

On the other side of the hill from the old Cottonwood Mill site is the supposed location of the Springwater Mine. This is located on the east bank of Cottonwood and near the confluence with Brushy Basin Wash, which is almost always dry. A light amount of mining debris is scattered about the hillside.  
 
This area is hallowed to our family because it was here on December 14, 1964 that my grandpa, Burdett Shumway, was killed inside the mine.
 
The Springwater Mine is a very, very wet mine. On that day Burdett and his cousin, Cleon Shumway, were standing in two feet of water drilling holes and loading them with fuses and powder that had been prepared. One of the fuses must have been faulty, because the first round blew shortly after lighting it. Cleon was thrown twenty feet away and managed to crawl out of the mine badly injured. Burdett didn't make it and was trapped inside while twenty-three more rounds fired off. To put it mildly, it was a very sad day for everyone.
 
As to the exact location of the portal for the Springwater Mine, it depends on who you ask. I have heard that it has been reclaimed and also that it is still open. With my dad I have walked all over in that area and have not found a single portal. We did, however, find what appears to be the remnants of a reclaimed shaft that fits the description given by one of the old-timers who helped carry the body of my grandpa out of the mine.
 
As an interesting side-note, I found an article by LaVerne Tate, whose family has worked extensively in the Springwater Mine. She concludes with an intriguing comment: “The Springwater Mine has become a quiet pond in its natural environment, fed by the natural springs within the mine itself, disguising its real 'glory hole nature.'”
 
Now I'm wondering if the sealed off mine on the edge of a pond that we saw earlier is really that of the Springwater Mine? It is definitely a possibility to consider. ♠ 

Could this be a portal to the Springwater Mine?

Sources

Bennett, Lee A. “Uranium Mining in San Juan County, Utah: South Cottonwood Creek and Elk Ridge.” Blue Mountain Shadows, vol. 26, Feb. 2002, pp. 14–43.

Lacy, Toni. “Mining and Families: A Dynamite Mix.” Blue Mountain Shadows, vol. 25, Nov. 2001, pp. 41–49.

Tate, LaVerne. “The Springwater Mine.” Blue Mountain Shadows, vol. 25, Nov. 2001, pp. 71–74.

Wilcox, Janet. “Mining with the Shumways: A Closer Look at Cottonwood.” Blue Mountain Shadows, vol. 16, Nov. 1995, pp. 47–54.

The Bears Ears—Land Sacred to Me, Too

[The following was originally published on August 29, 2016, just as the debate over the proposed Bears Ears National Monument was heating up.  Since that time President Obama has declared it a National Monument and then President Trump reduced it.  This issue continues to make headlines.  I feel that my words remain relevant.]

My last request before leaving the country was to take the long drive over the Bears Ears. I was nineteen and just a couple weeks away from serving a two-year mission in Spain. Suddenly, those things that were most sentimental bubbled to the top of my priority list.

We camped out on Baullies, a long mesa between Fish and Mule Canyons. A wispy red fire became swallowed by the dark night as we told stories around the campfire.

The next morning we piled into my dad's red '72 Ford Ranger and made the long climb on a sinuous dirt road to the crest of the hill toward Bears Ears. The road drives between the two ears and it is there that it enters a world of ponderosa pine trees, high mountain meadows, and vistas that can stretch for a hundred miles.

We stopped and climbed to the top of the east ear, an elevation of almost 9,000 feet. It was something I had always wanted to do.

Continuing our excursion, we drove northward past Kigalia where we saw a herd of twelve elk, all cows and calves.

We crossed a stretch of road called “The Notch,” given such a name because it is precariously balanced between two huge canyons, creating a cleft on the landscape.

It was there that we felt the first clap of thunder, and the rain began to pelt down. I became white-knuckled as the the route became slick along the edge of this dangerously deep canyon. The intense downpour turned the road into a muddy mess and caused me to fear for my life. After sliding all over the road, we decided to stop and say a prayer.

At age nineteen, I had never had a prayer answered so quickly. Instantly, the downpour reduced to a trickle, and then it stopped completely.

With the help of strategically placed thoughts into my mind, I was able to navigate the still-slippery road until it became manageable. Twenty miles later we once again arrived on paved highway. Within seconds, the rain started back up, and in that instant, I knew that God was watching over us and that He had halted the rain.

An abundant variety of wildlife, including deer, elk, bear, and big-horned sheep, live within the proposed monument.

Fast-forward twenty-four years and the same land that we drove over is now being proposed as the new "Bears Ears National Monument." In fact, the proposed monument encompasses much more than the Bears Ears. It would extend from the San Juan River in the south, to Shafer Basin in the north, and east to west from Monticello to Glen Canyon. In short, it would be 1.9 million acres, making it the largest National Monument in the United States.

And it could happen with the stroke of a pen.

It is anticipated that President Obama will use his executive power to create the monument before his final term ends in December—even though local citizens are vastly opposed.

I am in favor of preserving the Bears Ears area in its current pristine state, but am opposed to a monument. I believe that the designation alone will bring more tourists and do more damage to sacred archaeological sites than anything else. Just as has happened with the Grand Staircase National Monument in 1996, it will put Bears Ears on the map for tourists from all over the world who otherwise wouldn't know the place even existed.

Anasazi ruins such as this one are numerous in San Juan County.  A new National Monument would increase

visitation to seldom seen ruins, and may accelerate their destruction.

The proposed designation would be managed by a coalition of Federal agencies, along with the Navajo, Hopi, Uintah and Ouray Ute, Ute Mountain Ute, and Zuni tribes. Of the five tribes, only two (Navajo and Ute) have representation in San Juan County. The local chapter of Navajo Nation, the Aneth Chapter, is opposed to the monument, although their opinion is trumped by the Navajo Nation leadership in Window Rock, Arizona, 165 miles away.

Most of the people in favor of the monument, I would dare say, have scarcely stepped foot on it. They are unfamiliar with locally known place names such as Sweet Alice, Davis Pocket, The Causeway, Chippean, Deer Flat, Mossback Butte, Zeke's Hole, Woodenshoe, and many others.

The reason environmental groups have latched to the native tribes has been to persuade the public that this land is sacred to them.

There is no doubt that the Anasazi built their homes along cliffs and canyons in almost every nook in the county. The Navajo used this place as a refuge and hideout during the “fearing time” when the U.S. Military used Ute raiders to round them up for Fort Sumner. The Utes lived in many areas around the Bears Ears, including Allen Canyon. Some of their people are buried in a cemetery there.

But in this whole equation, it is the Anglo that has been left out. Even though the Anglo has probably played a larger role in the proposed designated area than anyone else during the past 100 years, he is shut out and asked to take a back seat to any discussion of land management.

Although article after article speaks of the sacredness of this land to the Navajo or Ute, they rarely—if ever—mention the sacredness to the Anglo.

What is it that makes a place sacred? Do you have to worship there? Is it a place where you, or your ancestors have lived, hunted, gathered herbs, or wood? Does it have to be included in ancient legends or stories? What if your ancestors died there? What if they toiled and sweat out a living to feed their families by using the land? Where do you draw the line?

Chippean Rocks provide a beautiful landmark, and are nostalgic to me for camping nearby with my father when I was young. 

During the winter of 1879-80, a group of 230 hardy Mormon pioneers crossed the Colorado River and into what are now the boundaries of the proposed Bears Ears National Monument. They had already blasted a crevice from solid sandstone to take their wagons down a precarious “road” into the Colorado River Gorge. As difficult as this was, the roughest part of the route still lied ahead.

Elizabeth Decker from the expedition observed: “It's the roughest country you or anybody else ever seen; it's nothing in the world but rocks and holes, hills and hollows. The mountains are just one solid rock as smooth as an apple.”

The group was part of the “San Juan Mission,” with the objective to “cultivate better relationships with the Indians and lay the foundations for future permanent Mormon settlements.”

During the next four months the party suffered cold, fatigue, and hunger. They blazed a trail that had never seen a wagon, and had scarcely been explored by the white man.

As they climbed the rocks and canyons, twenty-three year old Olivia Larson carried her two young children in her arms as she walked much of the way. She was nearly nine months pregnant. It was so cold that the children's feet were frostbitten and had turned purple.

At the top of Grey Mesa in a howling blizzard, Olivia gave birth to a baby boy. The mother delivered while sitting on the spring seat of a wagon while her husband, Mons, was out in the storm trying to pitch a tent so she could be more comfortable. Baby John Rio Larson was one of three babies born on the trek.

As the pioneers came down Clay Hills Pass, they encountered another raging blizzard. This one buried camps, ripped open wagon covers, and blew over tents. Platte D. Lyman wrote in his journal: “Last night was the coldest night I ever experienced. It was impossible to be comfortable in bed or anywhere else.”

As the travelers made their way toward the head of Grand Gulch (within a few miles of the Bears Ears), they found the terrain relatively flat, but had to send woodcutters ahead to clear a road through thick stands of juniper trees. Their teams were tired, and depending on conditions, they may have been passing through two feet of snow, or sinking to the hubs in mud.

At last, they were getting close, but had one last daunting barrier remaining—Comb Ridge. This sheer sandstone wall runs for one hundred miles, all the way to the San Juan River and beyond. The exploratory party was able to find an Indian trail to get them up and over the obstacle, but for a convoy of wagons, this would be unimaginable.

At the north end of the ridge—where it meets the river—these pioneers accomplished the impossible again, and built a wagon road into the rock. The climb up “San Juan Hill” proved to be the most difficult yet. Worn out teams and exhausted people barely had the strength to accomplish the feat.

Charles Redd gave a graphic description of that last climb: “. . . seven span of horses were used, so that when some of the horses were on their knees, fighting to get up to find a foothold, the still-erect horses could plunge upward against the sharp grade. On the worst slopes the men were forced to beat their jaded animals into giving all they had. After several pulls, rests, and pulls, many of the horses took to spasms and near-convulsions, so exhausted were they. By the time most of the outfits were across, the worst stretches could easily be identified by the dried blood and matted hair from the forelegs of the struggling teams.”

Soon they arrived at their destination, a location next to the San Juan River that they would call Bluff City. Here they would plant crops and build homes in a wild environment that proved very difficult to inhabit.

Old cabins such as this one, although few in number, attest to the human activity near the Bears Ears over the years.

My great-great grandparents, Joshua and Elizabeth Stevens, were among the group to make this trek across primitive San Juan County. The newlywed couple left behind their comfortable homes and families to make their honeymoon journey.

Joshua came with his brother, Alma, and aging uncle, Roswell. Although we don't know many details about their personal experience on the journey, we do know that they encountered the same cold, blizzards, and physical rigor as everyone else. We also know that Joshua brought a herd of cattle that he bought in Scipio, and two good ox teams that were very useful in pulling wagons up many of the steep climbs.

A month after arriving in Bluff, Uncle Roswell passed away, being the first person buried at the new cemetery.

The green grass on Elk Ridge offers opulent pasture for cattle.

Joshua was a natural animal lover. He trained his horses and dogs, and he loved cattle and livestock. Even after the trek, Joshua continued to run cattle in what is today the proposed National Monument boundaries, from Mormon Pasture in the north, to Cow Tank and Rincon in the south. He was among the first cattleman in that area. His brand book shows where he branded eighty-three calves in one setting.

His daughter claims that there are more places named after him than anyone else in the county: Joshua Trail, Joshua Park, Stevens Pasture, and two Stevens Canyon's. (Some of these places are still used on maps today, while others, I'm afraid, are becoming lost with time.) He knew how to build a trail in a seemingly impossible place.

At Mormon Pasture he built a cabin with a fireplace and a little cheese room. He kept milk cows and made a cheese press. Using a pipe that he stuck into the hillside, he was able to work a spring to draw fresh water.

Descendants of Joshua Stevens have found relaxation on this land for many generations.  

The Stevens family eventually migrated out of the area and into Mexico. On August 26, 1912, Joshua was murdered on his own front porch by renegade Mexican soldiers. Along with other “Pachecoites” who were driven from their homes, Joshua's widow, Elizabeth, and their large family were forced to return to San Juan County—this time as refugees.

Their daughter, Vivian, married into the Shumway family, who began prospecting for uranium as early as 1931. Mining became a family affair, and many of the places they mined are within the proposed National Monument boundaries.

My Grandpa, Burdett, was one of those Shumways. Mining was his livelihood.

On December 14, 1964, the Shumways were working the Springwater mine in Cottonwood Canyon. Lying more than seventy feet below Cottonwood Wash, the Springwater is a very wet mine. Pumps ran nearly twenty-four hours to keep water out of the shaft.

That morning they had come across a beautiful face of high grade, “peacock blue” ore. Excited for their new find, they drilled into the face and prepared the fuses and powder. Burdett was working in the mine with his cousin and best friend, Cleon Shumway.

They stood in about two feet of water, loading the holes. Cleon lit his round first, and then Burdett his. Cleon later said, “Burdett finished and reached down in the corner, picked up his gloves, and laughed about it.”

At that same moment, the first round blew.

Cleon was thrown twenty feet from the face into a pool of muck and water. By the time he crawled out of the mine, twenty-three more shots had gone off. He looked down at his hand that resembled a blob of hamburger.

It was quickly realized that Burdett hadn't made it out of the mine.

The crew at the mine went into emergency mode. Neighboring mines were notified either in person or by radio that a man was injured and another was still in the mine. Soon, a small crowd had gathered at the mine, most of them close relatives to Burdett. Jerry Holiday, Burdett's brother-in-law, went into the mine and then informed the group that Burdett was covered in debris and would have to be dug out.

By the time Burdett's brother, Kenny, arrived at the scene, “the yellow smoke was still boiling out of the mine. A solemn crew was standing near the portal. Kenny ran on past them and into the mine. Half way down into the portal, where the fresh air stopped, Glen Shumway was standing by the blower trying to catch his wind. He had bad lungs anyway. The smoke was yellow and real dark, burning their lungs. Kenny ran on to the face and found muck nearly covering his brother. What was visible made him totally sick; it was an extremely sad situation. Kenny sat and cried for a while then covered Burdett's head with his jacket, hoping some of the others wouldn't have to look at what he had seen.”

They brought Burdett back to Blanding in the back of his own station wagon. His brother, Merwin (who was also at the mine), had the difficult job of breaking the news to Burdett's wife, Erva. Burdett's death was a huge loss to the community. Not only did he leave behind a widow, but also seven children, with one on the way.

I cannot drive past that area in lower Cottonwood without reflecting on the grandfather that I never knew, and becoming somewhat emotional. I think of my mother who lost her father when she was only ten years old. I think of my grandma who struggled for the next thirty years as a widow, trying to make ends meet while raising a large family on her own.

Clockwise: Grandpa, Burdett Shumway (top left), DeVar,
DeLoy, and Merwin Shumway (front) at South Stinking
Hole-1945. (DeVar Shumwy Photo)

The saga continues with every generation. I could go on and on with stories that display why this place is very special to me. This very large tract of land that is now being considered to become a National Monument is not only sacred to the Navajo and Ute, but also to the Anglo who has toiled here for nearly 140 years. My plea is that all those who consider these canyons and mesas as sacred terrain will have an equal voice in the destination of its future. ♠

Sources

Hawkins, Emma Stevens Palmer. Interview by Gary Shumway,  July 20, 1973.

Miller, David E. Hole-in-the-Rock: An Epic in the Colonization of the Great American West. Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1959.

Tate, LaVerne. "The Springwater Mine." Blue Mountain Shadows 25 (Winter 2001): 71-74.