Chicago Basin

I feel like I could fall asleep right now, but it's only 8:30 pm. The skies are dark and the air is frigid. My fingers are so numb that I can barely move this pen, but at last I am in a warm tent and in a warm sleeping bag.

We are camped over 11,000 feet in elevation, under the brisk September sky. Our journey started far from here, several hours ago.

This was the fifth time I took the Narrow Gauge Railroad from Durango. The first was when I was a young boy. My brother and I went with my grandpa Lacy during winter when the train turned around at Cascade Station. I remember heavy snow on the ground and a large herd of elk that Grandpa spotted through the window.

I also came twice to search for a silver mine, and once with my wife. That was the only time I took it all the way to Silverton.

Taking the train to the trailhead.

This time I came with a friend and his three adult sons. We got off at the Needleton Stop and waited for the man to unload all the packs. I have been wanting to do this hike for more than twenty years now.

As soon as I strapped on my pack, I remembered how heavy these packs were! I had enough food to keep me alive for three days, two nights, and then some.

Crossing the Animas River. 

The grade up Needleton Creek wasn't steep, but still took a toll on my legs. The waist strap alleviated the weight of the pack from my shoulders, but instead transferred it to my hips.

The trail we followed ran parallel to the creek, usually staying quite a bit higher. I read that in times past, during the mining days, the path was closer to the stream, but after a flash flood they moved it up higher to where it is now.

Most of the trail was redundant, but beautiful. Here and there waterfalls cascaded down the canyon.

One of many waterfalls on Needle Creek.

After 5½ miles the mountain began to open up, and after 6 we were no doubt in Chicago Basin. We saw on a slope one pile of gold-colored tailings, reminding us that at one time this basin was mined.

We hoped to get as far as possible up the trail to alleviate our burden for tomorrow, so we didn't find a camp until around mile 7.

Entering Chicago Basin.

Looking north in Chicago Basin toward Windom and Jupiter Peaks. 

We found a nice location overlooking the basin, and beneath peaks that towered to over 14,000 feet. As we set up camp we noticed the temperature becoming dramatically colder. Before long I donned a long-sleeved shirt, coat and beenie.

We were able to explore some of the surrounding area and found another pile of tailings. Next to it an opening, just large enough to crawl through, led to a tunnel inside the mountain.

Tailings pile in Chicago Basin. 

Old Mine. 

Nearby and in the trees were a couple wooden cabins. Neither were very large and one was small enough we surmised it could be a tack shed. The larger one was big enough possibly for a couple beds. My guess is that these cabins were not connected with the mines, but built at a later date for recreation.

The first known white men in the basin came before 1877. They originally accessed it from Vallecito Creek, which is on the east side of Chicago Basin. When the railroad was completed in 1877, the easiest access came from the west side via the predecessor to the Needle Creek Trail. I don't know if that trail was wide enough for vehicles to come up, or only a pack mule. We have not see any abandoned machinery while up here, so that offer a clue.

Modern cabin hidden in the trees. 

Old wooden shed. 

It is such a peaceful setting up here. We have no connection to the internet and even though there are a few other campers, they are scattered throughout the basin and it feels as if they're not here.

Dave and his boys pulled out their portable camp stove and began cooking a bag of stuffing they brought from their pantry. For me, dinner was not hot. I chose not to bring a stove. We'll see later if that was a wise move or not. I scooped pulled pork from a vacuum-sealed bag onto the top of a cold pita bread.

They say there are mountain goats around here that are likely to scavenge around campsites. We haven't seen any yet. There is a friendly doe that likes to hang around.

Looking back across Chicago Basin. 

Tame doe coming into camp. 

I hope I am able to sleep. My body is exhausted. I thought about going outside and looking at the stars, but I'm comfortable inside my little tent.

After writing this I will lull myself to sleep with an Edgar Allen Poe story. I haven't decided which one yet, but they all go well with the dark night, far away from anywhere.

Chicago Basin

Distance from train: 6.7 miles

Elevation gain: 2,979 feet

Final (campsite) elevation: 11,147 feet

Over Scorched Earth to Copper Belt Peak (#28)

Copper Belt Peak.

For fifteen minutes I just stood and listened. Somewhere in the distance, tucked away in a hidden mountain glen, a symphony of bugles and grunts and whistles echoed through the fall air. This was the rut and bull elk were out gathering their harems.

I hadn't seen any yet, but I could hear their majestic roars coming from my right and also from my left. It wasn't just two bulls, but several. The majority of the bugles came from a timbered ravine, but the solitary call on my left aroused even more excitement. The bellowing roar and deep grunts seemed to be getting louder and perhaps coming closer. I waited with anticipation for the shiny glint of antlers to peek above the horizon. It didn't come.

I knew I couldn't wait all day. I was just beginning a long hike and too much time spent chasing elk could jeopardize my safety in getting done before dark. I chose to pursue the solitary bull since he was in the direction I needed to go.

Part of the long climb up the mountain. 

One of the few sections of fall colors in a charred forest. 

With a DSLR and monopod in-hand, I carefully stepped forward along the ridge, attempting to avoid crushing noisy twigs. As I came to a patch of blackened pine trees, I heard the bellowing roar again. It couldn't be too far away, I thought. My eyes scanned the distance from where I heard the sound and I could see nothing. Elk are masters of camouflage.

Slowly I crept along, pausing occasionally to look around. Then it happened. The bull, with a heavy set of antlers hanging across the length of his body, turned and bolted away from me up and over the hill. Before I knew it, he was out of sight.

I didn't give up. I continued my stealthy march forward, up a steep hill, across an open meadow and into another stand of charred pines. Suddenly from behind came another bellowing cry. I froze in my tracks and slowly turned around.

I was in the stand of trees, about thirty yards from the meadow, and through the branches I could make out the body of a bull coming into view. He didn't know I was there. He bugled again, tipping his head up into the air. His focus was the other bulls hidden in the timber. He moved across the meadow, his muscular tawny body walking through a narrow opening where I was able to capture a photo. Then, he was gone and I was satisfied.

This bull finally came into view. 

By this time I was about two miles into my journey and had climbed nearly 2,000 feet in elevation. I was on my way to Copper Belt Peak on a route that I invented myself. The standard route begins much closer, whereas this one pretty much starts at the bottom. There is no trail and normally I would have never considered this route, but last summer a huge fire moved through the area, incinerating the dense vegetation that once grew here. Now the route was passable, although it still required at least a 4,000 foot ascent. I still wasn't sure it was possible.

In the area around where I saw the elk I also noticed a metal bucket, some old tin cans and other charred items. It looked as if this place was used for something at some time. Perhaps there was an old mining cabin somewhere nearby, but I knew of no roads that came anywhere near here.

Charred bucket on the ground. 

Although the majority of the forest had been burned, there were patches that survived and others that had only been partially singed. Of course, there were also many meadows that weren't affected at all. I was pleasantly surprised to see some oak brush that was untouched and now in the full color of autumn.

Walking through one of these scorched stands of trees was a surreal experience. The bark, the ground, and anything else was blackened. Trees were nothing but skeletons, although sometimes the pine cones stayed attached to the branches, but even they were charred. Many of the trees had nothing remaining except hollow stumps. The ground was mostly barren with the exception of scattered sapling scrub oak and an interesting weed that looked like it could have come from my garden.

An eerie scorched landscape. 

Near full moon above blackened treetops. 

The first four miles of this march was a steady uphill climb. At last I arrived at my first destination, an unnamed bald peak that offered splendid views. By this time I had ascended 4,481 feet.

The wind had picked up considerably. I removed my pack and placed a rock over my ball cap. To the west were unobstructed views of Signal Peak and Gold Mountain. Mount Baldy halfway hid behind Mount Belknap. To the south reigned my goal, Copper Belt Peak. It looked a lot taller than I thought it would be. I hoped I had time to do it.

Panorama view from the first peak, looking west.

View of the ridge I would have to walk and Copper Belt Peak at the end.

For the next mile I walked along a ridge between the two peaks, the terrain being relatively flat and averaging about 10,800 feet. I walked on gold-colored shale rock and through more charred forest.

Once I saw two metal plates and several metal poles lying next to a blackened tree. I figured it was probably someone's tree stand that was now collapsed on the ground.

I now arrived at the base of Copper Belt Peak and was pleasantly surprised to find a trail that at least led partially around it. The tall mass that stood before me appeared daunting, but I knew I had to do it.

At the base of Copper Belt Peak.

I followed the trail, which wrapped around the left flank, gradually climbing. I didn't know if it climbed all the way to the top, or just circumvented the peak.

As I followed it around, I quickly learned that it would not lead to the top, and that I would have to forge my own way. At that same time I heard the timbre of a notification on my phone. It was my first text I received that day. It was probably my wife checking up on me. I decided to remove my pack, get a drink, and read the text.

It was from my daughter: “Did you see that Charlie Kirk got shot in the neck at UVU?”

What??!! That was not good news. If you get shot in the neck, you're probably not going to survive. And to have it happen in my home state. This was awful!

Suddenly, the mood of my mind changed. A dark pale came over me. I responded to her that I hadn't, then put the phone back in my pack and proceeded up the hill.

The very steep hike up wasn't as hard as I thought it would be, probably because my adrenalin was now running. When I reached the top the winds were ferociously strong and I struggled for balance. Of course, the view from the peak was beautiful and virtually all the peaks in the Tushars were visible.

From Copper Belt Peak, looking north toward the first summit I climbed. 

Looking south toward Edna Peak, Mt. Brigham, and Delano Peak.

Zoomed-in look at Wedge Road and others that wind up the steep hillside.

I settled down against a rock where the winds weren't quite as strong and opened my phone. Kaitlyn had messaged back. She said her roommates' friend was filming when it happened and it was quite a scary experience. She said there was so much blood spewing out that he would most likely die. It sounded like it just barely happened.

The imagery of how I imagined that awful event turned in my mind. Between that and the miserable wind, I just wanted to get back down to my family. I took a few obligatory pictures, then made my way off the peak. I would have eaten my sandwich, but I preferred to wait for a better location.

Looking west at Mt. Baldy, Mt. Belknap, Gold Mountain, and Signal Peak.

Descending the peak happened pretty quickly. Perhaps it was because I was preoccupied. For much of it I had to hold on to my glasses in fear they would blow off my face.

I made it off the peak and next to a grove of trees. Here the wind was blocked. I took off my pack, drank some Gatorade, ate my sandwich, and responded to more texts that were coming. I knew with the first text from Kaitlyn that this was a very, very big deal and would be of historical significance.

Eventually I made it to the shoulder ridge where the route began to descend. The wind had stayed strong, although not as fierce as on the peak. I kept hearing ghost whistles in the distance, not knowing for sure whether they were bugling elk or just my imagination.

More charred trees with pinecones still attached. 

As I approached the area where I saw the elk that morning I started to hear true bugles. The elk were still here and hidden all around in the timber.

As I walked through a stand of trees, I suddenly froze and looked ahead. Through the jumble of branches I saw what I knew were the antlers of a bull elk. I couldn't see much more of him other than what protruded from either side of the tree that blocked his face. To my right, and about as far away as the bull, stood a cow elk. I was pretty sure she had seen me.

After watching them for five minutes, they took off toward the right on a trot. Not too long later, another bull followed the couple, then he disappeared also.

Bull elk through the trees.

This is a different bull. 

I slowly moved down the hill when I heard another bugling yell at my left. Once again, I saw a bull in the distance, camouflaged amidst the branches and tree trunks. He saw me and took off another direction.

All these elk made the hike back very pleasant. Clouds in the sky began to gather and occasionally block the sun. I hoped it wouldn't rain.

About half an hour later I spooked another bull that took off on a dead sprint.

At last I came to the top of the final descent. This was probably the steepest part of the whole hike, dropping over 1,600 feet in 1.2 miles. But before my descent, I caught a glimpse of something moving on the very far ridgeline. With the aid of optical gear I learned this was a cow elk. Her body made a perfect sillouette, along with the trees. I wished it had been a bull, but I couldn't complain. There were also four other cows just below her. That made the daily total of six bulls and six cows.

5 cows, 0 bulls.

After twelve hours of hiking, I was very glad to arrive at my vehicle and even happier to find all my family safe at home. Today had definitely been an exhilarating, exhausting, and somber day, all rolled into one.

Rest in peace, Charlie. ♠

Copper Belt Peak

Distance from car: 5.5 miles

Net elevation gain to peak: 4,877 feet

Final elevation:11,385 feet

Total elevation gain: 5,354 feet

Total distance: 10.9 miles

Nice silhouette of the skyline on my way down. 

Chocolate-Covered Strawberries

Just a month before Brittany passed away, my parents were in town for the State Wild Bunch Shoot. One evening they wanted to take us out to eat, but Jenelle and I would be down in St. George for the night for a half-marathon I had the following morning. So, they just took the kids.

When my dad asked where they wanted to eat, Jordan responded sarcastically with “Golden Corral,” because he knew it was down in St. George and there was no way Grandpa would drive all the way down to St. George (an hour away) just to take them out to eat. To their surprise, he said “yes.” It proved to be a decision my parents would never regret.

All the kids, a year and a half before the adventure at Golden Corral. 

They all loaded up in my parents' truck for the drive down, which proved to be an adventure in itself. Four kids sat in back, probably not all in seat belts. Savanah, only six years old at the time, sat on Grandma's lap in the front. They were packed in like sardines, but that was half the fun!

(Coincidentally, and unbeknownst to us, while they ate at Golden Corral, we sat across the street at the Brick Oven eating pasta.)

Brittany half-filled her first plate with green beans and one or two other vegetables. Then, she went full-throttle for the desserts. She filled a plate with cotton candy, ice cream, jello that melted on the hot plate, and other sweets. Another plate was full of strawberries pierced with a stick and smothered with chocolate from the fondue fountain . . . and a little bit of broccoli. She also experimented with cotton candy and marshmallows covered in chocolate.

When she was done with that serving and lifted her plate from the table, there was a chocolate ring left beneath. Brittany was also very helpful with Jenna and Savanah, helping them to fill their plates. 

Grandpa reading to Brittany when she was four.

Grandma with Brittany on her lap.

In the end, Grandpa was aghast at how much junk they had eaten. When they were done, Brittany and Kaitlyn had to go into the bathroom to wash all the cotton candy and ice cream from their faces.

My dad (Grandpa) loves telling this story, and especially how Brittany had a plate full of chocolate-covered strawberries and how when she lifted her plate there was a ring of chocolate on the table. For my parents this was a very special evening because it was the last time they were able to spend good personal time with Brittany before she passed away.

Even though I wasn't there, I still laugh and get choked up every time I think of that memorable evening.

Brittany a few months before her passing. 

Last year on the anniversary of her passing, we drove to St. George as a family to attend an angel ceremony that happens to be on her anniversary (December 6) every year. Afterward we decided to eat dinner at Golden Corral.

I enjoyed hearing the stories from the kids, recalling their memories of that eventful evening twelve years earlier. I was touched as I reminisced about Brittany, the sound of her voice and how she may of looked on that infamous evening.⸻And just so I could taste the memories also, I made sure I got a plate of strawberries covered in chocolate. ♥

Remembering Brittany at Golden Corral. 

Plaszów Concentration Camp

Plaszów Concentration Camp. Grey House at right, Göth's villa at left in distance.    

We stepped off the tram in the Podgórze District of Kraków. It appeared as a laid-back neighborhood filled with trees, green spaces and low apartment buildings. I found it difficult to imagine that it was once home to a Nazi concentration camp.

Off the main road we walked up a long flight of stairs that led to a residential street. We came across a row of houses whose backyards faced the camp. Quickly we found what we were looking for, a multi-storied house with a red-tiled roof, surrounded by a fence. This was once the home of Amon Leopold Göth, the Commandant and monster of Plaszów. I found it perplexing to believe that a modern family could live in a home that at one time housed such evil.

Amon Göth's villa as it appears today.

Amon Göth.

It has been said that Göth would shoot prisoners from the balcony or window of his villa for target practice or a perceived infraction. One account says he wouldn't eat breakfast without shooting a person first. This cruel act is depicted in the movie Schindler's List.

Doubling back on the road a few hundred feet is the entrance to the camp. The irony is that this former concentration camp―that was a center for torture, murder and slave labor―is now a very peaceful place. Very few of the old structures remain. Graveled paths lead to different sites. Trees provide shade and there is plenty of grass. It is a place for families to take a stroll, or to walk the dog. I took note that the camp was set within a little cove, perhaps on purpose so as not to attract too much attention from outsiders.

The Plaszów concentration camp was established in January of 1943 after the liquidation of the Kraków Ghetto. The camp was conveniently located a mile south of the ghetto so prisoners were able to walk there. Some chose to hide in the ghetto instead of voluntarily moving. These were rounded up by the Nazis and forcibly marched to Plaszów where a giant pit had been dug for a mass grave. In the next few days over 2,000 Jews were executed and tossed in the pit.

Plaszów was intended to be a labor camp, differing from extermination camps such as Auschwitz and Treblinka. In Plaszów there were neither gas chambers nor crematorium.

The first structure we came to was a two-story home known as The Grey House. At one time it was owned and used as an administrative building by the cemetery that once stood here. During the time of Plaszów it was used as offices and residence for some of the SS. The basement was used as a jail where prisoners were tortured and executed.

It also served as the office for Amon Göth. A placard at the site tells a story from Adolf Berliński, a prisoner at the camp:

“In November 1943, my sister worked in the commandants office in Plaszów as a shorthand typist. One day, Göth came in the office, searched the drawers, and found white bread and sausages. […] Infuriated, Göth selected six people from among the staff, including my sister. He ordered Sergeant Glaser to walk them to the 'hillock' and shoot them.”

The Grey House. 

As alluded to earlier, part of the camp was built atop two Jewish cemeteries. Headstones were dismantled and used as pavement for nearby roads. A beautiful funeral parlor was used as a stable for horses and other animals, but when it became too small they blew it up.

Atop the old burial ground they built barracks, as well as an appelplatz, or roll-call square where they would gather every morning and evening for roll call. Nearby was a large gallows where prisoners would be forced to watch executions by hanging.

Today one would never guess that there was an appelplatz or barracks there. Instead there is grass and graveled paths, along with interpretive signs. All that remains of the funeral parlor are large cement blocks strewn on the ground as if a giant were playing with blocks.

Plaszów Concentration Camp during operation. Open space at left is the apellplatz. 

Area of the apellplatz as it appears today.  Also sight of former New Jewish Cemetery.

Rubble from the funeral parlor. 

I learned some of the daily life experienced by prisoners in Plaszów. Bernard Offen describes their daily dress this way:

“The camp uniform was simple: striped, made of thin materiel under which we were not allowed to wear anything else. . . Prisoners discovered wearing clothes underneath their uniforms were executed. A special brutality was practiced against women. If someone was found to be wearing a bra, she would have her breasts painted with red lacquer.”

The daily ration of bread would be just over two pounds for six to eight people, with a tiny piece of butter. This would be accompanied by a watery soup that consisted of a small amount of buckwheat groats, sauerkraut or fish entrails.

In order to get food, one had to work. Some prisoners worked in the nearby stone quarry. Others helped make enamel pots in Oskar Schindler's factory. The Kabel factory used forced labor from Plaszów to produce electrical and telegraph cables for the German war effort. Some women provided domestic duties at the Rakowice airfield, while others sewed Nazi uniforms at Madritsch's company.

As far as sleeping arrangements in the barracks, they were cramped. With men and women segregated, they slept in bunk beds, several to a blanket, and that was if they got a blanket. Many died during the long cold nights.

A rare photo of prisoners at Plaszów.

Jenelle and I took one of the graveled paths that led up a little hill. This would be the “hillock” previously mentioned. The path was lined with wild grass and trees high enough that we couldn't see back into the main area. This hill contained two mass execution sites.

We came to a large cross embedded into a cement foundation with a circle of barbed wire at the top. A small figurine of the crucified Christ was fastened at the crux of the cross. The figurine had only one leg. When we arrived there was an older man on a bicycle.

The name of this site is “Chujowa Górka” or Prick Hill. It is a derogatory pun on the name of Albert Hujar, one of the cruelest camp wardens among the SS. Albert Hujar and Amon Göth oversaw the executions, which were at their apex from September 1943 to mid-February 1944. Here they experimented with the burning of bodies.

When Chujowa Górka became full they leveled it and built barracks on top. The executions continued, but at a location 800 feet to the west. Directly after the war the cross with barbed wire was placed as a memorial.

Chujowa Górka, sight of mass executions in 1943 and 1944.

We walked along the path to the second mass execution site. Here the view opened, with fewer trees and a well-manicured landscape. We had a good view of the other side of the hill toward Henryka Kamieńskiego Street and a quiet Kraków neighborhood.

This site was dominated by a large monument chiseled in stone of five men with arms hanging and heads down, as if dangling from a noose. A fissure in the stone cuts directly across their chests. The name is “Torn heart monument.” The five men represent the five nations or groups at Plaszów: Jews, Poles, Gypsies, Germans (criminals), and Ukrainians.

“Torn heart monument,” at the mass execution sight known as C Dołek.

This mass execution site, called “C Dołek,” was used from February of 1944 until the liquidation of the camp. Between here and Chujowa Górka it is estimated that 8,000 to 12,000 people were murdered.

Bernard Offen paints a grisly scene:

“. . . victims were made to undress and lay side by side on the tree branches they had been made to place there. Then they were shot. One group laid logs down on the corpses before they too were shot. The last group had to pour oil and gasoline and immolate those who had been killed, prior to their own deaths. No one could utter a sound since the Germans had taken care to plug their mouths with plaster. All clothing and possessions were kept for the benefit of the self-proclaimed Ubermenschen. Before being burned the bodies were examined for dental gold, or for money or valuables in any bodies which were still clothed. The killing was completed with the bodies or ashes being covered with earth, through the use of the camp tractor.”

Back side of Torn Heart Monument. 

Looking toward a neighborhood of Kraków from C Dołek.   

As we walked back down the hill, we saw more and more people out for a leisurely stroll. It was a beautiful evening and people were getting off work.

We passed a lady who was on a walk with her daughter and dog. The lady knew enough English that she and Jenelle had a small conversation. She had a cute dog and Jenelle asked if she could pet it.

Dogs and Plaszów bring up another story told by Offen. He recalls his brother's encounter with Amon Göth:

“My eldest brother Sam told me that he remembers Göth coming toward him once when he was working with a shovel in the camp. Göth rode on a horse accompanied by his two Great Danes, Rolf and Ralf, who had to be addressed by prisoners as Herr [Sir]. Göth had trained them to attack when he cried 'Jude'!' [Jew] He did this when he passed Sam, even though my brother had done nothing, urging his dogs to attack. The type of scene that followed obviously amused men like Göth. What happened was that one of the dogs started biting Sam, in his side, above his hips. Even so, Sam tried to keep working and not respond. Eventually, Göth called the dogs off. Sam knew that Göth regularly shot those he had set the dogs on. So Sam was lucky. He knew what had been at stake, but he had survived. He had not reacted by trying to defend himself. It was for this reason his life had been spared. It was a kind of test that Göth put people to.”

Many locals use Plaszów as a place to go for a stroll.

During the fall of 1944, as the Soviet and Allied-controlled Polish armies drew closer, the decision was made to liquidate Plaszów. At that time there was a population of 20,000 at the camp. Prisoners were transported to other concentration camps in Austria, Germany and Poland.

One transfer of approximately 3,000 to 5,000, mostly young girls, was sent on a train to Stutthof, near Gdansk on the coast. They were then put on a ship where SS men sunk the vessel in the middle of the Baltic Sea. All but a few were drowned.

Some prisoners stayed back in Plaszów to dig up bodies and burn them. Barracks and all other buildings were dismantled. The Nazis did all they could to hide evidence of their heinous crimes.―On 18 January 1945 the Red Army liberated Kraków.

Amon Göth delivering a speech in the courtyard of the SS Headquarters.  

Plaszów guard's uniform, displayed in the Oskar Schindler Museum.

Detail of uniform.

We finished our evening wandering around the large open field where once stood the appelplatz and old cemeteries. We watched families and other groups relaxing on the grass. After having spent a few hours it was time for us to go. The sun would soon be setting.

This was a very somber place to visit. Even though it was only a “labor camp,” thousands still died here. It wasn't even a drop in the bucket compared to extermination camps like Auschwitz-Birkenau and Treblinka. May the horrors that were suffered here never be forgotten. ♠

Not much is left of the Old Jewish Cemetery.

Sources

Offen, B., & Jacobs, N. G. (2009). My hometown concentration camp: A survivor’s account of life in the kraków ghetto and Płaszów concentration camp. Vallentine Mitchell.

WW2 locations / Best WW2 books non fiction / Documentaries. (n.d.). Maksym Chorny’s Personal Blog on WWII. https://war-documentary.info/eng

All modern photographs are mine, while the black and white I have extracted from elsewhere.