A Frontier Mule Packing Story - Primary Source
This mule-packing story offers a glimpse into the frontier life.
People enjoy traditional skills for a variety of reasons. Oftentimes, people find the activities enjoyable or therapeutic. Other times, they are exciting or educational. Still others, traditional skills connect us with days gone by. Many of us enjoy this connection to the past. Some people who are drawn to this connection enjoy what is called living history. Living history is the doing of history. Simply put, when you do what people of the past did, you can understand a part of their life in a whole new way. It’s a great way to learn about history. However, living history isn’t entirely educational. For many people, traditional skills are just practical living. One example of this is horse or mule packing.
Up until the late 19th century, animals were one of the primary methods of moving people and goods around the world. Wagons, of course, were employed to haul lots of freight. It’s why bullwhackers were so numerous on the plains. In addition to wagons, animals have historically been packed with goods as well. In terms of weight moved per animal, packing isn’t as efficient as a wagon. However, packing does offer some advantages as well. One big advantage is the ability to travel in more types of terrain than a wagon can. For lots of reasons, packing was widely used on the frontier.
Packing today is still much the same as it was back in the 19th century. Mountains are still mountains, saddles are still saddles, and animals are still animals. People experienced with this tradition can easily identify with frontiersmen of the past. Although we may dress differently and the land is different in some ways, there are more than enough similarities to make a connection to the past. Perhaps, this is one reason why horsemen and mulemen generally enjoy history so much. It’s so easy to relate to.
If you enjoy packing mules or horses, you might enjoy this primary source from George Ruxton. George Ruxton went west in 1846. He had the idea to see the West and have himself an adventure. In order to see the vast expanse of territory he employed himself a guide and outfitted himself with a string of pack animals. As you can imagine, traveling hundreds of miles in the wilderness with a pack string had some surprises. One story illustrating the unpredictability of traveling with a pack string was described by Ruxton in great detail.
If you are interested, you may enjoy this reading of the story.
Here is what Ruxton had to say:
“Before me lay the main chain of the Rocky Mountains., Pike's Peak lifting its snowy head far above the rest; and to the southeast the Spanish Peaks (Cumbres Espanolas) towered like twin giants over the plains. Beneath the mountain on which I stood was a narrow valley, through which ran a streamlet bordered with dwarf oak and pine, and looking like a thread of silver as it wound through the plain. Rugged peaks and ridges, snow-clad and covered with pine, and deep gorges filled with broken rocks, everywhere met the eye. To the eastward the mountains gradually smoothed away into detached spurs and broken ground, until they met the vast prairies, which stretched far as the eye could reach, and hundreds of miles beyond-a sea of seeming barrenness, vast and dismal. A hurricane of wind was blowing at the time, and clouds of dust swept along the sandy prairies, like the smoke of a million bonfires. On the mountain-top it roared and raved through the pines, filling the air with snow and broken branches, and piling it in huge drifts against the trees.
“The perfect solitude of this vast wildness was almost appalling. From my position on the summit of the dividing ridge I had a bird's-eye view, as it were, over the rugged and chaotic masses of the stupendous chain of the Rocky Mountains, and the vast deserts which stretched away from their, eastern bases; while, on all sides of me, broken ridges, and chasms and ravines, with masses of piled-up rocks and uprooted trees, with clouds of drifting snow flying through the air, and the hurricane's roar battling through the forest at my feet, added to the wildness of the scene, which was unrelieved by the slightest vestige of animal or human life. Not a sound either of bird or beast was heard -- indeed, the hoarse and stunning rattle of the wind would have drowned them, so loud it roared and raved through the trees.
“The animals strove in vain to face the storm, and, turning their sterns to the wind, shrank into themselves, trembling with cold. Panchito, whom I was leading by the bridle, followed me to the edge of the plateau, but drew back, trembling, from the dismal scene which lay stretched below. With a neigh of fear he laid his cold nose against my cheek, seeming to say, "Come back, master: what can take you to such a wretched place as that, where not even a blade of grass meets the eye?"
“The descent on the eastern side is steep and sudden, and through a thick forest of pines, to the valley beneath. Trail there was none to direct us, and my half-breed knew nothing of the road, having passed but once before, and many years ago, but said it went somewhere down the pines. The evening was fast closing round us, and to remain where we were was certain death to our animals, if not to ourselves: I therefore determined to push for the valley, and accordingly struck at once down the pines.
“Once amongst the trees there was nothing to do but reach the bottom as fast as possible, as it was nearly dark, and nothing was to be seen at the distance of a dozen yards, so dense was the forest. Before we had proceeded as many paces from the edge of the plateau, and almost before I knew where I was, horses, mules, &c., were rolling down the mountain all together, and were at last brought up in a snow-drift some twelve feet deep. There they all lay in a heap, the half-breed under one of the pack-mules, and his swarthy face just peering out of the snow. Before a mule would stir every pack had to be removed; and this, with a temperature some ten degrees below zero, was trying to the fingers, as may be imagined. As it was impossible to reach the bottom from this point, we struggled once more to the top through six feet of snow and an almost perpendicular ascent. I had to beat a road for the animals, by throwing myself bodily on the snow, and pounding it down with all my weight. We were nearly frozen by this time, and my hands were perfectly useless-so much so that, when a large bird of the grouse species (called by the hunters le coq des bois. It resembles the Scotch capercailzie.) flew up into a pine above my head, I was unable to cock my rifle to shoot at it. The mules were plunging into the snow at every step, and their packs were hanging under their bellies, but to attempt to adjust them was out of the question. It was nearly dark too, which made our situation anything but pleasant, and the mules were quite exhausted.
“At last, however, we reached the top and struck down the mountain at another point, but it was with the greatest toil and difficulty that we reached the bottom long after dark, and camped shortly after near the creek which wound through the valley, or rather in its very bed. One of the mules had slipped its pack completely under the belly, and, the girth pinching her, she started off just before reaching the creek at full gallop, kicking everything the pack contained to the four winds of heaven. This pack happened to contain all the provisions, and, as the search for them in the dark would have been useless, we this night had no supper. To shelter ourselves from the wind we camped in the bed of the creek, which was without water, but the wind howled down it as if it were a funnel, scattering our fire in every direction as soon as it was lighted, and tearing the blankets from our very bodies. The animals never moved from the spot where they had been unpacked; even if there had been grass, they were too exhausted to feed, but stood shivering in the wind, collapsed with cold, and almost dead. Such a night I never passed, and hope never to pass again. The hurricane never lulled for a single instant; all our efforts to build a fire were unavailing; and it was with no small delight that I hailed the break of day, when we immediately packed the mules and started on our journey.”
People with experience packing can probably visualize this story with ease. A steep mountainside with horses and mules sliding down. Slipped saddles causing a wreck. A runaway scattering your camp all across “the four winds of heaven.” Of course, it also contained the food. Why not?
One thing we can appreciate about these stories is the surprises they dealt with. At times, we can get so caught up in the story of the West, that we can forget they had to put up with aggrivations just the way we do. Ruxton was a fairly seasoned outdoorsman, but even he had his trouble every now and then. It’s just the way it is. If you’ve spent much time around animals, you’ll know that it still is this way.
Hopefully, you enjoyed this mule-packing story from the frontier. It may not be the most incredible tale of all time, but it does help remind us of the reality of life. It’s also a story many modern horsemen and mulemen can relate to. Even across the span of almost 200 years, some things just never change. Runaway pack animals included.
