"Trek'n"

Recently, I had the opportunity to participate in a pioneer trek with my wife, Laurie; two children, Spenser and Alyssa; and nearly 300 other hardy and resilient souls, many of them descendants of the pioneers who settled Bluff. Sadly, McKale was too young to make the trip, so she stayed home with Grandma and Grandpa Washburn. Our trek involved a trip to Martin's Cove, Natrona County, Wyoming. In 1856, Morman pioneers emmigrating westward were forced to seek shelter from an unexpected fall blizzard in the cove. Many died as a result of the freak storm, making the site an important part of the church's history. This desolate, but remarkably scenic landscape has recently become a pilgrimage site for church members, Morman pioneer progeny and historians.

We departed Blanding at 3:30 a.m., dressed as pioneers. The women wore dresses and bonnets relevent to the period, while the men wore white shirts, khaki trousers and straw hats. I was happy to see a few other "cross-grainers" wearing Levi's jeans, making me stick out less than I expected. I figured I had conformed significantly by getting the white shirt and straw hat right; that would have to do! I tried to talk Laurie into taking our van and following the buses on this journey, but she would have nothing to do with it. She insisted that learning to deal with out-spoken, belligerent and obstinate people was an important aspect of this trip. The pioneers learned to get along and depend on all sorts of strange, disruptive personalities. Laurie belived that without my presence on the bus, the other participants would miss that part of the experience.

I hesitated while boarding the bus, knowing that Laurie knew me all too well, and realized I might be the first person voted off the bus in this mini reality series. I exerted my best effort, and endeavered to thouroughly consider every subject before voicing an opinion. As a result, I found I had little to criticize, and managed to hold my seat. I also outwitted my lovely wife and avoided the object lesson she attempted to provide the rest of the group. I won . . . I think!

Upon arriving at Martin's Cove, I realized we were in for a hot, dry, dusty, labor intensive lesson in the struggles endured by the pioneers. The eperience provided a key hole view into the world of a group of individuals who sought religious freedom and the ability to freely express themselves. Since there was nothing else to do at the cove but engage pioneer history, if you weren't there for that experience, you would have been sadly dissapointed. Each "family" of 10 to 12 was given a hand cart, into which they loaded their pre-packed five gallon buckets of belongings and set out into the afternoon sun for a three mile trek to the campground. I was sent ahead by transport to help set up camp and prepare the evening meal, separated from my psychologically devious spouse.

As one of the cook shack personnel, I was asked to boil noodles, fry bacon and eggs and cook beans for a hoard of hungry teenagers and their handlers. I was quickly reminded that growing kids have huge, insatiable appetites. I believe there were some young people in the group who could have devoured a small beef at a single sitting. I actually began to wonder if the local semi-tame deer and antelope might fall prey to roving bands of ravenous adolescents. The hand cart pioneers endured extreme suffering, sickness, hunger and death. Our troop, on the other hand, suffered only minor inconveniences such as a little grit in our groceries, slight to moderate fatigue from trekking through the heat and a grungy three day build up of offensive odor.

We pitched our tents under the brilliant, star filled, sky and felt the soft, cool evening breeze dissipate the heat of day. As I lay there listening to Laurie breathe in soft slumber and the laughter, joking and singing of young people, I sent a prayer of thanks skyward. A couple of Mormon converts from Denmark had been part of the disastrous hand cart adventure we were recreating. Without them, and their courageous efforts to traverse the difficulties of the Oregon trail, I would not have the family I now treasure. Extended family, friends, acquaintances, descendants of those whose foot steps we now followed surrounded me. A belief in spiritual improvement and a hope for a better life drove them forward. Their suffering, sacrifice and faith have produced the sweetest of fruit.

Sincerely,
Barry