Trapping and Hunting are an important part of Nephi and Utah History.

When you hear about the first non-Indians that came to Nephi and Utah, it is kind of up to conjecture-depending on who is talking or writing about it. From a recent discovery and translation of journals belonging to non-Indians, Utah's first white people could have entered near Moab in 1765. It is unclear if those two expeditions made it to Juab County, but according to the journals of two Catholic Priests-Dominguez and Escalante, that of explorers came down with the Spanish group, then Forked to the left, thus the name of Spanish Fork. We know they camped at what we now call Burraston's Pond(named after the Burraston family of Santaquin gave it to Utah to celebrate them becoming a state), but back then, the Priests wrote it down there journal, naming it "Fountain of St. Paul". The group of ten or so hunted and trapped for their food, as the entire valley was fertile with knee high grasses then marshes that extended to the west mountains. The trapping kept them in food through the Sevier down to Beaver which was named for the valley filled with Beaver. from what records I could find, American trappers entered Salt Creek(Nephi) in 1826, and that expedition was led by William Henry Ashley and Jedediah Strong Smith, totaling about 15 in the exploration. As a kid, I remember somebody telling me that Jim Bridger visited Nephi-until he broke his leg so went back to Wyoming. A few years ago, I wanted to learn of trapping, so I did, then interviewed Gale Allen of Stoddard, Utah, who held several Boone and Crockett records for deer kills. He died about three years ago, and still skinning Skunks at ninety. Other than driving a no-lights-on military train through Nazi Germany during World War II, his only full time job has been as a Trapper. He was like his father before him-Bert Allen, as his only job for ninety years was as a government trapper. Most folks don't understand that there are times when the numbers of animals need to be reduced to maintain the food chain balance. The attached photos may show a photo of five guys with their bucks in the mid 1960's, which were shot in the Uinta's. From left to right they are Kent Allen(on the trike); Alton Olsen, Keith Allen; Lowell Mecham; Fred Thurston and Gale Allen. The photo of the four guys with the giant non-typical is Fred Thurston; Gale Allen; Bert Allen and Pat Mecham. That 48 inch buck was shot by Fred and the same as the one held by Gale Allen in the basement photo. As a side note, Fred Thurston is the last guy who shot a Grizzle Bear in Utah, which stands in a museum in St. George. If you check the rifles in that one photo, they are all 30-30's as the 30-06 was not yet invented, but was being worked on in a nearby shop with the name of Browning. That was in the 1950's and scored over 200 points. Other photo's show Gale Allen with 200 skunks(a fluid within them is for making perfume) then a photo with Gale and 300 coyotes from Nevada. Gale Allen would spend months trapping there for the cattleman, having a 400 mile trap line. Coyotes are like wolves in they surround calves and take them down one at a time, and can quickly disseminate a herd. Such is the case with Beavers. At times they are pretty and help fish to spawn in their dams, the Forest Service can show where they too have to be kept in check for vegetation  balance. There should also be a photo of Kim Allen standing in front of the Allen home where the other deer were shot a few decades before. Kim Allen is now a full time trapper, being the son of a full time trapper, who was the son of a full time trapper, and all three generations are hard working; mountain climbing sons of a gun good trappers.

 

 



Long Live Cowboys and the Cowboy spirit within us all.

Lewie Field died from pancreatic cancer at the age of 59. He was born and raised in Utah, and like the boxing Fullmer brothers who put West Jordan on the map, Lewie put Elk Ridge on the map.  He was a five time world rodeo champion with three all-round championships and two bareback titles. The funeral speakers reported that most people would never have known his status, as he wasn't boastful or whined about his aches and pains. He taught by positive example, and good at it, as one of his sons-Kaycee Fields, is a four time world bare back champion. Three of the Nephi Jones boys became acquainted with Kaycee during the Rodeo Finals a couple years ago. Like father-like son, as Kaycee is a great competitor; father and husband, like his old man. Both Lewie and Kaycee are avid fans of the military and often visited our troops in Afghanistan. In the past, some of the big rodeos were at the Cow Palace in California, and that is where Lewie met his beautiful future wife-Veronica, on a blind date. She was smitten by his tight fittin jeans. Another rodeo site used to be at Yankee Stadium in New York. Lewie and his riding partner were killing time during the rodeo and standing by two pick-up horses and decided to hop on and take a stroll downtown New York City. They were gleefully greeted by bystanders and directed by police where the nearest bar was. They wanted to fulfill a youth fantasy to ride a horse in a bar. The doors were open and in they went to have some cowboy fun, and yes they were sober. Patrons loved it as they knew the rodeo was in town, but the management drew the line when one of the horses decided to relieve himself and out they went. Rodeo officials didn't know about it until it made the papers. As you can suspect, Lewie was a prankster and thought we all ought to have fun, regardless of the situation we are in. One of the sons spoke of how "fearless" Lewie was, and didn't shy away from being the best at whatever he did. He "taught without teaching" and "he wanted everyone to be a little better than they were". When interviewed by the Pro Rodeo Hall of Fame at his induction, he was asked what he wanted to be remembered by, to which his son quoted "Someday, when rodeo people look back at what I've done, I'd like them to say these things; that I rode tough; that I could ride with pain and courage; that I was a fierce competitor in the arena, but a quiet, respectful man outside the gate". Like Gene Fullmer in boxing, a fierce sports competitor does not have to be mean or obnoxious on the street; in front of the cameras or at home. As one would expect, the funeral process had a touch of Vegas in it, and very entertaining. There were several hundred people who filled the LDS Stake Center, and at least a hundred of them were wearing cowboy hats, even in the chapel. They did-until the branded and simple casket was carried in and lifted to shoulder height. In a simultaneous act of respect, all hats came off. At the cemetery, many of the rodeo friends talked and joked openly, while I stood at a distance watching the process. I was trying to figure out where the family and the casket went, as they were not there. It looked like somebody had pulled a "Lewie" when at a distance you could wear the clippity clop of horses marching on the asphalt. Lewie's casket was somehow skillfully removed from the hearst and placed on a wagon pulled by two draft horses. The casket carrying cowboys were riding their horses behind, with a son leading the empty saddled horse of Lewie. That was the tear jerker, like when the Thunder birds fly in formation then loose one to show respect for a downed Airman, or when a police dispatcher does a "Last Call" for a fallen officer. Utah has lost a great sports figure, and there is one spoke missing from the wagon wheel of life. However, it is quite evident he left a great legacy with many others who in their own way will "Cowboy Up", which can be done without a horse, a cow or even a ten gallon hat. It is the cowboy spirit within.

Utah road safety officials ardently persuade us not to drink and drive, and of late, a more deadly combination is thought to be using our cell phones while driving. Perhaps they will re-write the book of stupid things one can try to do while driving, and I can give them a step by step process of those crazy options. My drive to Nephi from Salt Lake started in the leisure way I take most road trips, other than last week. I was south bound on I-15 and about a half mile away from the Nortonville overpass when I spied three would be terrorists bobbing their heads up and down on the overpass, watching each vehicle that came by. I couldn't see if they had assault weapons behind the cement structure, but I had a bad gut feeling as I drove closer. My first option was to call 911, but I froze and forgot their number. I tried to remove my cellulite phone from my front pocket  but couldn't get it out because of my own cellulite. With a free hand I was able to reach in the back seat and retrieve the Jones family assault rifle, which was used in Nortonville during the late 1800's. Back then it was an assault type weapon called the "Nortonville Neutralizer". I could load 12 bullets in that long barrel Winchester 25-35 just as I went by the overpass. With another free hand, I rolled down the window to listen for any shots but heard none. With another free hand I was able to shut my 8 track off and take a shot of whiskey to get my courage up. In addition, I guarantee it is not easy to drive with your left knee then use the right knee to downshift. I was able to make the Nephi turn off and rounded the bend past Merle Mac's feeding yard without Rex Hill or Ray Jackson seeing me run through that Stop sign. I sped by where the old Nortonville Church/School stood; looked to see if I could see Alan Tolley milking his cows. I also checked the right side to see if I could see George Tolley, and couldn't see him but did take a gander at his granary and corral and the nearby horses that were feeding on something. I sped up Nortonville Center Street but slowed as I approached the area of where the believed terrorist had positioned themselves. It was then I spotted the three suspects and realized my 68 year old eyes were not as young as they used to be. Rather than spook them, I turned around and departed. The three thought-to-be-culprits were deer that had came down to feed on the hay that George Jackson had threw off for his horses. Although the fish and game folks don't like us feeding deer as it throws them off their natural instincts to fight for food- I don't think we want to see the starvation of thousands of deer that died in the barbed wired fences during the bad winter of 1983-84 while trying to get to their winter range. It is sad to see the old winter ranges of upper Draper, Bountiful, Lehi and Highland now gone. Just a personal opinion, but seems to me those home owners have killed more deer than all hunters combined. I guess I should unload my rifle now.

Deliver Deletter Desooner Debetter

We recognize this entry may sound like another commercial to get you hooked on phone cell devices, but if the reader will read me out, you just may see where I am coming from. If you were to read a handwritten letter from Abe Lincoln, wouldn't you feel a little more close to whatever he was writing about. In those days, they had no spell checker or unlimited supply of ball point pens. What they wrote was with much time and heart felt consideration and thought. Today, if one gets a handwritten letter from you, they will feel so much better than you can recognize. A handwritten letter has so much more potential to inspire and it gives the writer a sense of closeness as well. New technology is great as even I can find the on and off buttons of devices (although with effort), but consider how you would feel if some body sent you a had written note of thanks or just say hi. In addition, we collectively may save the United States Postal Service, so it is not outsourced to China. I could be one of the few people to write checks, as even that seems I have put a little more effort in to who I am giving money to or why. In the 1960's, during Viet Nam, a family never wanted to receive a telegram, as that announced a death, but if it is just on a postcard as this one is, it is not a big deal, just letting the parents know their son has been re-stationed, but not in a fighting zone.

If I have pushed the right scan, clutch and brake buttons, I hope to show the reader some cards and letters of the past. One is from Virgil Scott when he went to the 1935 Rose Bowl; another responding about a son being born in 1947; another about one of three Nephi Jones boys all in the military during the Viet Nam war and a letter to Jaynette Jones from another Nephi gal who was looking at all of the cute young guys at Disneyland, but decided to redact her name, so you will just have to ask my Sis.

Next time you use an old fashion camera to take a photo, consider not using a flash bulb.

Several years ago I had the opportunity of living in the jungles of Guatemala doing humanitarian work. On one occasion I was allowed to get on a small sailing vessel with the locals and cross Lake Atitian. To the people of that area, it is a scared water near active volcano's, which majestically stand as if they were protective sentinels, about to erupt if danger approached the water. Interesting enough, many Mormon faithful believe Lake Atitian is the "Waters of Mormon" which is written of in the LDS scripture book called "The Book of Mormon". That body of water is filled by constant and cascading waterfalls. Lake Atitian also appears to be protected by the 12 separate and distinct villages which surround the lake. Those people are of the Ancient Mayan culture and have great fears associated with those of us from the outside world. Sometimes in life, rules are not known.....until we break one, as I found out once given permission to enter an ancient village. I was intrigued by their distinctive noses and colorful clothing, so without much thought, I pulled out my camera to take photo's. When the flash went off, I knew I had somehow erred as the villagers quickly scattered for cover. Through interceptors and interpreters, I was given an explanation. The Ancient Ones believe that a flash like the one from my camera was taking a part of their soul from them. It wasn't an instant death, but a cruel way of draining their life energy. Needless to say, I hid my camera and made efforts to re-establish their trust and strenuously apologized. I couldn't help but think of that lesson of long ago, until last week. My son was helping to move some of my history boxes when he found two photos. He said he recognized one but not the other. After a little shock and awe, along with reflections of the past, I explained the one photo is of Justin and Troy Jones, standing next to their grandfather-Alma Jones, who passed away four months after that photo was taken. The second photo is of Maggie Vera Harris, the first child of Evan and Eliza Hitesman Harris. She was born in Nephi, Utah, USA in 1898, but died 8 years later, about four months after that photo was taken. All of this information could be just a strange coincidence, but it is definitely one of those Juab County "Well I'll be" sort of things that had to be shared.

Whopper of fish story.

It was intended to be a leisure day of fishing when the temperature cooled a couple months ago. I hastily walked on what I thought was the crusted bottom of a drained lake. As I marched on the frozen type tundra, it became less solidified and quickly turned into a bottomless pool of thick grease smelling oil. Like the Saber Tooth Tiger of a thousand years ago, I was slowing sinking in this pit. Total dismay struck me as this was not the way I was supposed to die. In those several seconds of shock, I thought of my brother Hal Jones who was in the same canyon fishing a few years ago when he got swept away by the raging spring run off tumbling over boulders and logs for a half mile before he was able to miraculously crawl to safety. I also thought of the near death experience of Kirk Sanders of nearly 70 years before. He too was swept away by the swift water coming down the old hollow in Nephi, Utah. He would have perished if it wasn't for some quick thinking local guys who hooked him just before he would have gone under the railroad tracks three blocks west of where he went in. If those two family members survived their ordeal, I was going to do the same. I came out of the shock and shifted my weight to one leg in an effort to backtrack. However, when a 250 pound man shifts his weight to one side, it only makes that side go down quicker. I realized nobody was around to help me, so it was up to me to save my life. Although I don't consider myself to be a religious man, I believe I am spiritual and as such believe that all people are assigned Guardian Angels to assist each of us. From time to time I have felt their impressions, mainly for protection purposes. As this writer has somehow survived several brushes with death, I would think my Guardian Angels keep throwing up their arms, muttering "there he goes again....lets go assist".  On the day in question, I had felt their presence earlier in the stream below and it was very strong. There were not other travelers about, so I looked upwards and openly asked "Is my life in danger". I didn't see or actually hear anybody, but felt the answer to be something like "Well, you won't pass through the veil today, but you won't have fun either". What the heck, if my life was not in danger, I would just drive further up the canyon and I did. I knew the fishing would be better there anyway, as the Forest Service was draining the lake to make room for a larger one, and the fish and game officials had doubled the fish limit as they would die anyway. I was wearing knee high water boots; nice bib overalls and a great outdoor jacket, but for some reason, I was more worried about saving them than my own life. I sat down on the lakes crusted oil saturated bottom, which slowed the sinking process. I then started to scoop the liquidized tar away from my legs, building piles on both sides of me. I observed the position of the early winter sun and knew I didn't have long before the frigid night would be my doom. That went on for an hour and good feel my strength being used up. At some distance, I saw  a man who I could have yelled for help, but was too embarrassed to announce of my beached whale condition, and about to become a Titanic. To squelch the other guy's possible concern, I had no other choice.....except to grab my fishing rod and cast it in the open water that had not yet froze over. Sure enough, as soon as the bait hit the water, a nice size Rainbow grabbed it good and so I reeled it in. I now know what the fish and ducks felt like when the Valdez oil ship spilled it's load near Alaska.  I pulled the oil saturated fish up and gave it a hard yank, which landed on the left side of my pile of sludge. As I was grasping to find it, my hand hit something hard, which may have been there for a hundred years or so. I dug it up and found it to be my life saver. It was a shovel which gave me the ability to shovel my way out of The Utah Tar Pits. I knew that nobody would  believe this fish story, so while still in a cold chill, I drove forty miles to my brothers place to share my story and have him take photo proof. It is whopper of a fish story, but a real one. Once again, I thank my Guardian Angels and hope they are being paid double time for their assistance with me and my adventurous ways.