Not all mountains . . . 

. . .  are created equal.  As we drove up above the 10,000 feet elevation level in the Snowy Mountains of the Medicine Bow range, we expected to see heavily forested slopes above us.  Instead, the higher peaks consisted of sheer rock cliffs and huge stark jumbles of gigantic broken up boulders below the high points.

Just as unusual, the road was paved the entire way to provide access to sub-Alpine region hiking, and to numerous high lakes dotting the area, although several were hike-in-only, such as Lookout.

We did a fair amount of sauntering up there . . .

. . . at Lake Marie . . .

Lewis Lake . . .

 . . . and were awe-stricken at the starkness of the stunning peaks before us . . .

. . . as we hiked down to an old miners cabin, with the bunk bed platforms visible within, and mine site . .

 

 . . . but I certainly could not ambulate at my usual rate, especially on the uphill: at that elevation, the rarity of oxygen makes me feel light-headed and dizzy, so it was necessary to go at a slightly more leisurely pace to accommodate that, lest I pass out along the way.

At those sub-Alpine elevations, vegetation tends to mass near ground level . . .

. . . and flowers must rush to their peak before the short season once again succumbs to frigid temperatures and snow covers the landscape.

The ground is criss-crossed with rolls of soil in wandering tubular lines.   They are created when northern pocket gophers tunnel under deep snow.  Later, during the freeze/thaw cycle, dirt is pushed up to fill the tunnels that are then left exposed on the surface when the snow is gone.

Another scramble we enjoyed was to follow a wild snow-melt creek that settled into a placid pool before dropping off into a jumbled canyon where it disappeared beneath the surface.

The downside of all that moisture was constant attacks from mosquitoes and deer flies.  Whenever I failed to liberally apply insect repellent, I became quite adept at the mosquito dance, exceeded in vigor only when it accelerated to the mosquito/deerfly dance, unchoreographed jigs & jogs that includes much flailing of arms, not to mention multiple loud exclamations, none of which is particularly useful.

Saratoga . . .

That mountain range was within striking distance after we picked up our tiny house and set up camp in another of Wyoming's charming little towns - Saratoga.  There we were on the North Platte River, and did our explores from there.

Tragedy on the plains . . .

More often than not, the journey is at least as interesting as the destination, and that was certainly the case with that relocation.

We have a more-than-passing interest in the crossing of the Great Plains with handcarts by mostly-immigrant converts to the Latter Day Saints faith, because three of my niece Shannon's ancestors were among them. 

It completely astounds me that hundreds & hundreds of men, women & children not only walked from Florence, Nebraska, to Salt Lake City, Utah, enduring great hardship to do so, but that they also pushed/pulled handcarts containing their meager belongings.

Many of the handcart parties completed the journey without untoward mishaps; however, two groups in 1856 met with tragedy.  The first of those was led by Captain Willie, followed several days later by Captain Martin's company.  The Willie Company included Shannon's g.g.g. grandparents - Jens & Ann Peterson & her g.g. grandfather Peter (then aged 4), along with five of his siblings.

The Willie & Martin companies made a late-season start to their trek.  They had emigrated from Denmark in May, 1856, later than planned after being delayed by lack of ship availability.  After they landed in New York in mid-June, they were again beset by difficulties getting handcarts ready.

Those delays left them still out on the plains of Wyoming when an October blizzard hit.  The journey had already taken its toll with weakness & illness due to scarce provisions; disease had claimed some of the party.  The hardships of the trek were greatly multiplied when the pioneers met with frigid snowy conditions, and were without sufficient shelter.

Ultimately, rescue wagons from Salt Lake City reached the stranded pioneers at Sixth Crossing, the place where the Willie party had recrossed the Sweetwater River, and carried them for the remainder of the trip, after having lost 68 members out of the 400 who started.  The Martin group was eight days farther back along the trail, and suffered even higher losses.  They were rescued at Martin's Cove, near Devil's Gate.

The significance of those pioneers' endurance and sacrifice is of import to the church; both sites are considered sacred.  We stopped first at the Sixth Crossing visitors center for a guided visual tour of the episode.  It was a very moving experience.

This was our view over the scene where the rescue occurred.

Our relatives and their family's names are inscribed there along with others of the Willie party.

Hundreds of people arrive there annually in a pilgrimage to recreate portions of the handcart journey in memory of those who came before.

It's a fascinating history, well worth further reading.

A side trip further down the road got us to the Devil's Gate visitors center.  In lieu of another similar talk, we hiked out to the actual gorge, where the river has carved a 330-foot deep narrow cleft through solid rock instead of flowing a short distance away where it could have bypassed the ridge entirely.

 

It was a notable landmark on the Oregon-California Trail that the emigrants were following.   So many thousands pioneered across that vast countryside.  

Another landmark by which they gauged their progress - Split Rock.

 

And we saw evidence of yet another route that traversed that seemingly endless terrain: the Overland Trail . . .