The Legend of the Lost Sand Dunes Gold

I am going to break with my tradition of only posting to this blog in winter (of which we had very little this year) to tell you a story. But first, let me give the reader some context:

From 2003 to 2015, almost half of my Park Ranger career, I was the "boots-on-the-ground" ranger at Sand Dunes State Forest Recreation Area near Zimmerman, Minnesota. I have a lot of stories from then and my years, paid and volunteer, with the National Park Service, the Anoka County Park Rangers, and the U.S. Forest Service, which I have recently been convinced to put into book form after I finish the rewrite of “Truthbearer.” To paraphrase Robert W. Service, “The Northern Lights have seen strange sights, but the strangest they’ve ever seen…” But that’s another story for another day.

One of my first projects when I was assigned to Sand Dunes was to complete construction of the Bob Dunn Equestrian Campground with the assistance of the Wright and Sherburne County Sheriff’s Department Sentenced to Serve (STS) crews. STS is a state-sponsored program that allows non-violent jail inmates to reduce their sentence through being part of a community service work crew. The DNR had already established the campground from an old shooting range, and installed a roadway, campsites, built two new vault latrines, a handicapped accessible ramp, and day-use parking. Our job would be to install the site number posts, fencing, pickets, and parking area borders. That requires a lot of holes to be dug. A LOT of holes. It was tedious, hot, labor intensive, and boring work. The crew chief and I needed some incentive, something that would inspire the crew to dig. Then, a coworker told me the Legend of the Lost Sand Dunes Gold. Now I am going to tell it to you.

The story goes, that back during the Dakota Indian Uprising in 1862, a unit of Army Cavalry were transporting $16,000.00 in gold payroll (worth $6.4 Million today) from Fort Snelling near St. Paul, to Fort Ripley, north of Brainerd along the old stage road that ran through the Orrock area, near what is now Sand Dunes State Forest. Depending on which version of the story you are told, they were either set upon by a Native war party, or received orders to report immediately to the Mankato area to assist in efforts there. In either case, the paymaster was directed to bury the leather saddlebags containing the gold in an identifiable place, and either head to Mankato or return to Fort Snelling and the gold would be retrieved later. The paymaster and one trooper, who would be the only ones who knew the exact location, buried the bags near “a big oak tree” under cover of darkness, and to distract their attackers, sent one horse off in the direction of Fort Ripley, and headed to Mankato or Fort Snelling quietly. Unfortunately, the paymaster and the trooper were killed in the conflict before either could reveal the exact whereabouts of the gold, and when the Army returned to the area, they found that a massive wildfire had swept through the area and obliterated any recognizable landmarks. The gold was never located, and presumably is still there, somewhere.

Then there is a second story, probably closer to verifiable fact than legend, about “Old Sherburne’s Gold.”

Around 1857 there was a man known as "Old Sherburne" who lived in the area that is now part of the Sherburne National Wildlife Refuge in northeastern Sherburne County. (I’m not sure of Old Sherburne took his name from the county, or the county took its name from Old Sherburne.) He was regarded locally as a hermit but not like more famous hermits such as Minnesota’s Dorothy Molter, New York’s Noah John Rondeau, or California’s John “Grizzly” Adams. Old Sherburne was said to be friendly, sociable, and generous with the money he had gained from the sale of his part of the family business back east. Shortly before he passed away in 1882, Old Sherburne sent a telegram to his brother in Indiana saying that he knew his time was short, and he would bury his remaining money, about $40,000.00 in gold (worth $16 Million today) in the Blue Hill moraine near his home. Blue Hill is a well-known landmark on the Wildlife Refuge, and was and is still the highest point of land in the area. By the time the brother arrived from Indiana, Old Sherburne has walked on to his final reward. The brother searched for several weeks and never was able to find the buried gold, so it may be, as far as anyone can tell, somewhere on Blue Hill to this very day.

Well, if you want a bunch of jail inmates to dig holes, tell them about the legendary buried gold in the area. (Even if Blue Hill is 11 miles away.) "If we find it, do we get to keep it?" was the big question. We told them, "Let's find it first." The whole team got to work, and the work got done in record time. Now you know why.

 

Wishing Everyone a Very Merry and Blessed Christmas and a Happy and Safe New Year!

 

From the Backcountry to You, Wishing Everyone a Very Merry, Blessed (and hopefully, White) Christmas. Come to the Forest where the other you lives!

My Country by Gilles Vigneault

 MY COUNTRY

My country’s not a country, it’s winter,
my garden’s not a garden, it’s a vast plain,
my road is no road – it’s the snow!
My country’s not a country – it’s winter!

A ceremony all in white
where snow marries wind,
in this blizzard-land

my father built a house
and I’m going to honour
his ways, his example…
My guest room will be where
you return, season by season
and you’ll build too – right beside it.

My country’s not a country, it’s winter,
My refrain’s no refrain, it’s a gust of wind,
My house isn’t mine – it’s the winter chill’s!

My country’s not a country – it’s winter!

All around my solitary land

I cry out before the silence,

to everyone on earth:
My house is yours, too.
Inside four walls of ice
with time and space
I make the fire, and a place
for People of the Horizon
– and these people are of my people.

My country’s not a country, it’s winter,
my garden’s not a garden, it’s the vast plain,
my road is no road – it’s  the snow!
My country’s not a country – it’s winter!

My country’s no country but the contrary
of country – neither land nor nation,
my song’s not a song – it’s my life!
And for you I wish to master these winters!

Thinking About Snowshoes

Iverson Snowshoes, the venerable Michigan based maker of traditional ash-frame and laced snowshoes, has an active social media presence. Today they posted the following on their Facebook page, and I found it very compelling. Although I don't have Iversons (Yet.) I have always used traditional snowshoes over the past 54 years, since I was 14 years old. One by one, I have watched the names synonymous with "wood frames and rawhide," like Tubbs, Faber, Heilman, Freeman, and others vanish from the market. It's a shame, because with each brand that disappears, a bit of winter history goes away as well. I'll continue my comments after the post from Iverson's:

Iverson Snowshoes is feeling thoughtful.

oSoepsrdnt9tti10mh0lil41imc26ggh52t81t94tuu44175948lai0ccf1m  · 

"Pardon the long post but I just had a customer ask me why (insert big outdoor retailer name) only had aluminum snowshoes and it caused me to think others may also be wondering about that. The shortest answer is that we aren't sure but a likely explanation based on our experience is the ability to mass produce. Traditional snowshoes like we make must be made by hand by skilled craftspeople who have developed experience in selecting, cutting and bending the wood and in weaving the lacing. The large companies want high volumes at low prices. Extruding aluminum tubes and wrapping them in plastic can be done in a factory at scale with a relatively untrained workforce. We can do the high volumes by training and building our workforce but the low prices part is impossible for a traditional snowshoe maker to address. We had a long relationship with a large outdoor retailer and made shoes that they sold under their brand for years. They stopped working with us a few years ago. We were told that they made a corporate decision to no longer handle low volume suppliers. The aluminum models have their place but a traditional woven snowshoe will always provide better flotation, especially off-the trail and in deep snow. Aluminum snowshoes are also louder and of course do not have the beauty of a traditional aesthetic. For many people who want to stick to the packed trails in their neighborhood, the aluminum models will serve them just fine so that has become what most people think of as a snowshoe nowadays. Our snowshoes are a call back to history and a time when things were made by hand but they are also functional and very effective. In off-trail applications or deep snow anywhere, traditional snowshoes excel in performance while being quiet and also looking really cool."

I've used aluminum (Original Prater Sherpas) at work when I was a ranger. After having my snowmobile break down twice while I was grooming x-c ski trails, I always carried snowshoes with me. But on the dense, wet snow that bogged down and mired the sled, snow balled up on the cleats/crampons under the binding and I would have to stop and clean them out. With my personal neoprene laced Freemans (An Adirondack company that no longer is in business.) I didn't have that problem. Another issue with "new-fangled" snowshoes is, because of the aforementioned traction devices, they are neither viable or comfortable on shallow (less than 3-inches) snow.

Moreover, it boils down to the fact that I am very traditional in my activities. I wear wool clothing, pac boots or mukluks, and snowshoes that fit my style. I did (and still would, if asked) talks on snowshoeing history while I was a ranger, and although I mention aluminum and now, polycarbonate 'shoes, I emphasize the beauty, simplicity, and joy I get out of my wood-framed snowshoes. They are everything Iversons say they are, and I wouldn't trade mine for anything in the worlds.

PS: Iversons also post some of the most beautiful snowshoe photographs
on the web on their Facebook page. https://www.facebook.com/snowshoes

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

 

The Legend of the Red Parka

People have asked me for years, "why do you wear red jackets/parkas?" It's actually an interesting story, and it all started with a dog food company.

Some have suggested that we did it to imitate the New York State Forest Rangers, whom the Wilderness Search and Rescue Team, the unit I helped found in 1979, worked with extensively, and wore red Johnson Woolen Mills jackets. Yeah, but, no. When Wilderness started out, we gained a lot of expertise from the volunteer search and rescue (SAR) teams of Los Angeles County. At that time, both Sierra Designs and Woolrich (Which made/makes mountain parkas for LL Bean.) made 6-pocket "mountain parkas" out of a nylon/cotton blend called "60/40 Cloth" (or 65/35 for Woolrich) in a muted orange color. SAR teams all over the country wore them, including our friends in LACo, so we did too. However, for reasons that were never completely explained. orange 60/40 cloth disappeared from the marketplace sometime around 1982.

At roughly the same time, the animal feed giant, Purina, started taking an interest in supporting SAR dog teams. Initially, they wanted to brand them as "Purina Hi-Pro SAR Dogs," but that idea was quickly scrapped. Instead, they offered free dog food, mega-publicity, dog vests, and Woolrich mountain parkas for hundreds of teams nationwide. Since orange was no longer an option, and also since Purina's colors, coincidently, are Red and White, they struck a deal with Woolrich to provide free red, wool-lined jackets to SAR dog handlers, with "Purina Hi-Pro Search and Rescue Dogs" emblazoned in white screening over the left chest pocket. Not ones to look a gift horse (or dog) in the mouth, we took advantage of the offer and changed from "International Orange" (for those like me who still had their Sierra Designs parkas. Still have it, BTW.) and blaze orange, to Purina Red. It stuck.

Today, forty years later, most search and rescue teams have switched to either blaze orange or lime yellow, and most of the original mountain parka suppliers (LL Bean, Woolrich, Sierra Designs) don't make them anymore. Occasionally, Bean or Woolrich will bring them back for a time as a "legacy" item but most of the time you can only find them used, online. I've only ever worn out one Woolrich mountain parka; the one from Purina finally wore out at the elbows. I gave a blue one away, and I still have my original orange Woolrich SAR parka, with the patches still in place. Someday when Wilderness Search and Rescue gets a permanent home of their own back in Syracuse, it will hang there.

I am no longer in Search and Rescue, and I retired from the park ranger ranks in 2015. But the rangers (and New England game wardens) still wear red, and so do I. After 26 years as a ranger, and 20 years wearing red in the volunteer trail patrol, it has become part of my identity. A number of years ago, my wife bought me a brilliant red wool Filson Mackinaw for Christmas. It has been my "good" coat since then, although I've found that I now wear it more frequently than just going to church on Sunday. I still have my second red Woolrich/LL Bean parka, which now has the insignia of the Backcountry Trail Patrol embroidered on the chest. The Patrol, like many mountain bike and ski patrols, switched to red jerseys and jackets in the 1990s. I was able to grab another wool-lined red mountain parka in one of those aforementioned "legacy" sales, and a Loden green one as well. They are my "go-to" outerwear at least eight months of the year. They are the most comfortable, functional coats I own. I probably won't wear out the ones I have in my lifetime, but I wish that Woolrich or LL Bean would bring them back.  It's a "legacy" waiting to be reborn.

Christmas in the Forest

"It is the time of the snowshoes in the year 2021

Now the cycling is over and the skiing's begun." (Apologies to Willie Nelson)

I am going to re-post in its entirety a fictional story from my old blog, starting the tales of Mill Forge District Ranger John Farmer and "Christmas in the Forest". I am working on two more Old Ranger short stories. Hopefully, one of them will be done before Christmas.

(Note: This was my first fiction story, before Connor, Iolena, Menta Kai, and yes, John Farmer ever set foot in the Gewellyn Chronicles. It is loosely based on a story from the Adirondacks by William Chapman White and another from the Bitteroot Mountains of Montana by Norman MacLean. It takes place in neither, although the atmosphere of the story suggests the northeast more than the Rockies. It takes us back to a time where the forest ranger was more part of the community, and the ranger could resolve a violation by an agreement called a "stipulation". It is fiction, and John Farmer, Peter Quinn, and Taylor Clark were the main characters in my attempts at fiction for many years.)

The gently falling snow muffled the sound of the horse's hooves as District Forest Ranger John Farmer rode down the main street of Mill Forge that evening, a few days before Christmas. The village was quiet, most of the folks were in their houses, busy with preparations for Christmas, as was John's own family. He had stopped by the house to drop off a surprise for his grandson, then headed into town to finish the paperwork on a timber theft case. The township constable, Lew Breck, rumbled by in his 4-door Ford Model T and waved at the ranger, as he went by, but if he said anything, it was lost in the clatter from the car. John returned the wave and rode on down Main Street to where the State Police barracks sat, it's windows dark. He climbed down off of Hanna and led her back to the trooper's stable behind the station. took the saddle and bridle off the horse and let her into the corral.
He looked back at the "barracks", really a converted house, threw his saddlebags over his shoulder and headed down the alley to the Tall Pine Tavern for some dinner. He'd be back when the troopers got back from their rounds and turn in the stipulation form to them.

The Tall Pine was warm and smelled vaguely of woodsmoke, Woody, the owner's pipe tobacco and beer. A fire was going in the fireplace, and John stopped to warm his hands for a few minutes. Woody sidled over to the ranger, a mug in his hand. "Usual, John?" he asked, as he offered the steaming cup of coffee to John. "You're keeping late hours tonight, ranger."
John nodded his thanks, and took the hot cup in both hands. "Yeah, I am. Got to finish up the paperwork on a tree theft before I can call it a day. What do you have that's good and hot?"
"Well, we have some Irish stew, the usual pot roast and I may have some hot turkey with gravy left if you're interested."
"Any cranberry sauce with that turkey?"
"I think we can find some around someplace, just because it's for you." Woody grinned.
"That sounds really good, then." John threw another log on the fire, and sat down at a table nearby, as the smell of the rich, black coffee obscured the other scents in the room. After a few minutes, Woody returned with a plate piled high with turkey, gravy and potatoes and a serving of real cranberry sauce. John ate quietly, alternately looking out the window, then at the fire in the fireplace. As he finished the last cranberry, John saw the two gray riders on their big black horses, float past the window. He wiped his mouth, stood, and pulled on his red wool coat, then put his Stetson on his head, and walked over to the bar. "What do I owe you?" he queried.
"On the house, John. Merry Christmas!" Woody answered.
Farmer looked at the proprietor with a mixture of amusement and admonition and pushed two bills across the bar. "Okay, keep the change, and..." John paused. "Hey Woody, how old is that oldest son of yours now?"
"Almost seven. Why?" Woody was curious.
"I remembered you saying it was about time to get him a dog of his own. I wondered if you'd gotten one for him.
Woody shook his head. "Haven't had the time to even look. Would be a good Christmas present, though."
"You know Alex Ivanavich over on the Moose Lake Road?"
Woody nodded. "Sure. Russian Alexi. He sometimes stops in when he has money for a beer or some vodka. I get the feeling things are pretty tight for him a lot of the time. Never has more than one drink. Always pays cash. Never asks for a tab. Nice guy from what I know."
John nodded. "Well, this is one of those tight times for him and his family, what being Christmas and all. He has some really nice lab puppies. Ought to make good hunting dogs. He said he would sell most of them if he could. I bought one for my daughter's son. If you're interested, I'd get out there. I think they'll likely sell really fast. He's only asking ten bucks each."
"Hey, that sounds really good John. I'll try and get out there in the morning. My kids would love that!" Woody picked up the two dollars and walked down the bar.


Out in the street, Constable Breck was driving by again, and John flagged him down. "What's up, ranger?"
"Hi Lew. Hey, I was out at Russian Alexi's place on the Moose Lake Road, and he has some nice lab puppies for sale for ten bucks each, if you know anybody looking for a good hunting dog for a Christmas present. I'd appreciate if you would tell them about it. He's a bit short for the holidays and selling the puppies would really help his family out. I bought one for our Tricia's boy." he affirmed.
Lew rolled his eyes. "I will keep it in mind. My wife would never let me have another dog right now, but if I hear of anyone looking, I'll send them his way." He looked at the ranger, "They should be good dogs...he always seems to do well during bird season."
"Yep, that's what I was thinking. How's the car doing?" John asked as he pulled his head back from the vehicle.
"Way of the future, ranger. Way of the future. I can get from one end of the township to the other in less than a half hour!" The constable was beaming.
"I suppose, but I can still get a lot more places with Hanna than I can with one of those," John grinned. The other officer grinned back, waved, and pulled away from the tavern, spraying gravel and snow as he left.

Light was showing through the windows of the state troopers’ billet as he walked down the street. Farmer climbed the steps and entered the warm police station. "Well, well. What brings the district ranger of the state forestry commission to the office of the state police so late on a December evening?" Staff Sergeant Jerry Doerghty actually had a bit of an Irish lilt to his voice, despite being the second generation of his family in the U.S. "I thought I recognized your nag out in the back. I put her in the barn with our mounts, to keep warm"


John pulled the Stipulation Agreement and ten dollar fine out of his saddlebag. "I have a timber theft stipulation here for you to give to the judge on Friday. "Hey, Jerry. Know anybody in the market for a nice lab pup? They might be a great present for someone's kid, or grandkid," he added with emphasis.
"We're looking to get a dog." Doerghty's partner, 'Chik' Serenza said, as he came in from the rear of the station. Serenza and his wife had moved to Mills Forge the previous summer, after he finished the new academy the troopers had opened. They were city folk, and it had not been an easy adjustment for the young, recently married couple, particularly Johanna who had only passed through Ellis Island from Poland a half-dozen years earlier. "Hopefully, it will help my wife feel more at ease while I'm on post." Doerghty started to say something, but evidently thought the better of it, and went back to his desk work.
"Well, they are only pups, about ten weeks old." Farmer responded. "Alex Ivanavich over on the Moose Lake Road has some really nice lab puppies. Been pretty tight times for him and his family, what being Christmas and all. He said he would sell most of them if he could. I bought one for my grandson. He's only asking ten bucks each."
"Thanks, ranger." Chik nodded at John. "I'll head out there later in the week."
"You never know," Doerghty put in. "We might head by there on patrol in the next day or so," he said with a smile. He reached for the paperwork the ranger had placed on his desk. "What do we have here...Hmm, took a fir for a Christmas tree. Settled by District Ranger Farmer, for ten dollars and admission of guilt. Subject's name...." The trooper paused and looked at the forest ranger. "...Alexsander Nikoliavich Ivanavich." He looked up at John, who was buttoning his coat back up. "I don't suppose you took the fir tree in for evidence?"
"Didn't see much point in it really." John smiled. "Too many puppies in the way." He opened the door, and over his shoulder, said, "Merry Christmas, guys."
"Merry Christmas, Ranger," Sergeant Doerghty replied. He and Trooper Serenza watched out the window a few minutes later, as the Ranger on his brown mountain horse, rode down the main street of town, back towards his cabin in the forest.

Epilogue: A few days later the forest ranger ran into Russian Alexi at the local store. The stocky woodsman looked at the ranger, and in broken English told him, "All the puppies are sold. Two big policemen came, and Mister Woody and other people came." He smiled a big smile, "We had very good Christmas! Very good! Thank you, Mr. Ranger!"
"Well, sir," John replied, "I know my grandson really loves his puppy. Happy New Year to you and your family, Alexi." He tipped his Stetson and headed back out into the forest.