Winter on the Laramie River—great food, wrong trees

Would you camp here for five months?

On September 4, 1831, twenty-one fur trappers packed their mules, saddled their horses, and rode up the Laramie River from the North Platte. They would travel until they found beaver, then trap until snow and cold sent them back downstream. But things did not go as planned. It would be May before they finally returned, and they would have to walk back.

Among the trappers was 22-year-old Zenas Leonard, one of the many young men who joined the fur trade for economic gain and adventure. He left the family farm in Pennsylvania the year before after announcing, “I can make my living without picking stones.” Zenas was a literate man, and kept notes during his travels. In 1839, he published a book about his five-year journey through the Rocky Mountains: Narrative of the Adventures of Zenas Leonard (available free here). The following account of a winter on the Laramie River is based on Leonard’s Narrative.

NOT Zenas Leonard; added in error by GoogleBooks. See note at end of post.

Traveling was easy at first. “… found the prairies or plains very extensive—unobstructed with timber or brush—handsomely situated, with here and there a small creek passing through them, and in some places literally covered with game, such as Buffaloe, White and Black tailed deer, Grizzley, Red and White Bear, Elk, Prairie Dog, wild Goat, Big horned mountain Sheep, Antelope, &c.”

But when they arrived at “the foot of a great mountains through which the Laramies passes” they found it impossible to continue, as “huge rocks projecting several hundred feet high closed it to the very current.” Instead, they traveled along the base of the Laramie Range to a buffalo trail leading to the crest, where they made camp. At midnight it began snowing hard, and they were forced to stay put for three days.

Not bothered by the early-October blizzard, the party continued on to the Laramie Valley. Leonard described it as long and broad “with the river Laramies passing through the centre of it, the banks of which are covered with timber, from 1/4 to 1/2 a mile wide … on a clear morning, by taking a view with a spyglass, you can see the different kinds of game that inhabit these plains, such as Buffaloe, Bear, Deer, Elk, Antelope, Bighorn, Wolves, &c.”

Beaver were abundant; they trapped twenty the first night. Then they continued upstream, periodically stopping for a few days to trap. Clearly the Laramie Valley was worth the trouble of getting there.

Base map by John C. Fremont (drawn by Charles Preuss), 1848; from David Rumsey Historical Map Collection. Insert below; click on images for larger views.

Trappers' route from the confluence of the Laramie and North Platte Rivers to the Laramie River campsite (X). Precise locations of their route across the Laramie Mountains and campsite are unknown. At that time, the Laramie Mountains were often called the Black Hills.

By October 22, the days were consistently cold and snowy. All agreed it was time to return to winter quarters on the North Platte. They followed the Laramie River back downstream to the buffalo trail across the mountains. But … surprise! It was no longer passable—there was too much snow. Several men searched for an alternative route but found none. In the discussion that followed, “a majority of the company decided in favor of encamping in the valley for the winter.”

The river was the obvious place to stay. Game was abundant. Cottonwood trees would provide wood for shelters, fuel for heat, and nutritious inner bark for horses and mules when grass was buried in snow. Camp was established on November 4.

“… we arrived at a large grove of Cottonwood timber, which we deemed suitable for encamping in. Several weeks were spent in building houses, stables, &c. necessary for ourselves, and horses during the winter season. They [the best hunters] killed buffalo and dried meat in case the herds left the valley. They killed deer, elk, antelope and other game & dressed the hides to make moccasins.”

By early December, the horses were struggling to find grass. The men collected armloads of cottonwood bark, but “to our utter surprise and discomfiture, on presenting it to them they would not eat it, and upon examining it by tasting, we found it to be the bitter, instead of the sweet Cottonwood.” By the end of December, most of the horses had died (apparently the two mules were less picky). They celebrated the New Year anyway.

“On new-years day, notwithstanding our horses were nearly all dead, as being fully satisfied that the few that were yet living must die soon, we concluded to have a feast in our best style; for which purpose we made preparation by sending out four of our best hunters, to get a choice piece of meat for the occasion. These men killed ten Buffaloe, from which they selected one of the fattest humps they could find and brought in, and after roasting it handsomely before the fire, we all seated ourselves upon the ground, encircling, what we there called a splendid repast to dine upon. Feasting sumptuously, cracking a few jokes, taking a few rounds with our rifles, and wishing heartily for some liquor, having none at that place we spent the day.”

Food and fuel remained abundant, but the men grew restless. Someone had heard they could buy horses in Santa Fe, so all but four men headed south on foot with beaver skins to trade. Two weeks later, they were turned back by snow and dwindling supplies of food. By the time they returned to the Laramie River camp they were gaunt and hungry, but quickly fattened up on game.

Finally, on April 20, they loaded what they could on the two weakened mules, cached everything else, and headed east across the Laramie Mountains through deep snow. Back on the plains, they stopped at the first sweet cottonwoods they came to and let the mules feast on inner bark for several days. They reached the North Platte on May 20, 1832.

Why no one in the group recognized the Laramie River cottonwoods as the bitter type is puzzling. Travelers as far back as Lewis and Clark could distinguish between the sweet and bitter types, even without leaves, and knew that horses would not eat the bark of the latter.

Were they an ignorant bunch? After all, they crossed the snowy Laramie Range in October, trapped beaver in the Laramie Valley into early November, and rang in the New Year with gusto in spite of losing all their horses, intending to walk to Santa Fe to get more.

Or were these trappers skilled adventurous men not averse to hardship? Maybe for them it was no big deal to spend five wintry months camped on the Laramie River before walking back to the North Platte!

Bitter cottonwoods (left; now called narrowleaf cottonwoods) grow at higher elevations, including the Laramie Valley (7000 feet). Sweet cottonwoods (Plains cottonwoods) are trees of lower elevations.

ADDED NOTE (May 21, 2016): In digitizing Leonard's narrative, GoogleBooks added a portrait to the cover as an enhancement—but it was the wrong one! Thanks to Scott Stine for tracking down the source of the error, and notifying Google:

[the] "digitized version of the 1904 edition displays a portrait, labeled 'Zenas Leonard,' on the first (digitized) page. But that portrait is not of Zenas Leonard; rather, it is of Michel Sylvestre Cerré. The portrait comes from (opposite) page 146 of the 1904 book (which appears on page 143 of your digitized version), where it is correctly labeled 'Michel Sylvestre Cerré.'"

• • •

This is an expanded version of an article I wrote for Laramie's Living History—a series produced by the Laramie Boomerang and the Albany County Museum Coalition.

Hollis Marriott
Contributing History Columnist

Meanwhile, back at the ranch …

Why not just one?

Recently I’ve been blogging about my travels, but it’s time to take a short break because here at home, things are happening!  A tree is in leaf (more about this next week) and midges have emerged.  Maybe.

Last March I wrote a post about the cones that are so common on willows along the Laramie River.  Of course they’re not really cones.  They’re galls that are shaped like pine cones.  And wouldn’t you know it – they’re called pinecone willow galls and are caused by the pinecone willow gall midge, Rhabdophaga strobiloides, a tiny fly.

The midge lays an egg in a terminal bud, and the egg and the larva that hatches release a chemical causing the plant to grow numerous small overlapping leaves – the “cone”.  The larva matures inside for about a year, and then metamorphoses into a midge which emerges and flies away to repeat the cycle.

Pinecone willow gall.

Galls are common on willows along the Laramie River.  Some plants have many, others none.

I picked an especially plump gall (above) thinking it was more likely to have a midge developing inside, and put it in a loosely capped jar before I left town.  Four weeks later there were four tiny dead flies, all the same kind, in the bottom of the jar.  I was excited! They looked like the gall midges I found online:

Gall midges, family Cecidomyiidae; probably some kind of willow gall midge (source, in part).

This one was the best preserved of the four flies I found in the jar:

Looks like a gall midge, doesn't it?

It's the right size ... about 3 mm.

Then it occurred to me:  Why four flies?  Why not just one?  Supposedly the pinecone willow gall midge lays a single egg in a terminal bud.  However, many other insects take up residence in the galls that develop – beetles, caterpillars, sawflies, wasps and other midges.  In fact, in one study 564 insects were reared from 23 pinecone willow galls, and only 15 contained the original host (source).  Maybe these flies were squatters.

Aarrgh.  Nature confounds my nice simple stories more often than not!

Of Anchor Ice & Cottonwood Flowers

It was the first of February, 8:30 AM, and 17º F after a cloudy night with light snow.  When I reached the river, I saw two men with poles standing in the water as ice floated by.  What were they doing?!  Fishing? hunting crawdads? collecting garbage? maybe playing ice golf, an ancient Scandinavian sport?

Will this be the final putt?

The men intently studied the river as my lanceleaf cottonwood tree stood by.

This month’s tree-following post was to be about my search for a new tree, but the cottonwood I've followed for a year now led me to two unexpected and interesting things. First there were the men who were taking photos of ice on the river bed.

They used a GoPro action camera – the kind folks wear to record adrenalin-inducing activities.

Ice on the river bed?  How can that be?  Ice floats, being less dense than water.  True ... but as I now know, under the right conditions a special kind of ice forms – anchor ice.  It’s really interesting and worth keeping an eye out for.  I’m glad I asked those guys what they were doing.

Cold nights are best, well below freezing.  Where the river is fast-moving and shallow, water may become super-cooled and stay liquid below its normal freezing temperature.  The sand, gravel, rocks, etc. that it’s flowing over also cool to that temperature.  The water is moving right along so surface ice doesn't form, but floating crystals (frazil) freeze out.  They stick to material on the river bed and to each other, making gray-green soft slushy ice.  When the day begins to warm, anchor ice begins to break free and float downstream.  Soon it’s all gone.  [Here’s a summary with clear explanations, and another in PDF format.]

Top: gravel and small rocks on bottom of anchor ice removed from river bed

Middle: anchor ice anchored to river bed

Bottom: anchor ice breaking free from river bed 

(modified from Kempema et al. 2008; click on image to see more detail)

Gray-green detached anchor ice floating downstream.

For years I’ve watched murky globs of ice float down the river on cold mornings.  I always thought they had broken off from ice along the river margins.  Now I know better.  The things you learn when you follow a tree!

Anchor ice was pretty minimal that day and has been for most of this unusually-mild winter.  But it can be dramatic with significant impacts, like creating dams and scouring river beds.  “Seeing is believing” so have a look at this anchor ice video – a “nature treat for the day” from the northeast USA.

--- ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ---

The second thing of interest is actually quite amazing ... my tree is blooming in February!

Cottonwood in full bloom; click on image to see fringed bracts, young ovaries and stigmas as in diagram below.

Suspicious?  You should be.  It is blooming ... but in my kitchen.

Last month when I was wondering if my cottonwood was the bitter kind, I collected twigs with buds to examine at home.  The true bitter cottonwood, the narrowleaf, has very resinous buds, but those on my tree aren’t – this suggests it's a hybrid.  When I was done, I put the twigs in a small container with water to see if maybe something interesting would happened.

Something did.  Now there are two female catkins (flower clusters), other buds have tiny bits of green at the tips – leaves? – and little twigs have grown roots!  Of course now I will put them in a pot.  Maybe something interesting will happen ...

I’m not surprised to find flowers out of season and roots growing from tiny twigs.  Cottonwoods are notoriously opportunistic.  They produce prodigious amounts of cottony seeds and cast them to the wind.  Maybe – just maybe – one  will land in a suitable place and grow.  Some species sucker and spread readily, as does mine.  Fallen live branches can root and grow.  And they grow fast.  My tree may look majestic, with all the noble characteristics we associate with trees – strength, great stature, longevity, steadfastness.  But it’s really more like a scrappy nine-lived alley-cat, resigned to (and ignoring) the capricious hand of fate.  Try anything and everything ... be ready ... live fast and die young ... wotthehell, wotthehell

Mehitabel (by Don Marquis).

More about anchor ice in the Laramie River:

Kempema, E, Ettema, R, and McGee, B.  2008.  Insights from anchor ice formation in the Laramie River, Wyoming.  19th IAHR International Symposium on Ice.

Kempema, E, and Ettema, R.  2010.  Anchor ice rafting:  observations from the Laramie River.  River Research and Applications 27:1126-1135.

A visit to the First Ice Art of the Season exhibition

As you may have heard, the jet stream curved far north around a ridge of good weather and then curved south, followed by the infamous polar vortex ... or “winter” as we call it.  Indian Summer had been soooo beautiful, with highs in the 50s!  Then Winter came screaming in.

“I’M HERE!!!” announced Winter.

It was -22º F, but my new field assistant insisted we do our daily investigation of the river.

Winter's sudden arrival was a shock, and I can’t say I’m feeling all that great about it.  But there are antidotes.  One will be skiing once there’s enough snow.  Another is ice art.  Jack Frost followed close on the heels of Winter, and has been making his beautiful hoarfrost sculptures on the river ice.

Ice ferns, needles and stars (click on images to view).

The river was completely open three days ago.  Now it's mostly frozen over.  There are a few small openings with flowing water, but they won’t last.

A bit of open water.  Wood things in ice are anchored logs – fish habitat.

The frozen surface is covered with a mix of snow and hoarfrost.

What do beavers do in winter when the river freezes?  Hibernate in their lodge?  UPDATE:  Beavers don't hibernate; see note from Nina F in Comments.

Pile of sticks on left is a lodge.  Beavers were busy here earlier this year, what are they doing now?

The cottonwood tree on the left is the one I’m following.

I post about ice art every winter.  We are so lucky to have it ... thanks, Jack!

Jack Frost, from Central Park in Winter by Thomas Nast, 1864.

Tree-following: that first question

Do you remember that first question ... back in February when the cottonwoods were leafless, the ground in snow, and the river under ice?

“Is this a single individual, connected underground?”

Time passed, more questions arose:  What kind of cottonwood? (lanceleaf)  How tall? (58.4 feet)  Male or female? (female).  But the first question was never answered.

Cottonwood at dawn.  Is this a single tree, or six?

Most cottonwoods send up suckers -- shoots from buds on the roots.  Old stumps and even fallen branches sometimes produce shoots that grow to maturity.  So it’s reasonable to suspect that this clump is a single individual.  Most cottonwoods along the Laramie River are clumped like this.

Lanceleaf cottonwoods along the Laramie River in early morning light.  Note bird on wire (more later).

Then a clue appeared.  The east half of the cottonwood tree I'm following is now yellow, the west half still green.  Perhaps this isn’t a single tree after all.  We investigated.

My cottonwood tree(s) -- now green and yellow.

Its canopy.

Glen at base of tree(s).

We crept into the little glen among the trunks.  The sound of pitter-patter footsteps and buzz-like whispers swelled and then quickly subsided -- probably river elves fleeing their sanctuary.  To the east towered three stems (maybe-trees) with yellow leaves.  Two to the south still had green leaves as did the younger one to the northwest, which split just above the ground.

Three stems with yellow leaves (green ones belong to stems on right out-of-sight).

Two stems to the south still sport green leaves, though they're fading.

This younger stem became two at some point.

So how many trees?  Might we say at least two -- the yellow and the green?  Then a vague distant memory from botany-student days surfaced.  Being immobile, plants may resort to phenotypic plasticity and produce different forms from the same inherited DNA.  Besides, I like the whole clump and want to follow it.  Are you wondering how one follows an immobile organism?  Apparently you don’t know of the tree-following frenzy hosted by Lucy Corrander.  Visit this month’s gathering to learn more.

A bird with a distinctive silhouette.

Back to the bird on the wire.  A belted kingfisher has been fishing from this wire across the river just upstream from the footbridge for at least 20 years.  As the EPA says, “No information was found in the literature on life expectancy for this species.”  So every year I wonder:  Is this a single bird, or many?

Sometimes our “intrusions” benefit wildlife -- belted kingfishers love telephone wires near streams and ponds.

Tree-following: Pilgrims from the East

Being a dedicated Tree-follower, each month I report on my tree, a lance-leaf cottonwood along the Laramie River in southeast Wyoming, USA.  However this month there wasn’t much tree action, and I’ve been really busy with other things.  I was worried.  I wasn't sure I'd get a post up by the deadline.  But then three pilgrims arrived from the East -- Mary and Dave from the east side of town, and Sandy all the way from Nebraska!  They’d been reading about the cottonwood online, and wanted to see it in person (in tree?).

Sandy contemplates the cottonwood she's been reading about since February, while Mary heads downstream to identify a twittering bird.

Tree-Followers Three.

I told the visitors about Tree-following, and I hope they’ll join in the fun next year ... if Lucy is kind enough to host another round.  Sandy already “is keeping an eye on an American elm."

Left to right:  lanceleaf cottonwood, sisters Sandy and Mary, blogger Hollis.

Birder's eyes are different than mine!  Mary spotted this nest, not even six feet off the ground but well-hidden.  She and Sandy concluded it's a robin’s nest.

It’s made mainly of grass stems, last year’s kochia weed (note dried white seed heads), and lots of mud.  The birders assured me that robins like mud when it’s available ... and there’s plenty along the river.

All and all the cottonwood tree was looking good, still a healthy green.  But then we saw a branch sporting yellow leaves ... sigh.

Autumn already?!

Dave is one of Wyoming’s great fiddlers, and also composes fiddle tunes.  So it’s only fitting to end this post with Under the Cottonwoods, written and played by Dave Brinkman (Mary B on guitar).  Judging by the ending, I'd say autumn’s not far off.