They called me
”
The Greenhorn.
”
That’s the nickname I received last month when I got an up-close
glimpse of one of the most colorful periods in the history of the
American West: the era of the mountain men.
They called me “The Greenhorn.” That’s the nickname I received last month when I got an up-close glimpse of one of the most colorful periods in the history of the American West: the era of the mountain men.
At the Early Days in San Juan Bautista event on June 18 – a “living history” re-enactment of pioneer life – I stepped back into the early 19th century by donning the garb of one of these tough and hearty explorers who made their way into the western frontier. California State Park Ranger Andrea Mapes and volunteer Carol Verbeeck helped in my transformation from modern man to mountain man.
That weekend, I learned first-hand about some of the skills necessary to survive the American wilderness. I also learned about two famous trappers, Jedediah Strong Smith and Joseph Reddeford Walker, who in their extensive wayfaring briefly passed through the South Valley region during the 1820s.
What started the mountain man period, ironically enough, was a large rodent with the scientific name of Castor canadenis. You probably know this animal as the beaver. In the early 1800s, the stylish dressers of England and America’s East Coast began wearing hats made of waterproof fur from this animal that made its home in the streams and lakes of the West.
This fashion craze prompted courageous trappers to journey west to hunt down beaver belts for big bucks. These men were among the first whites to venture across the great plains and over the snow-capped Rockies and make their way to the Pacific Coast. Among them were Smith and Walker.
Jedediah Smith was a 23-year-old when he vowed his intent “of becoming a first-rate hunter.” Wild with dreams of adventures, he entered the Rocky Mountain fur trade in 1822. He was a clean-shaven, pious man who sang Methodist hymns as he rode into the wilderness. Other mountain men who knew him described him as “half grizzly and half preacher.”
At the age of 26, the industrious Smith set a record for a single-season catch of 668 beaver pelts.
During his nine years as a mountain man, his legend grew from a large number of accomplishments. He became the first explorer to realize Oregon’s South Pass would serve as a gateway into the Far West, thus opening up California and Oregon to later covered-wagon pioneers.
Smith was also the first white man to cross the Sierra Nevada and the Great Basin from east to west, thus becoming the first overlander to reach California and opening those routes for later settlers.
His reports of the fertile San Joaquin Valley as well as the coastal ports of Monterey and Yerba Buena (now San Francisco) sparked in the minds of American politicians the possibility of conquest of Mexico’s territory. He died at age 32 after Comanches ambushed him on the Santa Fe Trail.
Like Smith, Joseph Walker was also a legendary explorer of the West. He serves as the romantic embodiment of the American mountain man. A bearded bear of a man, he stood more than six feet tall and was considered a bit of a dandy.
His 1833 expedition took him from Utah’s Salt Lake down the Humboldt River where he crossed the Sierras and camped in Yosemite Valley. The trail took him to Monterey where he and his men spent the winter carousing and wenching – unlike Smith, Walker was proud of his “manly vices.”
Turning home during that California tour, he made his way through what’s now Walker Pass, discovering the Owens Valley. Walker Pass gave later wagon-train settlers an easier route around the south end of the Sierra Nevada.
In 1869, surveyors of the transcontinental railway used his Humboldt River route. Walker died in bed in his California home in 1876 at the age of 78.
Of course, you and I know that my weekend fling at being a mountain man wasn’t quite exactly like the life Walker and Smith led. They faced a daily gauntlet of struggles and dangers. Smith was mauled by a grizzly bear once, and both men faced the attacks of Native Americans.
Camping out on the mission plaza lawn in a 19th-century style canvas tent, my biggest personal danger was that the sprinklers might come on during the middle of the night.
But Verbeeck and the other re-enactors organizing my excursion into the world of the mountain man did set up various challenges for me. I had to pitch my camp tent, pan for gold (in a sand-filled bucket), start a fire using flint and steel, load and fire off a flint-lock musket, attempt some blacksmithing, sew a leather “personals bag,” identify the furs of various wild animals, set a beaver trap, trade my panned gold for bread baked in an adobe oven, and make a water container by hollowing out a dried gourd.
What I discovered was: as romantic as it might sound, the daily life of a mountain man was not reality TV. These early explorers of the West needed to be self-reliant and tough. They needed to be able to quickly learn ways to keep alive under challenging conditions.
The mountain man era lasted roughly from 1820 to 1840 when the beaver pelt fad ended as a result of over hunting. But this breed of rugged trappers – men like Smith and Walker – left an indelible mark on the West. Their hard-won knowledge opened up trails for American pioneers to come into California and Oregon. They also discovered routes that would be useful for railroad builders and surveyors of our own modern highways and interstates.
As for myself, that weekend at the San Juan Bautista mission plaza I received a cloth certificate from the docents and volunteers who organized the “Early Days” event. It read:
“This is to Certify that Mr. Martin Cheek, formerly known as ‘The Greenhorn,’ is hereby awarded the status of Honorary Mountain Man. June 18, 2005, San Juan Bautista State Historic Park.”
So I guess you can say my new nickname is “Mountain Man.”
Martin Cheek is the author of ‘The Silicon Valley Handbook.’
