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| Daddy |
A full 65 years after my father's accidental death
in 1947, my daughter, Amy, at a family reunion bought the book "The
Last Season" by Eric Blehm at the Duck Creek Visitor's Center. I was
struck by the many similarities in the two stories. I
didn’t know Eric Blehm's book would help me to heal from a catastrophic
experience in my childhood. I didn’t even
know how much I was still hurting or how many questions were left
unanswered. I wonder if my brothers and sisters, deep in their psyches,
feel the same way—even the one-year-old who couldn’t have understood or
remembered anything.
As I read about Randy Morgenson, a National Park Service
backcountry ranger, so many tucked-away memories resurfaced in regards to
Daddy. I unintentionally searched for answers all through the book, like
I was going to better understand Daddy’s life and death. My father, a sheep rancher in southern Utah, like Randy, died on the job. My brothers and sisters then
ranged in age from 1 to 18; my mother and father had been married not quite 20
years.
I didn’t want the book to end. It was my
personal therapy session. I read every word, even the author’s notes and
acknowledgments.
It helped me to feel closure after all these years.
I found answers to questions I didn’t know I had.
My brother, Lynn, wrote our family’s equivalent to
Blehm’s tribute to Randy Morgenson, explaining the beauty and tragedy of
Daddy’s life and death, in “I Remember
May”. He traced Daddy’s last few days and explained what he was doing
and how he was feeling. Even though Lynn was only 14 years old, he was insightful beyond his
years and his story has been a comfort to all of us as we have groped to come
to terms with a father of eight being killed at the early age of 43.
Mama took the brunt of it and skillfully nurtured,
protected, and supported us, physically, mentally, emotionally, and
spiritually.
That’s why I didn’t even know I still harbored hurt.
In so many ways, Randy’s life parallels Daddy’s.
BOTH FOUND
SUCCOR AND REBIRTH IN SOLITUDE,
spending
more than six months of every year
sleeping in tents or some primitive
dwelling,
or even in the open;
eating simply;
walking long distances.
DADDY:
In a letter to Mama, when she was pregnant with
their first child, dated Jan. 13, 1929, Daddy wrote: “You should trade legs with me if
yours bother you. I've herded sheep enough now that I have a pretty
healthy pair of shank ponies, I don't think they would pain you much.” (2)
From Lynn’s essay: Daddy's
physical ability could have been his greatest achievement. He could walk
farther, longer and faster than anyone I knew. He kept a sharp axe and cut
mountains of oak wood for our wood stove at home. He was always carrying
fifty pounds of salt on his shoulder out to the most remote places on his range
so the sheep would do better and they would not congregate around the water so
much. (1)
Daddy was on Cedar Mountain when he wrote this to
Mama just before they were married: “All my experience so far (or most of
it) has been out in the hills. I wouldn't even want to go to town if it
wasn't for you. I think more of a horse than I do of all the automobiles
made. What do you think you will do with a man like that? Most
everybody that knows me knows I like horses and the hills, but nobody knows how
much I like them (unless it's Son (his best friend)). I told you once
before I should have lived fifty or a hundred years ago. I think it would
have been the most fun in the world to have lived where there were no towns or
wire fences, just open country. That's not just a dream either.
I've tried it enough to know what it's like.
But, of course, I know that
girls do not like things like that. There is nothing in it for
them. Most girls like cities (the further I can get away from them--the
cities--the better). So I "ax" you again, what are you going to
do with such a man?!!? Sheep Herd July 29, 1927 (Cedar Mountain) (2)
RANDY
At 54, Randy had spent most of his life in the
Sierra. This included twenty-eight full summers as a backcountry ranger
and the better part of a dozen winters in the high country as a Nordic ski
ranger, snow surveyor, and backcountry winter ranger. Add to that an
enviable childhood spent growing up in Yosemite Valley—where his father worked for the park’s benchmark
concessionaire, Yosemite Park and Curry Company—and Randy had literally been bred
for the storied life he would lead as a ranger. PAGE 7
While at McClure Meadow in
1990, Randy wrote, “I live in a valley at 9,700 feet in the High Sierra.
I won’t tell you where it is, for what I have to say about it may entice some
of you to come, and there are enough already. Fortunately many of you
prefer your screaming blackened sulfur dioxide cities. Splendid!
Let not I be the one to draw you out. The more of you who remain, the
more lonely will be my mountains, which is just the way I prefer them.
Nor would I tell those of you who are seeking this country where I live.
Find it yourselves, and it will be all the sweeter.” Page 179
“What is this infatuation
with ‘est’? Why are we beating our brains on a hard surface to be
fastest, biggest, richest, on and on ad infinitum ad nauseam? I asked (a man) how
many Audubon’s warblers he’d seen or hermit thrushes he’d heard and he grinned
sheepishly, looking down at his bootlaces. But this was an unfair
question. Such a hiker has probably never slowed enough to notice, but I continued:
‘Have you tried meadow sitting or cloud watching?’ ‘Anyone can do that,’ was
his response. “We’re a restless breed, we moderns. Hardest it is to
sit still and be attentive to our surroundings. Boredom comes to most of
us very quickly.” Page
155
BOTH HAD A HEIGHTENED
SENSE
OF DUTY AND RESPONSIBILITY
DADDY
His personal letters
divulge how keenly honest he was; how he courageously assumed responsibility;
they reveal his love and gratitude for Mama and others; innocuously they expose
how brave both he and Mama were. Life wasn't easy; the separations were
difficult; he was lonely and lonesome.
From Whitemore Point on
the Arizona Strip, Daddy writes to Mama after they had been married a little
over a year: Bill's going to try and get somebody to take him in tomorrow,
if he can't he says he's going to walk. Gosh, he must love her--at
least half as much as I love you. I guess you think I'd raise hell
walking home to see you! I'd do more than that for you, I'd stay out here
for you when I want to come home so bad---------! December
28, 1928
(2)
RANDY
In the backcountry, they were on call 24 hours a day
as wilderness medics, law enforcement officers, search-and-rescue specialists,
and wilderness hosts; interpreters who wore the hats of geologists, naturalists,
botanists, wildlife observers, and historians. On good days they were
“heroes” called upon to find a lost backpacker, warm a hypothermic hiker, chase
away a bear, or save a life. On bad days they picked up trash, tore down
illegal campfires, wrote citations, and were called names simple for doing
their job. On the worst days they recovered bodies. Page 9.
His
job was to hike the trails and “spread the gospel” to as many visitors as
possible. He issued fire permits, picked up trash, hung Mountain Manners
signs, naturalized campsites, and if there was an emergency—medical, forest
fire, whatever—he was to tend to the situation as best he could and radio for
assistance. His mantra: “to protect the people from the park,
and the park from the people.”
He
soon learned, however, that his main duty that summer was to collect
garbage—gunnysacks full of it.
BOTH
HAD A GREAT REVERENCE
FOR ALL THINGS GREAT AND SMALL,
ANIMATE AND INANIMATE
DADDY
From Lynn’s essay: Or maybe his greatest achievement was his love and care of all animals. He always had the best trained
sheep dogs. His cows and horses and sheep were always well selected and
well fed. He took great pride in caring for his animals.
Years later when I moved
to Cedar City as the Iron County Agent,
I talked to Cleo about the sheep. He said, "You know, that was a
real fine herd of sheep," and it was. Through careful selection,
Daddy had developed a herd of sheep that was superior to any others
around. You could always tell when someone else's sheep were in our herd because
they were smaller and not of the high quality, another reminder of the type of
man my dad was. (1)
RANDY
I can’t decide whether I
want to spend my next life as a little alpine bird or as a marmot. We
should be careful before concluding that either of these would be stepping
down. Randy
Morgenson, Rae Lakes, 1965
“I wish only to be alive
and to experience this living to the fullest. To feel deeply about my
days, to feel the goodness of life and the beauty of my world, this is my
preference.
“I am human and experience
the emotions of humanity: elation, frustration, loneliness, love. And the
greatest of these is love, love for the world and its creatures, love for
life. It comes easily here. I have loved a thousand mountain meadows
and alpine peaks.
“To be thoroughly aware
each day that I’m alive, to be deeply sensitive to the world I inhabit and the
world that I am, not to roam rough-shod over the broad surface of this planet
for achievement but to know where I step, and to tread lightly.
“I would rather my
footsteps never be seen, and the sound of my voice be heard only by those near,
and never echo, than leave in my wake the fame of those whom we commonly call
great.” Page
324
BOTH
WERE WELL READ AND POETIC
DADDY
From Lynn’s essay: Daddy read
a lot and was especially interested in national and international news,
politics, government leaders and national events. (1)
As I typed up his letters
which are in my possession to share with his posterity, I was amazed at the
clarity of the writing. There was rarely a misspelled word; the grammar
was almost flawless and some of the discrepancies I noted may not have been
considered erroneous at the time. More than that, he was a poet; his
alliterations are especially poignant throughout his letters. From Toroweap Valley on January
17, 1928,
he wrote: "I hope, Amy, that you don't get tired reading all this
stuff I'm writing. It's more like the history of a homesick
sheepherder than anything else." (2)
RANDY
Randy packed books in to
read during the summer. The last book he gave his wife before leaving for
his last summer was “I Heard the Owl Call My Name”. “Randy always read
slowly,” his wife explained, “Because he loved the language, he’d savor the
language.” “He didn’t do anything quickly. He felt you’d miss
things if you went too fast. You can tell by his writings he was really
in tune with the cycles of nature. You get into those cycles and you
become very aware of them, especially when your mind is quiet. Everything
slows down and you can hear things. You can hear yourself.”
I can’t find the exact
quote even though I’ve searched relentlessly, but somewhere I read that Randy
would write two lines in his logbook about a harrowing rescue heroically saving
someone’s life and two pages on listening to the song of a hermit thrush.
BOTH WENT MISSING
DADDY
From Lynn’s essay: By mid
morning I had finished my assignment and returned back to camp. Mama had
breakfast ready but Daddy was not back yet so we waited for a while.
Finally we ate breakfast without him. After breakfast Mama cut my hair
the usual crew cut for the summer. Even though it was probably only eleven
a.m.
I remember thinking to myself, "If something has happened to Daddy, I will
have this short hair cut for his funeral.” I guess knowing Daddy's
weakened condition we were all more concerned than we would have been
normally. At any rate it was not long before Mama decided that I should
go for help. I didn't have a driver’s license but I had learned to drive
from necessity in helping move sheep and take care of animals down to the
"Green" during the fall when Daddy was gone to the herd. I was
to go to Jack Butler's ranch and if no one was there, go on to
Orderville. Mama and the other children stayed at the camp.
No one was at The Butler
Ranch so I drove on to Orderville to find everyone in church. Dad's brother,
Uncle Lawrence, and our Bishop (Binnie Sorensen) came back to the sheep herd
with me. Uncle Lawrence went out to
look for Daddy, going down toward the Gulch in the direction I told him I
thought he had gone. Bishop Sorensen stayed with Mom and the kids and I
walked up to Bob Creek to gather the horses.
When I returned with the
horses, I found that Bishop Sorensen had taken Mom and the kids home and I was
to stay at camp in case Daddy came back. There was a large pile of oak
limbs nearby, left from the previous year's woodcutting. If Daddy came, I
was to set the limbs on fire to signal that Daddy was back safely. As far
as I know, the pile of limbs is still there.
People were starting to
collect to join in the search.
Early the next morning,
about 200 men were back to continue the search. (1)
Searchers scoured the
mountains.
Daddy’s body was found in
two days.
It took five years before
they found Randy’s remains and pieced together how he may have met his
accidental death.
Hope was high that each
would be found alive.
From Lynn’s essay: Uncle Lawrence, Bishop Binnie Sorensen and I were soon on our way back to the sheep camp with
instructions for more help to come if they did not hear from us soon. As
we drove back, they both assured me that they knew Daddy would be at camp when
we got there; but he wasn't. (1)
RANDY
All present (in the extensive land and air search aided by search dogs, radio and phone
technology, cameras, and all modern resources) half expected their friend to
come walking up at any moment, white teeth smiling through the familiar bushy
salt-and-pepper mountain-man beard, with a remark like “Who’s the party for?”
BOTH
WERE IN A WEAKENED CONDITION
BEFORE TAKING THE LAST FATAL STEP
DADDY
Daddy died a couple of
years after the war ended, before the economy picked up. He and Mama were
worried about the sheep business and supporting a big family. Two
prominent families, both close relatives in Orderville, had moved their families
looking for more prolific farms and Mama and Daddy talked of moving to Idaho or
Oregon to join them. I remember thinking “I hope not. I couldn’t
stand it.” If Daddy could have held on for a few more years, he would
have realized that he was a relatively wealthy man who owned a great deal of
land and a healthy herd of sheep. Recovery from the Great Depression and two
devastating wars takes time.
From Lynn’s essay: It was not long
after this that Daddy got the flu, a cold or some contagious disease.
After being isolated all winter with no exposure to other people, his immunity
was no doubt low and he developed a bad cough and other symptoms. After a
week or two he became quite discouraged because he hadn't been able to shake
the cough and he continued in a weakened condition. About the tenth of
May, the sheep arrived at the corral on the road to the Barracks below the
"Y". We were having a lot of rain. I went with Daddy on
the weekend to move the sheep from the Barracks up to the summer range.
We had our two new horses. We took the sheep up over Mineral to a place
just north of the Sorensen ranches where we had to stop for a day because of
all the rain and mud. We set up our tent and had a fire, but we were wet
and cold and Daddy still had his cough and flu. I remember him standing
in the rain by the fire with the leather chaps over his shoulders trying to get
warm.
When we got home, Daddy
collapsed. He was in such a weakened condition, he couldn't even
walk. Dr. Fen Covington was called and said that Daddy had pneumonia and
gave him some Sulfa Drug medication and said he should stay in bed for
awhile. Daddy was administered to and Bishop Sorensen and some of the men
close to Daddy talked to him and offered help. All the family was there
and I remember Daddy giving each of us a hug and a kiss. (And I remember
he had a few words of advice--like "mind Mama" or for the older ones, "take care of Mama"--for each of us as we
knelt in turn at his bedside.--Jeanette) We talked about what we should
do. He said he felt he just had to get back to the herd. The sheep
were right in the middle of lambing and he had dozens of small bands of ewes
and lambs scattered around the range and he was afraid no one else would be
able to find all of them. It was decided that if Mom and I went out with
him and if I would stay with him all the time in case something happened, then
he could go back to take care of his sheep. (1)
I have my own theory on
Daddy’s condition also. I am extremely allergic to sulfa, as is my son
Eddy. I think Daddy suffered from an allergic reaction to the medication
Dr. Covington gave him.
RANDY
In summers past, Randy had
anticipated boarding the parks’ helicopter and flying into the backcountry with
the giddy excitement of a child the night before Christmas. But this
season had been different. By all accounts, he was “in a funk,” “out of
sorts,” and conveyed little excitement for the season to come. Page 10
As Graber’s conversation
with Randy progressed, he interpreted the ranger’s apathy and uncharacteristic
lack of passion as depression.” “His eyes were blank,” says Graber, “but I knew
how to push Randy’s buttons—he’d lobbied for meadow closures his entire
career. I never knew anybody who took a trampled patch of grass more
personally than Randy. And wildflowers—he was a walking encyclopedia.
You could always get him going about flowers, so I brought that up, along the
lines of ‘Nice and wet up high, good year for flowers.’
“His response was ‘I don’t
find much pleasure in the flowers anymore’.” Page 12
Randy was struggling with
himself his last few years.
“First off, you can’t
ignore Randy’s state of mind at the time,” says Nash (his friend and retired
supervisor). “That alone put him at a major disadvantage. There is
no doubt in my mind that Randy’s mind-set had something to do with his death.”
That said, “In the Park Service, we’re often asked to identify the hazards in a
certain area. But how does a backcountry ranger alone on patrol identify
hazards when the whole damn place is a hazard? Any ranger route is a
hazard, and in between one hazard and another hazard is another hazard—like a
snow bridge. You’ve got to get across a creek, and chances are its
stable. You’ve done it many times before. Sometimes you’ve gone
around it, but usually you’ve walked as lightly as possible and done it.
But it’s hard to walk softly with a 50-pound pack. It’s roulette, that’s
what it is. I guess after twenty-eight years of good luck, you’re gonna
hit black when you bet on red.” Page 322
BOTH
LOST THEIR LIVES
ON THE LAND THEY LOVED
DADDY
From Lynn’s essay: There were a
number of pickups there and a few men. As I got out of the pickup, they
showed me the smoke from a fire to the west down above the ledges. They
said that was the signal that Daddy had been found. That's all they knew.
Once again I said a silent prayer that he was all right. We waited on a
little hill where we could see all of the area to the west and south, the steep
canyons of the Orderville Gulch, North Fork, and on to Zion National Park to the Southwest. I
don't know how long we waited there, but eventually we could see a few men
coming out toward us. They would know.
The first man to get to us
was my cousin LaNard Johnson. He asked me what color of shirt my dad was
wearing. I said he always wore a blue Levi jumper. He said that he
and Grandon Holgate, another cousin, had followed Daddy's tracks along a trail
at the top of a high ledge to a point where he could have gone above or below a
small clump of oak brush. He had gone below, and started to slide on the
dirt over the sandstone. He slid about ten feet and over the edge.
The ledge there was about 400 feet high. They could see something blue at
the bottom but couldn't tell what it was. They directed two other men
that were in the canyon, Tiny Gardner and Hugh Chamberlain, to the spot but it
was so far down they couldn't tell what they said when they would yell back to
them. Feeling fairly sure that it was Daddy and that he was dead they
came back out to where we were.
Mom's brother, Uncle Fred
Heaton, was there and he, LaNard and I got in a car to go talk to Mama and the
family before they could get the news from someone else. As we drove
along, LaNard told me about the area and what he thought happened. He
said if Daddy would have gone above the clump of oak he would have been all
right, but when he went below, he lost his footing and started to slide.
As he slid, he grabbed for the clump of oak but only managed to get a handful
of oak leaves. When they found him at the bottom of the ledge, he still
had the oak leaves clutched tightly in his hand. I also know that if
Daddy had been well and strong, as he normally was, he would never have slid
over the edge of the cliff. He had probably walked in similar places
hundreds of times before, but this time he was weak, this time he didn't make
it-- and the lives of my mother and her eight children changed forever.
The funeral was attended
by a very large crowd, more than the historic old Orderville Ward chapel would
hold. I think it was quite a shock to the whole town to have such an
accident happen to a young father with a large family. (1)
RANDY
According to one scenario,
snow topped ice covering a deep pond, rather than a small stream which Randy
attempted to walk across. If Randy had punched through, he would have dropped
deep into the freezing water because of the weight of his backpack. The
current would have pushed him immediately away from the hole in the ice.
After a few frantic attempts to resurface, his hands would have been numb from
the freezing water, making it nearly impossible to unbuckle his waist
belt. He would have been trapped with his backpack on, under the ice, for
little more than 30 seconds before panic, hypothermia and lack of oxygen
ushered in death. Page
320
Perhaps Randy was having a
glorious day in the Sierra when he met his demise. Flowers were blooming
along the edges of snowbanks and new grasses were sprouting up. Birds
were singing, ground squirrels foraging, marmots lazing in the sunshine, pikas
chirping. If so, he may have been lulled into a sense of bliss. For
twenty-eight seasons he’d strolled through these mountains—across chasms, along
lakes, over snowfields—thousands of times. Page 323
Randy and Judi didn’t have any children.
Daddy and Mama had eight.
The one regret Judi had was that they
didn’t have children.
1. From “I Remember May”
by Lynn J. Esplin
2.From Daddy's letters; mainly written from the
sheepherd to Mama from 1926, the year before they were married, through 1929,
after their first baby was born.
3.The Last
Season by
Eric Blehm
