The other day I came across this story from my grandfather Earl Ellingson who hiked Mt. Blakiston in 1953. I figured if there ever was a path less traveled by it was this one. I had heard of this story years ago and had probably read this story 20 years ago but since I've become a little more interested in hiking of late this story bring on a whole new meaning. My grandfather was a scout master like myself, and was the scout master in the middle of the 20th century. I remember him wearing his 30 years of service pin from scouts Canada and always though that was cool he'd served that long. I would have loved to hike with him on some of his adventures because they truly blazed the trail. Today we have so much information of maps and books and gps that hiking isn't quite what it was before. He was a true pioneer in the hiking world of Waterton. Now since this September we have had a fire in Waterton Park, I won't be writing too many blog stories of hikes in Waterton. So I figured some stories from my Grandfather would suffice. He had a few short stories compiled that he experienced and titled the collection: "Dust from the Trail, and how it settled on me" (from every trail a little dust settles on every traveler). Hence my new hashtag #dustfromthetrailandhowitsettledonme So here is his story:
High Adventure
July 9,10 1953
"I'm going to climb that mountain someday," said Jerry, as he leaned against a tree for a short after dinner rest. Headquarters tent was never without an audience, and half a dozen Scouts rolled over on their backs and squinted into the sun to look at the top of Mt. Blakiston.
Mt. Blakiston, standing serene and complacent in the noon-day sun, had for decades looked down on similar scenes in hundreds of Scout Camps since Camp Kootenai had been set aside for the use of Scouts in the Waterton Lakes National Park.
The Mountain was an invitation and a challenge that stirred in the breast of every boy and the desire to tread where few other humans had trod; to pit his strength, his courage, his resource against the raw forces of nature, to recognize that he himself has worlds to conquer, and that this is one of them. And so the assault on Mt. Blakiston became the favorite topic of conversation for several days.
I was Scoutmaster of the Third Taber Troop of Boy Scouts, and we had just arrived at Camp Kootenai for our annual Scout camp.
A few evenings later, Roy, chairman of the Scout Group Committee, visited us, bringing with him his twenty year old son, Evan.
When Jerry, assistant Scoutmaster, and also twenty years old, and Evan announced that they had decided to climb the mountain, almost every boy in camp wanted to go with them.
To climb a mountain, you first have to get onto it. Blakiston Brook was the main obstacle here. It was not very big, but wild, rocky and cold, as only water fresh from a thousand glaciers can be. We had to follow it about two miles before we were able to find a place quiet enough to attempt a crossing.
Originally we had decided to all start together, when enough of the boys wanted to turn back, I would go back with them, while Evan and Jerry continued with the rest. When we looked at the stream, and figured the safe way to cross it, we knew that whoever crossed the stream would have to be prepared to stick close until we were ready to cross it on the way back to camp. It was here that many of the boys dropped out. Left to continue with Jerry, Evan, myself, and seven boys, the oldest of which was Jimmy, Jerry's sixteen year old brother.
We stripped off and made bundles of our clothes. Jerry took one end of a rope and waded the stream, made his end fast to a tree, and I tied fast on my side. Then Evan went to midstream on the rope and stayed there. I helped the boys into the water and started them along the rope. Evan helped them in midstream, and Jerry pulled them out, soaked and frozen, on the other side. When all were across, I untied my end of the rope and waded over to join them.
Now we were on the mountain, and what a mountain. Dense evergreen forest mostly, except for some patches of snow willow. This is a willow that grows up about two or three feet and then bends over. The branches interlace, and to hike through them is really an experience. Then there were numberless gorges, but by streams of water, each posing its own problem of how to cross. We made good time, however, and by the time we stopped for lunch we were pretty much out of the timber.
Lunch consisted of cold canned meat, bread, and of course, pork and beans, and the oranges which every boy had tucked in most of his pockets. We ate lunch on a rocky ledge just on the edge of the shale. After the cool of the forest, the bright sun felt very good.
The shale we now had to climb was just rock broken down by ages of weather, and offered little in the way of comfort, and even less in the promotion of speed.
Every time I raised my eyes, I could see the bold, barren rocks, and black crevices between them, The patch s of snow and the clouds drifting by. I wanted to climb that mountain right to the very top. I wanted to stand up there and look down on the tops of all the other mountain. I wanted to feel, like those boys wanted to feel, that I had conquered something a billion times bigger than I was, and so from then on, I was not just a Scoutmaster trialing along to look after boys, I was one of the boys, and I wanted to climb that mountain just as much as any one of them.
Well, we did climb the mountain, over that expanse of shale, around those ragged boulders, through the crevices, and finally up to the top. We stood and let the wind go b y us and looked down on the tops of all the other mountains, and on our camp, thousands of feet below, and on the long hard trail behind us, and we were happy.
But by now it was four o'clock, and we had to start back in order to get off the mountain before dark. We had noticed on the way up, whenever we crossed a patch of snow, that it was much easier to walk on then either the shale or the rock, so we directed our downward course to make use of the long narrow glacier that reached from almost the top of the mountain to well within the treeline. Of course as soon as we got on the snow, everyone could see that we would make a lot better time sliding than we ever could walking. We all had Scout staves, and we were able to sit on them and use our feet to control our speed.
We had a wonderful time. We would slide about two or three hundred yards, then stop, stomp the snow off and go again. Finally some of us went ahead to take pictures of the others as they passed. Jimmy and butch were the only ones left and I had just turned to wave to them when I saw that Jimmy had already started down, and just then he fell. He was going to fast to stop himself, and started to tumble head over heels down the snow. I tried to get out to him, but he passed me before I could, and as he passed I could see that he was hurt. I called to Evan and Jerry below. They ran out onto the snow and braced themselves in Jimmy's path. The impact almost sent them all sprawling, but they managed to stop him. I slid down to them, and by this time they had Jimmy over on the rocks. He told us he thought his leg was broken. Both Jerry and I had had some First Aid training, and after examining him we had to agree. It was broken between the knee and the ankle. By using what bandages we had, and our Scout neckerchiefs, we bound him as well as we could.
During our concern with Jimmy, we had completely forgotten about his companion Butch. As we were finishing, we looked up in amazement to see him rolling by on the snow. He came to a stop a little below us on a pile of rocks, and the other boys helped him off the snow. They called up to us that he was hurt too. I went down to him, and decided that while he was shaken up and one leg bruised badly, he had no broken bones or other serious injury.
We realized now what a task lay ahead of us, and it was here that Jerry, Evan, and I stood with bared heads, and offered a prayer for guidance and help. We knew that while it would take a lot of human help to get Jimmy off the mountain, we needed a lot of help besides.
As we concluded our prayer, I was aware of a strange wonderful feeling coming over me. I was no longer the fumbling, bumbling, stumbling, middle aged Scoutmaster, but I became calm, confident, director of operations that I needed to be for the next twelve hours.
It was just as if I was plugged into an infallible answering service, only that I didn't even need to ask the questions. When situations arose, I knew immediately what to do, how to do it, and to whom each task should be assigned.
Only later, as I analyzed the succession of events, did I realize what had happened here. We were so humbled by the magnitude of the task ahead of us, that we became candidates for the promptings of the Holy Ghost.
Not only Prophets and Presidents and Bishops can receive inspiration and help. But common folk, like we, can be recipients of Divine guidance. And if the Holy Ghost can work through a man like me, and override all my weaknesses and frailties, it can work through anyone. How sad it is though, that it takes a near tragedy like this one, to bring us to that level of humility.
We decided to still travel on the snow with Jimmy, it was surely the fastest and easiest way. I got on my staff like a witch rides a broom. Jimmy sat on behind me, side saddle, with his bound up feet trailing in the snow, and his arms wrapped around me. We tied our two ropes around him, Jerry and Evan took the ends of these and fanned out behind us, each on his staff. In this way we could make good time, and if one of us went out of control, the other two would still have hold of our precious bundle.
The rest of the boys were descending on the rocks, and it soon became evident that Butch needed some help. Don, one of the Patrol Leaders, took Evan's rope, while Evan assisted Butch.
I distinctly remember looking back at Don often, and observing the growth a twelve year old boy experienced when given grave responsibilities.
In this manner we travelled as far as the snow was good, and brought us down into the timber. Here we stopped and remustered.
Evan now left us to get help. He covered the estimated three miles of mountain, crossed Blakiston Brook, and ran the two miles of trail to the Red Rock ranger station in one and a half hours. Chris, the warden at Red Rock phoned into Park headquarters and recruited five park employees and one R.C.M.P. constable as a rescue squad. Evan went back to camp and with his father gathered up coats and blankets to bring along with the rescue party.
Meanwhile, on the mountain, Jerry and I made a seat for Jimmy out of Scout staves and rope. Where there were patches of snow or shale, we each took the front end of one staff, and let the other end drag like a travois. Where it was too rough, we carried him. We finally ran out of snow and shale, and knew we could go no further alone. 'We stopped on a shelf of rock by a little creek, made a fire and got Jimmy as comfortable as possible. Jerry had already given him his shirt, and I parted with mine now.
Concerned as we were about Jimmy, we still had other boys to get back to camp. Crossing Blakiston Brook alone with the boys was a job neither cared to consider, so we left Jimmy with the Patrol leaders, Ron and Don. We cautioned them to keep a good fire going, for Jim's comfort, and as a guide for us on the way back. It was a pretty sober party, leaving two twelve year old boys on a mountain with another boy whose leg was broken. Wood was plentiful but had to be broken by hand because we felt we need the only hatchet for crossing small ravines and streams. We left with them the food we had not used for lunch.
The strange noises, The fire to keep going, the apprehension about Jimmy, and about whether we would find them again, would be enough to challenge bigger, but not stouter hearts.
The descent with the boys was made without unfavourable incident, Butrch's leg losing some of its stiffness as we progressed. As we approached the crossing, we were greeted by the sounds of the rescue party already in the water. Our boys stripped off and the men helped them across. Evan, who had guided the party to our crossing place, took them back to camp and to bed.
Though the rescue party had been recruited in a hurry, they were the best six men that could have been found. They had a stretcher, some blankets, jackets for all of us, and three good search lights.
And so for the second time that day, Jerry and I turned our footsteps up the mountain. Patches of snow willow which had been a nuisance in the light of day, now became almost impenetrable. Bert, who seemed to be in charge of the men, suggested that we work around the mountain into the clear timber and out of the underbrush. This we did, and so made better time. When a rest was called, Jerry and I were usually the first ones on the ground. During one of these short rests, Jerry confided that he was so hungry that if he didn't get something to tighten his belt, he might not be able to carry on. When the jackets were handed out back at the brook's edge, the one I got was for a small boy, but it had one redeeming feature. It had an orange in the pocket. We ate it peelings and all.
We climbed until we thought we had enough altitude, then cut back to find the gorge where we had left the boys. We found it without much difficulty, and soon were able to see the reflection of the campfire on the tops of the trees. This we followed until we came upon them, and a pretty relieved group of boys they were. They had eaten sparingly of the food, so we all shared what remained, about three bites each.
Jim had weathered the wait pretty well, and after strengthening his bandages a bit, we wrapped him in blankets and lashed him onto the stretcher with rope, and started the descent.
To come down a mountain in daylight, and without a load is one thing, to carry a loaded stretcher by the light of electric lanterns is something entirely different, as the eight of us, taking turns, four at a time, soon found out. Thick timber, which was no obstacle to a person travelling alone, had to be cut to permit the passage of a stretcher; terrain not to difficult to negotiate for one, was found hazardous for four, carrying a common burden. One of the party who had been playing tennis when the call for help came, had worn tennis shoes, and found that by the end of the trip they had been reduced to ribbons.
At one place the descent was so steep the bearers had to hold the stretcher with one had, and grasp standing small timber with the other, proceeding but a few feet at a time, and Jim was practically standing upright.
And so, slowly, carefully, but steadily we brought him down, and it was just breaking day when we got to Blakiston Brook, and now the familiar crossing place. Chris was waiting for us on the other side. He too had been up all night, finding his two saddle horses in their wooded pasture, and waiting to help us when we arrived.
The rope was still stretched across the brook, and so we just waded in with him raised to shoulder height. I was on the upstream side at Jim's head, and as we got about midstream I slipped on the smooth stones and fell down. By extending my arm full length I was able to keep Jim out of the water till I regained my feet, but I got soaked to the neck.
The fire and the coffee pot took the attention of the rest of the party, while Jerry and I released Jim from the stretcher and loosened his bandages made tight from the swelling. Chris had a gentle saddle horse and we boosted Jim up on it side saddle, still wrapped up in blankets, (Jerry and I had gotten our shirts back), and Jerry mounted the horse behind Jim to help hold him on. Chris walked ahead down the trail and led the horse. Don and Ron shared the other horse.
The walk up the Blakiston Brook from Red Rock Canyon is considered by many to be one of the most pleasant in the whole park. But at five-thirty on a cool morning, soaked in ice water, dead tired, and hungry, we missed the beauty of it all.
Roy had made arrangements with a camper, who had a bed in the back of a panel delivery, to take Jim to the hospital in Cardston, thirty-five miles away. When he saw us coming he roused this Good Samaritan and they brought the panel up to the bridge over Red Rock. We eased Jim, with his legs still bandaged together, into the warm bed, and I don't think we had the door closed before he fell asleep. They drove to the Cardston Hospital where Jim was examined and found in good enough shape to go on home to Taber, another eight miles.
When we arrived home the next night, I called in to see Jim in the hospital. He was propped up in bed with his leg in a cast, but there was no restraint on his spirit or humour. "Earl" he said "I'll soon be ready to do it again."
Well, we all recuperated, and eventually separated to go our several ways. Once in a while we get together, to reminisce, each of us cherishing the special memories we individually carried from this experience.
Perhaps my own memories are the most vivid of all, highlighted by those few hours, when in my utter humility, I felt the minute by minute guidance of the Holy Ghost. How wonderful it would be to have that same guidance and Spirit always.
By Earl Hugh Ellingson
Favorite quote of my Grandfather:
"You're not lost, until someone has to come find you"
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| My Grandfather Earl Ellingson, not sure of the location of this picture |
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| Another early family shot with my Grandfather and Grandmother and the two oldest kids Anne and Parry probably taken somewhere in Waterton |
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| View of Blakiston where they might have gone up |
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| This is probably the route or area they climbed up (middle summit is Hawkins) |
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| Another shot of Blakiston looking at the side they climbed up, Red Rock parking lot is right in the middle of photo |
