By William Henry Jackson

Editor’s note: This story has been edited for length. To read the original story, visit historycolorado.org.

This narrative was written for the State Historical and Natural History Society of Colorado by W. H. Jackson, photographer of the U. S. Geological Survey. It was originally published in 1924, and contains outdated terminology that today’s readers may find offensive.

The Photographic Division was outfitted as a separate unit of the U. S. Geological Survey of 1874, the same as the year before, and, in starting out from Denver the 21st of July, was instructed by Dr. Hayden to proceed first to Middle Park via Berthoud Pass and then to work south, crossing the head of the Arkansas to the San Luis Valley and thence to the San Juan Mountain region. Our itinerary had been talked over and changed many times before our plans took definite shape, the underlying purpose being that we should traverse some portion of the territory of the other divisions of the Survey. Wilson had been assigned the southern or San Juan region and, on account of its reputed wonderful mountain scenery, I was expected to cooperate more fully with him and make this the main objective of my season’s work. The near half century that has passed since then has obscured my memory as to some details, but I am very certain there was no intention to go south of Baker’s Park into the San Juan basin until we met Cooper and his outfit near the head of the Rio Grande on his way into that country.

Having worked over most of the territory assigned to us we finally reached the Rio Grande on our way into the heart of the “San Juan” via Cunningham Pass. On the 27th of August we camped early in the day at Jennison’s (Chemiso) Ranch, as it was too late to make the Pass that day, and also to do some photographing in the neighborhood.

While we were unpacking, a burro pack train came along and went into camp near by. As they passed us there was much hilarity over the very comical appearance of one of the party, who was astride a very small burro, with another one of the party following behind with a club with which he was belaboring the little jack to keep him up with the train. On our return to camp from our photographing later in the day this same man had come over to visit us. A mutual recognition followed our meeting as I remembered him as a fellow townsman in Omaha when I was in business there a few years previously. With all of us grouped around a rousing big fire after supper we talked long into the night, Tom Cooper explaining that he was one of a small party of miners working some placers over on the La Plata, that he had been out of supplies and was now on his return to their camp. As he appeared to be well acquainted with this part of the country, we “pumped” him for all the information he could impart. As he was naturally a loquacious individual, he had a great deal to say, and, understanding in a general way the object of our expedition, urged us by all means to come over to the La Plata and he would undertake to show us something worth while.

It was generally known that many old ruins were scattered all over the southwest, from the Rio Grande to the Colorado, but Cooper maintained that around the Mesa Verde, only a short distance from their camp, were cliff dwellings and other ruins more remarkable than any yet discovered. All this interested us so much that, before we “turned in” that night, we had decided to follow him over to his camp as soon as we could outfit for the trip. 

Cooper had not traveled over the country where the most important of these ruins were to be found but had his information largely from John Moss and his associates. Moss, he explained, was the high “muck-a-muck” or “hi-yas-ti-yee” of the La Plata region, who, through his personal influence with the Indians, had secured immunity from trouble not only for his own operations but also for others traveling through the country.

A few days later, after dividing our party in Baker’s Park and traveling light, just Mr. Ingersoll and myself with the two packers, we were on our way to the La Plata. Soon after leaving Animas Park we overtook and passed Cooper’s outfit and a few miles farther on were very much surprised by the appearance of Moss himself coming up from behind on a jog trot with the evident purpose of overtaking us. Riding along together until we reached camp, cordial relations were established very soon.

So far, I have drawn largely upon memory in relating the incidents that directed my attention to archaeological, instead of scenic, photography on this San Juan expedition. I intended leaving the story at this point, but, in looking over my old notes again in an effort to revive recollection of almost forgotten details, I find some descriptions of personal experiences that, I think, will bear repeating.

“Sept. 9th to 15th, inclusive, was occupied with the investigation of the Cliff ruins, all of which is set forth fully in the Bulletin of the U.S. Geological Surveys, Vol. 1, 1874-5. The following notes will omit the details of these investigations, and will mention only a few incidents in the day to day happenings of, to us, a very eventful week.

“I have already mentioned, in my daily notes, the composition of our party up to the time we reached the La Plata camp, but I will bring the different members together again, at Merritt’s Ranch, as made up for this occasion, all eagerly expectant as to possible discoveries. When we started out this bright and bracing September morning we had as guide and mentor Capt. John Moss, a small wiry man of about 35, as hardy and tough as an Indian, helpful and resourceful in all that pertains to life in the open — his knowledge of the country and of its little bands of aborigines was of great service in many ways. Cooper came with us, not that he will be of much help, but because of former friendship and that he was the means of bringing us to the La Plata camp and the acquaintance of John Moss. We had three pack mules, ‘Mexico’ carrying the photographic outfit — a little rat of a mule but a good climber. ‘Muggins’ and ‘Kitty’ carried the ‘grub’ and blankets.

Our first discovery of a Cliff House that came up to our expectations was made late in the evening of the first day out from Merrit’s. We had finished our evening meal and were standing around the sage brush fire enjoying its genial warmth. Looking up at the walls of the canyon that towered above us some 800 to 1,000 feet we commenced bantering Steve, who was a big heavy fellow, about the possibility of having to help carry the boxes up to the top to photograph some ruins up there — with no thought that any were in sight. He asked Moss to point out the particular ruin we had in view; the Captain indicated the highest part of the wall at random. ‘Yes,’ said Steve, ‘I can see it,’ and sure enough, on closer observation, there was something that looked like a house sandwiched between the strata of the sandstones very near the top. Forgetting the fatigue of the day’s work, all hands started out at once to investigate. The first part of the ascent was easy enough, but the upper portion was a perpendicular wall of some 200 feet, and half way up, the cave-like shelf, on which was the little house. Before we had reached the foot of this last cliff only Ingersoll and I remained, the others having seen all they cared for. It was growing dark, but I wanted to see all there was of it, in order to plan my work for the next day, and Ingersoll remained with me. We finally reached the bench or platform on which was perched, like a swallow’s nest, the ‘Two Story House’ of our first photograph.

As everyone took a hand in the camp work we were generally off on the trail quite early, not later than sun up, each morning, and were able to make fast time and good distances, but on the fourth morning out, on the head of the McElmo, we got a late start, with a long ride ahead. It was all owing to the wanderings of our animals. Generally they were tired enough to remain near camp when there was water or any kind of feed. This morning at Pegasus Spring, we had breakfast dispatched before sunrise, and while the rest of us packed up, Steve went out to bring up the stock which was supposed to be following the strip of moisture and scanty grass in the bed of the wash below us. Our work was soon done, but no mules appeared. Finally after an hour’s impatient waiting, we saw Steve coming up in the far distance, accompanied by an Indian but without the animals. Steve had been unable to find any of the band, but the Indian, who said he was the father of the ‘Captain of the Weemenuches,’ was of the opinion that our man did not know how to follow trail, and that our animals had left this valley and gone up a left-hand branch leading back to the mountains. Moss understood Ute well enough to get all the information we wanted, and also, that there was a small band of Indians camped below. Perhaps they had something to do with the disappearance of the stock in the hope that some stragglers might be picked up later, but we accepted his protestations of good faith and sent him up to our camp, while Cap. and I struck out at once to pick up the trail. Keeping up a jog trot, or run, as fast as our wind and endurance permitted, we finally came out on a low divide where we met a couple of young bucks mounted and loaded down with skins. They were on their way to the Navaho country and intended stopping at the spring where we were camped. If we did not succeed in finding our stock they would assist us after they had had a rest. We trotted on, however, passing the five mile spring, and then coming to a big bend in the trail. I followed around while Capt. cut across, and there, where we met, at the foot of the last hill leading up the Mancos divide, we found the animals all grouped together under a tree. Mounting bare back, with lariat ropes for bridles, we took a bee line for camp. Found the camp full of Indians, all mounted, the Captain himself among them, a venerable, gray headed, old man. Most of the others were young bucks bound for the Navaho country. The old Captain wanted to know what we were doing down here, and when our business was explained to him by Moss, all of them laughed most hilariously, not comprehending what there could be in these old stone heaps to be of such interest.

“It was intended to reach the western limit of our explorations this day, on the banks of the Hovenweep, so we had a long drive before us, under an exceedingly hot sun blazing down into the dry and barren wash of the McElmo. We pushed right through on the double quick, deferring all photographic work until our return,.

“On the return trip from the Hovenweep, we were three days getting back to the La Plata. It was a busy time with a good deal of photographing and some digging about the ruins. On the way from Pegasus Spring to the Mancos, Ingersoll got interested in some fossils and fell behind some distance. He was lost for good nearly all night, but by taking the back track managed to rejoin us at Merrit’s soon after sun rise.

“Remained long enough at the Mancos to make some negatives of the ranch house and then ‘lit out’ for the La Plata at top speed,.

“Sept. 16th, off for Baker’s Park again, after a very cordial leave-taking all around. Made many plans for the continuation of our work next year. Took this opportunity to load up with fruit and vegetables, as our supplies were at the vanishing point.”