Today would have been day 11 on the road

Assuming all went as planned, and it sometimes does not (remember OTR-8 on the Alcan?), day 11 would be going like this.

 

Aftre a night at Echo State Park during a clear night with 57 degrees temperature, we would be crusising along I-84 to Weber Canyon, 35 miles distant. After trying for days to make it though impossibly rough Weber Canyon in the Wasatch Mountains, the Donner Party gave up and headed south, which we would be doing ourselves, but along route 66 and then 65 which were not there back in 1846, straddling the mountains, until we came to what is now as Emigrant Canyon, the 12 miles of which we would be covering in perhaps 30 minutes, allowing for stops, instead of the days it took the Donner Party. Eventually, we would reach the other side of the Canyon at what is now Donner Hill, where the Mormons, who themselves followed the trail blazed by the Donners a year later, built a memorial to the Donners.

 

 

 

After a few photo ops with Donner beside his eponymous hill, we would be proceeding southwest to what is not Grantsville, just below Salt Lake City

 

After a leisurely drive down Donner Place in Grantsville, and perhaps a brief stop off the small Donner museum there, we would pay a visit to the grave of Luke Hollaran, the next person to succumb on the trip after James Reed’s wife’s mother Sarah Keyes, who died back at Alcove Springs along the Blue River in what is now Kansas. Luke, who had hoped the West would cure him, not kill him, died of what was then called consumption. He was a successful young entrepreneurial Irishman who owned a small store in St. Louis. Despite owning six lots in town, he decided to give up his comforts to search for better health. He hoped that the western climate might cure his consumption (now known as tuberculosis). Little is known about the early part of his journey, but at the Parting of the Ways back near Fort Bridger, he was abandoned by the family with which he was traveling. Alone and in poor health,  he sought refuge with George and Tamzene Donner, who displayed a characteristic kindness and took him in. Too weak to walk, Halloran rode in a wagon, though even such luxury could not stop the ravages of his disease. He traveled with the Donners for more than a month, but died just after they came down out of the Wasatch and was buried in the salty soil of Utah. having rescued him from abandonment once, perhaps the Donners did not want to leave Halloran alone in the wilderness again. They dug his grave next to that of an earlier emigrant who had also succumbed to the rigors of the great journey west. Reportedly, Halloran was buried beside a John Hargrave, who was traveling with a party in advance of the Donners, who does from pneumonia. The exact location of the two graves is not known, but a memorial has been set to commemorate the two deaths as the first emigrants buried in Utah soil.

 

 

We would then be getting onto I-80 in 85 degree sunny weather for our 80-mile journey across the arduous Great Salt Flats desert, which posed the second greatest challenge so far to the Donner Party after the Wasatch mountains, and then 35 miles on to Pilot Peak in what is now Nevada. While the Donner’s had no interest in climbing Pilot Peak (nor would the DC Donner), they and their beasts of burden welcomed the nearby springs so much that today it is known as Donner Springs.  In fact, some of the oxen who smelled the springs miles away broke loose to get to it and were never recovered.  James Reed abandoned his double decker Pioneer Palace wagon somewhere in the desert, something I would never have done with the Defender. Here’s a summary I found of what the Donner’s encountered in that desert: “Exhausted, they started out on the 80-mile trek across the Salt Flats. It was hot. It was dry. It was sticky. Many of the wagons became stuck in the salt-crusted mud and had to be left behind.  Many oxen pulling the wagons died, and so did many cows.”  It took  the Donner’s five days to cross to the desert to Pilot Peak. We probably would be making it in two hours, unless the Defender decided to give up en route.

 

After a brief repose at Donner Springs, we would be heading west 80 miles to Angel Creek Camp in the northern section of the Ruby Mountains near Wells NV. I doubt if the Donner’s headed that far north, but with no roads on a more southernly route, we would not dare venture through the desert, especially using our Garmin as a guide (go read the book, “Death By GPS” to learn why).

 

The total distance for us today would be about 260 miles, within my distance goals.  My guess is that we would be trying to stay on schedule instead of bivouacking somewhere, not only  to get out of that desert as fast as we could but because not only are camps almost non-existent on this route, so also is life of any kind.

 

Tonight, we would be settling in for a good night’s sleep in Angel Creek Camp --- with comfortable temperatures in the low 40s---,snuggly situated in the spectacular Ruby Mountains, not far from where Donner and I stayed back in 2018.  This probably would have been our camp for the night.