Monday, 23rd. Started, bearing our course west, in order to pass the Salt Lake, passed many salt plains and springs in the forenoon. The day was hot. The hills and land bordering on the plains were covered with wild sage. In passing the declivity of a hill, we observed this sage had been plucked up and arranged in long minows, extending near a mile in length. It had been done by the Indians, but for what purpose we could not imagine, unless it was to decoy game. At evening, we arrived in full view of the Salt Lake. Water was very scarce. Cedar grows here, both on the hills and in the valleys. Distance, twenty miles.
“Minows” is probably the printer’s misreading of “windrows,” a long line of raked hay or sheaves of grain laid out to dry.
Sunday, 22nd. This morning a man (Mr. Brolaski) returned from the Fort, and said the reason why he came alone was the other men had left him, because he was unable to keep up with them; he having a pack horse laden with provision. He had seen the paper at the intersection of the trails, and was guided by it to the camp; the other were undoubtedly going the rounds of the triangle. Sure enough, they came up in the afternoon, having gone to the river and back; no pilot could be got at the Fort. The families that went into Oregon had disposed of their oxen at the fort and were going to descend the Columbia river with pack horses — they in exchange receive one horse for every ox. Their waggons they could not sell. They procured flour at 50 cents per pint, sugar same price, and other things in proportion. Near where we were camped here were a few hackberry trees.
Henry Brolaski was one of four men who had gone to Fort Hall seeking provisions and a guide. Fort Hall was located near Pocatello, Idaho, about fifty miles northwest of where the two groups parted ways. Built in 1834, Fort Hall served as a trading post on the Snake River for fur tappers, Native Americans, and travelers on the Oregon Trail. The fort was demolished in 1863, but the current replica stands as a memorial to Fort Hall’s heritage. The photos below are from my visit there in 2014.
Upon reaching California, Henry Brolaski spent a few years in Monterey. Before the Gold Rush he went to Peru, where he had a brother. By 1848 he was back in Missouri and planning to go to California, but whether he made or not is unknown. He is considered the first Polish-American to reach California.
Replica of Fort Hall
Hackberry trees bear small, sweet, edible fruit resembling cherries. Any fruit was welcome.
The lack of a pilot was not welcome news. The company badly needed a guide across the Great Basin, but there was none to be had. They were on their own. Cue the ominous music.
Saturday, 21st. Marched off in a NW direction, and intersected our trail of Thursday last, having made a complete triangle in the plain. At this intersection of the trails we left a paper elevated by a pole, that the men returning from Fort Hall might shun the tedious rounds we had taken. Found grass and water which answered our purpose very well, though both were salt. Distance ten miles.
Having passed unawares through Cache Valley a few days previously, they reached the point at which the Bear River emptied itself into the Great Salt Lake. Thomas Fitzpatrick had told them to turn west before they reached the lake, in order to find the Humboldt River, so they headed northwest, crossing their tracks in the process.
Friday, 20th. Company remained here while two men went to explore the country. They returned bringing the intelligence that we were within ten miles of where the river disembogued itself into the Great Salt Lake. This was the fruit of having no pilot — we had passed through Cash valley, where we intended to have stopped and did not know it.
“Disembogue” — there’s a word you don’t see every day.
Up until the Parting of the Ways they had had a pilot, Thomas Fitzpatrick, the trail guide hired by Father De Smet. He didn’t work for the Bidwell-Bartleson Party, so they lost his guidance when they split off from the party of missionaries that he was hired to guide into Idaho.
On this map, the green line shows the route of the Bidwell-Bartleson Party. They will skirt the north side of the Great Salt Lake and head west into the desert.
Thursday, 19th. Started early, hoping soon to find fresh water, when we could refresh ourselves and animals, but alas! The sun beamed heavy on our heads as the day advanced, and we could see nothing before us but extensive arid plains, glimmering with heat and salt. At length the plains became so impregnated with salt that vegetation entirely ceased, the ground in many places white as snow with salt & perfectly smooth — the mid-day sun, beaming with uncommon splendor upon these shining plains, made us fancy we could see timber upon the plains, and wherever timber is found there is water always. We marched forward with unremitted pace till we discovered it was an illusion, and lest our teams should give out we returned from S. to E. and hastened to the river which we reached in about 5 miles.
A high mountain overlooked us on the east and the river was thickly bordered with willows — grass plenty but so salt our animals could scarcely eat it; salt glitters upon its blades like frost. Distance 20 miles.
Twenty miles searching for water while the sun beats down and the landscape is a glittering plain of salt. I couldn’t help but think of the old song Cool Water. But which version to link to? Johnny Cash, Marty Robbins, “Buster Scruggs”? Even Tom Jones recorded it. But it has to be The Sons of the Pioneers, as originally recorded in 1941.
Wednesday, 18th. Traveled but a short distance when we discovered that a deep salt creek prevented our continuing near the river. In ascending this stream in search of a place to cross it, we found on its margin a hot spring, very deep and clear. The day was very warm and we were unable to reach the river; encamped on this salt creek and suffered much for water, the water being so salt we could not drink it. Distance 15 miles.
From Soda Springs and the parting of the ways down the Bear River to the Great Salt Lake is only about 100 miles. On today’s highways this journey would take them a couple of hours. Even at their rate of about 15 miles a day, it might only take them a week to get to Salt Lake, but all this detouring around hills and streams means that they still have several days to go.
Camping on a salt creek is a foretaste, literally, of what they are soon to endure on a regular basis. They are on the banks of the Malad River, so named by earlier fur trappers because the water made them sick (“malade” in French). The banks are steep and the bottom is muddy, making it difficult to cross.
Jimmy John wrote:
18th. This morning we came to a deep muddy creek which we could not cross without going nearly a half a days journey up it and we have travelled about 5 miles. Crossed it and camped on the other bank. There are a number of hot salt springs on the banks of this creek, some are nicely boiling.
In the map below you can see the Malad River on the left, flowing south into the Bear River. The map shows how the party had to proceed up the river to cross, then back down again. The map is from an article tracing the route of the Bidwell-Bartleson Party in Utah, by Roy D. Tea. If you really want to trace this section of the journey, that’s the place to go.
Tuesday, 17th. Traveled about 16 miles; saw a large smoke rising out of the mountains before us. It had probably been raised by the Indians, as a telegraph, to warn the tribe that their land was visited by strangers. We were unable to procure any fuel this evening; we therefore slept without fire. The Indians found in this region are Shoshonees; they are friendly.
Indian smoke signals may be a tired trope of old Hollywood westerns, but smoke is a good way to send a simple message over a long distance and Indians did use this method of communication. Smoke signals were used not only by Native Americans of the Plains and Southwest, but also the Chinese, the Greeks, and other ancient cultures.
They are definitely in Shoshone country. The Shoshone tribe was spread across the Great Basin from southern Idaho to northern Utah and from Nevada to eastern Wyoming. At this time (1841) the Shoshone were friendly and peaceful, but increasing white encroachment would result in conflicts in the coming decades.
A Shoshone encampment in the Wind River Mountains of Wyoming, photographed by W. H. Jackson, 1870
Monday, 16th. This morning there was an abundance of water in the little stream and it was running briskly when we left it. If the water was not supplied by the melting of the snow in the mountains, it was really an interesting spring; found an abundance of choke cherries, very large and exquisitely delicious, better than any I ever eat before. Distance traveled, 12 miles.
They had noticed the water in the stream dry up the day before, and then start again during the night. It doesn’t look like Bidwell ever found the answer to this puzzle.
Notice that he says “better than I ever eat before,” rather than ate. He probably pronounced it et, and we now usually pronounce it and spell it ate, although et is still heard in some regions. Compare these present and past tense spellings to read/read. The old spelling of past tense eat can be found in Shakespeare, Boswell, and many other authors.
Chokecherries are best eaten when they are dark red, almost black. To me they look like the berries on pokeweed, a common weed around here, but those are poisonous.
Sunday, 15th. Continued our journey over hills and ravines, going to almost every point of the compass in order to pass them. The day was very warm — the grass had been very good, but it was now very much parched up. Having come about 15 miles, we encamped on a small stream proceeding out of the mountains at no great distance from us. But we were surprised to see it become perfectly dry in the course of an hour; some of the guard said there was plenty of water in it about midnight.
I don’t know exactly where they were along the Bear River, but here is a nice picture of Logan Canyon in Cache Valley, Utah.
Saturday, 14th. Left the river on account of the hills which obstructed our way on it; found an abundance of choke cherries, many of which were ripe. Road uncommonly broken, did not reach the river, distance about 14 miles.
Chokecherries (Prunus virginiana) are a small dark red fruit, native across most of North America and related to cherries and plums. They are chockful of antioxidants. They have a slightly astringent taste, but are sweet and delicious when fully ripe (so I am told — I’ve never eaten them).
For Native Americans, chokecherries were an important part of their diet and a key ingredient in pemmican. For the emigrants, chokecherries were a welcome addition to their otherwise monotonous fare. At this point in their journey, in mid-August, is when chokecherries ripen and are ready to pick.
goldfields 