Man of the Trail

Fred Stephens

What would one not give to be young again, riding with a packtrain through the Canadian forests? To emerge from the jackpine shadow on to gravel flats beside a sparkling river. To pass through a kaleidoscopic symphony of fireweed and paintbrush, while, through rifts in the clouds, gleaming peaks burst out in their upward soaring. Scarcely differing from scenes beheld by explorers of long ago, the cayuses enter the rushing ford, led, as if by a centaur: The Man of the Trail.

—J. Monroe Thorington

FRED STEPHENS was born in Michigan in 1869 and spent his early days wandering from the lumber camps through Montana, where he endured hardships that were his lot throughout life. As cowpuncher and trapper he enlarged his experience by hunting, trapping, prospecting and logging, eventually crossing into Canada and reaching the rivers and forests which became the route of the Canadian Pacific, the last spike of which had been driven in 1885, scarcely a dozen years before his arrival. This, and the country of the watershed northward, would be the territory of his adventurous life. He was fortunate in arriving at a time when exploring tourists were attempting to penetrate and clarify the complex geography of the Canadian Rockies and who, as employers, could be guided by this remarkable woodsman.

Walter D. Wilcox (1869-1949) was the first to undertake an extended journey under his guidance. In 1896, when Stephens was working for Tom Wilson, Wilcox and his companion, R.L. Barrett, went with him by way of the north fork of the Saskatchewan, over the divide now known as Wilcox Pass, and down the Sunwapta, failing to see the Columbia Icefield on their way. They searched in vain for Mount Brown and Mount Hooker, whose exaggerated altitudes ascribed to them by the Scots botanist, David Douglas in 1827, perplexed climbers through most of the century. At Fortress Lake:

“It was absolutely essential for us to reach the other end of that body of water. One side of the lake was an impassable down-fall of timber. The other side was a steep slope covered with snow-bent alders and willow. Just the same Stephens got us across the lake. In two days, with Barrett’s help, he built a raft that would hold four men and a lot of equipment. There were roughly hewn oars and a mast, to which we could attach a pack-cover for a sail. With two men rowing constantly we reached the far end of the lake in four and a half hours.”

From this point they retraced their route.

The German explorer, Habel, set out from Field on July 15, 1897, accompanied by Fred Stephens and Ralph Edwards, two of Tom Wilson’s packers, and Frank Wellman, cook. These three were mounted, and there were four pack-horses, but Habel did not take a saddle-horse, “as the nature of the valley seemed too unfavorable for equestrian exercise.” On July 17, via Emerald Lake, they gained Yoho Pass and discovered the great waterfall, for which Sir William Van Horne soon afterward suggested the name “Takakkaw,” a Cree word meaning “It is magnificient.” On the 22nd they descended to the foot of the fall, and on the 25th made their sixth camp near the ice cave of Yoho Glacier. On the 27th they ascended the tongue, roped and climbed to an elevation of 8840 feet on the snowfield. A further excursion on the 28th took them to the eastern side of the valley, where “Hidden Peak” was completely visible. On this occasion Habel named Trolltinder, and they continued to 9370 feet on the highest point of the ridge bordering the southern part of the glacial basin on Mount Balfour. The Appalachian Club later bestowed the name Mount Habel on Hidden Peak. (App. viii, 327; ix, 21; CAJ. xxx, 58.)

This was also the year in which the noted war-correspondent, Stanley Washburn, met Stephens, and thus began a lasting friendship.

“Fred was sitting on a bunk, about three feet deep in blankets, with legs crossed and eyes on ceiling, his entire attention going to a banjo, on which he was producing some excellent jig music. With the sweet absorption of a babe, he strummed away for five minutes and then, uncrossing his long legs, came across and met us with the grace of an emperor. He stood six feet and one inch in his stockinged feet, twenty-nine years old, with the shoulders and muscles of an athlete, and soft blue eyes that drifted back and forth. Big hands, big feet, and a big soul.”

On their first trip, August, 1897, Fred rode while Washburn and a companion walked. Washburn used a steamer trunk which made one side-pack, while the grub pile formed the other and the tent filled in the top. Their journey began at Laggan, up the Bow River and returned by the Pipestone.

The war with Cuba was ended by 1898 and Washburn and two companions were again on the trail. They went by train from Calgary to Lacombe, where Fred had settled and now had an outfit of fourteen horses and a cook. They followed the Saskatchewan to Rocky Mountain House, but bad weather soon caused their return.

Norman Collie, the British climber, who had already been in the Canadian Rockies and discovered the Columbia Icefield from the summit of Mount Athabasca in 1898, came again in 1900, taking Stephens with him on the first ascent of Mount Edith at Banff. This was before their unlucky venture in attempting to reach high peaks by way of Bush River. Despite his skill, Fred had a difficult time with rafts in the torrential water; but the expedition was really beaten by the impenetrable British Columbia forests.

Washburn was on the trail for the third time, with Stephens, in July, 1901, the outfit including 15 horses and two men, F. Hippach, packer, and John Scales, an English photographer, as cook. Nine days of travel from Laggan took them over Bow Pass to the Saskatchewan Forks. They ran out of grub, crossed the river on a raft and shot five sheep on Wilcox Mountain, thence returning by way of Rocky Mountain House to Laggan.

Collie’s journey in 1902 was far more successful. He wrote to Fred, asking for an estimate on a trip of seven or eight weeks. Fred replied, suggesting the quantity of flour, bacon, etc., and Collie wrote back, nearly doubling the amount. With H.E.M. Stutfield, H. Woolley and G.M. Weed, they joined their party with that of J. Outram, who brought the Swiss Kaufmann brothers as guides. After accounting for Mount Freshfield they went to Glacier Lake, and so it came about that Jim Simpson, who was with Outram’s outfit, met Fred.* Stephens and Simpson cut trail along the canyon leading to the base of Mount Forbes. The climbing party delayed in returning from their conquest of this great peak and Fred, armed with a spare ice-axe, was about to start out at the head of a search party, expressing himself strongly on the subject of climbing a mountain for mere amusement.

Ever persistent, Washburn tried again with Stephens in 1903, two additional tourists being Dr. August Eggers (1862-1936) and Professor Herschel Parker (1867-1944), who held the chair of physics at Columbia. Eggers and Parker, later in the summer, made the first ascent of Deltaform Mountain, and Parker in 1912 with Belmore Brown just missed completing the first ascent of Mount McKinley. Eggers had a delightful personality, but Washburn did not take to Parker, perhaps because as Washburn admitted “I had climbed mountains and always despised it cordially.” The party was not a happy one and soon turned back.

Six years later Washburn left on his most extensive expedition, June, 1909. This time they would follow the advancing line of the Grand Trunk Pacific from Edmonton to Prince Rupert, taking four months. Starting from Lacombe with 22 horses, the party, led by Stephens, included Fred’s brother, Nick, and Sawyer, a civil engineer. Nick Stephens was a great hand at making a “happy home” at every camp. With an axe and an old horn-handled knife he could do everything from chopping down trees to building a cabin and furniture. They went by way of Rocky Mountain House, where there was now a ferry, and down the Sunwapta to eventually reach Yellowhead Pass.

They had been fifty days on the way when they arrived at Lewis Swift’s place, a landmark on the Edmonton trail two-and-a-quarter miles below Maligne River on the west side of the Athabaska, Stephens and Washburn crossing the river on a small raft to reach it. In the early seventies Lewis Swift was a young man in Buffalo selling lightning rods. He drifted to the Black Hills, took part in a gold rush, and for a time was a driver on the stage line from Bismarck, N.D., to Deadwood. In the nineties he sold out a claim in southern British Columbia, bought a pack outfit and started for the head of Fraser River. With 17 horses he went from Kamloops up the North Thompson and after nearly three months emerged on the flat at the junction of the McLennon and the Fraser at the west end of Yellowhead Pass. This was the head of canoe transportation on the Fraser and had long been known as Tête Jaune Cache. Swift arrived there in August, 1891, crossed the pass and reached the Athabasca, living there for twenty years until engineers for the Grand Trunk Pacific arrived and he was made general store-keeper. He married and had four children.

Washburn, Stephens and others made a canoe trip down the Fraser from Tête Jaune to Fort George, whence autos went over the Cariboo Trail to the Canadian Pacific. Fred still played his banjo and sometimes added a favorite song with refrain ending:

“Once I was happy, but look at me now,

Ten years in States Prison for stealing a cow.”

He was always carefree and cheerful. “Life is too short” he wrote, “to worry about money. If I lose all I have tomorrow, I can get a couple of bear traps and by next spring I’ll be on my feet again. The mountains are always here and I know where there’s a bunch of bear and a colony of beaver, and I can get along here and live like a prince, while Morgan, Rockefeller, and those other poor millionaires are lying awake nights, lest someone come and steal their money.” As to fishing he said: “I don’t want any of your new-fangled tinkle-tankle. Give me a tepee-pole with a few feet of clothes line, a bent nail and a piece of bacon and when I get a bite, you’ll soon see a fish in the frying pan. If there’s a bush in the way, that’ll come too, and we can sort the fish after.”

When A.L. Mumm returned to London with the report on the new mountaineering area opened up by the approach of the Grand Trunk Pacific Railroad, Collie decided to try his hand once more at a Canadian venture. Collie, Mumm and guide Inderbinen were the climbers; Fred Stephens was in charge of the outfit, John Yates, who was very familiar with this north country, Allan McConachie and George Swain making up the trail crew. They set out from Wolf Creek, near present-day Edson, on July 17, 1910. The party of six that made the first ascent of Mount Phillips included Fred who, although in 1902 strongly against climbing for mere pleasure, was becoming more tolerant of mountaineer’s vagaries.

In 1913 Geoffrey Howard of the British Alpine Club arranged with Stephens to take him and a party which included Mumm and Inderbinen from Jasper up the Whirlpool to Athabasca Pass, where they ascended Mount Brown.

Conrad Kain, the Austrian guide, recorded his memories of Stephens: “At the time when the railroad was finished as far as Calgary, a rich English lord arrived to make an exploring journey in the mountains. He engaged two packers [Tom Wilson and Stephens] and eight horses. On the very same day they made a long trip to Kananaskis, stopping there for the night. The first packer got supper ready, while Stephens fixed up the sleeping tent for the lord. When the meal was ready Fred called the lord to eat: ‘Supper is ready, don’t wait, it gets cold.’ The lord came out of the tent and saw, to his great astonishment, that the two had already started in. So he shouted in his London dialect; ‘By Jove, don’t you know, I am not accustomed to eating with my servants.’ ‘Goddam,’ said Fred, ‘If you are not, then just wait!’

“It went worse with a Spanish prince, who was on a bear hunt. The party had a strenuous day in pouring rain through bush and windfalls and, as the packer was very tired, the cook made what is called a ‘quick lunch,’ consisting of tea, bacon, green peas, bread and butter. The prince’s servant brought the food into the tent, but came right back with the news that His Royal Highness wanted scrambled eggs. ‘So,’ said Fred, ‘he wants scrambled eggs does he? Get along and tell that fellow that if he doesn’t eat lunch he doesn’t get anything! If it is good enough for us after all our hard work, it’s going to be good enough for His Royal Highness!’

“It went roughly with a German officer during a trip. One morning, after breakfast, the officer took a map and an ice-axe, stood on a rock and gave orders for the day. The free Canadians knew no discipline and thought that the man had gone crazy during the night. When the preaching and commanding came to an end and the people realized they were not dealing with a lunatic, Fred Stephens interrupted with the words: ‘Are you all through, you god-damned silly fool? If not, I’m going to knock you clear off the place you are standing on! Do you think you have soldiers or slaves in front of you? We know what to do and how to bring you quick and safe to the place you’re going to. But don’t give us any more of your German sauerkraut stories.’ ”

Here follow extracts from Stephens’ letters to Washburn during 1912-22:

1912. “I got the boy [Jesse Stephens was born in 1899] with me now at Lacombe, and he gets on fine. Haven’t any more double harness scrapes lately and things don’t look too bad. Well, am busy making cinches and pack saddles so goodbye for now.

“Now here is what I have to say in regards to a trip. North of Mt. Robson there lies a great Mountain [Mt. Sir Alexander] never explored by White Men and not named. Collie has seen it, I have seen it; he thinks it is higher than Robson. Phillips thinks it is higher and here is a chance to get some good material for riting. I believe you could get there quite easy and make a great Hit. Of course I know how you look at that climbing stunt, just the same as I, but that would not be necessary. We could explore around its Base and so on. Guess you could scare up someone else to entertain Mrs. Stanley.”

Centralia, Washington, February 14, 1914. “I am here at the same old stand with Jesse; he goes to school and does fine in Music. I wanted to get book on conjuring for him. I hear Conan Doyle* is going to make a trip in the Yellowhead country this coming summer. …

"…the regular rates is $10 a day when you deal with the aristocrats, say Collie or Stutfield or any climbing party, but the Idea is to keep to work. If you don’t get so much the price is just about double what it used to be.

“I will try to get Jesse [aet. 19] to the coast soon. He is just able to walk a little, but it don’t count for much as he is up and down for the last 60 days. No one can do anything for him only let him rest and grow stronger. He had the same thing 4 years ago and was knocked out for 4 months; leakage of the heart with rheumatism. I was all ready to go to the north end of Vancouver Island to trap this winter, but Jess getting sick upset all my plans.

“Furs have never been so high. Beaver 16 and 18 dollars; muskrats $1.00 to 1.50; mink 6 & 7; weasel 1.50-2.00; Kyotes $16, 18 and 20. Any trapper can make good money now.

“Well, as for a mountain trip the best place to go that no one knows much about is north of Kamloops into the Cariboo range; one main trail leads north to the head of Goat River, but the new unexplored country would be east of that, between it and the Head of Canoe River. Another trip would be from Jasper north to the Peace, or start from the Peace and come to Jasper.”

July, 1919. Jesse J. Stephens died, aged 20. Teacher of violin and piano. “Jess grew up to be a fine boy, absolutely Honest, very bright in school and a musical genius. I am safe in saying that he surpassed anyone in Canada at his age. I would like to know what he could have accomplished in another 10 years. It is all over now, but if old St. Peter had a better job for him I had no way out of it only let him go, so there is the only trail I had to follow. I look on this life as a joke, one of these jokes nobody gets interested in after you tell or act it out.

“Any way while Jess was here we had a lot of good times together and I used to go to Edmonton to see him perform. I was very glad I gave him the chance I did and was very proud of him. So after all I got a lot of comfort out of life while it lasted, but it was like the trapper that comes to his shack on fire; the pine logs snapped, cartridges exploding and flames jumping up in the dark. He said it was fine while it lasted, but a damn inhospitable place after it was over.

“I have a government job in sight, building a trail up the Brazeau over Poboktan Pass and down to the Athabasca. About $6000 if I land it, but I don’t give a cent what I do just so I keep contented and get outdoor life.

“The North Smoky, Sheep Creek country, would be a good place as this has never anything written on it. Just had a letter from Dr. Collie. He said the same thing and wants to go there.”

December 16, 1920. Washburn to Stephens: “What I want mainly is to get out in a wild untravelled country where we would not see a human being for all the time we were gone. The more I see of pack horses the less I think of the human race.”

Xmas, 1920. Stephens to Washburn: “Before Frank [Hippach] left he brought your saddle to me. I never used it myself but let a lady here in town use it and she keeps it in the house, it is better for it. Last Spring I gave it a good coat of oil and it is the same as when you last used it. It is 35° below now. The country I mentioned lies one Hundred miles north of Jasper, fearfull rugged, lots of game only known by a few trappers. Donald Phillips goes there with Hunting parties once in a while. I have seen a part of it. Dr. Collie is quite ready to go there and wants to get a Geographical Idea of it if he ever gets the time to spare. Now I mean to touch the upper waters of the big Smoky, cross at the head of the Fraser-Beaver river which is the divide between B.C. and Alberta. This touches the head of Sheep creek and tributary of the big Smoky, then works north.”

May 3, 1921. Stephens to Washburn, while the latter was a patient in Roosevelt Hospital: “Never say quit; don’t give up. Just make yourself think you are going to help me eat that mallard duck I am going to kill for you this week. Be thankful you aren’t under a spruce tree for a Hospital up in this cold country. Don’t give up like the Irishmen. They were emigrants to California; one said ‘No Mike we don’t want to go to Imperial Valley, it gets 125 in the shade there.’ ‘Yes,’ said Mike, ‘but we won’t have to stay in the shade all the time.’ ”

“A man emigrated to Peace River 40 years ago by the name of Clark with his wife and 5 boys. Another man followed with 5 girls by the name of Johnson. 15 years later the Clark boys married the Johnson girls and they made a little settlement of their own 100 miles from the nearest Postoffice. An old friend of Clark’s heard where he had gone and wanted to go see him. He was a Baptist preacher. He thought it would be great to go in a new country and build the first church and convert the Pioneers, and his name would go down in History as the first minister in the Grizzly Bear settlement. He travelled 300 miles by boat. Hired an Indian to take Him the other 100 miles. On the 4th day they came to a cabin belonging to the old friend’s daughter. After supper he asked Her if there was any Baptists in the settlement. She thought a moment, looked at the old Preacher and replied: ‘Well, I don’t know. My husband is a trapper, the skins are all nailed up in the woodshed. You can go and see for yourself.’ Now, Stanley, if this doesn’t help you a little you are mighty sick. I could tell it better around the campfire.”

“I just came in last night and have been chased so much by the Mounted Police and game wardens for poaching beaver I almost wish I was in Roosevelt Hospital myself, but I made a Hundred a week while I was out, besides the fun.”

Kalispell, Montana, January 11, 1922. Stephens to Washburn: “As for the boy [Stanley, Jr.] he should be able to go on a summer trip as I often have boys go out with me and I believe every boy ought to have a few bumps to weld him into a man. We would go up Stoney, across the big Smoky, go up 20 miles, go north, touch the head of the Beaver, go down Sheep creek 10 miles, then go north toward Pine Pass. All north of the Smoky is very out of the way country, very little is known of it only by trappers.”

Kalispell, August 30, 1923. Stephens to Washburn: “With all my experience as a trapper I can’t stop the depredations of that animal known as Old Age [F.S. was then 54]. I feel fine and yet I notice I can t dodge a Kicking Horse as I used to. I came over here to see if I can get some mink and marten alive as I think I will settle here later.

“Whenever I get into civilization I see so many crooked people, so much selfishness and so much poverty I soon want to get back to the hills. It seems five out of every ten who are entrusted with other peoples affairs are ready to sell them out. I notice a lot of unrest among the people and wonder how it will all end.

“I want to get things ready for the foxes and mink and it is a lot of work. We got 19 black silver fox and 19 mink and we hope to have some Blue fox and some marten.”

This was Fred’s last letter to Washburn. He went east to New York in December, 1923, to visit the family. We know nothing more. Perhaps, as he would have said, “My pipe is out.”

Stephens, however, continued to write to Norman Collie, although the latter did not return to Canada after 1911. One letter, dated July 24, 1927 said: “I know Doctor you are too old [Collie was then 68: Fred 58] for any of that strenuous mountain climbing; isn’t it Hell to get old when one doesn’t want it?” He described his attempts at raising foxes and how a crooked partner’s running off with $1500 and the death of many foxes had left him $5000 out of pocket. He protested against the rottenness of government, the wickedness of the Ku Klux Klan, the lying deceitful kyotes, and all the miserable grafters, game wardens, and fences which interfered with a man’s freedom. “Now Doctor, you know when things are going the wrong way with a fellow he isn’t in the right frame of mind to write a good letter, but any way I hope to change things around and then look for the good news. Any way we can ponder over the good times we have had, and I hope you stay well and write at least twice a year, and you and Washburn are two of my most prized friends.”

One final letter, undated, from Fred to Collie, sums up the philosophy of this Man of the Trail:

“I know some valleys hidden away where the beaver still build lodges, where there are fish in the streams, where caribou roam and wild raspberries grow. Say, friend Norman, come, and let the whole damn world race for dollars!”

John Norman Collie died at Sligachan, Skye, early in December, 1942, aged 83.

Stanley Washburn died of coronary thrombosis on December 14, 1950, aged 72.

Fred Stephens became ill early in November, 1928 and treated himself for some time. He wrote in his diary: “Today will be my last day. Stanley will be interested in this.” He died that night, prior to December 19, 1928, aged 59.

* Jim Simpson’s vivid memories of Stephens were recorded in the American Alpine Journal, 1974, on pages 46 and 47.

* Conan Doyle visited Canada in June 1914, having come to New York on May 27. He went up to Montreal first to see the country he had written about in The Refugees; then on to Edmonton and Jasper Park and just over the border into British Columbia. Chapter xxv of his book deals with this, and there is a brief account in J. Dickson Carr’s biography of Conan Doyle, pp. 284-8. Doyle went back to England in July, 1914, just in time for the war. (Information supplied by T.S. Blakeney, A.C.)