This is the first recorded incident of the use of canoes in New Mexico, but it is doubtful if that was the way things worked out for McKnight. They most likely were never aware of the lower shorter route. Without maps, and relying on memory, they likely returned to the exact spot they started from, namely Santa Fe. Surely they raided as they traveled, slowly accumulating survival objects and possibly weapons, a blanket, or bags to carry those objects in but it must have been tough to find victims to steal from. Everyone was desperate. It was a desperate land and desperate times. Upon arrival in the outskirts of Santa Fe they may have stolen and accumulated more foodstuffs; jerky, onions, chili, beans, flour and salt. They probably would steal many of the same foods a contemporary river runner would use; dehydrated foods and foods that last. From Santa Fe it would be a short walk to Pecos Pueblo, and on to Las Vegas.
The mystery is where did they return to the Canadian? The natural route, at Stony Forde is the route all had taken, since the time of Coronado. Returning the way they originally came, they could have followed the Santa Fe Trail back to Stony Forde and then overland on what would eventually become a wagon trail, but it is unlikely as they were in flat prairie county and easily spotted. Yet they had many options. There are many tiny streams in the area that become major rivers downstream. They all look alike. Leaving Santa Fe they could have followed a well-worn path to the obvious forks of the Pecos and Gallinas River to the south, which would have taken them back into Texas, or back to a Mexican Jail. They knew that they were being sought by the Spanish authorities, therefore they may have decided on a northerly route that would be less patrolled and would provide more cover.
Upriver and up trail further was another possible route for McKnight. At Las Vegas he could have turned east overland to find Sabinoso, an old Spanish settlement below the whitewater section of the Canadian River. There is also the Mora, Vermejo, and Ocate canyons crossing the Santa Fe Trail to the crossing at Stony Ford but again, unless there was a cache of goods including the canoes at a specific location after nine years, it is doubtful.
Because they were being pursued the most likely route they would have taken would have been to return to Stony Ford, followed by a hike down the Canadian Canyon. Once in the canyon they could easily hide in the same camps thousands of others had hid out in throughout the history of the area. After some 70 or so miles they would reach the confluence of the Conchos River. From there they would have known that eventually it would lead them to Texas and civilization, and provide them with water, shelter, and food all the way down. Canoes could be stolen in the Conchas area, from Indians.
What kind of a trip down the river they then faced, historical records do not record, but a river runner who retraces the route of Robert McKnight down the Canadian, may acquire a glimpse into the past.
The Holliday Home
Knowing that just because a map says that there is something there, at a specific location, doesn’t mean that anything is there. Most river runners scout the route that they are going to take before getting on the river. Many state road maps have many historical sites located on them but there is nothing there now. An Indian ruin or a river crossing site does not mean anything if you show up, in your canoe, in dire need of something. The launch sites and take outs have to be planned out, well in advance of an actual attempt down this river or any river.
We needed to scout the Canadian River but June and Ken had no time for suffering through such an ordeal, however they did plan on making good shuttle bunnies when the actual river was run. It would be up to Corey and me to map out all the important meeting places. Hidalgo at the last minute decided he wanted to go along so we packed the Jeep with our usual compliment of camping gear and headed north.
The Canadian can be run in several individual sections, each with individual personalities. In an area of few people, vast distances and little industry with the exception of cattle, the upper Canadian River drains one of the most remote areas of New Mexico. The put in is just north of Raton and the young Canadian river generally follows past what is now interstate I-25 south until the Maxwell bridge where it takes off into the grasslands in an ever meandering and deepening canyon until take out, close to Stony Forde at Taylor Springs on Hwy 56. This section is rated class I – II; upgraded to class II because of the many fences, possible logjams, and the multitude of mandatory portages required. The river is in a shallow canyon, and normally requires two or three days to canoe, depending.
River runners know what happens to a river system that drains a huge region prone to fast snow melt and electrifying summer thunderstorms. Melt water from the nearby snow covered Sangre de Christo mountains trickle down many side canyons but principally the Canadian gains the waters of the Vermejo River, Ocata Creek and the Cimarron Rivers making the river, on a wet year, a force to be dealt with. The most popular section below Taylor Springs is the red wall canyon. Much more than a white water run, this section is remote and undeveloped allowing river runners to enter a world now rarely explored except by diehard river runners. On moderate snowmelt years the river is available for only a few short weeks, usually during the early spring.
The Canadian provides a major challenge to the river runner because of the logistics involved in its running being anybody’s providence to get the opportunity to run it at all. Timing is the secret. Arrival on a wet year after heavy rains and the river runner can face a death defying Class V at flood stage. These seventy-five miles of the Canadian is normally rated Class III and IV. Arrive during a dry year, which is most years in New Mexico, and you face a long and frustrating hike, dragging your canoe down the river. Because of the length and remoteness of the trip, as well as rapids one should be prepared for any possibility. The secret is in finding the right water level. As for canoe parties, the Canadian Canyon is one of the toughest challenges in the southwest, but it has been done and under extreme circumstances.
The three of us stopped in Albuquerque at the Holliday home on Valley Road. Planning to make only a quick courtesy visit we thought we would stay there only a short time. But we also knew from long experience, that we could discover real tidbits of information, points of view that we hadn’t even thought of. Things that can be learned from a relative are sometimes things that cannot be found in books. Alice was there, so was Richard as well as Helen, a cousin who was Alice’s age.
Coffee as usual was served up but Hidalgo was the only one who really drank any. Being his relatives, Corey went through the customary rituals of asking how different people were, with Helen volunteering way too much information. Helen liked to talk, she was country folk, and the Holliday family was a large family to cover. An hour later with Hidalgo and Penny starting to get impatient Corey knew they needed to move on. When he finally got the chance after several attempts, he asked his relatives if they knew anything about the Canadian River. Thankfully, Helen assumed a confused look, slowly moved her head from left to right and then back. Richard grabbed at the chance to enter the conversation.
“We lived in Logan for a while, at Ute Lake on the Canadian River, before dad got sick and we had to move back to Albuquerque in order to be near the veterans’ hospital,” he said matter of fact. “Besides, when I was a kid in Boy Scouts it was there that, I earned my Fifty Mile patch.”
Hidalgo didn’t say anything, he simply poured himself another cup of coffee and Corey and I curled up together on the couch. Young lovers, we never missed a chance to be together and we all knew that we were going to be there for a while.
Richard’s Exploration of the Canadian
Richard related a story of his first and only experience on the Canadian River. First impressions of rivers can dramatically differ from later impressions. His tender first personal impression of the Canadian River was nurtured while serving in a Scouting program, troop 76, headquartered in Albuquerque, New Mexico. He was the troop bugler, a position that allowed him a little prestige but definitely had its drawbacks. Being available by the clock at 6:00 AM for reveille, d
inner calls, as well as assemblies, and taps at 9:00 PM sharp, the thing was he had to be available any time the scoutmaster wanted everyone’s attention which was one of the drawbacks.
His job required an intimate knowledge of strange rituals such as learning to sleep with the bugle inside his sleeping bag on winter trips. Very cold mornings are hard on all brass players and then buglers must remember all the different calls, especially for formal ceremonies, when the honor and dignity of the troop is at stake. It was not an ideal position for a lazy kid such as me,” said Richard, “In order to remember the bugle calls and therefore win the job of troop bugler, I was taught a fail-safe way to memorize those half dozen or so calls. The bugler simply sings a jingle in the mind, as played. Assembly, for example, could always be remembered by means of this simple song.
“There’s a solder in the grass, with a bullet up his ass.
Take it out. Take it out, like a good, Girl Scout.”
“Yes, the jingles were all just plain horrible, but they worked. The job also required other responsibilities such as taking the flags down in the evening or before frequent thunderstorms. Once, only seconds after I had taken the flags down, folding them, and taken a few steps toward the ranch house, lightning struck the center flag pole. The three pipe poles were cemented in fifty-five gallon barrels. Afterwards, when I awoke, I found myself among sections of pipe and two 55 gallon barrels full of concrete used to hold the sections of pipe that formed the flag poles. Some of the sections of pipe turned up well down the road and the third concreted barrel was found a hundred yards or so down the road where it finally rolled to a stop.”
“We were typical kids, but we didn’t think so.” Despite the fact that most of the scouts came from lower and middle income families, many of them from the south valley, they felt that it was a distinct privilege to be a member of troop 76. Few of them actually owned scout uniforms. In comparison to other troops, even other scout troops from Albuquerque, their uniforms were always piece meal, made up of what their parents could find at yard sales.
“But we stood out in a crowd. Our bandanas were custom made, a square white cloth with a large red seven, with the tail of the seven curving around to form a six; troop seventy six. All other troops purchased standard scout bandanas that varied only by color to differentiate patrols. Our white bandanas, with the unique seventy six designs, allowed us to stand out with a fashion statement that clearly separated us from other scouts, but also clearly demonstrated that we were a cohesive unit. Perhaps, that is why we competed well against other troops, often winning games such as stealing the flag. There was a pride.”
“The dues were ten cents a week, a fee many of the scouts were unable to pay, the rest of us often chipped in to help. Some, including me,” continued Richard, “just keep a charge account and perpetually owed dues. By now, and with interest, I probably owe the Boy Scouts of America a small fortune.”
“But it was all worth the investment. The troop spent a weekend camping trip out in the wild at least once a month, and the high point of the summer was spending one or two glorious weeks at the Canadian Canyon. Actually it was part of a ranch owned by the Wootens. Tenderfoots and new scouts spent one week but senior scouts could end up spending considerable time with a second week hiking down the Canadian Canyon.”
“The Scoutmasters were very creative in creating a camp where we enjoyed some great recreation activities such as horseback riding, twenty-two and shotgun shooting, and dehorning and castrating cattle.”
Richard’s favorite activity was swimming in the Canadian River but it was an arduous ordeal just to get to the swimming hole. The scouts were transported in the back of pickup trucks singing the monotonous stanzas of ‘hundreds of bottles of beer on the wall.’ After, what was to them, a long and monotonous drive riding in the bed of a dusty pickup truck down two narrow ruts, and then unloading and hiking over to the edge of the Canadian Canyon they then hiked down a steep trail to the canyon floor where the troop seventy six swimming hole was. The entire canyon floor had been washed clean by floodwaters. The river, tiny at this time of year, had carved a very serpentine path through the solid rock bedrock of the canyon forming a narrow miniature inner canyon. It would be hard to turn a canoe around in it and with the water level just a few feet below the surrounding floor, it would be just low enough to make it hard for an upriver canoe or kayak to see the waterfall ahead, formed where the Canadian plummets over the broken edge of the rock escarpment. At high water you could easily be swept over the blind drop.
“After wading to the far side of the river above the waterfall, the scouts would climb down carved steps in the sheer sandstone, ancient carved steps, to get to the large swimming pool at the bottom. It was there that I had my first experience with crypto zoology. A scaly fin, which looked like an alligator hand, appeared in the water close, to a swimmer. As fast as it appeared, it disappeared, leaving only ripples. I would not swim in the pool the next few days,” concluded Richard.
I asked Richard, “What do you mean a green hand came out of the water?”
Richard answered me, “Well, I don’t know what it was. There shouldn’t be anything like that in the river. Maybe it was just a turtle or something but at the time, it seemed very real to me, too big to be a turtle. You know, Scientists do find new animals in the world all the time.”
I asked him, “So this swimming pool has a Loch Ness monster in it?
Richard looked at Hidalgo and said indignantly, “It was like an apparition, it appeared and then immediately disappeared. Hey, believe me I saw something.”
Hidalgo smiled and reached over, putting his hand on Richard’s shoulder, “If you only knew how much I understand that feeling.” While looking at each other, everyone laughed a nervous laugh. Richard continued with one finger pointing at Hidalgo.
“You have to remember that the Canadian flows through the most wild and least populated part of the state. While on my first trip to the ranch as a Second Class scout I was pretty good at target practice. One stormy evening there was severe weather, and the scoutmaster decided to have the entire troop come up and bunk out on the ranch house floor. Sometime during the early morning, someone managed to step on my glasses. Afterwards, at target practice I just aimed at the center of the blurs, but still managed to do a pretty good job. However, I had a basic problem with skeet shooting, I couldn’t find the blur. They didn’t let me loose with the shot gun, especially after a couple of really bad shots in which several other scouts complained when pellets landed around them. Instead it became time to spend a little time at kitchen patrol. The rest of my first encounter was spent stumbling around until we finally went home then several weeks later and I got a new pair of Buddy Halley looking glasses, but not by choice, it was an economic consideration.”
“Horseback riding was a treat until they had to chase me down due to one of my boots getting caught in the stirrup. Spooky, if you are thrown, you die; no question about it. From memory, to this day I can name most of the parts of a saddle, earning me the Horseback Riding merit badge. But that same day, I learned another important lesson. I learned how not to out run the lead horse, a racehorse owned by one of the ranch hands. The horse was the cowboys pride and joy, his route to economic and marital success. He warned us all not to ever get in front of him. It would not pay to do anything that would have a bad effect upon the horse’s success.”
“Certainly I shouldn’t have traumatized the horse. That was the only cardinal rule on the outing; stay behind the lead horse. Finally, after walking the horses for about an hour, we were going to gallop across a field. Despite my best efforts to slow him, my old plug outran the cowboy’s race horse. Soon, as a punishment, I found myself jogging along after the other riders. Leading my horse and doing my best to look where I was stepping, control my breathing, and trying to keep up.”
“It was a working ranch. Besides the regular duties of kitchen patrol, latrine, and doing laundry in the shallow seep, of course there was dehornin
g and castrating the calves. Watching one of those calves come over and eat some throw up left by a not so happy scout was gross. The calf was then dehorned and castrated losing its lunch. But then, there were other calves around.”
“It only took a short period of time until the high point of the camp was humiliating each other. Volunteers enjoyed the rocky mountain oysters the cowboy life had to offer. Don’t kid yourself, when forty kids are put together in wild country, sadistic tendencies emerge. We pretended to make war on ourselves. Someone eventually took a dump in my hat, I was almost proud to find it before I put the hat back on my head after dumping the contents out. Of course, someday later in life, I will find out who he was and he will fail as an adult, in both business and marriage.”
“Okay,” says Corey who was starting to get up, but Richard stopped him.
“Hang on, there is more to this story,” everyone relaxed.
“There is a special patch that is offered in the scouting program that one can wear on the uniform along with all the other badges of honor that scouts work for. This one is unique and much more difficult than merit badges are to earn. You have to take a fifty-mile hike through the backcountry.”
“Our troop that year under the Scoutmaster Smitty, one of the greatest Scoutmasters ever, decided to take our troop for a hike down the Canadian River. In places, the Canadian Canyon is in a pristine state. When there is enough water the Canadian is a spectacular canoe or kayak run with continuous rapids through a spectacular wild canyon with tiered sandstone walls reminiscent of the Grand Canyon. In places, it is heavily forested and of course people have been using it as a route to the eastern plains and back for thousands of years. There is evidence of ancient foot trails even in the wildest parts of the canyon.”
The Family at Serpiente Page 53
