CROSSING THE GREEN
submitted by: SUP Trail Marker Pioneer Stories September 2023
Josehp and Maria Orton Green River |
BY RICHARD D. KIRKHAM, PIONEER STORIES VP
Although 175 years ago it was a surging torrent from spring until after mid-summer, the Green River in Wyoming generally flowed moderately in late summer and autumn. That was a blessing for pioneers bound for Utah who typically arrived there in late summer and early autumn. Low water typically allowed wagon trains to ford the river, thus avoiding the expense and delays of ferry crossing. Several good fording places dotted the banks of the Green River from where the bridge is now on Highway 28, continuing downstream for seven miles. Trail variants connected the main road to crossing points. Low banks and a gravelly bottom made certain places ideal for driving wagons and herding livestock across the river.
After crossing the Green, the emigrants and freighters rejoined the road which ran down the west side of the river. In times of high water, fording could be dangerous. Some invited disaster by attempting to ford when the current was too strong. The river swept people, wagons, and animals downstream. Wagons sometimes capsized. Drownings were not uncommon. Horses or oxen occasionally lost their footing, toppling riders or wagons.
The river was extremely cold in late autumn. To prepare for fording, the emigrants sometimes raised their wagon beds and coated them with tar to keep the contents dry. Usually people rode in the wagons while the animals hauled them through the water, but some handcart emigrants pulled their twowheeled vehicles across. Joseph Oborn, a 46 year old convert from England traveling with the Willie Handcart Company, was among those fortunate enough to survive their horrific ascent up Rocky Ridge and the bitter cold nights at Rock Creek Hollow until the rescue teams reached them from the Salt Lake Valley. He was able to continue another 81 miles, but sadly he died of cholera at Lumbard Crossing on October 30, 1856. He was buried there in a blanket on the banks of the Green River. Recalling that heart-breaking day many years later, his wife, Maria said, “My dear Joseph died at Green River, Wyoming. Half our dream died there. Our company arrived in Great Salt Lake Valley on 9 November 1856, six months after leaving England. We had left 74 dead along the way.” She became a widow in Wyoming and later settled in Union, Utah.
Today one can retrace with great precision the actual trail that Joseph and Maria used as they crossed Wyoming along with tens of thousands of other Mormon Pioneers and other settlers as they marched on their westward migration. The desert along Highway 28 is still so undeveloped, desolate, and untouched that you can clearly make out the wagon ruts and the trail stretching out for miles heading west toward Utah in many places. Interpretive markers memorialize landmarks and unknown graves of emigrants. Here the Mormon Trail, the California Trail, and the Oregon Trail are one.
The Green River rushes south from the bridge at Lombard Ferry on Highway 28 on its way to Flaming Gorge. Few people stop, but if you pause to contemplate how you might get across that river if there were no bridge there, you would see it like the pioneers did. The river is formidable. When you look downriver about 250 yards on the right bank you see a wooden ferry sitting on the west side of the river. The ferry was built by Forrest Cramer of Pinedale, Wyoming 25 years ago for the 150th anniversary celebrations of the Mormon Pioneer National Historic Trail. The ferry was last used on July 6, 1997 to transport several wagons across the river. It sits on the exact location where an earlier one, much like it was used 175 years ago. It is a very accurate reproduction.
Walking down the path toward the ferry, you can listen to the rhythms of the water as you look across the river at the grove of trees on the left bank. You can almost hear the shouts of men struggling to get their wagons, families, animals and goods across the river and the calls of women as they watch out for their children. Imagine, if you can, how tired they would have been from traveling so many months, with over 1,000 miles of trail behind them and another 200 miles of rough travel yet to go. The Green River may not have been the welcome site for them that it is for us today as we unknowingly cross the river on a beautiful, modern structure hardly noticing the water obstacle flowing beneath us, but cross those waters they did, and we are the beneficiaries of their efforts. The same can be said regarding the bridges of faith that our ancestors built for us with such pain, sorrow, sacrifice and diligence. May we be ever true to the faith that our parents have cherished.