The Emigrant Trail and Coming Upon Fort Bridger in 1849

This summer, Joe and I made a trip to Denver hauling a load of frozen beef. We packed up before dawn, made sure everything was as insulated as we could, cranked the AC to high, bundled up and took off prepared to run into the typical July temperatures once we got to the other side of the continental divide. But, after six and a half hours of driving and clouds the whole way, we arrived with the meat still solid and Denver’s high only getting to 75 degrees.

As we drove along, I thought of how long a trip like ours would have taken the folks on the California Trail. It’s about 350 miles from our place to Denver so it would have taken between 17 and 23 days. That doesn’t count breakdowns, bad roads, mountain passes and animal problems. It’s sobering to think how easy travel is today, isn’t it?

Map of the California Trail. Image Source: National Park Service.

As I said in the last blog about Jim Bridger, the number of emigrants using the California Trail went from fewer than five thousand in 1847 to twenty-five thousand in 1849. He positioned his trading post/fort in the best possible location to be financially successful and useful for those in need. 

By the time the emigrants reached Fort Bridger, they had seen a lot. Death caused by illnesses like cholera, whooping cough, measles, mumps, smallpox, ague, and pneumonia happened frequently. Then there were the accidents. Drowning was the greatest killer but shooting oneself and equipment accidents accounted for a good portion of fatalities. 

Burial along the trail was difficult. They tried to find places off the trail so the site wouldn’t be desecrated. But that didn’t matter to the wolves. They soon learned to gather when men were digging holes, sometimes so close that their howling drowned out the words being said over the body. If the deceased wasn’t buried deep enough, the wolves would dig up the remains and pull it out, scattering body parts across the land.

The emigrants would have seen more than their fair share of atrocities so arriving in a place that vaguely resembled civilization had to have given them a little comfort. Surrounded by a high picket fence and guarded by a heavy wooden gate, Fort Bridger was a collection of log buildings. With the Uinta Mountains in the background, the green valley spread picturesquely before them, especially after the brutal desert they had just passed through. 

Wagon companies would have circled up outside the fort before individuals would likely have visited the fort’s blacksmith with broken parts or the trading post for provisions. In 1849, the ladies might have been invited to sit with Narcissa Vasquez, the wife of Bridger’s partner, Louis Vasquez, in chairs on her porch and drink cold buttermilk. When they left for their humble wagons, Mrs. Vasquez could have offered to share in the luxurious butter she had just churned while visiting.

Depending on when in 1849 the emigrants came through, Bridger’s trading post might have been full or depleted. Keeping up with the demands was a solid job for Vasquez and freighters from Salt Lake City were on a regular schedule. It’s hard to imagine the disappointment of arriving in such a place after such a trip only to find the trading post shelves empty.

In my next blog, I’ll share more about Louis and Narcissa Vasquez.