Watson Cemetery
Among the intriguing aspects of back country exploration almost anywhere in the Western states are the ghost communities. I say ghost communities rather than towns for a reason. “Ghost town” conjures up an image of abandoned buildings with sagging roofs, missing window panes and odds and ends of broken furniture. Here and there might be rusting remnants of horse-drawn farm machinery or cars and trucks. Visitors possessed of a creative mind can wander about and reconstruct in their minds what people would have been doing in that spot several decades or even a century or more earlier. The locations of many of these places are found on BLM and USFS maps. But if one follows a map and even road signs in search of one of these places, what he often finds is merely a junction or perhaps an old abandoned school building, such as that at Sheaville on Highway 95 about ten miles north of Jordan Valley. Occasionally there might be grange hall (occasionally still in use) or an old cemetery. There might even be the remnants of a stage station. Some of these latter buildings–such as the Sheep Station at Arock (see post for 11/06/2016) or the station at Wickahoney in Owyhee County, Idaho–were built of stone and are still more or less standing.
Site of Watson from An 1899 Plat Map
While it is true that with a good map it is sometimes possible to locate where there might have been a post office, store, school or even a village, usually the only sign anything was there is a grove of tall cottonwood or locust trees that had been planted to provide shade and lumber. An example is Twin Springs near Dry Creek Canyon, which has a large grove of cottonwoods. This is the Twin Springs Stacia Davis mentions as being on their route into Nyssa when they made their quarterly trip to town buy supplies. The only structure there now is a pit toilet for the BLM campground. Cottonwood and locust trees in otherwise arid, treeless spaces are typically an indication of long-gone habitation. When people abandoned such places, they might take the lumber from the buildings to use in building a new place elsewhere. Lumber had to be hauled long distances; Conley and Stacia hauled the fresh lumber for their new house in Hole in the Ground from Vale. Distance and expense could make the effort of salvaging old boards worthwhile.
The most important community along the Owyhee river north of Jordan Creek was Watson, which ironically does not appear on BLM maps. I had never heard of the place until I began researching the early days of settlement of the Owyhee. Since then, I have repeatedly encountered references to it. It is often referred to as “the town of Watson.” But “Watson”–no one seems to know the origin of the name–really denotes a community of ranches strung up and down the river centered on a post office by that name and a school and cemetery at the mouth of Blue Canyon, midway between Leslie Gulch and Birch Creek. The first post office was established at the lower end of Black Rocks in 1898; it was subsequently moved to the Palmer ranch. Watson’s place as a community center was supported by the rock house built by George Palmer in 1912. The house had four rooms downstairs with a large kitchen and an upper story partitioned with curtains that could be taken down for dances, wedding parties, and holiday celebrations.
Two Story Palmer Stone House, Site of Watson P.O. (Courtesy Tim Davis)
Construction of the Owyhee Dam near Adrian flooded the lower canyon and brought an end to ranching down in the canyon and to the Watson post office in 1936. The Bureau of Reclamation bought out those who had deeded land. Those who had only squatters rights–that is, who had never filed a homestead–were compensated for the improvements they had made but not for the land. Something like forty ranches were eliminated. Being at the upper end of the reservoir, only parts of Watson were flooded; when the reservoir is down much of that is revealed. It has become a stopping place for kayakers and a destination for ATVers, most of whom–I suspect–have little notion of the history. A couple of years ago while camping at the state park near the dam, I met some folks from the north end of Boise where I had lived as a kid. I was kayaking and they were fishing. One mentioned that his fishing sonar indicated that the reservoir was 212 ft deep (it was a good year) and wondered what was at the bottom? I don’t think they were expecting the lesson they got; be careful what you ask a retired academic and public affairs officer!
But back to Watson. For several years now I have been wanting to visit the place. There is a road in from the top of Blue Canyon, and a few years ago when I’d bought a new Toyota 4 Runner, I thought I’d drive in. Well, the rig came with 5-ply highway tread tires that I was too frugal to switch out without first getting my money’s worth of use. I ignored friend Julie Weikel’s admonition to go straight from the Toyota dealer to Les Schwab’s. The first quarter mile from the top seemed all right, but after that the “road” became a stony wash. I thought “If I blow a tire, the token bottle jack (more of an amulet than a tool) that came with this rig is not going to get me out of here. And it’s a long walk back.” (Why does Toyota tout the 4 Runner for back-country exploration and equip it with tires and a jack for macadam?) I turned back, which itself was a challenge. The following couple of years were spent in fitful ruminating over possible ways of getting to Watson short of walking or borrowing an ATV. (I hate the noise and already have tinnitus.). Then I bought a kayak for another project on the reservoir that fell through.
Watson from the Top of Blue Canyon, 2014
Determined to make it to Watson, I recently loaded up my kayak, which I have christened the Feiyen 飛鶠, for my trip to Jordan Valley. The 飛鶠 is really a sea kayak, but it was also described as for “touring.” I was told (by the leader of the cancelled project) that fiberglass was the smoothest and most stable. So true have I found that, I never mutter a single epithet loading or unloading this slender but heavy beauty that is longer than my 4Runner. When I am on the water, it is so effortless that I catch myself reaching to flip on a sound system that isn’t there.
Owyhee Reservoir South from Leslie Gulch
In early June I hauled my trailer and boat down to Leslie Gulch and was pleased to find the campground nearly empty but for a few responsible adults. (On the weekends it sometimes becomes a noisy party venue and ATV wheelie course.) The following morning, I put the Feiyan in the water and headed up reservoir for Blue Canyon. For about an hour and a half the trip was smooth and quiet. It had been a year and a half since since I had taken my kayak out, and I was waiting for muscular reaction to force me to break out the ibuprofen. Didn’t happen. The cliffs on either side were beautiful, and I marveled at being able to admire close up a part of the canyon that Conley and Stacia would have had to squint to see as they made their trip down river for supplies. Unfortunately, after a while, the weather began to turn gnarly with a strong breeze, dark clouds and thunder in the distance. Not knowing how much farther I had to go, I turned back. As is common in this part of the country, within half an hour the wind had abated, the waves smoothed, the thunder died and sunlight dappled the hillsides. I momentarily considered turning around again, but I was in need of a beer, so I continued on back. I did arrive in camp early enough to hike up Slocum Creek WSA.
The Feiyen Heading Down the Reservoir
The following morning I was torn. My original plan had been to kayak down reservoir to Doe Island on the second day. I have no idea what’s on Doe Island, but I don’t know anyone who has been there either. Google Earth just doesn’t show much, and I had to remind myself that prior to the dam it was probably just a grassy knoll among many others now lying beneath the water. But, I had told folks of my plan to kayak to Watson, and backing out at this point would add to a growing reputation (at least in my own mind) of unreliability. After a morning of dithering, I jumped into the 4 Runner and headed for the boat ramp which was crowded with Hispanic families enjoying Sunday fishing and picknicking. Putting the Feiyen in the water, I headed up reservoir once again. The weather was pleasant, and with no breeze to slow me. The reservoir was 85% full, which meant smooth paddling all the way to Watson, though it also meant much of old Watson would be submerged. The full trip took about an hour and a half. Watson turned out to be only twenty minutes from where I’d turned back the previous day. I was feeling excited until I realized the mouth of Blue Canyon was pretty broad and I had no idea where the cemetery might be. This could involve tramping through some cheat grass! I beached the boat and chose a likely knoll from which I ought to be able to overlook most of the area. It was a fifteen-minute tramp to the top. Looking down from my perch I could see the twin tracks of an old road, and as my eye followed the ruts I quickly came to a fenced square that signaled the presence of a cemetery less than a half mile away. It was close enough that I could see one or two headstones. Relieved, I headed down the hill.
Mouth of Blue Canyon
I let myself in the gate and walked toward the grave markers. There were only four. I had read somewhere that some of the interred had been reburied elsewhere when the dam was built, and there were probably some graves without stones. The first grave I came to was that of Josephene Shaver (11/17/1851-3/12/1916). The Shavers are mentioned several times in the BLM interviews. According to Chesley Blake, Hugh Shaver was the first to pack mail into Watson using a team. He had a hack with a canvas top, side curtains and space for extra seats. According to Joe Beach, who drove a team for Hugh, people would order everything by mail from groceries to machine parts. Shipping rates were fifteen cents per hundred pounds. Just across the river from the mouth of Leslie Gulch was Hugh’s brother Wilmer’s place. Hugh had milk cows and shipped the cream out by stage, and he played fiddle for the local dances. Louell Shaver, who later married Riley Horn, original owner of the Hole in the Ground ranch, went twice a week by horse to pick up the Watson mail at Rockville, Idaho (later relocated across the border into Oregon).
Watson Cemetery
Just a few yards away I came across the headstone of George Franks. Although George is not mentioned in the interviews, a few other Franks are. A Ben Franks lived and ran cattle near the mouth of Dry Creek, which is some distance from Watson. George Palmer mentions a Nanny Franks (aka Nanny Maupin) who lived near Dry Creek Butte, which, according to George, “some old plug” renamed Nanny’s Nipple.” The butte retained that name and is visible from the Twin Springs campground. “Nanny” was probably Dorothy Franks, who was married to Perry Maupin. George was married to Grace Shaver, and they had a daughter Dorothy.
Graves of Miller and Janet Page
Close by George’s grave were the graves of Miller (1/16/1851-1/13/1918) and Janet M. Page (1/16/1862-10/11/1915). Page is a prominent surname in the Watson area, though the relationship of Miller to any of the others isn’t clear to me. Miller and Janet lived at Red Butte, just downstream from the cemetery, and judging from census records, had five children–three boys and two girls. I regret that I knew none of this when I was at Watson. While it would not have altered my knowledge of the place, it surely would heightened my appreciation of life there.
By this point the afternoon was declining and a breeze was begin to pick up. I closed the gate and headed back to the kayak passing rusting bits of machinery. At the kayak, I paused to reprise the "Baja Marimba Band Rides Again" album cover and to act on an adage learned from Ouzel Owyhee river guides–”The solution to the pollution is dilution.” The trip back was smooth, with a stop to soak in the Red Butte hot springs. That soak (108º-As good as Iceland!) was more efficacious than any ibuprofen in fending off muscle pain!
Reprising A Baja Marimba Band Album Cover Meme