There were always intrepid travelers. Explorers, mountain men, navigators. They were heroes. They braved the seven seas, the untracked deserts, the high ranges. But they were either rich people or in olden times or unspeakably brave, bold and adventurous. I couldn’t do that, not little me.
No, I was stuck in Hicksville, Ohio, in middle school, in the middle class, the middle of the road, the middle of nowhere.
Ring any bells?
Yeah, well, we weren’t the only ones.
That’s one of the reasons why Westerns were so attractive, I guess. They told of adventure, unknown vistas, migration, virgin territory, the Way West. Places where you needed courage, enterprise, self-sufficiency, where you needed your wits about you. No wonder we were enthralled.
But then travel eventually arrived. We could go places. Even before Trip Advisor and EasyJet and credit cards, boys and girls, I know that’s hard to imagine, we could actually get off our butts and visit places. In the US cars, gas and motels were cheap. Abroad, flights became possible, phrase books available. Unbelievably exotic destinations beckoned. Paris, France! Wow! Maybe the land of your fathers, Sweden, Scotland, Italy, Ireland, wherever that was. Later on, even Slovakia, Poland, the Ukraine.
Travel broadens the mind. Like most clichés, that’s true. That’s why they’re clichés. Visiting places opens your brain up. You experience other cultures and ways of looking at things and other political opinions and histories. And smells. You meet people who speak differently and say different things. They eat other food and drink strange brews. It’s wonderful. They have lovely, musical, at first unintelligible languages, and then you begin to get it. Travel. It grabs you. It’s a drug.
Why do you think every damn corner of this poor planet is teeming with American girls and French boys and Brazilian retirees and Danish teachers? They’re hooked. We all are.
And if you have a particular interest , a goal, a destination, well, nothing on Earth is going to stop you getting there now. Jazz lovers arrive in New Orleans hostels in their droves, anthropologists in Borneo, archaeologists in Pompeii, wine lovers in Bordeaux, classic car lovers in Goodwood, and who shall say them nay? Me, I go to Dodge, Tombstone, Las Vegas NM and Wyoming. That’s where I wander. I want to tread where the Earps swaggered, where Cassidy hid in his hole in the wall, where Billy shot his way out of the court house in Lincoln or was shot down in his turn at Fort Sumner. Call me strange (I dare you) but there we are. That’s where I wanna go.
But every so often you find somewhere that still has it. The atmosphere is there. Lincoln NM, Hadrian’s Wall, Urbino, Monument Valley. You can stand there and be there and feel it. The Little Big Horn battle site. It still has a magic. At least for now. And when you find it, it makes all the hassle of passport control and metal detectors and the Motel 6 worth it. It gives you that buzz.
One Response
Located about 35 miles Southwest of Kaycee, in north-central Wyoming of the Big Horn Mountains of Johnson County (of Johnson County War fame), the Hole in the Wall is afascinating place.
With Brown’s Hole (or Park) in northeastern Utah, near the Wyoming and Colorado borders and Robbers Roost, in southeastern Utah, southwest of Moab, they were 3 major sanctuaries along the Outlaw Trail linking Montana to Mexico’s border.
Originally a hole was broadly applied to any valley surrounded by mountains (Jackson Hole, Pierre’s Hole…).
The Hole in the Wall itself is a gap offering a commanding view cut in a towering red sandstone cliff, accessible thanks to a narrow path, and opening to an oasis.
This infamous pass easy to defend across the Red Wall was used by a number of gangs, most frequently from the 1860s to approximately 1910.
Butch Cassidy and the Wild Bunch, including the “Sundance Kid” Harry Longabaugh. William “News” Carver, Harvey Logan (Kid Currie), “Flat Nose” George Currie, was one of the most well-known groups to use the hideout.
Jesse James (possibly), the Roberts Brothers, Jack Ketchum, Al and George Smith brothers and many others used it as well.
All these outlaws were globally called the Hole in the Wall Gang whatever the period considered and their possible collaboration or not.
A few cabins, a stable, a corral were built to improve the state of their hideout, even forming a coalition so they could plan robberies with no interference from other gangs.
Its use begun to fade after a raid led in 1897 by famous U.S. Deputy Marshal Joe Lefors (involved in Tom Horn’s story)
One of the gang cabin, supposedly Butch Cassidy’s one, is now preserved at Old Trail Town, a living history museum in Cody, Wyoming.
Hikers are reminded that the access trail, located on public land is adjacent to private land, so hikers must stay on the trail.
Horseback access to the Hole in the Wall is also allowed.